Page 34 of Collide
“You don’t need blackmail to get me to do what you want, Summer.”
The words slip off his tongue in a smooth concoction that drips into my stomach. I have no comeback, and he seems to realize he got me to shut up because a slanted smile fixes on his lips. It’s gone just as quickly when he nods toward the hallway. “So, let me guess, you’re going to say I’ve been a difficult asshole.”
Recovering rather quickly, I follow him. “Far from it.”
“Is it because you’ve seen me shirtless?”
“You are so full of yourself.”
“Someone has to be,” he mutters before clearing his throat. “So, what did it?”
“You care,” I say, sitting on a bench. “About hockey, about your team and your friends. You would do anything for them. You’re a great captain, and probation is the last place you belong.”
His eyes flicker with surprise. “With an evaluation like that, Coach might think I’m bribing you.”
“Now that you mention it, I wouldn’t mind a tip.”
“Come here and pull it out yourself.”
I scrunch my face in disgust. “You know what? I take back what I said.”
Aiden stands in front of me attacking my eyes with his bare chest. “We can’t have that. What can I do to make it up to you?”
I incinerate the first thought that pops into my head and look up at him. “Nothing. I already made up my mind.”
“Dinner?”
I shake my head, and the smile on his face falls before I supply, “Take out. My place.”
“Deal, but no data set. This isn’t a session.”
“But—”
“Just dinner,” he says firmly.
“DON’T STOP.” AIDEN’S deep voice vibrates against my skin, sending goosebumps to riddle the surface. With his body between my legs and my fingers digging into his muscular shoulders, he groans softly.
“If you just listened to me, you wouldn’t be having this problem.”
“Hmm,” he murmurs in pleasure. “If this is the outcome, I’d do it again.”
Upon receiving a text from Kian asking if I enjoyed torturing hockey players in my spare time, I found out that Aiden’s been a walking zombie after our run. The team did conditioning and strength training yesterday, but his soreness is somehow my fault.
Now, I sit on the couch with him on the floor between my legs as I massage his tense muscles. Every so often his bicep brushes against my leg, and a weird sensation crawls up my spine. Trying to ignore it has become my own silent game of the night.
“Wait, so the mother-in-law likes her now?” he asks, pointing at the TV with his fork.
We stopped at an Indian place by Dalton that Aiden swore had the best butter chicken. I laughed for a good two minutes after I said I didn’t trust his palate, and he looked wounded. He proved me very wrong when I tasted the food. It was almost as good as my mom’s cooking, though I’d never voice that thought. Then Aiden put onhisfavorite Turkish show since he won’t give me credit for putting him onto the series.
Sitting in my dorm and eating takeout feels oddly comfortable. “Yeah, cause she sees that she’s good for her son,” I explain.
The end credits roll and my hands are tired from running over his back. “That’s all you get. Any more and I’ll need payment.”
“What about my glutes?” he asks with a buoyant look.
“I’m not going anywhere near those,” I spurn.
He chuckles “You’re so much better than Hank. His hands are like two boulders. You should become my physical therapist.”
