Page 67 of Hockey Boy

We could make a sweet symphony,

He steps into my space, his muscles already glistening, his hair damp.

It’s not only a?—”

I slap a hand to his mouth before he can finish Mariah Carey’s line.

“You wish,” I say, though there’s no fighting the smile that splits my face.

The grin beneath my palm is just as wide, and his eyes dance. Instantly, I’m lost in them, falling into their depths, floating through memory after memory. The songs he’d sing to me, even while we made love.

He nips at my palm, startling me out of my reverie.

Sucking in a sharp breath, I pull back like I’ve been singed. He’s clearly trying to relight the spark between us, so maybe I have. I wish he’d stop. I don’t want him to get hurt.

“You going to do reps with me?” Why does every single word out of his mouth sound so seductive? Or is it me? Is it all in my head?

I point at the treadmill. “I’ll be over there.”

Aiden smirks. “Perfect. That was my next stop.”

I can’t help the aggravated huff that escapes me. Why is he determined to be so close to me? Doesn’t he get that this is a bad idea?

Trying my best to ignore him—which is no easy feat—I step onto the treadmill and set the speed to 3.5.

When the man steps up behind me and rests his hand on my hips, I practically purr. It takes all the self-control I have, but I fight the urge and instead adopt a frustrated tone. “What are you doing?”

“Working out with you,” he murmurs into my ear.

“Aiden.”

His voice is teasing, his breath tickling my neck. “Yes, Princess?”

I press my ear to my shoulder, forcing his head away. “You’re going to get hurt.”

He chuckles, his chest vibrating against my back. “You could turn this all the way to the highest setting, and we’d be fine.”

I snort. “Thinking pretty highly of yourself again, I see.”

“It’s called confidence. I’m confident I can keep up. Confident you’ll be the first to break.”

I suck in a deep breath, and despite my better judgment, I crank the speed up. When it’s at 6.5, I’m panting and close to death. Behind me, Aiden strides easily, miraculously not tripping me and still holding my hips. How is he moving his legs so fast without using his arms?

It’s probably those damn perfect calves. They’re keeping us both going.

“I could do this all day, or you could stop so we can grab lunch and just talk,” he sings in my ear. It’s to the tune of “Blank Space” by Taylor Swift. I swear to god the man lives in song.

And every time he does it, I feel lighter.

I grab the red emergency tab and pull, causing the machine to come to an immediate stop.

Behind me, the cocky bastard chuckles and gives my thigh a squeeze. “Good girl.”

Holy shit, I might hyperventilate. Why are those two words so fucking sexy?

I spin around and push him back, forcing him off the machine. He grins, knowing he’s gotten to me.

“I’ve got plans. Sorry, fake fiancé.”

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