Page 54 of All Your Pucking Secrets

I almost laugh. ‘Respectful’ is the last thing he’s been toward my boundaries until now. A thought pops into my mind.

“Is this because of what I told you after therapy the other day—and what happened after?” I ask.

He scowls, but it isn’t aimed at me. It’s more like he’s annoyed with himself. “Look, I knew you had some hang-ups because of the way you panicked when that asshole grabbed you at the sorority party, but I didn’t realize how deep they go. I don’t want to upset you.”

My stomach sinks, and I have no idea why. I shouldn’t be disappointed by the fact he’s finally trying to behave like a decent person. It’s exactly what I’ve been asking for.

But something doesn’t add up.

“If you’re so worried about triggering me, then why send the sex toys and do…what we did…on the phone?”

He clutches the textbook to his chest, and I can’t help but notice the way his thick bicep flexes with the movement.

“That was different,” he says. “It was all about making you feel good, and I knew you could stop any time you wanted. You were in control. If I start touching you or getting into your space, then I’m taking that control away from you, and I don’t want to do that.”

I stare at him, taken aback by his perceptiveness and the genuine concern reflected in his ice blue eyes.

“I appreciate your thoughtfulness,” I say slowly. “But you’re being weird, and it’s making me self-conscious. Just be yourself, and I’ll tell you if I don’t like something.”

He looks doubtful. “Will you?”

“Yes.”

Tyler may make me nervous, but he’s never physically harmed me, and I don’t expect him to start now. Off the ice, his mode of warfare is of a more psychological nature. He’s a black belt in manipulation.

“You know what I think?” he asks.

The twinkle in his eye tells me the answer to that.

“No,” I say.

“I think you secretly like it when I’m in your space.” His smirk is a little too smug. I don’t like it, but I’m more familiar with this teasing, egotistical version of him, so I don’t cut him down.

He moves closer, until only an inch separates us. “Maybe you like my touch more than you want to admit.”

I don’t say anything, and a taut silence stretches between us. Gradually, his face falls, and he begins to back away.

“Fine,” I say, part of me still weak for him no matter how many years have passed. “Maybe I don’t entirely mind the touching.”

The corners of his mouth lift and he places the book on a shelf. With single-minded focus, he reaches for me slowly, giving me time to change my mind. Then his hands—those strong, rough hockey player hands—skim down my sides, tracing the contours of my body.

His touch is fleeting. Barely there. But it consumes my entire awareness.

My breath hitches, and he stops.

“We have all the time in the world,” he says, picking the book back up. “There’s no rush.”

He leans forward and his lips ghost over my forehead.

I shiver as he pulls away. I want to tell him that nothing is going to happen between us, but that’s beginning to feel like a lie. I’ve already let him cross too many lines.

TYLER

My heart is light as I stride toward the squat brick and glass building that houses the ice hockey rink.

She let me touch her.

I’ve been terrified I’d never know how it felt to put my hands on her again, and even if the caresses were innocent, I know how monumental they were for her. Perhaps she doesn’t trust me, but she no longer loathes me the way she did when I first arrived on campus.

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