“Yo, did you see that practice?” Clearly not dissuaded by my lack of appreciation for his turn of phrase, Charlie aims his grin at Olli. “James ain’t too bad.”
“Not at all,” I agree.
“Shucks, guys.” Olli’s mouth slants in a crooked smile. “You’re gonna make me blush.”
Why do I feel suddenly lightheaded?
“You coming with us to Rover’s?” Paul angles out from Charlie’s other side to talk to Olli. I shrink back into the vacant cubby, removing myself from team conversation out of habit.
“Rover’s?” Olli swipes his jersey over his head, then leans forward, elbows to knees, to talk to Paul.
For some reason, that just invites my eyes to explore places they shouldn’t—like the patch of exposed skin between the top of his hockey pants and the bottom of his shoulder pads. A narrow strip of smooth, unblemished skin I shouldn’t notice, except I do.
Just like I note the dark ink pressed along his spine, a whisper of lines and curves, the image too covered for me to discern before it disappears under his pads.
“Team restaurant,” I say, maybe just to force his soft brown gaze to tilt up towards me. My words stutter out.
“Ah, of course.” His eyes lock onto mine. Normally, I’m a facade of confidence—have to be, when you look like me, fight like me—but the way his gaze homes in makes my stomach too tight, fizzy. Like a charm of hummingbirds has suddenly taken flight.
Does he feel the same? Of course not, because there’s nothing between us. What felt like the world tilting off its axis to me was just another night to him, another silly kiss.
“Nothing fancy,” Charlie adds, unaware of anything that might have passed between us. He kicks his skates onto the floor. “Cheap food, large portions.”
“Sure, I’m game.” Olli leans back down, and again my gaze goes to the lines of ink just peeking through on his back. He seems too pretty, too strait-laced, for a tattoo, but there it is. Olli James has a tattoo down his spine.
He straightens, his shouldies shifting back down to cover it. I still haven’t seen enough to know what it is, and it only invites me to wonder . . . What might it be? And are there more hidden places, hidden ink, to be discovered on him?
For all that my ink’s on broad display—knuckles and arms, ribs, thigh, chest, on my neck reaching behind my left ear—there’s something tantalizing about the thought of—
“You’re coming too, right, Tay?” Charlie kicks at my shin with his bare foot, effectively and forcibly removing me from my wandering thoughts.
“Nah, still gotta work.” I feel strangely self-conscious in my jeans and leather jacket, while the rest of the team strips down around me. Shit, the mystery of Olli’s hidden skin is about to be solved.
I suddenly don’t want to find out here, surrounded by the team.
I don’t know why I don’t want that. Wouldn’t that make it easier, to see it and move on? Yet, when Olli stands to tug his pants down, I direct my gaze elsewhere. “Last call for skates?”
“I’m good.” Charlie traipses towards the open showers in the back corner. Paul follows. The others trail in his wake in a chorus of polite negatives.
“No thanks.” Olli brings up the rear, and I pretend to be suddenly interested in my chewed fingernails so I get only a blur of dark skin in my periphery. Why is it so challenging to notnoticehim?
We’re hockey boys; we’ve been marching naked around locker rooms since we were kids, utterly unabashed by our own bodies or those of our teammates.
And yet . . . my eyes want so desperately to lift as he paces past.
I catch a glimpse of long, lean legs. Corded calves, thick thighs—
Heat surges low in my belly. So hot and sudden it takes me by surprise. Leaves me standing there, breathing too shallow as I wait for the moment to pass, the burst of electricity to fade.
Maybe there is a God up there, looking out for me, because my phone buzzes against my thigh. I dig it from my pocket to find JB’s name stretched across the screen.
I turn away gratefully. “Tell me you got something?”
“I got something,” he agrees. “A vol. You need a driver?”
“Nah, I’ll drag Sydney.” I stuff my phone into my pocket and head for the door. Just enough time to pick up a car—a voluntary repossession—before the Ice Out.
Chapter 8
