Page 34 of Price of Victory
“Take it however you want.”
What followed was the most intense checking drill I’d ever participated in. Every hit was loaded with subtext, every collision an excuse to get close enough to whisper something that made my face burn. Aiden was relentless, using every opportunity to get under my skin with comments that walked the line between hockey banter and outright dirty talking.
“Nice form,” he murmured after a particularly solid check. “You always look good when you’re aggressive.”
“Shut up and play hockey.”
“I am playing. Just enjoying the view while I do it.”
By the time we’d been going for twenty minutes, I was wound so tight I thought I might snap. Every brush of contact sent shivers shooting through my gear; every low comment made in the heat of the drill left me more flustered than the last. The other guys were starting to notice something was different, the way we were hitting each other harder than necessary, the way we stayed close together longer than the drill required.
“Jesus, you two,” Patrick called out during a water break. “Save some energy for the actual game.”
“Just working on technique,” Aiden replied easily, not even breathing hard despite the intensity of our contact.
“Right. Technique.” Patrick’s tone suggested he wasn’t buying it, but he skated away without pushing further.
The drill continued, and so did our increasingly heated exchanges. Aiden was getting bolder with his comments, his voice dropping to that rough whisper that made my knees weak every time he got close enough to use it.
“You know what I keep thinking about?” he said after slamming me into the boards with enough force to rattle my teeth.
“Your lack of subtlety?”
“The sounds you made last night. The way you said my name when you…”
“Aiden.” The warning in my voice was clear, but he just grinned and skated backward, completely unrepentant.
“What? I’m just making conversation.”
“That’s not conversation. That’s…”
“That’s what?”
I couldn’t finish the sentence, couldn’t admit that his words were affecting me so much I could barely think straight. Instead, I took the puck and charged at him with everything I had, the hit hard enough to send both of us sliding across the ice in a tangle of gear and limbs.
“Fuck,” Aiden gasped as we untangled ourselves, but he was laughing despite the force of the collision. “Remind me not to get you worked up before a real game.”
“You started it.”
“And I’m thoroughly enjoying finishing it.”
The exchanges got progressively dirtier as the drill continued, Aiden pushing boundaries with every comment until I was red-faced and barely able to form coherent responses. He seemed to take perverse pleasure in my flustered state, his eyes bright with satisfaction every time he managed to leave me speechless.
“You’re thinking about it, too, aren’t you?” he said during one particularly close encounter, his body pressed against mine as we fought for control of the puck in the corner. “About last night. About what we did.”
“Everyone can hear you,” I hissed back, but my voice came out breathier than I’d intended.
“No, they can’t. And even if they could, would that be so bad?”
“Yes, it would be bad. This is…”
“This is what? Fun? Exciting? The best checking drill either of us has ever participated in?”
He wasn’t wrong, but I wasn’t about to admit that. Instead, I shoved him away and skated toward center ice, trying to put some distance between us before I did something stupid like kiss him in front of the entire team.
But Aiden followed, because of course he did, staying close enough to continue his running commentary on my technique, my form, and the way I looked when I was trying not to think about him naked.
“I have to say,” he murmured as we lined up for what Coach had announced would be the final repetition, “you’re even more beautiful when you’re trying not to want me.”
