All the long hours, the sore muscles, the self-doubt—it’s all worth it for this feeling.
“Keep it up, Simmonds,” Coach barks. “Don’t let it go to your head. We’ve got a long way to go.”
“You got it, Coach.” I flash him a grin, invigorated by his praise but humbled by his reminder. He’s right: I’ve got to keep my head in the game.
As drills continue, I’m in the zone, unstoppable. Puck after puck meets my glove, my pads, deflecting away. I could do this forever, just lose myself in the rhythm and the thrill.
It’s damn good to turn my brain off, after how much I’ve been torturing myself with memories of the event last weekend.
Too bad practice has to end.
Afterwards, I’m on a bench packing up my bag, taking my time getting ready for the showers, wanting some space to myself once everyone else clears out. Most of the team has either left or is still showering off, and I’m taking in the quiet, letting that confidence from today sink in, willing it to stick around.
Then the locker room door swings open from the showers and DJ saunters in, his hair damp and tousled, a cocky grin on his face.
My breath catches in my throat as he makes his way over to me, eyes locked on mine, just like they were on the dance floor at the gala.
“Damn, Ty, I know basically the whole team has already said it, but you really were on fire out there today,” he says, his voice low and smooth. “Watching you in the net...it was something else.”
My cheeks flush at the compliment, my body thrumming with nervous energy. “Thanks man, I was really in the zone. Felt good.”
DJ steps closer, crowding into my space. The scent of his body wash envelops me. “I bet it did. You were incredible. Superhuman, even.”
A laugh bubbles out of me as I look up at him. “Nah, c’mon, I’m not that good.”
He arches an eyebrow. “Don’t sell yourself short. That glove save during our scrimmage? Unreal. Had me all worked up.”
There’s a glint in his eye that makes my pulse race.
“Well, I aim to please,” I joke, trying to play it cool.
DJ chuckles, his gaze dragging over my body in a way that is almost physical. “Mmm, I bet you do...”
Fuck. I shift on the bench, arousal coiling in my gut.
I’m still not sure I’m ready to acknowledge what I’m feeling—no matter how many times I’ve replayed images from the dance floor the other night, relived having DJ’s eyes searing into mine.
And god, the way he’s looking at me now...
He notices my squirming and smirks, flopping down next to me, his towel falling slightly open. “You doing okay there, Ty? You seem a little...tense.”
I avert my gaze from the lean muscles of his legs. “No, no, I’m good,” I stammer. “Just uh, tired from practice, y’know?”
“Right. Practice.” His hand lands on my thigh and I nearly jolt out of my skin. “Gotta make sure you take care of this body. It’s your greatest asset, after all.”
His fingers start tracing teasing circles against my pants.
I swallow hard, trying to remember how to breathe.
“You could help me with that,” I blurt out before I can stop myself. “Taking care of my body, I mean.” What am I talking about? Where did that come from?
DJ’s grin turns positively wolfish. “Oh I’d be more than happy to...take care of you, Ty. Anything you need.”
His double meaning rings out clear as a bell. I know I should put a stop to this, laugh it off, but... I don’t want to. DJ’s thumb keeps stroking, higher now, and it’s sending sparks of want zinging through me.
I lean into his touch, craving more.
“Yeah?” I ask, my voice rough to my own ears. “I might have to take you up on that...”