Page 50 of They All Puck Me

She’s doesn't seem too thrilled to see me. The tension’s thicker than her perfect thighs in that short ass mini skirt she's wearing. I turn on my heel, not wanting to stay where I’m clearly not wanted. “Well, enjoy your night,” I mutter, already halfway to the exit.

“Ethan, wait.”

I stop, half-expecting her to tell me to keep walking. But when I look back, she’s standing, clutching her notebook like a lifeline.

“I’m sorry about the game,” she says, voice softer than I’ve ever heard it.

I shrug. “Not your fault.”

"Yeah right," she falls silent, staring at the table like it holds all the answers. Her shoulders slump, and for a second, she looks as lost as I feel sometimes. Damn it. This isn’t what I signed up for tonight.

I take a step back towards her table. “Mind if I sit?”

She nods slowly, almost reluctantly. “Sure.”

I drop into the chair across from her, leaning back with my arms crossed. “You know, beating yourself up over our shitty game isn’t gonna help anyone.”

“I just… feel responsible,” she admits, not meeting my eyes.

“Look, our performance tanking shouldn't ride on you,” I lean forward now, resting my elbows on the table. “We’re professionals. Grown ass men. We need to get our shit together regardless of what’s going on off the ice.”

Her gaze flickers up to meet mine briefly before dropping again. “But it feels like?—”

“It’s not,” I cut her off, more forcefully than intended. Her head snaps up at that, green eyes wide.

“It feels like everything’s falling apart because of me,” she whispers.

I lean across the table, my hand catching her chin. Her skin's warm beneath my fingers, softer than I expected. I tilt her head up, forcing her to meet my gaze.

“Olivia, don't blame yourself for this shit, alright?”

She doesn’t answer, her eyes darting away, and I tighten my grip just enough to bring her focus back to me.

“Hey,” I murmur, leaning in closer. “You could never be a problem. Especially not for me.”

Her eyes glisten with unshed tears, and it twists something deep in my chest. Seeing her in pain, seeing her blame herself—it’s unbearable. Without thinking it through, I lean down and press my lips to hers.

For a heartbeat, she’s still, and I think I’ve made a mistake. Then she melts into the kiss, tentative at first but then with more certainty. As I pull back, her arms snake around my neck, pulling me closer. Her lips find mine again with an urgency that catches me off guard but spurs me on.

I cup the back of her head with one hand while the other grips the edge of the table for support. Her fingers tangle in my hair, and the sensation sends a jolt down my spine. The bar around us fades away; there’s only Olivia and this moment.

When we finally break apart, we’re both breathing hard. She leans her forehead against mine, eyes closed as if she’s savoring the connection between us.

“Ethan,” she whispers, voice shaky but firm.

“Yeah?”

"Take me back to your place," Olivia says, her voice a mix of determination and vulnerability. "Make me forget it all for just a little bit."

“With pleasure.” I toss some cash on the table, grabbing her hand and pulling her towards the exit. Her hand is small and warm in mine, and I can’t help but think about what it’ll feel like on other parts of me.

We step outside into the cool night air, and I lead her to my car. She hesitates, glancing back at her car in the parking lot.

“What if someone sees my car left here?” she asks, worry creasing her brow.

“I don’t fucking care,” I say, opening the passenger door for her. “Get in.”

The drive to my apartment is short but filled with thick, unspoken tension. Olivia sits with her hands clasped between her thighs, and I can’t help but hope she’s wet and ready for me. The thought sends a jolt of desire through me, making it hard to focus on the road.

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