Page 14

Chapter Fourteen

Lucy

Y esterday, I got Connor Walsh off while floating in my favorite bikini in the Pacific Ocean.

And today, I’m pretending like that wasn’t the absolute highlight of my entire existence.

Not that I can forget . Not with the way he keeps looking at me like I still have my hand down his board shorts. Like he’s waiting for me to do it again.

The man has the audacity to smirk every time our eyes meet, like I didn’t edge him until he was all twitchy and desperate in the ocean.

Now, it’s bright, sunny, and yet another stupidly perfect day in Los Angeles. The entire team is gathered at the base of Runyon Canyon for “optional bonding time,” which we all know means mandatory team hike in the words of Coach Brody.

And by team, he means everyone. Including me.

“C’mon, people!” Sophia claps, overly cheerful in her neon leggings and coordinating scrunchie. “This trail’s not gonna hike itself!”

Blake trails behind her, holding two iced coffees and looking like he regrets every life choice that brought him here. “Why are we doing this again?”

“Because it’s scenic ,” Sophia chirps.

Connor appears at my side, sweat already glistening on his forearms like he’s auditioning for a fitness calendar. His Icehawks tank clings to his chest in a way that reminds me of how his shorts clung to him in the ocean yesterday.

His voice drops low near my ear. “You sure you’re up for this, sweetheart? You did drink LA under the table two nights in a row.”

I sip from my organic green hangover-curing juice and smirk. “Please. I could hike this trail in heels .”

He gives me that lazy once-over, eyes dragging down to my black leggings and ribbed tank top. “Don’t tempt me.”

Sophia spins around at the first bend in the trail. “Alright then. Let’s make it interesting.”

She points at me. “You and Connor.”

Then at herself. “Me and Blake.”

“Couples race to the summit,” she grins. “Losers buy dinner.”

Connor lifts an eyebrow. “This seems rigged.”

Blake groans. “I’m not racing you psychos.”

“Oh, you are now ,” I say sweetly, already stretching one leg up on a rock like I’m in a Nike ad.

Connor watches the movement. Slowly. “You’ve got no mercy, do you?”

“Not an ounce, Goalie-boy.”

He steps closer, voice low and wicked. “Careful. If I win, I’m ordering dessert.”

“You realize we're on the same team, right?”

“Yeah, but either way, I’m eating dessert off you.”

I choke on my juice.

Sophia claps. “Aaaaand go!”

The trail winds upward, all dirt and rock and blazing sunshine. I jog ahead, adrenaline pumping. Connor stays close behind me at first, but by the halfway point, I’m pulling ahead.

By the summit, I’m full-on crushing him.

I hit the final incline and burst up the last stretch with a victorious whoop.

Connor staggers behind me seconds later, sweaty and panting.

“Unreal,” he groans. “Please tell me you’ve got rocket boosters in those leggings.”

I flop onto a sun-warmed rock, heart racing, legs buzzing. “Speed and endurance, Walsh. Two things you’re apparently lacking.”

He glares at me, chest heaving. “You’re gonna pay for that.”

I smirk, reaching for my phone. “Smile for the victory selfie.”

Behind us, the city sprawls out in a hazy, golden blur—skyscrapers, palm trees, and glittering rooftops stretching to the horizon. It's disgustingly beautiful. Like a postcard from a life I didn’t think I wanted.

But maybe, just maybe, I'm starting to.

Connor leans in, still breathless, hair wind-mussed, face glowing with sun and irritation. I snap the photo.

“Congratulations,” he mutters, voice low. “You’re officially the hottest girl to ever kick my ass.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” I say, tucking my phone away as Sophia and Blake appear behind us, mid-argument over which of them ran slower.

“Well, turns out Blake has the endurance of a retired cat,” Sophia huffs, collapsing beside me on the rock.

“It's the offseason. I was pacing myself , ” Blake says, hands on his hips. “It’s called strategy.”

“You mean walking,” Connor snorts, grabbing a water bottle from the team cooler Coach had hauled up on his shoulders like a pack mule.

We’re all flushed and breathless and soaked in sunshine as the team settles in around the overlook. Natalie throws down a picnic blanket, and within seconds, there's a spread of snacks—fruit, energy bars, protein shakes, and enough Gatorade to hydrate the entire NHL.

“Please tell me someone brought actual food,” Ryder moans, rummaging through the cooler like a raccoon.

“There's trail mix,” Logan offers.

“Trail mix is just disappointment disguised as nutrition,” Ryder mutters, opening a pack of almonds.

Connor’s still catching his breath beside me, legs stretched out, arms braced behind him on the rock. His tank top is damp with sweat, clinging to the broad lines of his chest, his hair is a windswept mess.

And the worst part?

He knows exactly how good he looks.

I turn away before I start actively drooling on said chest like I've just passed out on him again.

“Here.” Natalie hands me a protein bar and flops down dramatically. “I hate cardio.”

“I could run it again, ” I brag, biting into the bar.

Connor leans close, voice a warm whisper. “You might have won, but I know for sure I’d be carrying you back if you did that.”

I slap his arm as Ryder launches into a story about his first time attempting to cook for the team, complete with dramatic reenactments of nearly setting Blake's kitchen on fire.

I can't help but laugh as he describes trying to put out flames with expensive bottles of wine.

"So there I am, dumping a $200 Cabernet on these burning steaks, and Blake walks in—" Ryder waves his arms wildly.

I'm doubled over giggling, picturing Blake's horror at the wine sacrifice, when Connor's voice cuts through my laughter.

"Something funny, Lucy Lou?"

I glance up, cheeks warm, still grinning. "Ryder’s just—"

"Entertaining you?" Connor’s brow lifts, casual as hell, but there’s an edge underneath.

I shoot him a look. "Oh, come on. You’ve had your turn all day."

"Didn’t realize we were taking turns," he murmurs, folding his arms, eyes locked on mine.

Ryder, oblivious, launches into the part where Blake nearly calls 911 because the oven is billowing smoke.

I press a hand to my mouth to stop from laughing again. "I mean… he did almost kill your captain with a steak fire."

Connor doesn’t blink. "Yeah. Right. Hilarious ."

That’s when I smirk. And let it land. "Come on… I still think you're funny. But Ryder’s actually got jokes."

Connor's jaw tightens.

Before I can blink, his hand wraps around my wrist and he's pulling me up from the rock. He leads me a few steps away from the group, behind a scraggly Joshua tree that offers minimal privacy.

"You're mine, remember?" His voice is low, tainted with something that looks different on him… jealousy.

I should laugh it off. Make a joke about his caveman tendencies. Roll my eyes and remind him he's funnier than anyone I've ever met.

But I don't.

Instead, I stand frozen, caught in the intensity of his gaze. The air between us crackles with something dangerous. His fingers are still circled around my wrist, thumb pressed against my racing pulse.

The LA sun beats down, but that's not why I'm burning up. Connor's eyes drop to my lips, and I forget how to breathe.

"You jealous?" I ask, unable to stop the smile tugging at my lips. My pulse races under his fingers, and I'm sure he can feel it.

Connor's eyes darken. "So what if I am?"

The possessiveness in his voice makes my stomach dip.

No one's ever looked at me like this before—like I'm the only person in their world. Not my distracted parents with their society functions. Not Ethan with his investments and… whatever else he's got going on.

Connor's eyes don't move and I struggle to form coherent thoughts.

"It's kind of hot," I admit, leaning in with a smile.

He steps closer, crowding me against the Joshua tree. "Yeah?"

I nod, drinking in how his jaw clenches. The intensity of his focus makes me feel powerful, wanted, seen .

"You know you drive me crazy," he murmurs, his free hand coming up to brush a strand of hair from my face. "When you laugh at Ryder's stories, when you challenge Blake to races, when you just... exist in my space."

My heart hammers against my ribs. I've spent years being the perfect daughter, the supportive sister, fitting into whatever box others created for me.

But with Connor? I'm just Lucy.

And somehow, that's enough to make him look at me like this .

"I like driving you crazy," I say, reaching up to trace the line of his jaw with my fingertip.

His grip on my wrist tightens. "Keep that up, and I might have to show you exactly how crazy you make me."

The promise in his voice makes heat pool in my stomach. I've never felt this kind of connection before—this electric pull that makes everything else fade away until it's just us, just this moment.

Connor tugs my hand, leading me away from the shade of the tree and our nearby teammates to a higher overlook up the trail. Within a few minutes, the LA skyline stretches before us, bathed in rose gold as the sun dips toward the horizon.

"Come here." Connor settles onto a sun-warmed rock and pulls me between his legs. His arms loop around my waist, and I lean back against his chest, letting out a contented sigh as I feel my body sink against him.

He reaches around us, breaking off a piece of some fancy dark chocolate he snuck from the team's snack spread before anyone saw. "Open."

I part my lips, letting him feed me the chocolate. It melts on my tongue, but it's the intimacy of the moment catches me off guard.

This all feels too… right.

And I can't help but lean into that thought as I watch the clouds above us and listen to Connor's breathing.

"Speaking of jealous… you never talk about your parents," I say softly, tilting my head to look up at him. "I met your sisters, but I didn't even know they existed."

"I know."

"Why not?"

“Guess I don’t really like talking about life before hockey,” he says, voice rough like gravel. “Didn’t feel like much to talk about.”

His chest rises and falls against my back.

"My parents just worked nonstop. Dad at the firehouse, Mom doing double shifts at the hospital. I was raised by my sisters, and I guess that kind of independence just stuck."

I twist in Connor's arms to face him, my legs dangling over the rock's edge.

"It's funny that your sisters basically raised you, too. I mean, different circumstances but-" I pause, gathering my thoughts. "When Mom and Dad were busy with galas and board meetings, Ethan was my whole world."

Connor's fingers clench at the mention of my brother. "Yeah? And what was little Lucy like?"

“A total menace. I used to follow Ethan everywhere, copying everything he did...”

Connor chuckles. “Trust me, I remember. You used to pop into Ethan’s basement during game nights with your hair in lopsided pigtails, demanding snacks.”

I gasp. “You remember that? How embarrassing.”

“Hard to forget,” he says, mouth curving. “You were loud. And tiny. And you always wore those sparkly jelly sandals that squeaked.”

"You say that like I was in diapers. We're only three years apart, mister!"

He chuckles. "I know. I guess you grew up real quick."

"Lucky for you, huh?" I laugh, shaking my head at the memories flooding in. "You know… one time, I tried learning hockey just because you boys loved it so much."

"Wait, you played?" Connor's eyes light up with interest.

"God no. I just wobbled around the rink in figure skates, holding a field hockey stick because I didn't know the difference." I laugh at the memory. "Ethan spent hours teaching me, even though I was terrible."

"That's..." Connor's voice softens. "That's actually really sweet. Both of you."

"Aw… look at you. Connor Walsh, a secret softie." I lean into his touch, my heart doing that dangerous flutter thing again. "I like this version of you."

"Yeah?" His eyes search mine. "Which version is that, baby?"

"The real one. The one who feeds me chocolate and talks about his sisters and..." I swallow hard, realizing just how much I mean these words. "The one who sees the real me. Not the one I was being raised to be."

"I'm glad you like it." Connor presses a kiss to the top of my head. "Because I ain't going anywhere."

I twist a strand of hair around my finger, heart pounding. “You ever think about the auction?”

He hums. “Only every time you look at me like you want a refund.”

I laugh, but there’s heat in it. “No refunds. It was for charity… all sales are final.”

“Lucky me,” he murmurs and roll his eyes.

I bite my lip. “You know… I did spend fifty grand on you.”

His hand slides up my arm, voice rough. “Are you telling me you're about ready to collect your prize?”

I don’t answer him with words.

I just turn in his lap, straddle his thighs, and kiss him like I’m claiming what’s mine.

His hands tighten instantly—one gripping my ass, the other sliding up my back, anchoring me against him like he’s starving and I’m the only thing he wants to eat.

And God, the way he kisses me right now?

It’s feral. Possessive. Like he’s been holding back for weeks and just decided he’s done pretending.

His mouth devours mine until I’m gasping against his lips. Until I’m clawing at his shirt and grinding against the hard line of him beneath me like we’re not on a hiking trail.

When we finally pull apart, I run my fingers through his hair, smirking down at him.

“Well. That was almost worth fifty grand.”

His eyes darken. “Almost?”

I lean in, my voice a whisper. “Guess you’ll just have to prove you’re worth it.”

And then I climb off his lap, take his hand, and tug him to his feet—toward the trailhead, toward the setting sun, and toward the very obvious direction of our private suite back at the hotel.