Page 80 of Goalie Lessons

“Yes. I think it’s cliché to even ask that question.”

“…Areyou going to, though?”

“Grayson, you’re easily four times bigger than me.”

“Astrid, you could hand me a poisoned apple, and I’d toss back the thing whole.”

That draws a laugh from me—it’s true. He’ll eat anything I hand him without question.

“You’re too trusting,” I admit.

“See, that makes it sound like you’re going to murder me. Teach me a lesson.”

I don’t have to respond to that, because we’ve finally reached the other side of the warehouse, and I’m able to punch in the second code, the one that lets us out to the backside of the property. It’s only accessible through the building—either through bad, or purposeful design—and the moment I see it again, it takes my breath away.

“Holyshit,” Grayson breathes, dropping my hand out of pure wonder as he steps up to the railing. Out ahead of us is the entirety of Los Angeles, spilling out like an oil slick, lights flashing, orange and purple sunset melting into the buildings below.

“My dad was friends with this guy in the movie business,” I say, stepping forward and folding my arms onto the railing. When I turn to look at Grayson, his eyes are still wide as he stares out at the view. “Told him about this place—they keep a bunch of old film props out here, and the view is weirdly incredible. There’s nothing like it.”

Grayson turns to look at me. “I believe it. Your dad’s a lucky guy.”

I bite my tongue, and when Grayson steps forward to wrap his arms around me, I let him. He tucks his chin onto the top of my head, and we stand together like that, looking out at the view together until the sun sets over the Valley.

Grayson

Themomentwegetback into the hotel room, Astrid drops her bag, turns, and puts her arms around me. My hands are at her waist, pulling her in close, nothing but the sound of our breath echoing through the room as we move, methodically, toward the bed.

There’s only one thing left that we haven’t done together, and I’m already hard at the thought of it. We’ve been engaging inweeksof foreplay,monthsof me thinking about her, and my mind narrows down to a singular, determined hope.

Our hands move frantically, stripping one another of clothes, the pieces dropping to the floor of the hotel room. We step over them and keep moving, until the backs of her knees hit the bed and we fall over onto it.

Her chest practically glows in the moonlight, and I slide my hands around her back, finding the clasp of her bra and undoing it, pushing it off her chest. The sight of her taut nipples pulls a groan from my chest, and the feeling of her hand on the back of my head, guiding me toward them, makes me laugh.

I pause to sit up and strip my shirt over my head, and Astrid reaches for my pants, having already pulled them half off when we walked in.

In seconds, we’re fully naked, I have my lips on her breasts, and she’s arching up under me. I listen to her—to her body, her breath, following the rise and fall of her pleasure, cock growing impossibly harder with every second I’m not inside her.

“Grayson,” she gasps, pulling back from me, her irises nearly swallowed whole by her pupils. She doesn’t have to say anything else—I’m reaching for the condom in my pants pocket—a wish made earlier that’s now coming true.

“I want you,” I murmur, and when she nods eagerly, her hips rising to meet mine, I pull the condom from the pack and roll it on in a smooth motion. I don’t need Astrid’s coaching on this one.

My hands shake as I notch myself in her entrance, and when I look up at her, her eyes are already on me, watching me. She looks entranced, like she couldn’t look away even if she wanted to.

Slowly, purposefully, I push inside her, and fireworks explode behind my eyes.

I’ve had her before—Astrid and I have been just like this in the past. Except this time, I’m present for every moment. Before, after Cal’s wedding, I was so focused on getting to the next step that I didn’t even leave time for me to really enjoy what we were doing together.

But now?

Now I savor every inch of her that I take. I notice the way her fingers dig into my forearms, how she adjusts her hips, the breath she lets out when I’m fully seated inside her.

“Fuck,” she hisses, and I know what it means—it means I fit perfectly. It means we’ve both been waiting for this longer than we’d admit.

Leaning down, I bury my face in the side of her neck as I thrust into her, and Astrid wraps her arms around my neck, little noises rising up and out of her with each roll of my hips. This isn’t about reaching the finish line—this is about enjoying each other.

And we do.

I breathe her in, kiss her skin, bite gently on her collarbone.

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