Page 5 of Goalie's Obsession

Connor's expression shifts, his playful smirk fading into something more serious.

I freeze. "What?"

"Ethan. He told me to meet him here."

My stomach drops. Of course Ethan called Connor too. I should have known those two come as a package deal.

The doorbell chimes again and my fucking stomach drops as I look up over Connor's rounded shoulder.

"Ethan…" I breathe my brother's name under my breath.

He stands in the doorway, snowflakes melting in his dark hair. For a split second, relief floods through me.

He's alive. He's here.

And he looks... okay.

Thinner maybe, with shadows under his eyes that weren't there before, but he's standing upright.

Our eyes lock across the café. His face softens for just a moment—that look he's given me since we were kids, the one that says "Hey, Luce" without words.

Then his gaze shifts to Connor.

And his expression instantly darkens at the sight of his best friend sitting on my fucking lap.

I don’t move. Connor doesn’t either. He stays right where he is, smug and fucking unbothered, like he hasn’t just been caught getting way too cozy with his best friend’s little sister.

I swear, I hear Emma suck in a breath behind the counter.

Ethan blinks once. Twice. A flicker of confusion flashes across his face, like his brain is glitching out, trying to process what the fuck he’s looking at.

And then Connor—because he’s a menace to my well-being—does the worst possible thing.

He shifts. Just enough. His fingers skim my knee like it’s casual, like it’s normal, like he’s not playing with goddamn fire.

"Well, well. Look who finally decided to show up."

He stands, slow and infuriatingly confident, before clapping Ethan on the back like nothing is amiss. They shake hands and grin silently at each other.

Like this isn’t weird. Like he didn’t just have his hand dangerously close to my inner thigh.

I stare at my brother and Connor, frozen in place while my mind races back to Vegas. The memory of Connor's breath hot against my neck in that darkened hallway, his fingers tracing the edge of my dress, our bodies pressed together as he whispered exactly what he wanted to do to me.

One heated kiss that left me dizzy before I pulled away, mumbling excuses about Ethan and team boundaries.

God, I've thought about it constantly since then.

I've imagined him showing up at my door, pushing me against the wall, finishing what we started. I've dreamed about straddling him in the Icehawks locker room, about hotel rooms with soundproof walls where I could finally let go completely.

It's ridiculous how badly I want Connor.

How I catch myself staring at his lips during team meetings, wondering if he's as good with his mouth as I suspect he is. How a single text from him makes my whole body flush hot.

"Good to see you, man," Connor drawls. "What’s it been? A year? Two?"

Ethan doesn’t answer right away. He just looks at him.

"Yeah," he says, tone measured. "Long time."

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