Page 103 of Don't Let Me Go (Don't Let Me 2)

As the team celebrates in the locker room, victory music blaring from a set of black speakers, Theo approaches me. His hair is damp with sweat from the game, but his pads and jersey are missing, giving me a delicious view of his abs.

Hey there.

I tuck my hands into my elbows, crossing my arms to keep from running my fingers against his six pack as I force myself to hold his gaze instead of ogling him the way I desperately want.

“Hey, Baby Thorne,” he greets me, looking as cocky and drool-worthy as ever. I blame the endorphins from winning, but the bastard’s a hockey player, so part of me thinks his arrogance is just ingrained in his DNA.

“Good game, Teddy,” I tell him.

“It wasn’t bad.” He steps closer, his height still intimidating despite losing his skates and opting for a pair of Nikes. He smells like sweat and sex. So good. So tempting. I lean a few inches away in hopes of breathing in some non-orgasm inducing air, but it’s useless. My back hits the cinderblock wall behind me with a quiet thud.

I am so out of my league.

“Only scored one goal this time, though,” he informs me as if I wasn’t given front row seats to the game.

“Only one.” I scoff. “You also assisted twice. Did you forget that part?”

“Must’ve slipped my mind. Guess I was too busy stealing glances your way.”

Stupid butterflies.

I tilt my head to one side. “And why’s that?”

“You had me waiting for my vacuum beach. Which I never received, by the way.”

With a laugh, I argue, “Vacuum beach is all it takes to distract you from the game?”

“If it’s coming from you? Yeah. You’re quite the distraction, Baby Thorne. Consuming my thoughts. My time. My imagination.” He rests his forearm against the wall behind me, just above my ponytail. He’s caging me in, his hot gaze dancing with amusement. It would be so easy to let him kiss me right now. To let him lean a little closer and––

I look around his chiseled body, realizing how close we’re standing.

Shit. How did that happen?

The warning bells are going off inside my head as I peek around him and search for Coach or Russ or anyone else who might notice our friendly banter is borderline flirting. Thankfully, they’re too distracted by Tukani who’s standing on one of the benches, thrusting his little heart out in rhythm to the rap song pulsing through the speakers.

It doesn’t mean Theo should be standing over me like this, though. Not when we’re in the middle of LAU’s locker room. Not when his coach specifically mentioned no fraternization with me and the players. Not when I warned him to prove he likes me before I even think about coming out and telling the world––and Coach Sanderson––about my feelings for the guy.

But the bastard knows what he’s doing. He knows how to flirt. How to look effortlessly sexy without a shirt on. How to push my buttons and make me cave. And boy, do I want to cave.

Stay strong, Blake, I remind myself.

Sucking my lips between my teeth, I challenge, “So, I’m a distraction, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“And when you find a new distraction?” My eyebrow arches.

“What do you mean?”

With a shrug, I taunt, “I guess I’m curious how long it’ll take for the right puck bunny to come along, mouth vacuum beach at the right moment, and snap you out of whatever funk I’ve seemed to put you in with the ladies.”

He scratches his jaw, cocking his head and looking down at me with those damn soul-piercing eyes. They’re sharp and hard and unyielding as they see past my snark, revealing my insecurities one by one. “Do you want me to snap out of this funk, Blake?” he finally asks.

I gulp. “I want––”

“Thorne!” Russ yells.

“Yeah, Russ?” Colt calls back.

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