Our eyes met. We would speak that way now because words no longer mattered. God, Zane was so perfect. Sometimes even the sight of him took my breath away. I would’ve hated thinking that before, but now the admission felt liberating.
Shifting forward, I reached past his shoulder, clasped my hand onto the back of his head, and pulled him closer. Then I brushed my lips against his and was met with no resistance. My tongue dove into his mouth, and he wrapped his arms around me.
The neighbors would be able to see us, but that didn’t concern me one bit. Zane must’ve felt the same way. When our lips broke apart, we smiled at one another and kissed once more. We couldn’t tear ourselves away from one another.
And that was fine by me.
19
ZANE
“You look like you didn’t sleep last night,” Jax Echlin said.
“I didn’t.”
My teammate smiled from ear to ear like I’d announced I’d banged Miss America.
“The date must’ve gone better than you thought, huh?”
“You wouldn’t believe it. It was fucking magic, bro.”
“You get laid?”
I shook my head. Jax arched his eyebrows like the idea of a date being that magical without the exchange of bodily fluids was the most foreign concept on earth. Really, I should’ve lied and said we’d enjoyed sex so hot that I nearly landed in a coma. That would’ve made the situation much easier for reasons you’ll soon see.
“Wait a second,” he said. “You had a magical date and kept your clothes on the entire time?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“I don’t believe you, bro. Magical dates mean screwing each other’s brains out, not the emotional stuff. Get your priorities in order.”
I smiled, swept up a puck with my stick, and glided down the rink. Had I carried the conversation on any longer, he might’ve seen fear in my eyes. What reason would I have had to feel afraid, you ask? Let’s start with how my date with Jakob really did go well. Incredible, actually. No, that’s not right. It was magical, just like I told Jax. I couldn’t have dreamed of anything quite like it.
Don’t I have the worst luck on earth?
Actually, Jakob surprised me. I felt like I could open up to him. He didn’t say I could tell him anything in so many words, but I understood it tacitly. He also showed a passion for hockey that I didn’t know he had. Sure, he was playing college hockey, which meant he loved the game, but so what? That didn’t mean as much as you would think on the relativity scale. Passion meant something else completely.
Then there was the goodbye kiss. No, wait, it was that I didn’t push for sex, even though I totally would’ve gotten it. I didn’t even know anymore. The fact that I could show any restraint at all spoke volumes about how much had changed between us in a flash. And the kiss felt more intoxicating than any I’d experienced before meeting him.
Jax skated toward me, pushing the puck with his stick. He wound up and slapped the puck, rocketing it toward the net where it landed squarely. Then he propped his stick up and leaned against it.
“So, what’s this babe’s name?” he asked.
I froze and swore my throat narrowed. When I tried to speak, I couldn’t squeeze out the words. Jax had only asked me why I couldn’t hang out last night. I’d told him I was going on a date but offered no details. Now that he’d asked, I was on the hook for an answer.
“Janice,” I said.
“Janice?”
“That’s right.” I paused before saying anything more. Sometimes offering too much information dug a deeper hole. If I hung on long enough, I could wiggle out of this . . . until the next time he asked about this Janice.
“What’s the gal’s last name?” he asked.,
“Martin.”
I spat out the name before taking time to think about it. Her full name veered too close to Jakob Martin for comfort. It also showed who I really had on my brain. For all I knew, Jax noticed the similarity (he was dumb but notthatdumb) and a dumbass comment was imminent.
Oh, and let’s not forget about the obligatory social media stalking of my entirely fictitious female date. Come on, you and I both know he would do it. He would search for her on Insta and doubtless come across at least one Janice Martin from Buffalo, New York. Then he would ask me if it was the same girl, and I would probably say yes because I could think of nothing else. It would also deliver me from the pickle in which I’d landed.
