Chase moves first, pulling his hoodie over his head, his t-shirt rising slightly in the process, revealing a sliver of warm, golden skin before it disappears. He tosses it onto the chair by his desk before looking at me, something questionable in his gaze. Is he waiting for me? Yes. He’s waiting—to see if I’ll hesitate, if I’ll pull away. I won’t. Not now. Not ever again.
I follow his lead, stripping my shirt off and feeling the chill of the air against my skin. Chase continues watching me, those deep emerald green eyes roaming over me like he’s memorizing every part of me, reacquainting himself with my presence, with my body. The way he looks at me, the way his lips part justslightly, I swear I can feel his breath against my skin even from feet away.
I reach for my jeans, undoing the button and sliding them down my legs, leaving me in just my boxers. Chase mirrors me, shuffling out of his sweats, then pulls his shirt off, leaving us both standing there in nothing but our boxers. The air is thick, charged, and I feel exposed—not just physically, but emotionally. Like he could see straight into my soul if he wanted to. Maybe he can.
“Come here,” he murmurs—just a simple request, and one I can never deny.
I step closer, and as soon as I’m within reach, his arms are around me, wrapping tight, pressing our bodies together. His skin is warm against mine, and I exhale a shaky breath, burying my face in the crook of his neck. He smells like his body wash, a little like cedar and something inherently him. I want to drown in it.
His hands trace slow, soothing lines along my spine, and I shiver—not from cold, but from the sensation, from the way his touch burns even in the softest caress. “I miss this,” he whispers, his lips brushing against my temple.
I tighten my arms around him, nodding against his skin. “Me too. More than you know.”
He pulls back just enough to look at me, to meet my eyes, and there’s something vulnerable there. “I’m still scared, Blake,” he admits, voice quiet but firm. “Of letting you in. Of trusting this. But… I want to.”
My throat tightens, emotion swelling so thick I can barely speak past it. “Then we take it slow,” I promise. “No pressure, no expectations. Just us.”
He nods before pulling me toward the bed. We slip under the covers together, facing each other, our bodies close but notcrushing. His fingers find mine beneath the sheets, threading together like they belong there.
He watches me for a moment before he speaks again, softer this time. “Kiss me?”
I don’t need to be asked twice. I lean in, capturing his lips in a slow, lingering kiss. One fueled by love, by the sheer need to be close, to cherish what we have. His lips part slightly, and I take my time exploring, savoring the way he tastes, the way he sighs against my mouth, his hand coming up to cup the side of my face, his thumb brushing along my cheekbone.
We kiss like that for what feels like forever, slow and unhurried, learning each other again. His hand drifts down my chest, fingertips barely ghosting over my skin, and my stomach tenses under the touch. Not from anxiety, but from the way he makes me feel like I’m coming undone in the best way.
I shift, pulling him closer until there’s no space left between us, his warmth surrounding me. When we finally part, I rest my forehead against his, breathing him in, letting my hands settle on his hips, holding him there like he might disappear if I let go.
He whispers, his voice barely above a breath. “Hold me.”
I press a kiss to his temple, tightening my arms around him. “Always.”
In that moment, as our bodies fit together, as his breath evens out against my skin, I know—we’re going to be okay.
Chapter 29
Ginny
Istand near theedge of the rink, arms at my sides, my fingers gliding across the lacy fabric of my costume as I watch the couple on the ice move with effortless grace. Their jumps are flawless, their timing impeccable. Every twist, every lift, every movement is in perfect harmony. It’s no surprise they’re in first place. I can already hear the judges tallying up their scores in my head. Antony and I are currently sitting in second place, but we still have one final routine left to perform.
I should be focusing, running through our routine in my head, mentally preparing myself. But instead, my thoughts drift to Carter, Chase, and Blake. I wish they were here. They wanted to be, but I convinced them it would raise too many questions with my father if he saw members of his hockey team in the audience.
We’re not ready to answer those questions.
Not yet. Hopefully soon. I just have one problem to deal with before I tackle that hurdle.
My mind wanders, wondering what they’re doing right now. Probably watching some old sports highlights, or maybe bickering over something stupid. The thought makes me smile.My heart races thinking about my upcoming date—three short days from now—with Chase and Blake. I’ve been asking for it all week, but between my dad increasing my training schedule and their own, it hasn’t happened. And honestly? I wanted to give them more time to reconnect. To be them again. The fact that they’re finally getting there, and that they’re letting me back in. It’s worth the wait.
We can’t exactly go out in public together, so we’re keeping it simple. A quiet night in at Chase’s place. Cooking together, talking, just... existing in the same space. Whatever happens, happens. Carter’s making himself scarce, planning a night out with some of the guys from the hockey team so we can have privacy. It’s the first real step toward rebuilding what the three of us lost, and I don’t think I’ve ever looked forward to anything more.
Someone steps up beside me, brushing against my arm, and the warmth of my thoughts is instantly doused in cold nausea.
Antony.
“They're good,” he mutters, watching the couple on the ice. “We’re better. That is, if you don’t keep fucking up our routine with your mistakes.”
I clench my jaw, fisting my hands, my nails digging into my palms to keep myself from slapping him. “Mistakes?” I ask, turning my head just enough to glare at him. “Oh, do you mean landing each jump perfectly? Skating circles around you? Pouring actual emotion into the routine that will have the judges weeping? Yeah, I’ll make sure not to do any of that.”
His hand shoots out, fingers clamping around my wrist like a vise. I try to yank it back, but he only squeezes tighter.
