I push harder to lock in on work, pulling up Kolmont’s last game. At least tape makes sense. I lean against the headboard, notebook balanced on my knee, pen in hand. The scrape of skates, the roar of the crowd, and the smack of the puck steady me.
I jot their gaps without thinking. Lazy line changes. Neutral-zone turnovers. A goalie who bites early and leaves the far post wide open. It’s all muscle memory. This part of me knows I could take a team and make it lethal if anyone ever gave me the shot.
But she still creeps in.
Her laugh seeps through the wall, muffled but close enough to twist in my chest. The air smells like pine and firewood, clinging to my shirt, mixing with the sweetness of cocoa I swear I can still taste.
I crank the volume and rewind the last play. Pretend I don’t hear the shuffle of her moving around, followed by the closing of a door. My pen scratches the page, grip too tight, knuckles burning.
Focus. Tape. Notes. My future.
But the truth settles heavy on my mind. No amount of film will prep me for another day stuck in this cabin with Tessa St. James.
A yawn escapes me, my jaw tight, and I finally give up. I snap my laptop shut and drop it onto the dresser beside the bed. My shoulders ache from hunching over, stiff like I’ve just played three overtimes.
I strip out of my sleep pants and T-shirt, left in just my boxers. The cabin’s warmer than I expected, with the fireplacepushing heat through the vents. My body’s already a furnace. Maybe I’m just used to the cold.
The mattress dips as I stretch out, eyes shut, waiting for the quiet to do its job. It doesn’t. The second I let go, she’s there.
Tessa’s standing in the middle of her ransacked room, followed by her standing on the curb beside my car. Snow sticks to her hair, her cheeks flushed, freckles scattered across skin I know too well. Her eyes are bright blue, clear as the cold around us. Smiling at me, she wasn’t the least bit concerned by the storm.
And then it slides back to that night. To the last time I touched her.
Her body trembles under my hands. My name on her lips like she couldn’t stop it. The heat of her skin, her mouth urgent against mine. Tessa’s never been good at hiding how she feels, and I love that about her. Too damn much.
I flip onto my side, restless. Sheets twist around my legs, the mattress groaning under me. I drag a hand down my face, but it doesn’t erase the memory of her taste or tamp down the burn she left searing my palms.
She’s down the hall right now. For the first time, we don’t have to worry about my brother or our families. And here I am—wired, too hot, every muscle tight from trying not to think about her and failing desperately.
If she’d been ready when I picked her up, we might’ve beaten the storm. Could’ve been at the lodge already instead of stuck here with nothing but silence and four walls closing in.
Heat coils in my stomach. My jaw aches from how hard I’m clenching it. I yank a pillow over my face, trying to smother the thoughts, the ache, the want. All it does is muffle the rough sound that rips out of me.
“Christ.” My voice is shot, coming out more like a low growl.
Sleep isn’t coming. Not with her that close, not with the storm outside and the memories I’ve spent years trying to forget.
I swing my legs over the bed with a curse. The floor creaks under my bare feet. I drag a hand over my neck—skin hot, hair damp. My body’s running too warm for the room I’m in.
Water. I need something cold.Anything.
I shove the door open, and the hinge groans. At the same time, the bathroom door clicks, and Tessa steps out. We both stop abruptly, the narrow hallway feeling like it’s forcing us closer together.
Light from the lamp behind me cuts across her face, catching the freckles and the flush on her cheeks. Loose strands of hair fall from her bun, her sweatshirt sliding off one shoulder and showing her collarbone. Her lips part, her breath hitching just enough to hear.
I should step aside, but I don’t, and neither does she.
Her eyes drag over me, slow and hesitant at first, until they dip low and my jaw locks. No way she’s missing what my thin Calvin Klein boxer briefs don’t hide.
The air feels thick, heavier than the snow piling up outside.
“You’re staring,” I say, my voice gravelly.
Her gaze jerks up, defensive. “I’m not—”
“You are.” I shift, the floorboard groaning under me. Shadows cut across my chest, and her eyes flicker there before locking back on mine. She’s so damn stubborn.
She opens her mouth like she’s going to argue, but all that comes out is a whisper. “Clay…”
