“Fine,” she snaps and just in time too. Springy, the assistant coach, calls me to the ice and I could use the cool down. I shuffle past her and grab my stick from the rack. A brief warmth flows through me as I glance at the fresh tape job on the blade of my stick. It’s just how I like it.
I step onto the smooth surface to a round of applause, and I lap our end of the ice a few times before swiping a puck with my stick and firing it at Ffordey. I skate behind the net and then replay the drill again. Ryan comes to skate next to me, and I slow down as if on cue.
“What was that about?” he asks, shooting at the net.
“Nothing. Literally, nothing. I’ve had to bribe her to speak to me,” I say. I tell Ryan about the signing after the game. “All I want to do is clear the air, make things as civil as possible, considering we can’t avoid each other.” I don’t tell him I just need something from her. Anything. Any sort of communication. That’d make me sound desperate—which I am—but he doesn’t need to know this.
“When did you become such a pushover?” he asks. For fuck’s sake, he’s right. I shouldn’t have to bribe her into speaking with me. This is ridiculous.
We fire a few more pucks towards the net before we skate over to stretch at the blue line. I focus on the bench where Vicky and Jen stand, the pair of them looking down at Vicky’s camera. Then two things happen in quick succession: Vicky giggles as she glances towards me and something in me snaps.
I get to my skates and glide back to the bench, taking my helmet off as I step onto the matting. I prop my stick up against the boards and slide my gloves off, tossing all my gear on to the floor.
Vicky and Jen are watching me, brows knitted together. “Come with me,” I say, as I take Vicky by the hand and pull her towards the tunnels, giving her no time to think of an excuse not to. She trails behind me, our hands linked for a moment, sending a familiar jolt of heat shooting up my arm.
We halt at the dressing room entrance, and I gently pull her hand, pinning her against the wall as I box her in with my hands on either side of her head. She’s five-nine in heels, but I tower over her with my skates on.
“Vic.” I move my face towards hers and she opens her mouth. “I’m not letting you go until you talk to me. I’m not dumb enough to expect you to make a declaration of lifelong friendship, but I don’t expect to be ghosted. Not after everything we’ve been through.”
I lean towards her, my eyes locked on the ocean blue of her own, and every delicious scent she’s wearing fills my nose. My heart sounds in my ears, and my mouth waters in anticipation. I can hear her breathing deepen, and it’s as if there’s nothing else in the world happening outside of this moment.
I’m waiting for her to say something, but to my complete surprise, she closes the gap by stretching up and she kisses me. Excitement zips through my entire body. The soft brush of her lips and the warmth of her body against mine are perfect, just like they always are. Try as I might, I can’t resist her because it’s like the sizzling frustration has cooled, sated by Vicky’s lips.
Between her perfume, her shampoo, the sweetness of whatever she’s wearing on her lips—I can’t help but kiss her back. My eyes close as she intoxicates me. I forget that we’re supposed to be talking, or that I’m trying to repair my brokenheart. Her lips, plump and delicious and soft, are too much to resist—and she opens her mouth slightly, inviting me in. She moans as my tongue meets with hers. Fuck. I’m still kissing her back and my dick is hard despite my inner monologue screaming at me to step back and be rational.
Suddenly, she retreats and my eyes snap open. She stares at me. Her face frozen in the kissing pose. Then she shakes her head as she looks.
“Damn it,” she says.
“What was…?” I ask, but our eyes meet again, and my guess is that she didn’t mean to do that. The way she’s looking at me gives me a front-row seat to what’s on her mind. Our kiss was just the way she remembered it to be, and she wants me as much as I want her, even though I’ve told her where we stand. I don’t want to want her anymore, but I do.
“I can’t,” she says.
My eyes are still on hers; I take a breath. “Can’t what?” I say. “I didn’t—”
“Be your friend,” she says, but I think I know where her mind has shifted. I need to hear it from her to be sure.
“Tell me you want nothing to do with me, and I’ll leave you alone. I promise. I won’t try to talk to you. I won’t make things difficult. It’ll be strictly work stuff.”
She looks down at her shoes for what feels like the longest time, then she takes a breath, eyes still at her feet. “I want nothing to do with you,” she says.
“At least fucking look at me and say it,” I rasp, hammering my fist into the wall.
The crowd starts up, and I hear the sounds that accompany a team of hockey players on the move.
“I want nothing to do with you.” She still doesn’t look at me, but she ducks low under my arm, freeing herself, and her heels emit a dull thud on the rubber matting as she hurries away.
Frustration courses through my veins. I want to yell—so I do, the crowd drowning out my cries. My heart feels like she’s crammed it into a mincer on high speed, tiny pieces of it flying all over the place, making it seem impossible to put back together. The worst bit? I know she’s lying to me.
“Where’ve you been?” Ryan comes to a stop next to me. I don’t need to answer him because the look on his face says he already knows, and he likely saw Vicky rushing past on her way back to the benches.
I stand up straight and take my gloves and helmet off him. “Your stick is on the rack,” he adds.
I follow him into the dressing room, my body shaking. Talk about a mixed message. What the fuck does she think she’s doing? What the fuck am I doing? Because I didn’t even attempt to pull away, and now I’m feeling the regret of my actions because kissing her back has only sent the message that I wanted to kiss her. I wanted to kiss her, of course, but she didn’t need to know that.
My lips tingle from the kiss, but sitting in my cubby brings me back down to the harsh reality of the situation: the conversation we had in this very spot around nine months ago.
Ryan flops down next to me. “Vicky wants me to leave her alone,” I admit, my voice low. I take off my sweater to get some air to my body, dripping with sweat from whatever that was. “I guess I had it coming.” I grab a towel and dry myself off.