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Luke

I ’ve fully lost my fucking mind. What was I thinking, following Lennon into that shower Sunday morning? Clearly thinking with the wrong head…

But I can’t forget the sound of her whimpered pleas as I circled her clit and held her up on wobbly legs. Of how soft her skin was beneath my touch, and how easily her body responded to it. I was so consumed by her, building off of not only the charity gala and seeing her in that dress, but also the months of tension between us. I snapped.

Even the most patient man can be tipped over the edge.

But as soon as she said my name as she was about to shatter, it broke me out of my trance. I don’t feel good about the way I left her standing in the shower, on the verge of an orgasm, but I knew if I felt her bow and break beneath my hand, I would’ve stripped her bare and fucked her right in that stall.

And that would’ve been really fucking stupid.

I debated canceling our ice time this morning and avoiding her until I could get a rein on my control again, but the idea of her showing up and sitting alone after what happened yesterday…I just couldn’t do it.

So I skate around the rink, lap after lap, hoping the smooth grind of my blades through the ice will bring some sort of balm to my frayed nerves. But it does nothing.

After I’ve carved deep grooves into the ice with my circles, I grab my stick, dump a bunch of pucks on the ice, and start shooting. One after another I shoot them toward the goal. The slap of my stick against the ice and the whoosh of the net when the pucks sail into it do nothing to bring me the peace I’m desperately seeking. It doesn’t take my mind off of her. Of how she looked at the fundraiser. Of how she looks when she’s in her gear on the ice.

I groan in frustration, and my stick whines beneath my grip, threatening to crack under the pressure. Good. That would feel good. To break it. To smash it and toss it aside. Give me something to fight when my mind seems content to be at war with itself.

Wanting what I can’t have.

What I so stupidly almost cost myself, and her.

I continue to fire shot after shot, so lost in my own head, that I don’t notice Lennon until the sound of her blades cutting through the ice echo around the empty rink. She’s fully suited up with her mask tucked beneath her arm.

I should be the one to say something.

I need to be the adult in this situation and just own up to my mistake.

It doesn’t feel like a mistake.

A dull throb sits in my head. Lennon glances at me, but since I’ve paused my shooting, she skates over to the crease and begins to carve it up. The air in the rink goes still as I watch her. It’s a routine I’ve seen her do a hundred times before, but it feels different today.

I skate toward her, and my breath catches as guilt clogs my throat when she barely makes eye contact with me.

“Morning,” I say when I come to a stop.

“It’s two o’clock. That hardly constitutes morning,” she quips, looking anywhere but my face.

She finishes carving the ice and rests her back against the goal frame. Her hair is in a loose ponytail today, with the chocolate waves cascading down her right shoulder. She fidgets with her glove, and when she finally flicks her eyes to mine, there’s so much apprehension there that I know neither of us can just pretend yesterday didn’t happen.

“Lennon…” I clear my throat. “I was in the wrong yesterday. I took things way too far and took advantage of my position. I’m sorry. If you want to report it, I understand.”

She purses her lips. “I don’t feel taken advantage of. I wanted it just as much as you did.”

“It doesn’t matter. If anyone found out, you’d lose your scholarship, and I’d lose my job. I can afford that loss, but I don’t want you to miss out on finishing your education and playing your last season of hockey because of this.” Because of me. I’m a selfish bastard, but for once, I’m trying to make the right decision.

Even if it’s not the one I want.

“I know,” she quietly admits. “I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

“Don’t ever worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

“I know you will. Doesn’t mean I don’t still care.”

“Lennon…”

She throws her hands up. “I know I shouldn’t. But I can’t help it. And honestly, I’m tired of pretending like I don’t. Aren’t you?”

Absolutely fucking exhausted. I allow her to see the truth of it on my face, even as I tell her, “It doesn’t matter what either of us feels.” Not a confirmation, but not a denial either. “I’m your coach, and you’re my athlete. I’m also twelve years older than you. Neither of those facts are going to change.”

“You won’t always be my coach,” she says with a glimmer of hope in her hazel eyes that I don’t want to extinguish, but I know how dangerous hope can be.

“I won’t be,” I concede. “But it doesn’t make it right.”

“And you’re always about doing the right thing?” she challenges.

“No. But I’m trying to do the right thing by you.”

“Why?”

“Because I—” The admission gets stuck in my throat. Because I care about you. Because I want what’s best for you, and there’s no way in hell that could be me.

Lennon slides to the top of the crease so our skates are toe-to-toe. “Because you what? I want to hear you say it so I can stop feeling fucking insane.”

“You’re not the only one feeling that way. Trust me.” I reach out and thumb a lock of her hair, just needing to feel something, and it’s part of her that brings out these new feelings in me. I only allow myself a moment of it though, before I drop it. My body feels a natural pull toward her, leaning in on instinct, and I have to actively make myself pull away. “But we can’t.”

“But—”

I skate back and her face falls at the distance it creates between us. “Let’s get to work,” I say, closing the discussion. She wants to argue, I can see it on her face, but it’s an argument she’s not going to win.

We spend the next two hours working on blocks, taking breaks to watch footage of the teams we’ll face after the break, and some light conditioning. There’s no more conversation about anything outside of hockey. Just the way it should be.

I hand Lennon a water bottle as we skate off the ice and head toward the locker room. “You need a ride?”

“No,” she replies curtly.

“So you drove here today?”

Silence.

“That’s what I thought. I’ll meet you in the parking lot in ten.”

She stomps off to the locker room, and I quickly grab my things from my office before ducking out in the chilly air. I get my car running so it can warm up a bit and watch in the rearview for her to come out. Part of me expects her to slip through the front doors of the rink, just to be stubborn and waste my time waiting for her, but a few minutes later she comes trudging into the lot. She walks to my car as if she’s walking to the gallows, and honestly, the feeling is mutual.

I don’t want to have her sitting next to me, in my space, where I can smell her and be with her but not be able to touch her. To talk to her the way I want to. This is stupid. I should’ve let her walk home.

The thought repulses me though, even if Haulton is a safe campus.

I’m just making sure she’s safe. It’s my job.

Lennon shuts her door with a pointed slam, and I wait for her to buckle her seatbelt before I back out of the lot. The ride is tense, both of us on edge and unsure how to act around each other when we don’t have hockey between us to focus on now that we’ve blurred lines, and I’ve struck new boundaries in their place.

But they don’t stop me from glancing over at her as I wind through the quiet roads leading back to her apartment. Her full lips are downturned and look so fucking biteable that my skin itches with restrained desire. She stares straight ahead the entire way, but I can feel her watching me out of the corner of her eye. She’s not happy with me rejecting the idea that we could be anything but what we are right now, and neither am I.

But it’s what’s best.

I pull up to her building and put my car in park. “No practice tomorrow since it’s New Year’s Eve. I’ll give you the next two days off.”

“That’s not necessary. I’m not doing anything.”

“What?” When I was her age, I was out at the bar until it shut down, and even then, we’d continue the party at one of my teammates’ places.

She shrugs. “Everyone is back home for the holidays. One of the girls from my Communications class is having a party and extended the invite, but I don’t think I’m going to go. I don’t really know anyone else there.” She chews her lip and waits, almost like she expects something from me. But I school my features into cool disinterest, and her shoulders hitch.

She flings her door open and tosses over her shoulder, “Thanks for the ride.”

I wait until she gets inside her building, and then I peel away from the curb, the engine of my car roaring at the sudden gas I give it. I need to get away from her building, from her — far, far, away.

Before I do something else stupid.

The short drive over to my place is agonizingly long. My knuckles are stark white against the dark leather of my steering wheel as I wring my hands around it. The heat becomes too much, and I turn it off, cracking my window a bit. The fresh air is soothing against my face, but only for a moment. Just like it’s distracting, but only temporarily.

I’m going mad. I have to be. There’s no other explanation for why I can’t get her out of my head. And suddenly the idea of her ringing in the new year by herself becomes unbearable.

Don’t do it, Luke. Don’t you fucking ?—

When I pull up to the next stop light, I yank my phone out of the cupholder and fire off a text that I should never send.

But I do it anyway.

Me: I’ll pick you up at 7 tomorrow night