Page 3 of Mother Pucker

Despite all my efforts, I can’t help but feel like my thundering heartbeat is echoing off of every wall in the gym.

Erik Nordstrom, the Snowhawks goalie, is stretched across the leather bench of the leg press machine. His eyes meet mine as I cross the threshold.

“Good morning, Payton.”

Click.

It feels like a puzzle piece falling into place.

Erik Nordstrom is the biggest man I’ve ever met. Not just tall— though at six and a half feet he does tower over everyone around him.

No, Erik is capital B Big.

His shoulders are broad and powerful, his chest dotted with long-healed scars. Biceps, triceps, quads, obliques— every one of Erik’s muscles is defined and prominent. He looks like a page out of a physiology textbook.

Or a novel about Viking kings.

His shoulder-length hair is pulled back in a severe bun, and a few pale strands escape as he adds weight to the machine. Not just blonde, his hair is the color of autumn sunshine. His eyes are liquid gold— a warm honey brown that glows and crackles like firelight. Erik is clean-shaven, with cheekbones chiseled out of the side of a mountain and a jaw that belongs on the cover of a comic book.

He’s so beautiful it hurts to look at him for too long.

“Morning, Erik.” I give him a small nod before stepping onto the mat at the base of the squat rack. “Late start today?”

Along the gym’s east-facing windows, the first lavender rays of sunrise are just starting to crest the horizon.

Most mornings, Erik is the only other person in the gym with me. Working out in silence beside him is the sweetest torture. It’s been months now, and my aching attraction to the goalie hasn’t died down. If anything, it’s erupted into a desperate longing that I can’t control.

This isn’t a crush— it’s an obsession.

His gaze sharpens on me now, a dozen responses dancing in those amber eyes. Erik is the definition of the strong and silent type. But when he looks at me, his eyes shift like leaves in sunlight.

That has to mean something right? I’ll cling to the riot of emotion behind his eyes for as long as I can.

“I went for a run this morning. There’s a new trail on the far side of campus, near the amphitheater.” There’s a distinct cadence to Erik’s words. Like lyrical waves crashing against my core. “It’s beautiful at sunrise.”

His Swedish accent sends shivers of thrilled delight along my spine.

“Besides,” he goes on, back against the leather bench as his tree trunk legs glide up and down. “I assumed you’d be happy to have the weight room to yourself for once.”

I wonder what Erik would say if he knew how many nights I’ve spent with my hand between my legs— picturing those honey-brown eyes and the slow drip of my name off his tongue.

“Sounds lovely. I’ll have to check it out.” I say instead, keeping my voice cool. “And don’t worry, I’ll be out of your hair soon.”

I swallow hard, hiding my own disappointment behind a neutral expression. Was he trying to avoid me?

I’ve tried my best to keep my feelings for Erik to myself. After all, I work for the Snowhawks Organization and my brother is his Team Captain. I want Erik Nordstrom more than I’ve ever wanted anything. But if something is going to happen between us, he’s going to have to make the first move.

As quiet and reserved as he is, I’m worried it might never happen.

“I like having you in my hair, Payton,” Erik says as if reading my thoughts. “My workout is better when you’re in the gym. Everything's easier when I’m looking at you.”

Erik’s gaze heats up. He rakes those amber eyes across my body, lingering over every inch of me before dragging his gaze back up to my face. If my heart was beating fast before, it’s hammering a violent staccato rhythm against my chest now. There’s hunger in Erik’s voice and desire in his eyes— I’m sure of it now. There’s no denying the fire in his words.

I stand there, seconds stretching out into eternity as I wait for him to do something, to say anything.

“Payton—” Erik growls my name like it’s both a benediction and a curse.

Beneath a cotton sports bra, my nipples stiffen to hard points. My skin is hypersensitive, goosebumps breaking out across my bare arms in the cold blast of air pumping in through the gym’s AC vents. Between my thighs, slippery heat pulses in time to the erratic drum of my heart.

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