“You make it sound like I’m lazy.”
“No. I think lazy would be easier for you.”
I stared at him.
He was closer now. Close enough that I could smell cold air and clean soap under the rink. Close enough to see the faint silver in his eyes, the little mark near his eyebrow, the way his beard was trimmed tighter along his jaw.
Too much detail.
My attention caught and stayed.
That was the problem with my brain. It either scattered everywhere or locked on one thing until the rest of the world disappeared. Right then, it locked on Declan’s mouth. Not romantically. Not in some soft, cinematic way.
Sexually.
Violently.
I thought about what his voice would sound like against my ear. Thought about his hand closing around the back of my neck for real. Thought about being told to stay still and actually doing it. Thought about the size of him, the controlled strength, the terrifying certainty that if he gave me an order in that room, my body would answer before pride could interfere.
My cock thickened under my compression shorts.
Panic fired through me, hot and immediate.
I stepped back so fast my hip hit the table.
Declan stopped.
For the first time since I’d known him, something in his composure slipped. Not much. A blink held too long. His attention dropped for half a second, not all the way, but enough that I knew he had clocked the movement. The space. My breathing.
Maybe everything.
The room felt airless.
“I have to go,” I said.
His voice was lower when he answered. “Jace.”
“No.” I grabbed my gloves, missed one, bent to pick it up, hated the shake in my hand, hated that he could see it. “I got it. Responsible. Leadership. Boring parts. Crystal clear.”
“That’s not what this is.”
I looked at him then, and it was a mistake.
Because he wasn’t looking at me like a coach correcting a player anymore.
He was looking at me like a man who had just realized the fire wasn’t only on one side of the room.
Neither of us moved.
Not fast enough.
My body begged me to close the distance. My brain supplied images I did not ask for and could not shove away. Declan’s hand on the table beside my hip. Declan’s body blocking the door. Declan’s voice telling me to stop running.
I hated how badly I wanted all of it.
I got out before I could do something that could not be taken back.
The hallway was too bright. The locker room was too loud. I showered on autopilot, dressed with my shirt inside out thefirst time, ignored Roman’s silent look, and left the rink without saying goodbye to anyone.
