Page 54 of In My Hockey Era
I gather up our empty cups and trash, and Lucy rises to her feet.
“Ready?”she asks, and I give her a wordless nod, forcing my eyes off the smooth column of her neck, the curve of her shoulder where my too-big jersey hangs off her frame.My mind is already ten steps ahead, thinking about later.Back at the hotel.
One room.One bed.
Hell.
Hockey has always been my first love, but tonight?It’s straight-up foreplay.And I have no idea where this is leading, but I know one thing for sure—this game might be over, but the real showdown is just getting started.
Back at our hotel, Lucy steps into the elevator first, her movements easy, unbothered, like she’s not wearing my name on her back.Like she hasn’t been messing with my head all night.
I follow, jabbing the button for our floor a little too forcefully.The doors slide shut, locking us into this too-small space, and suddenly, the air feels different.Charged.Like right before a puck drop, that electric anticipation buzzing under my skin.
She leans back against the wall, arms folded across her chest, one hip jutted out just enough to make my brain short-circuit.
“You’re awfully quiet, Wilder,” she muses, tilting her head.“That Fire win got you emotional?”
I huff out a laugh, and shove my hands into my pockets because if I don’t, I might do something reckless.Like press her against that wall and show her exactly what’s been on my mind all damn night.
“Just savoring the moment,” I say, letting my gaze drag over her, taking my time.“You, in my jersey.Looks good on you, by the way.”My voice comes out a little too deep—a little too husky.
She rolls her eyes, but there’s a flicker of something else there—something knowing, something that makes my blood run hot.
“Don’t get used to it,” she says, feigning nonchalance.“This is a one-night-only deal.”
I step closer, closing some of the space between us.Not touching, but close enough that I can see the rise and fall of each breath.Close enough that I catch the faintest whiff of whatever the hell perfume she wears that drives me insane.
“One night’s all it takes, Quinn.”My voice comes out lower, rougher.
She lifts a brow.“For what?”
The elevator dings, the doors sliding open, but neither of us moves.
“For you to start liking it,” I say, voice slow and deliberate.“Maybe even liking me.”
Her lips part, just slightly, and damn if I don’t track the movement like I’m starved for it.
“Good luck with that, Wilder,” she says, but it’s weaker than before, like I’ve finally knocked her a little off-balance.
We step out into the hallway together, her a half step ahead of me, and I swear, watching the sway of her hips might actually kill me.
Lucy steps into the hotel room first, and tosses her keycard onto the dresser like this is just another night.Like she didn’t spend the last hour sitting next to me, drinking my beer, eating off my plate, wearing my name on her back, and making me think about things I shouldn’t be thinking about.
I follow, shutting the door behind me with a quiet click.The air shifts.It’s just the two of us now.No roaring crowd, no cameras, no outside world pressing in.Just Lucy in my jersey, in my space, in my head.
She turns to face me, and I swear, if she says something casual, something normal, I might actually lose my mind.
“You okay, Wilder?”she asks, like she doesn’t already know the answer.
No, I’m not okay.
I’m wired.Every nerve ending is lit up, dialed to her, and my body is two steps ahead of my brain, already pulling toward her like gravity’s got its own agenda.
I take a slow step forward.Then another.
She watches me, unreadable but unflinching.Daring me.
“You wear my name too well, Quinn,” I murmur, voice rough, thick with everything I’m holding back.“Kind of makes a guy want to stake his claim.”
