“Do you want me to stop?” he asks.
I shake my head, the words trapped in my throat, but my body speaks for me. I grind against him again.
His hand slides down to my thigh, and he gently urges me to move against him, the friction building again, slow and deep. Every inch of me is on fire, my thoughts a jumble of everything I shouldn’t want but desperately do.
“Ryan,” I moan, my voice shaky as my fingers dig into his shoulders for leverage. God, I’m so close.
He groans, his chest rising and falling under my touch. “Ah, fuck. I don’t know how much longer I can… shit.”
I shudder, my fingers gripping his shirt, and then he?—
“Hello? Who’s in here?”
We freeze.
Panic slams into me as my dad’s voice echoes through the locker room. “Shit.Shit.”
Ryan curses under his breath, his hands dropping from my hips as I scramble off his lap, my legs shaking like jelly.
My dad steps inside, his brows lifting when he sees us. “Oh. Didn’t know you were still in here.”
I clear my throat, fumbling for my notebook, trying to act normal even though my heart is still hammering in my chest. My hands feel shaky as I push myself off the bench, legs a little wobbly, and make my way toward my dad. “Yeah, I was… looking for you. I have the stats you wanted.”
He nods, taking them from me with a smile. “Thanks, princess. You want a lift home?”
“Sure,” I reply, attempting to keep my voice steady, even though I can feel the heat creeping up my neck, my mind still buzzing with the kiss.
He turns to Ryan, arching a brow. “What are you still doing here?” he asks. “You gonna sleep here or…?”
Ryan drags a hand down his face. “I’ll head home in a bit. I just… need to take care of something first.”
My stomach flips, warmth swirling in my core. I know exactly what he means. The innuendo is blaringly obvious, like a neon sign flashing ‘we just dry humped,’ but thankfully, my dad is oblivious to it all.
He shrugs and wraps an arm around my shoulder, steering me away. “Alright, make sure you clean up your shit when youleave,” he tells Ryan, then pats my shoulder. “Let’s go, kiddo. Your mom made me lasagna for dinner, and no way in hell am I missing out on that.”
I let out a laugh, glancing back at Ryan once last time, feeling my stomach flutter at the reminder of everything that just happened.
As we walk out into the hallway, I let out a breath, doing my best to look normal, to act like nothing happened.
But I know, even if I try to bury it, things between Ryan and I have shifted. A line was crossed, and now, there’s no going back.
16
RYAN
The second my skates hit the ice, I know it’s gonna be a shit practice.
Everything’s off.
My balance feels weird, like my legs suddenly forgot how to hockey. My strides are slow and heavy, like I’m skating through fucking quicksand. Even my stick feels wrong, like someone swapped it out for a shitty rental from the campus rec center.
I try to shake it off. Focus. The drills are simple, stuff I could do in my sleep. But still, nothing clicks. My passes are off, my shots are weak, and don’t even get me started on my puck handling—I might as well be playing with a goddamn tennis ball.
And I know exactly why.
It’s not the game. Yeah, we lost, and it fucked with me for sure—but I’ve had worse losses. It’s not even the hit I took in the third period, even though my shoulder feels like someone took a sledgehammer to it.
No, it’sher.
