Jessica steps closer, unfazed, reaches up, smooths imaginary lint off my jersey, and pats my chest. “Don’t lose out there, Captain,” she says softly. Her mouth curves. “I don’t date losers.”
I smile, taking her hand. She isn’t intimidated by the noise or the eyes or the crowd that’d love to see me drop dead on the ice. I lean down until my mouth hovers over hers. “Good,” I murmur. “I don’t plan on losing.”
I kiss her, savoring the softness of her lips. I pull back, straighten, slide my helmet on. The world narrows to breath, focus, fire.
I step toward the ice; the boos rain down harder. I welcome them. No way I’m losing with Jessica watching.
Winning on hostile ice never gets old.
The horn sounds and it’s chaos—gloves in the air, sticks slamming, Minnesota fans thinking noise will change the scoreboard. We earned it the hard way, and my body is still humming when the press finally lets us breathe.
I do the interviews with lights in my face, microphones shoved too close. Same answers: team effort, disciplined, on to the next one. The words come easy.
By the time we’re loaded onto buses, adrenaline hasn’t let up and the guys are ravenous for more. The hotel is swarmed when we pull up. Fans press against barricades with phones out, screaming our names. Even they can’t drown out the arena boos.
I step off the bus and put my hand on Jessica’s back. She moves with me, and cameras and fans eat it up. I stop a few times to sign jerseys. She stays by my side, smiling. Having her there starts to feel natural. That sneaks up on you.
Walking through crowds my whole career, women grabbing, flirting, offering—you take it when you want it and leave when you don’t. It never meant much. But to her, it did. If she waited that long, her first time was something special to her. It meant trust, and she gave that to me.
The team funnels inside, laughter and shouts echoing. Jessica lingers near me, talking to Melody. They get along perfectly. It makes me think harder about what I can give this girl once this is over.
I don’t want to be careless with her.
That’s new.
I’m aware what we did meant a lot to her. Whatever this is settling into place between us, I don’t want to fuck up.
We’re given one keycard. One room number. Most likely one bed.
I don’t comment, and neither does she, but I catch the flicker in her eyes—the quick inhale. Anticipation.
I take the bags upstairs alone while Jessica and Melody stay down, laughing about something I can’t catch.
My shoulder throbs from a late hit in the second. I unlock the door, scanning the room automatically.
One king-sized bed.
Good.
I shower quickly, spotting the bruise forming on my shoulder in the mirror when I reach for a towel. It’s darkening. I roll my shoulder once. It’ll be fine.
I get dressed fast and head back downstairs. The bar is alive. Jace is there, beer in hand, mouth running. Guys filter in, freshened up, riding the high.
I hand Jessica the keycard and head toward the guys. I stay for a drink, trying not to think about her naked under the shower. Then another. Long enough not to look like I’m hovering. But an hour passes.
I set my glass down and go upstairs with the second keycard. I open the door quietly and stop.
Jessica’s by the vanity—one hand braced, the other touching up makeup. The dress is…too short. Her toned legs end in heels that could trample me and I’d gladly let them. The fabric hugs her like it was made for her. Heat curls low, sharp and instant. I’m tempted to ditch the club, lock the door, and rip that tear it off her.
I drag in a slow breath, trying to control myself, and she catches me in the mirror.
Her light eyes contrast with smoky makeup. I can’t stop the image of it running down her face with my cock shoved in her mouth.
My dick throbs, impatient and heavy. The urge to ditch the after party hits so hard it pisses me off.
I want that dress on the floor. I want to know if she put it on for me or just likes watching me lose my grip.
Her lips curve when she realizes I’ve been staring. I close the door slowly behind me, knowing she’s watching me in the mirror, waiting to see which version of me walked in.
