Page 37

Because what the hell do I even say to that?

So I don’t say anything. I just lean into his touch, let my lips brush the inside of his wrist where his pulse is going wild, and hope it says everything I can’t.

“You okay?” he asks again, quieter now.

I nod. “Yeah. I just… I’ve wanted this for so long, Brogan.”

He huffs a shaky laugh, thumb stroking my cheek. “Yeah, well, I guess I just thought you’d always be there, JoJo. Like an idiot, I kept skating right past what mattered. I should’ve staked my claim a long time ago. When Shep came on to you tonight, I wanted to throat punch my best friend. I’m sorry it took me this damn long to get my head on straight.”

Brogan sinks down onto the bed beside me. His forehead drops to mine, and it’s all there—regret, hope, all that bottled-up longing finally spilling loose between us.

That hits somewhere deep. Somewhere soft and sore.

Because I never thought I’d get this. I always figured he’d end up with someone shiny and effortless, like half the girls who scream his name at the arena. Not the girl with a toolbox in hertrunk and permanent dry skin from slinging beer and handling fryer baskets.

“You’re not gonna wake up tomorrow and regret this, right?” I ask, my voice barely holding it together.

He kisses the corner of my mouth, then the edge of my jaw. “The only thing I’m gonna regret is not doing it sooner.”

And then his lips find mine again—hungrier this time. Less careful. Like we’ve both realized this moment’s real and neither of us is turning back. He kisses me like he’s starved for it, like he’s been holding back for years and all that restraint snaps. His mouth is hot, urgent, tongue sliding along my lower lip, asking and then demanding entry. I let him in, a gasp catching in my throat as his hands tighten at my waist, pulling me flush against him.

There’s nothing tentative about it now—he tastes me like he’s making up for lost time, like he’s afraid if he lets up for even a second I might slip away. His fingers tangle in my hair, and I answer him kiss for kiss, every part of me catching fire in his hands. There’s laughter in the back of my mind—how did we wait this long?—but mostly there’s just Brogan. Finally here. Finally mine.

His fingers brush the fabric of my dress, and I freeze—not because I don’t want it but because it’s him. This is the moment everything changes.

“Joely,” he breathes, mouth against my cheek, “tell me to stop if this isn’t what you want.”

“It is,” I whisper, threading my fingers into his hair. “God, it is.”

When Brogan pulls it down, slow and reverent, my whole body answers. The moment the dress slips from my shoulders, I swear the silence shifts.

Not the awkward kind. Not the kind that stretches like tension before a storm. No—this one’s thick, heavy, charged like themoment before puck drop when you’re not sure if you’ll score or get slammed into the boards.

I let the fabric fall then I scooch so I can get it all the way off. It pools at my feet, a whisper of black sequins on worn hardwood, and with my heart fluttering in my throat, I’m in front of Brogan wearing nothing but lingerie I had no right buying. Black lace. Matching bra and panties. Stockings. Garters. The whole damn setup like some part of me always hoped this might happen. Like maybe I’ve always been holding my breath, waiting for him to finally see me.

He’s seeing me now.

His lips part, but nothing comes out. His eyes rake over me, slow and stunned, like I’ve knocked the wind clean out of him.

And it’s intoxicating.

Also? Utterly terrifying.

I cross my arms, aware of every inch of skin. “Say something, Brogan.”

“I’m trying to remember how to breathe,” he says, voice rough as gravel.

That earns him a half-smile. “Well, try harder. I’m not calling 9-1-1 while I’m in stockings.”

He doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t even crack a grin. Just leans forward and cups my cheek with the gentlest hand, like I’m made of something fragile and precious.

“You’ve always been gorgeous, JoJo. But right now?” He shakes his head like he can’t believe it. “You’re… dangerous.”

My breath catches. “Dangerous?”

“Yeah.” He brushes his thumb across my lower lip, and I feel it everywhere. “Because you make me want things I don’t even know how to ask for yet.”

God, that does me in.