Page 5

“Baby, just take it off already,” I say, trying to keep my voice low even though the frustration’s creeping in. I’m staring at Maya on my laptop screen, desperate to see some of her skin. “I’ve been waiting all day for this.”

Maya giggles, leaning closer to the camera. The strap of her tank top slides off her shoulder, and I swear, my mouth goes dry.

“You’re so thirsty,” she teases, her voice soft.

“Yeah? So, juice me.”

She rolls her eyes but tugs the strap down a little more, giving me the tiniest hint of her bra. It’s black lace, her favorite. My favorite too.

“You miss me?” she asks, tilting her head.

“Miss you? Baby, I miss every goddamn inch of you. Your tits, your ass — hell, even the way you steal my fries when we’re out.”

She laughs, biting her lip. “Anything else?”

“That pussy, baby,” I shoot back, grinning.

Her hand dips out of view, and I know exactly what she’s doing. My body’s already reacting, my pants pressing against my hard on.

“Show me,” I say, leaning closer to the screen. “C’mon, baby, let me see you.”

She hesitates for a second, then slides her tank top down, revealing—

The screen freezes.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I groan, slamming my hand against the desk. “Maya? Maya!”

Nothing. Just her frozen, pixelated image, stuck in mid-motion.

I run a hand through my hair, trying not to lose my shit. This is the third time this week. Third. Time.

After about ten seconds, the call drops entirely.

I stare at the blank screen, jaw clenched.

“Great. Just fucking great.”

I slam the laptop shut, shoving it to the side. This long-distance thing is not working. I know it. She knows it. Hell, even the damn internet seems to know it.

But I’m not ready to give up. Not yet.

I check my phone. Practice starts in twenty minutes.

“Shit.”

I haul myself out of the chair, stripping off my shirt as I head to the bathroom. The shower’s quick — soap, water, done. No time to waste.

Back in my room, I throw on my Blackridge tee and the same pants.

The rink’s cold, even with all the gear on. I lace up my skates, listening to the chatter around me. The guys are hyped, laughing and joking like it’s just another day.

For them, maybe it is.

“Yo, Cal!” Tyler calls from across the locker room. “You good?”

“Yeah,” I lie, forcing a grin. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

He shrugs, smirking. “Just makin’ sure. You looked like you were ready to murder someone during warmups.”

“Just focused, man. Someone’s gotta keep you assholes in line.”

That gets a laugh, and I roll my shoulders, trying to shake off the tension.

Practice is brutal, but that’s how I like it. Fast drills, harder hits, no room for mistakes. Coach isn’t even yelling much today, which means we’re doing alright.

By the end of it, I’m dripping sweat, lungs burning.

“Nice work, Caleb,” Coach says as we’re heading off the ice. “Keep this up, and you might just make it to the NHL after all.”

“Thanks, Coach.”

It’s the kind of thing that should light a fire under me. Instead, it feels like a reminder of everything riding on this season.

Back home, I collapse on the couch, scrolling through my phone. Maya hasn’t messaged me since the call dropped. No surprise there.

I open Instagram, scrolling aimlessly until I come across a post from Zane. He’s grinning, covered in grease, standing next to a shiny red car. Another restoration complete! the caption reads.

Remy’s in the background, holding up two thumbs and looking adorable as hell.

I toss my phone onto the cushion beside me, staring at the ceiling.

Zane’s happy. Really fucking happy. He’s got his dream job, his dream girl. He’s done with hockey, done with all the pressure and expectations.

And me?

A new guy is going to be coming in to replace Zane, my girl is on the other side of the world, and my business class is going to shit.

But none of that matters. Not really.

Because if I can just get through this season, I’ll have my shot at the NHL.

And that’s all I’ve ever wanted.

I spend the next three hours sprawled on the couch, phone in hand, scrolling through Instagram reels. Nothing new. Same stupid trends, same over-edited selfies.

I sigh, tossing my phone onto the cushion next to me. My hand hovers over the laptop, and I debate opening it again. Maybe Maya’s internet will magically start working. Maybe she’ll pick up, and we can finish what we started.

Yeah, right.

Instead, I grab my phone again, searching for something — anything — that’ll take my mind off the clusterfuck of my day.

That’s when I stumble onto those videos. You know the kind. The ones that make bad days a little less shitty.

The girl on my screen is ridiculous with her plump lips, flawless skin, and curves that practically pour out of her lingerie. She’s leaning back, moaning into the camera like she’s doing it just for me.

I shift on the couch, my body already reacting.

I watch another. Then another.

By the fourth clip, I’m not even paying attention to the screen anymore. My brain drifts to Maya, the way she looks when she’s lying on her bed in just her underwear, her hair all messy. Her voice when she says my name like I’m the only thing she needs.

“Fuck,” I mutter, sliding my hand under the waistband of my sweats.

The first stroke sends a shiver of relief through me. I close my eyes, letting the fantasy take over.

Maya’s laugh. Maya’s lips. Maya’s—

My phone buzzes in my other hand.

I glance at the screen, irritation flaring. It’s a notification from my calendar app.

Quiz: Business Management. 15 minutes.

My eyes widen. “Oh, fuck me.”

I yank my hand out of my pants, scrambling to sit up. The clock on the wall confirms it — I’m screwed.

I launch myself off the couch, grabbing my bag on the way out.

The car ride to campus is a blur. My head’s a mess, and the GPS says I’ve got about six minutes to get my ass into that classroom.

Six minutes. For a quiz I didn’t even study for. Perfect.

I park like a maniac, barely cutting the engine before I’m out the door.

The hallways are crowded, of course. It’s midday, and everyone and their mom decided today’s the day to take their sweet time walking around.

“Move!” I bark, dodging a couple holding hands.

I round a corner, going full speed, and slam into someone.

“Jesus, watch it!” a girl snaps, stumbling back a step.

I barely catch her before she trips.

She’s petite, maybe 5’6”, with auburn curls spilling down her shoulders. Her eyes are green — sharp, piercing. Her lips are parted in a pout that shouldn’t look as good as it does.

She’s wearing ripped jeans, a snug black top that clings in all the right places, and sneakers that look too clean to have seen a single day of dirt.

“Are you fucking blind?” she asks, her voice sharp.

“Blind? You’re the one standing in the middle of the goddamn hallway,” I snap back, still holding her arm.

Her eyes narrow. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” I say, stepping closer without thinking. “Maybe if you weren’t too busy checking out those guys, you’d watch where the hell you’re going.”

Her cheeks burn red, not glancing back at those guys who were staring back.

“Let. Go,” she says, enunciating each word like I’m a child who needs a lesson.

I don’t let go. Instead, I push her back — just enough to pin her against the wall.

Her eyes widen, just a fraction.

“Here’s a tip,” I say, leaning in slightly. “Watch where the fuck you’re going next time. Got it?”

She opens her mouth to retort, but I don’t stick around to hear it.

I step back and take off down the hallway, not bothering to look back.

By the time I reach the classroom, the door’s already shut. I push it open, breathing heavily.

“Caleb,” Professor Daniels says without looking up. “You’re late.”

“Yeah,” I mutter, dropping into the nearest seat.

“Your quiz is on the desk,” she says, her tone clipped.

I grab the paper, glancing around the room. Everyone’s heads are down, pens moving across their papers like they’ve got this in the bag.

Meanwhile, my brain’s stuck replaying the image of that girl.

Green eyes. Auburn curls. That stupid pout.

Who the hell was she?