Page 7 of Spring Break with a Slap Shot

The foyer is spacious, tastefully decorated with seaside accents—shells, driftwood, pictures of sunsets over the ocean. It's elegant yet inviting.

"Nice place," Marina comments.

"Thanks," Dakota replies. "My former roommate and teammate, Asher, had the place decorated when he first bought the place."

He leads us up the staircase, our suitcases thumping on each step. At the top, he points Marina toward a room at the end of the hallway. "That's you," he says, "And Harmony, this one's yours, across the hall from mine." He nods to the door, and his proximity gives me the good kind of chills.

"Hope you find it comfortable," he adds, pushing open my door to reveal a surprisingly cozy space. There's a plush bed, a window with a view of the dunes, and fresh towels folded neatly on a chair.

"Thank you, Dakota," I manage, despite the lump in my throat.

"Anytime," he winks. "Goodnight, ladies."

"Night," I reply, watching his retreat. As the sound of his door closing softly punctuates the end of a long day.

Chapter 6-Dakota

The girls have long gone to bed, but I can’t sleep. As I tiptoe down the dark hall of our beach house, I slip on a rogue ice cube that feels like it was just tossed there. My arms flail, a half-hearted attempt at regaining balance, but instead, I collide with a warm, unexpected soft body.

Harmony.

"Whoa there, Dakota," she chuckles, steadying me with surprisingly strong hands on my biceps. "You're not very stable there."

"Well, I'm as graceful as they come on the ice where it should be, in the rink, and not on a dark floor in the night," I quip back, flashing her my trademark grin.

"Sure you are," she retorts. "And I'm predicting sunny skies in the middle of a hurricane."

"Speaking of predictions," I start, leaning against the wall and regarding her with interest. "What are the chances you'd let a hockey player make your heart race?"

"Depends," she replies, cocking her head to the side, those curls brushing her shoulders in a way that makes it hard not to imagine them spread across a pillow. "Are we talking sprint or marathon?"

"Let's call it interval training," I suggest, taking a step closer. Her breath hitches just slightly, and I know I’ve piqued her interest.

"Intense bursts of excitement followed by recovery periods?" She arches an eyebrow with a smirk.

"Exactly." I nod, closing the gap between us until our bodies are nearly touching. "Gotta build up stamina somehow, right?"

"Right," she whispers, her voice dropping an octave.

"Besides," I add, my gaze dropping to her mouth for a split second before meeting her eyes again. "I've always been a quick learner."

"Is that so?" Harmony challenges, the corner of her mouth twitching upward. "Well, then you should know that I don't play games unless I intend to win."

"Good thing I'm not playing," I murmur, and the air crackles between us.

With the tension between us thick, I lean against the hallway wall, smirking down at Harmony's curious gaze.

"You know," I start, "I'm not exactly known for my patience. How 'bout we move this little chat of ours to my room?"

She doesn't flinch or back away, which tells me she's not just bold with her words. Her eyes maintain contact with mine.

"We're both grown-ups here, Dakota," she says. "And let's not kid ourselves, 'chat' is just code for sex."

The way she calls it out so frankly, no beating around the bush, I like it. Harmony's directness is refreshing. A grin spreads across my face because, damn, this woman knows what she wants and goes in for the kill.

"Alright, lay it on me then. What's your answer?"

She stands there, toeing the ceramic floor with her bare foot, until her eyes slowly roam up and down my boxer clad body. The silence hangs for a beat—two beats—then she mumblessomething that sounds a hell of a lot like a game changer. "Fuck it, I'm on vacation."

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