Page 60 of Goalie Lessons

Taking deeper breaths, I think about her there in my kitchen. The hum of the dishwasher, the sound of the girls washing up in the bathroom upstairs, and Astrid standing there with me in her socks, her hand on my arm.

I think about that hotel room, the limited permission to get my hands on her. To touch her skin, a temporary pass to return to the night of the wedding. The sure, confident sound of her telling me what she wanted, what was best, how I could make her feel good.

When my eyes open, the anxiety is still there, but it’s pushed to the back, a curtain pulled over it. I can breathe again, my limbs loosening up. Gripping my stick in my hand, I ready myself for action, watching as the ref drops the puck and the game starts.

Luca hunkers in, driving his stick toward the center and scooping the puck out, sending it back to Maverick, who receives it easily, already moving, handling it and getting it to Callum, who slams into the boards and fights to keep it, but ultimately pulls it toward Buffalo’s goal.

I wait, watching, tracking the puck and keeping an eye on the edges. The moment the play starts to shift toward me, I’m ready.

The first period ends with nothing on the board, both teams battling up with even offense and defense. It’s not going to be strategy or will that put one team over or another—it’s going to be that unknown, intangible aspect. Something we’ll either have or won’t.

I grab my bottle from the net and start to drink it, tipping my head up and looking at the box on the other side of the arena. They’re small, but I see them there—Astrid and the girls.

The moment they see me looking, they explode into action, waving and jumping, looking so excited it makes my stomach twist.

Obviously, I can’t hear them, but I feel like Athena’s voice is right here, muffled through the glass, bright and happy, doing that little squeal it does when she’sreallyworked up. Even Callie is letting herself go, face beaming, hands in the air.

And Astrid is with them, smiling and laughing, looking more girlish than I’ve ever seen her, her hair pulled back into two braids, her eyes bright, her face flushed. Then, she turns around, and I realize she’s wearing my jersey.

The girls turn around, too.

They’re all wearing my jersey. Those girls aren’t mine, and Astrid isn’t either, but I feel something inside me choke up, emotion balling in the bottom of my throat. For a second, I think it might barrel into anxiety, but it doesn’t. It’s the opposite of anxiety—it’s the certainty that someone is here to watch me.

Someone cares about me.

Those three girls, jumping and happy to see me staring up at them. It reverberates through my bones, and I think this might be how other guys feel when they look up and see the sea of blue around them, so many fans cheering them on.

When the second period starts, I realize that while I still don’t know what that intangible aspect is, I have it right now.

And the Frost wins another regular season game.

***

This time, when Astrid opens the door to the hotel room, I can’t help myself.

She looks stunning in a pair of jeans and a knit sweater, her hair loose around her shoulders. Maybe it’s just me, but it looks like her hair has gotten darker with the change in the season.

I step inside, wrap an arm around the small of her back, haul her up to me, and kick the door shut. Astrid meets me eagerly, lifting up and pressing her lips to mine.

Time is fluid as we move, breathing, nothing but motion and touch as I run my fingers under the hem of her sweater, tuck my thumbs into the waistband of her jeans, tug her closer and closer.

We walk backward together, and when we hit the desk, I cup her ass in my hands, lifting her up. With her on the desk, I can step between her legs and grind my hips to hers. She gasps against me, opening her mouth to me, and I have to pull myself back before I go too far. Ending the kiss, I press my forehead to hers, giving her a moment to recover.

Astrid breathes hard, and it takes a moment for her to gather herself.

Then, she says, “Okay, A-plus. You have officially passed the kissing portion of the course.”

For some reason, something in my chest twists—it doesn’t make sense. I should be pleased to hear that I’m doing well, that I’m a good pupil. And yet.

And yet that comment is a reminder that none of this is real. That kiss between us meant nothing more to her than what it was—physical touch between two consenting adults.

It’s especially confusing when the feeling continues to grow inside me that there’s something more here. Something more than kissing or grading my performance.

“What’s in the lesson plan today?” I ask, hoping my tone doesn’t betray the thoughts in my head.

Astrid pauses, tipping her head a bit at me. “I think…our next lesson is on touching.”

I suck in a breath. Obviously, we’ve been doing plenty of touching, but I know exactly what she means by it. The thought of it makes my entire body flush with anticipation, the build-up going straight to my cock.

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