Page 13

Chapter Thirteen

Connor

T he sun is high, the sand is hot, and I’m still thinking about last night.

Correction: I haven’t stopped thinking about it.

“Remind me, Connor… why are we pretending?”

I don’t even know what time she fell asleep after that. All I know is I laid there, wide awake, staring at the ceiling like a goddamn idiot, replaying her words on a loop.

And then this morning?

Coach Brody hauled our asses out of bed for team training.

No sunrise yoga on the beach this time—thank fuck.

We were indoors at the practice facility, stuck doing media training and brand alignment workshops. AKA: listening to a corporate guy in a polo shirt lecture us about current social media trends and how not to piss off our sponsors.

The whole time, I was counting down the minutes until I could get back to our room. Back to her.

When we got back from the rink, Lucy was still wrapped in the sheets, hair a mess, snoring softly like she hadn’t just blown up my entire brain twelve hours earlier.

All I wanted to do was climb back into bed and let her drool on my chest.

Instead, now I’m here—sweaty, sunscreened, and surrounded by my teammates on a private Malibu beach while trying very, very hard not to stare at the woman currently applying coconut-scented lotion to her ridiculously sexy legs.

I’ve seen a lot of dangerous things in my life. Flying pucks. Oncoming hits. A drunk Ryder in charge of fireworks.

And yet… none of them compare to Lucy in that bikini .

“Jesus,” I mutter under my breath, running a hand down my face.

“Yeah, I know,” Logan says from beside me, cracking open a canned cocktail and sliding down his sunglasses. “I felt my soul leave my body when she walked out of the cabana.”

I cut him a look. Sharp. “You wanna keep your eyes to yourself, or do I need to remind you she’s off-limits?”

Logan snorts. “Relax. I was admiring, not applying.”

I raise a brow. “Admire someone else then. Like… I don’t know, maybe a certain barista back in Iron Ridge?”

That gets him.

Logan chokes on his drink and coughs into his elbow, muttering something under his breath.

I smirk, satisfied. “That’s what I thought.”

He grumbles as he sips. “You’re so far gone, it’s embarrassing.”

“She exists, Logan. What the hell am I supposed to do?”

Which is… fair.

Lucy’s lounging under one of the oversized umbrellas, her bright pink bikini making my cock twitch every time she shifts. The bottom ties at her hips. The top is barely fucking there.

Don’t get me started.

There are curves and soft skin and legs that go on forever, and she’s laughing at something Natalie said, throwing her head back like she’s in a slow-mo shampoo commercial.

I’m in hell. Beautiful, coconut-scented hell.

Sophia passes me a pina colada in a carved-out pineapple with a tiny umbrella sticking out the top. “Hydrate, Walsh. You’re looking a little… tense.”

I glare at her, but I take the drink anyway.

A few feet away, Ryder is digging a trench like he’s preparing for a small war, and Blake’s tossing a football with Coach.

Lucy catches me looking and raises her eyebrows.

“What?” she calls out, sipping her drink through a paper straw.

I smirk, standing up and brushing down my board shorts. “Didn’t you try to drink all of Los Angeles dry last night?”

She shrugs, utterly unbothered. “And yet—shockingly—I survived.”

I grin. “Barely. You used me as a human pillow and declared custody over my body heat.”

She lifts her drink in salute. “No regrets.”

Then I catch sight of the paparazzi—lurking down the beach, cameras out, pretending not to be aiming directly at us.

I sigh. “Paparazzi, ten o’clock.”

Lucy blinks up at me. “Wait, what are you—”

I toss my drink in the trash and stalk toward her, heart pounding. I scoop her up, one arm under her thighs, one behind her back. She shrieks, clutching my shoulders as I grin down at her.

“We’re supposed to be dating, right?” I ask, stepping off the edge of the beach toward the surf.

“Connor—!”

I charge straight into the water, laughing as the first wave hits us.

A barrel of laughter escapes from my chest as Lucy shrieks, her arms tightening around my neck. Her skin is warm against mine, soft and slick from the sunscreen.

Every point of contact where her body meets mine sets my nerve endings on fire.

"I can't believe you just did that!" She sputters as another wave crashes around us, but she's laughing. Her legs wrap around my waist instinctively as I wade deeper.

"Had to keep up appearances." I grin down at her, watching droplets trail down her neck. "The paparazzi love this shit. They've got families to feed, so let's give them something to sell, hey, baby?"

"Oh, look who's suddenly Mr. Family Man." Lucy's eyes dance with mischief as she pokes my chest. "Next you'll be coaching little league and driving a minivan."

The words hit different. Like a puck straight to the chest that knocks the wind right out of me.

Fuck.

I can see it. All of it. Clear as the California sky above us.

Little dark-haired kids with Lucy's smile and my height, stumbling around on skates while she films it for her social media. Teaching them how to hold a stick, Lucy yelling from the stands during their first game with Blake's Youth Team.

The image burns bright and sharp behind my eyes. So vivid it scares the shit out of me.

I've never wanted that before. Never even considered it. My whole life has been about the next save, the next game, the next win.

But right now, with her wrapped around me and the sun painting gold across the surface of the Pacific, I want it so bad it makes my teeth ache.

"Connor?" Her voice breaks through my thoughts. "You okay there? You went somewhere else for a minute."

I tighten my grip on her waist, pulling her closer in the water. "Yeah. Just thinking about how good you'd look in a Walsh jersey."

She rolls her eyes, but there’s color blooming on her cheeks. “You’re such an ass.”

She splashes water at my face, but doesn’t let go.

The water reaches my chest now, and Lucy's pressed against me, all curves and smooth skin. Her bikini top is getting soaked, the pink fabric clinging to her chest.

I adjust my grip, sliding one hand up her back. "Yeah, but you like it."

We drift further, the shoreline pulling away behind her. The cabanas blur into soft shapes and distant laughter as the water laps around us—sunlight splintering across the surface, the breeze thick with salt and heat.

I adjust my grip, sliding one hand up her spine and into the damp strands of her hair.

“Yeah, but you like it,” I murmur, voice lower now.

Another wave lifts us slightly. Lucy gasps and clings to me, her nails scraping gently down my back.

“The water’s freezing,” she whispers.

The water laps around us as Lucy shifts in my arms, her thighs tightening around my waist. I swear, she’s not even trying to drive me insane… but I’m already there.

Salt clings to her skin, the slick press of her curves against my chest absolutely obliterating my last shred of composure.

She leans in, brushing her lips near my jaw. “You’ve been weird since last night.”

I keep my hands on her waist, just barely. “Weird how?”

“I don’t know…” She trails her fingers down my biceps, slow and teasing, her voice thick with amusement. “You haven’t made a single joke about the bed this morning. Didn’t even mention the fact that drooled on your pecs.”

“You definitely did drool a lot,” I mutter, jaw tightening.

She grins. “So why so serious, goalie boy?”

I exhale, my hands sliding lower on her hips. “You really want to know?”

“I asked, didn’t I?”

My fingers flex. “Because, when I was with my sisters last night, you looked at me last night like you meant it. Like none of this is pretend anymore.”

She’s quiet for a beat. Then her mouth curves into something dangerous.

“Maybe it’s not.”

She tilts her head, eyes flicking toward the beach. We’re far now. The music’s a distant thump, the figures just moving specks in the sun.

“Can you imagine if Ethan saw us right now?” she says, dragging one hand across my chest. “Neck-deep in the ocean. My legs around your waist. My mouth so close to your ear…”

“Don’t,” I grit out, already picturing the look on Ethan’s face. Fury. Regret. And underneath it all? The knowledge that he lost .

“Oh, I will ,” she purrs.

I told myself I’d stay away. That Ethan’s warning meant something.

But looking at her now, laughing, wet, wrapped around me like this... that line I wasn’t supposed to cross?

I burned it. Buried the ashes. And then let her set fire to the rest of me.

Her hand slides lower.

I stiffen as her fingers slip beneath the water, gliding over my abs, teasing the waistband of my board shorts.

My breath stutters. “Lucy…”

Her eyes gleam as she brushes her hand lower until her fingers wrap around the hard, aching length of my cock beneath the water.

Holy. Fucking. Hell.

I choke on a groan, my hips jerking involuntarily as she starts to stroke me—slow and purposeful, like she’s testing how far she can push me before I lose it completely.

“No one can see,” she whispers, voice all honey and pure seduction. “They’re too far. Too distracted.”

“Jesus, Lucy—” My grip on her hips tightens as her thumb sweeps over the sensitive tip. “Are you trying to kill me?”

She kisses the corner of my mouth, her breath hot against my cheek. “You’ve been watching me all day like you wanted to devour me.”

“I do want to devour you,” I hiss.

“Then let me start.” Her hand moves over me under the water, confident and wicked. “Let me play first.”

My head falls back as she reaches beneath the waistband of my shorts and strokes me harder, deeper, the waves rocking gently around us like a cover for her dirty little secret.

I’m so hard it hurts, her palm a wet, silken glide that has me seeing stars behind my eyelids as she pulls on my dick with long, delicious strokes.

No one knows.

But God, if they could see what she’s doing—what I’m letting her do out here, in the open…

It’d be game over.

Her breath hitches as she kisses the corner of my mouth, her lips soft and teasing.

“I can feel how much you want this,” she says, her lips brushing against mine. “How much you want me .”

My hands grip her hips harder, trying to anchor myself in the rising tide of sensation. “You have no idea…”

“Oh, I think I do,” she purrs, her tongue flicking out to trace the seam of my lips. “I can feel every inch of your need right here.”

Her hand squeezes my cock with a wicked clench that makes my vision blur.

I groan, my head falling back as she continues to stroke me under the water, her touch both torturous and divine. “Lucy… if you don’t stop…”

“Why would I stop?” she whispers against my mouth. “I love feeling you like this… so hard for me… so close…”

My hips jerk involuntarily, thrusting into her hand as she squeezes and strokes just right. “Fuck… Lucy…”

She kisses me then, her tongue sweeping into my mouth as if to claim every part of me. Her hand never falters, each stroke pushing me closer to the edge.

“Do you know how long I’ve wanted this?” she murmurs against my lips between kisses. “To have you like this… completely at my mercy…”

I’m trembling now, every muscle taut and ready to snap.

And then something catches our attention from the shore—a shout or maybe laughter—pulling us both back from the edge of our shared madness.

We stagger out of the water like two people who didn’t just commit a borderline felony with the help of a few waves and the illusion of privacy.

Lucy’s grinning like a cat with cream, and I’m doing everything I can to not visibly lose my shit.

Because I was this close .

One more second and I would’ve come in her hand. In the goddamn Pacific Ocean.

I adjust my board shorts as casually as I can, but it’s no use.

I’m still fucking hard.

Painfully. Obviously.

And that’s exactly when Ryder walks up. He's got a towel in one hand, pina colada in the other, and he takes one look at me before choking on his drink.

“Oh hell no,” he wheezes.

“Shut up,” I mutter, snatching the towel.

Logan saunters over, smirking like the smug bastard he is. “I warned you. That bikini’s a weapon.”

“She did warn me,” I grumble, wrapping the towel around my waist in a sad attempt at dignity.

Ryder, not content with verbal torment, digs around in his beach bag and pulls out a plastic glow-stick halo leftover from some promo event.

“I hereby anoint you,” he says, placing it on my head like some unholy priest, “Saint Connor of the Beach Boners.”

Lucy loses it beside me, doubling over with laughter as she wipes saltwater from her face.

“Oh my God, stop,” she gasps, swatting at Ryder. "Let him settle down."

I'm still trying to recover when Lucy grabs her towel from our beach chairs, dabbing at her face and neck. Water droplets trail down her collarbone, and I'm immediately back to square one with this whole situation.

A few strands of wet hair fall across her face, and before I can stop myself, I reach out to brush them back.

"Careful." Lucy's voice has that teasing edge I love. "People might think you actually like me."

"Maybe I do."

She blinks, caught off guard by my honesty. "Connor..."

I don't let her finish. My hands find her waist and I pull her close, not giving a single fuck about the cameras I know are clicking away in the distance.

When my lips meet hers, she makes this little sound of surprise that drives me crazy. But then she's kissing me back, her fingers curling into my chest, and everything else fades away—the beach, our teammates, the paparazzi.

This isn't for show.

This isn't part of our deal or arrangement or whatever the hell we've been calling it since that damn auction.

This is just me, wanting Lucy, needing her to know that she's mine.