Page 56 of Lawson

“Good,” he says. “We’re down to six minutes now. Get on that bus or you’ll have to find another way back to the hotel”

I laugh, nodding at him.

He gives me another clap on the shoulder, standing from the bench and heading out of the locker room, and I'm once again baffled at his motivational approach to coaching.

Back in Colorado, I would’ve had my ass reamed for ignoring my captain and missing a shot that could’ve won us the game. But Hardin doesn’t prescribe to that brand of coaching, and I never knew how much I actually enjoyed it. Because unlike having my ass handed to me in a screaming match, I’m more motivated by Coach’s supportive words than I was with any other lecture I may have been given. He believes in me, which makes letting him and my team down a whole fuck more frustrating.

I hurry to gather my gear and get my ass on the team bus that takes us back to the hotel we’re staying at for the night before we fly home tomorrow. I'm already thinking about the text I'm going to shoot Blakely as I walk through my hotel door, and pause just after I close it.

Blakely sits at the small table in the corner, a couple of beers atop the table, and those sympathetic blue eyes batting up at me. “Do you want to talk about it, or do you want to ignore it?” she asks, nothing but sincerity on her face as she stands up to meet me halfway.

I drop my gear bag and immediately pull her into my arms for an embrace that has nothing to do with me wanting to strip her of the Badgers jersey she wears and worship her for a few hours.

No, this embrace is filled with nothing but pure gratitude. The whole way over here I thought about the one person I wanted to talk to about tonight's game, and it was her.

Not my teammates, not my captain,her.

And here she is, anticipating that need like we've been doing it for years instead of our short and very new…friendship. Sure, it’d been three months since we met, and a little over two weeks since we crossed that line and slept together, but it’s all still very new.

Something shifts inside me at her show of support, at her very real offer of ignoring it, or unpacking it if I need to. A feeling I've never felt before takes up residence in my chest, expanding and sucking up a whole lot of breathing room, confusing the hell out of me. A quick flash blasts in my mind with soaring images of a future—dozens of games and dozens of times like this where I race back into her arms.

I release her, stepping back to look down at her with a curious gaze. “How did you get in here?” I ask and glance around my obviously empty room. It dawns on me, and I nod.

“Pax,” we say at the same time.

Blakely grins up at me, giving me an innocent little shrug. “Your roommate was more than happy to go hang out withmyroommate for a few hours.”

I nod because it makes perfect sense. Luckily, I’d been paired up with Pax to share a room, and clearly Blakely and Monroe had bunked together too. I definitely liked Pax, but this? Granting me this without any questions? This solidified him in my book. I’ll have his back for life.

Blakely trails her delicate hands down my tired arms. “So, talk or ignore?”

I wrap my arms around her again but keep my eyes on her face as I study her. That annoying thing in my chest pulses, warmth spreading out and stretching across every expanse of my body in a way that has nothing to do with lust.

Lightning strikes me.

Holy shit, am I falling for this girl?

The minute the thought pops in my head, a certain sense of peace and clarity washes over me like I've solved some mysterious puzzle I've been working on for ages.

Oh shit, I’m so fucked.

How can I be falling for the girl who literally told me she doesn't want to be in a relationship? Let alone myskate coach? Not to mention the fact that I'm not a relationship guy. I don't fall for people, I fall for the ice, for the next step in my career, for doing whatever it takes to take care of my family—my mom, my sister.

I sleep around for fun. I’mknownfor it.

Except, I don’t.

Not since Blakely.

I haven’t even considered approaching someone else.

But it doesn’t matter how many logistical reasons I throw at the realization in my mind, it doesn’t break or tremble or even budge.

Shit, shit, shit.

“Ignore it,” I finally say to both my realization and her question, and I dip my head to capture her mouth with mine.

She melts into my embrace, her body flush against mine as my hands roam over her. The kiss is slow, languid, like we're not on a time limit. Like this is something we do all the time.

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