Page 38 of Goalie's Obsession

The hallway outside my office erupts. Someone is yelling about missing equipment. There's another clatter like someone just knocked over a whole damn shelf.

I jolt like I’ve been electrocuted.

Connor freezes, his breath ragged against my collarbone.

“Fuck,” he mutters, forehead pressing against mine as he shakes his head beneath his frustration.

Reality slams into me like a freight train. My shirt is undone. My bra’s barely on. My entire body is still humming, shaking,achingfor more.

What the hell was I about to do?

Connor steps back slowly, his eyes dark and unreadable. His chest rising and falling like he’s fighting the urge to sayscrew itand finish what we started.

I reach to fix my blouse, hands trembling as Connor looks at me and realizes the moment is gone.

“I—I shouldn’t have—” My voice breaks. “This was a mistake.”

His jaw clenches. “You really wanna play that card again?”

I force myself to meet his eyes. “Wecan’tdo this.”

It’s a lie. A weak one. Because every part of me is still burning for him. Still aching for more.

But if I let this happen—if I letushappen—there’s no pretending anymore. No going back.

He steps closer again, not touching, just watching. Like he seeseverything.

“Didn’t sound like can’t when you were moaning my name.”

“That was—” I falter. “That was amistake.”

“Right.” His voice drops. “A mistake you can’t stop thinking about.”

I look away. That’s the problem. Ican’t.

“You keep running, Lucy,” he says, voice low, rough. “Let’s see how long you last.”

And then he’s gone.

***

I’ve spent the last three days in hiding.

My fortress is the brick and mortar of Chapter & Grind. My weapon of choice is my favorite twenty-ounce vanilla latte and the world’s most strategically positioned armchair.

I'm tucked away in my safe place, half-shadowed by a bookshelf, flanked by a hanging fern, and blessedly out of direct view of the door.

It smells like espresso, leather-bound novels, and quiet safety.

Which is probably why I’ve been camped here since sunrise, nursing my fourth cup of caffeine and pretending the world doesn’t exist outside these fairy light–strung walls.

Because outside, the world hasopinions. About me. About Connor. About what happened when we kissed in the parking lot.

And the worst part… that smug Icehawks Goalie isn't doing a damn thing to stop it.

My quiet bubble pops as Emma marches across her book shop, a chai in one hand, mischief in the other. Her boots clomp across the hardwood until she drops into the armchair across from me like she owns the place.

I mean, I guess she does.

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