Page 51 of Stick Handled

I grit my teeth, trying not to let her get a rise out of me, but it’s hard to ignore the smug look in her eyes. Her gaze lingers on me, clearly entertained by whatever she thinks she’s getting at. I force myself to shrug.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She just smirks. “Let me know if you need any tips,” she says a little too brightly. “I knowexactlywhat Damien likes.”

She doesn’t wait for a response, instead giving me a dismissive once-over before heading off, clearly pleased with herself. I watch her go, heat creeping up my neck. My eyes drift back to the ice where Damien’s charging up the rink, unbothered.

We’re back home. Practice ended a few hours ago, and Rowan took me to grab a bite before heading home. I’ve been reading in the living room for the past couple of hours but can’t concentrate. I’m still feeling the sting of the blonde’s words, like little needles stuck under my skin. Her smug, loaded smile, her comments about Damien’s “passions.” What the hell does she know about it?

It doesn’t help that I feel him between my legs every time I shift or move. Rowan even started asking questions about how uncomfortable I looked. I was more than relieved when he got up for a quick workout.

I take a deep breath and close my book. I need to change, so I grab my cup of tea from the coffee table and carefully walk up the stairs.

I try to balance the mug on my book as I open my door and step into my room, but come to a screeching halt the moment I see him—Damien, lying on my bed, one leg over the other, flipping through my reading journal like he owns the place.

How did he get in here?I freeze in the doorway, my heart slamming into my ribs. My window is slightly open, the curtains billowing gently in the breeze. Of course. My throat goes dry as he glances up, completely at ease in my room, surrounded by my things like it’s the most natural place for him to be.

“Damien,” I manage, forcing my voice to stay steady, though I’m acutely aware of how my legs feel unsteady. “How did you get in here?” I can still feel him everywhere: on my skin, in the ache between my thighs.

Damien’s eyes flick up, a mischievous glint in them as he taps his fingers against the journal. “I needed to see you.”

I bite my lip to keep from smiling. He came to see me.

He lets out a soft, teasing chuckle, and my heart stumbles.

“What, no keys available?” I say, trying to sound casual even though my pulse is racing. “And you just thought… the window?”

“Seemed like you left it open just for me,” he murmurs, rising from the bed and closing the journal. He’s studying me now, his gaze sweeping over me in a way that feels both possessive and strangely comforting like he’s here to claim me all over again. His eyes go to his T-shirt, and now it’s his turn to bite his lip with a cocky smirk.

“Bold of you to wear my clothes in front of your brother.”

I stay frozen in place, my tummy doing cartwheels.

I bite my lip, my thoughts tangling as I close the door behind me, looking over my shoulder for Rowan.

“You… are you okay?” I ask, remembering the brutal hit he took from Ares earlier. “The hit you took from Ares. You looked pretty—”

“Pretty?” Damien asks, cocking a brow as he steps closer. “You’re not bad yourself, baby.”

“I’m serious.” I roll my eyes, trying to hide the flutter in my stomach. “Are you okay?”

He shakes his head with a chuckle. “If you thinkthathad me hurting, you really haven’t been watching us enough. Ares and I go at it like that all the time. Comes with the territory.”

He’s brushing it off, laughing it off, like being slammed into the boards hard enough to make the rink shudder is no big deal. Like the way he’s standing here, in my room, while Rowan is somewhere in the house, is totally normal.

I can feel the air between us sparking, that same electric tension from last night bubbling up again. Damien’s eyes darken as he studies me, his gaze flicking down to where my fingers are twisting nervously.

“Did I make you worried, baby?” he drawls. His calling me baby almost has me throwing myself on him, but I stay put.

“No,” I lie, feeling breathless.

“Is that why you called out my name, sounding like you were about to cry?” He takes a step toward me. “Because you weren’t worried?” His little knowing smile is back in place. I stay silent as he takes one more step until he’s right before me. “Did you keep your window open just for me?” His voice is just above a whisper.

“I forgot to close it after I—” My voice falters. “After last night.”

He hums, stepping closer, his hand coming up to brush a strand of hair away from my face. His touch is featherlight, but it sends a bolt of heat right through me, settling in the pit of my stomach.

“And here I was, thinking it was a special invitation,” he murmurs, his voice low and predatory. There’s something almost dangerous in his eyes, that same intense hunger from last night. It’s as if he’s here to remind me of it again.

---