Page 66 of Bull Rush

“I still wear it sometimes.”

“When you burn effigies on a full moon?” He smirks, and then his smile darkens. “Cause it better not be when you’re with him.”

I roll my eyes. “When I go see the Chaos play the Rampage in Denver. This way, I don’t have to pick sides, and I get all sorts of compliments from the sports bros on knowing who the home-state boy is.”

“Do you tell them how you stole it?” His eyes grow heavy with lust as his fingers play with the hem.

“You mean tell them how you stolemeout of your teammate’s room and made me cover up with it?”

“I maintain Reynolds had no business fucking touching you.” He shakes his head like it still pisses him off.

“I maintain that it was none ofyourbusiness.”

“You didn’t complain when I had my head between your thighs later that night.”

“I was just making the best of a bad situation.” I smirk at him, and he answers it for a moment before his eyes suddenly cloud with concern and his brow furrows.

“When did you go to a Chaos-Rampage game?”

“Last year.” I lean forward and kiss the side of his neck. He lets out a soft sound of approval, tilting his head to the side and closing his eyes. “And the year before that.” I dot another kiss. “And the playoffs before that.”

I barely get the last word out before his hand wraps around the side of my neck, his thumb bracketing my chin as he pulls back from me. His eyes burn into me as they travelover my skin, like he’s trying to make sense of what I’ve just said.

“What do you mean?” I can hear the suspicion in his tone.

“I mean… if you were in Colorado playing, I was in the seats watching. Like always.” I promised myself I’d never let him find out. I’d sworn my friends to secrecy when they went with me. Made them commit to a social media blackout of our attendance on any platform he or anyone he knew might see. So I can’t believe I’m admitting it so freely now.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He blinks rapidly, and his mouth twists like he’s fending off pain.

“What would it have changed? You had your life, and I had mine.”

“I would have gotten to see you. There were days I would have killed for a glimpse of you.”

“I’m sorry…” I say softly. “I didn’t think you’d want—”

“I always want you,” he cuts off my explanation, his hand skimming down my jaw, and I lean into it, closing my eyes.

His thumb runs over my lips. “Why won’t you let me kiss you?”

“Boundaries.”

“For you or me?”

“For my icy little heart.” I smile at him. This conversation has gotten so heavy, and I hate that I somehow ruined the night. I knew the jersey was a risk, but it was one I thought would make him happy or amused, maybe even tease me for being obsessed with him.

“I see. Is there any hope for me?” he asks as he absently rubs his thumb over the swell of my lower lip, back and forth, like he’s considering the possibility. “Melting it, I mean?” His eyes lift to meet mine, and it feels like he’s asking me something much more pointed than whether or not he can kiss me.

“If anyone can melt it, it’s you. I never count you out,Stockton.” I press a kiss to his thumb. His eyes go soft and drift over my face for a moment, lost in thought, before he comes back to me.

“You should have told me about the games,” he repeats, his brow furrowed.

“I’m sorry. Do you want me to make it up to you?” My hands go for his belt, undoing the buckle slowly while he watches me.

“Show me how sorry you are.” His eyes glitter with the challenge.

THIRTY-ONE

Ramsey

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