"Dance with me," I say quietly, the words escaping before I can stop them.
She turns, surprise flitting across her face. "What happened to keeping our hands to ourselves?"
"One dance," I say. "Professional colleagues can dance at a wedding without violating any policies."
Her gaze searches mine, then drops to my extended hand. "One dance," she agrees, placing her palm against mine.
I lead her onto the dance floor, resting my hand on her waist as hers settles on my shoulder. The contact, even through layers of fabric, sends electricity through me. My hand curves automatically around the swell of her body. Like it fucking belongs there, touching her. We begin to move in time with the music, our bodies finding an easy rhythm together.
"You're a good dancer," she says, looking surprised.
"Hockey players need balance and coordination." I guide her through a gentle turn. “Dad had us in ballet a few off-seasons.”
She smiles. “It shows.”
We move together, the space between us gradually shrinking as the song progresses. I'm hyper-conscious of every point of contact—my hand on her waist, her fingers on my shoulder, our clasped hands. The scent of her perfume surrounds me, making it hard to focus on anything but how much I want to pull her closer. I want my thigh in between hers, pressing into that space where I hope she’s burning as hot as me.
"I'm not sorry about what I said earlier," I say, my voice low after a moment.
Her eyes widen slightly, and I watch her throat work asshe swallows. "I... I've been fighting this," she admits. "Whatever this is between us."
"Me too." I tighten my grip on her waist slightly, feeling her respond by pressing incrementally closer. "Not very successfully, apparently."
"No," she agrees, her lips curving into a small smile. "Not very."
The music shifts, the tempo slowing further. Lena's body sways against mine, and I have to bite back a groan at the subtle friction. Images from earlier flood my mind—Lena in that lingerie, the softness of her belly, the fullness of her breasts. I wonder what she'd feel like bare under my hands, how her skin would taste...
"A-Stag." Coach Thompson's voice cuts through my thoughts like a bucket of ice water. He stands at the edge of the dance floor, expression carefully neutral. "Mind if I steal the good doctor for a dance? I've been meaning to discuss the new dental protocols for next season."
I release Lena immediately, taking a step back. "Of course, Coach."
As Thompson leads Lena away, I catch her glancing back at me, her eyes dark with the same desire I'm fighting to control. The knowledge that she wants this too—wants me—is both exhilarating and maddening.
I make my way to the bar, suddenly in desperate need of something more substantial than champagne.
The night progresses, a blur of food, music, and conversation, but my attention remains fixed on Lena. After her dance with Coach, she's careful to maintain a respectable distance, but our eyes keep finding each other across the patio.
I watch Gunnar and Emerson together, so obviously in love that it's almost painful to witness. They move as a unit,finishing each other's sentences and communicating with glances and small touches. Whatever they have, it's real and solid in a way I've never experienced.
But maybe I don't need what they have. Not right now. Maybe what I need—what Lena and I both need—is simpler. More elemental.
The realization hits me as I watch her laugh at something Tucker says. We've been overthinking this entire situation. Everyone already thinks we're having a summer fling. Maybe we should stop fighting it and just... have one.
There is no pressure, no expectations beyond mutual pleasure and comfort. We can address this attraction, enjoy each other for a few weeks, and then move on when pre-season starts and Lena finds her own place. It is clean, uncomplicated, and honest.
I feel relieved by this solution. We don't need to analyze it to death or worry about fraternization policies. We just need to be discreet and understand that this isn't forever. It's just for now, and it’s going to be hot.
I make my way to where Lena stands near the river, a slight breeze lifting tendrils of hair from her shoulders. The sun has set, painting the water in shades of deep blue and purple, mirroring the color of her dress.
"Hey," I say, coming to stand beside her. "How's your night going?"
"Good." She smiles up at me. "Your family is wonderful. And the wedding was beautiful."
"It was." I hesitate, then decide to be direct. "I've been thinking."
"Dangerous," she teases, but I can hear the slight catch in her voice.
"Maybe we've been making this more complicated than it needs to be."
