"Oh. My. GOD!"
I turn to find Zoe practically vibrating with excitement just inside the shelter door, her eyes wide and her phone clutched in her hands like she's been waiting for this moment her entire life.
"Zoe? What are you—"
"Was that RYDER SCOTT who just dropped you off?" She's bouncing on her toes now, barely containing her enthusiasm. "And are you wearing a dress to work? And is that a hickey on your neck?!"
I slap a hand to my neck, heat flooding my cheeks. "It is not a hickey! And I have spare clothes in the office."
"Donotchange the subject. It is TOTALLY a hickey! Oh my God, Mia! You hooked up with Ryder Scott! The entire school is going to DIE when I tell them!"
"You are not telling anyone anything!" I protest, but Zoe's already texting furiously.
"Too late! Jenny's going to flip. She's had a crush on him since like, forever. And Marcus owes me twenty bucks because I said you two would get back together before Christmas and he said you were too stubborn."
Back together. Are we back together? Is that what I just agreed to?
But before I can spiral any further into relationship analysis, the morning chaos of the shelter kicks into high gear. Dogs barking for breakfast, cats demanding attention, and somewhere in the distance, the unmistakable sound of the goat getting into something he definitely shouldn't.
I take a deep breath, square my shoulders, and step into my real life.
The life that doesn't include morning-after pancakes or shirtless hockey players or the kind of earth-shattering sex that makes you question everything you thought you knew about yourself.
Back to reality, Mia. Time to get to work.
Chapter Eleven
Ryder
The automatic doors of Icehawk Arena slide open, and I'm hit with that familiar blast of fresh ice. But today, instead of the usual pre-practice nerves, I'm practically floating through the main entrance.
Because last night actually happened.
My skin still carries the faint remnants of Mia's scent, and every muscle in my body feels loose in that satisfied way that only comes after... well, after the kind of night that's going to replay in my head for the rest of my damn life.
The way she looked underneath me, eyes wide and trusting, her sexy fucking body feeling perfect against mine. The soft sounds she made when I kissed that spot just below her ear. Her skin was like silk under my fingertips, and that intoxicating smell of vanilla made my head spin.
God, she was perfect.
"Yo, rookie! You planning to stand in the lobby all day, or are we doing this thing?"
Blake's voice cuts through my very inappropriate mental replay, and I realize I've been standing frozen in the middle of the arena entrance like some kind of lovesick statue.
"Yeah, sorry. Just tired." I fall into step beside him as we head toward the locker room.
"Tired?" Blake raises an eyebrow, giving me a once-over that's way too perceptive for my comfort. "You look like someone who just won the lottery and solved world hunger in the same day."
Close enough.
"I slept well," I say, which is technically true. Once we actually got around to sleeping, anyway.
Blake snorts. "Right. And I'm the Pope."
The locker room is already buzzing when we push through the doors. Connor's lacing up his skates, Jackson's methodically taping his stick, and about half the team is scattered around in various stages of getting geared up.
The familiar sounds of pre-practice chaos wash over me. Skate blades scraping against concrete, the metallicclangof locker doors, guys trash-talking each other with the kind of affection that only comes from shared suffering on the ice.
"Anyone know why we're here?" Jackson calls out from across the room, pulling his jersey over his head. "I thought Coach said we had the day off until game day."
