Page 8
Chapter Eight
Lucy
H is mouth is everywhere.
Hot. Demanding. Completely, unapologetically all-consuming.
Connor’s hands drag over my body, one gripping my thigh, the other sliding beneath the hem of my skirt with a wicked slowness that makes my spine arch off the wall.
"Connor," I pant, leaning into his every touch.
He presses into me like he can’t get close enough, like if there’s even a breath of space between us, it’ll undo everything.
His mouth trails down the column of my throat, licking, nipping, tasting, like he’s mapping out every place I react.
And God, I react .
I can't stop.
My head falls back against the door with a thud I barely register because he’s already shifting lower, teeth grazing the top of my blouse.
“Connor—” I gasp, my fingers clinging to the thick muscle of his biceps. "Please, oh God."
I squeeze his arms in my hands. They feel like they're fucking carved from stone. They firm, hot and flexing beneath my grip, and when he groans against my skin, it sends a bolt of heat straight to my core.
“Lucy. You feel what you do to me?” he rasps, voice low and rough as he grinds his hips into mine. “This is what happens when you kiss me and disappear. You drive me fucking crazy.”
I don’t have a response.
I can’t think. I can’t breathe .
All I can do is feel.
The slight scratch of stubble starting to return to his jaw scrapes along my skin as his mouth dips lower. He unbuttons the top of my blouse slowly, letting the heat of my core rest on his lap as he presses me against the door.
He pulls the lace cup of my bra down just far enough to drag his tongue across the peak of my breast.
“Oh my God —” My fingers thread into his hair.
He sucks gently, then bites down on my nipple, and my body shudders with pleasure.
“Mmmm… you like that,” he murmurs, voice like sin. He bites down again, then releases my breast with a hard suck that pops when he pulls back.
I whimper at the loss of his mouth.
He pulls back just enough to meet my eyes. “Tell me you don’t want me, Lucy.”
My breath catches as I look into his eyes. “I—I don’t—”
His grin is pure heat. “Liar.”
His mouth crashes into mine again and I’m already gone for him. Despite Ethan. Despite every fiber of my being trying to fight this.
His limbs tighten around his waist, his lips part as his chest heaves against me. Then, when he lifts me up and starts walking us toward the desk, I can't help the squeal that leaves the back of my throat as my back hits the surface and his hands slide under my ass like he’s ready to ruin me right there, right now.
I want him to.
I need him to.
But then, a loud crash from down the hall scatters any desire racing through my body.
The hallway outside my office erupts. Someone is yelling about missing equipment. There's another clatter like someone just knocked over a whole damn shelf.
I jolt like I’ve been electrocuted.
Connor freezes, his breath ragged against my collarbone.
“Fuck,” he mutters, forehead pressing against mine as he shakes his head beneath his frustration.
Reality slams into me like a freight train. My shirt is undone. My bra’s barely on. My entire body is still humming, shaking, aching for more.
What the hell was I about to do?
Connor steps back slowly, his eyes dark and unreadable. His chest rising and falling like he’s fighting the urge to say screw it and finish what we started.
I reach to fix my blouse, hands trembling as Connor looks at me and realizes the moment is gone.
“I—I shouldn’t have—” My voice breaks. “This was a mistake.”
His jaw clenches. “You really wanna play that card again?”
I force myself to meet his eyes. “We can’t do this.”
It’s a lie. A weak one. Because every part of me is still burning for him. Still aching for more.
But if I let this happen—if I let us happen—there’s no pretending anymore. No going back.
He steps closer again, not touching, just watching. Like he sees everything .
“Didn’t sound like can’t when you were moaning my name.”
“That was—” I falter. “That was a mistake .”
“Right.” His voice drops. “A mistake you can’t stop thinking about.”
I look away. That’s the problem. I can’t .
“You keep running, Lucy,” he says, voice low, rough. “Let’s see how long you last.”
And then he’s gone.
***
I’ve spent the last three days in hiding.
My fortress is the brick and mortar of Chapter & Grind. My weapon of choice is my favorite twenty-ounce vanilla latte and the world’s most strategically positioned armchair.
I'm tucked away in my safe place, half-shadowed by a bookshelf, flanked by a hanging fern, and blessedly out of direct view of the door.
It smells like espresso, leather-bound novels, and quiet safety.
Which is probably why I’ve been camped here since sunrise, nursing my fourth cup of caffeine and pretending the world doesn’t exist outside these fairy light–strung walls.
Because outside, the world has opinions . About me. About Connor. About what happened when we kissed in the parking lot.
And the worst part… that smug Icehawks Goalie isn't doing a damn thing to stop it.
My quiet bubble pops as Emma marches across her book shop, a chai in one hand, mischief in the other. Her boots clomp across the hardwood until she drops into the armchair across from me like she owns the place.
I mean, I guess she does.
“So,” she grins. “Let’s recap.”
I groan and bury my face in my arms. "Not again."
“You outbid your brother , made out with Connor Walsh , and now the entire internet thinks you’re in a full-blown relationship with a man who could bench press a sedan. How’s your Tuesday going?”
“I hate you.”
“You hate that I’m right.”
I squint at her over the rim of my cup. “Okay, but what the hell were you doing bidding on Logan ?”
She shrugs, completely unfazed. “What? The man growls for a living. You know I’ve got a thing for hockey bad boys.”
My eyes drift to Emma's prized collection - rows of hockey romance novels with their brooding athletes and swooning heroines. Of course she'd stock enough shirtless goalies to fill an entire NHL roster.
“Emma.”
She sips her chai with smug grace. “Focus on your own sexual crisis, babe. Mine’s going great .”
I lift my head just far enough to glare at her. “It’s not a thing. The media’s just… being the media.”
Emma hums. “Uh-huh.” Then she’s reaching into her purse, pulling out her phone, and shoving it two inches from my nose. “Then explain this .”
I squint at the screen and fuck… it’s worse than I thought.
So much worse.
A headline blares in bold font across the screen:
ICEHAWKS STAR & BILLIONAIRE HEIRESS? INSIDE THEIR SECRET LOVE STORY
Another:
WALSH & DANIELS: THE OFFSEASON’S MOST TALKED-ABOUT COUPLE
And then:
THE MOST EXPENSIVE DATE IN SPORTS HISTORY—WHAT’S NEXT?
I blink. “Is that a—”
“Compilation video?” Emma nods. “Set to Ceilings by Lizzy McAlpine. Very tasteful. Very viral. You’re trending number one on TikTok.”
“Oh my god .” I grab the phone. “This is… I can’t. This is a disaster.”
Turns out, hiding in a bookshop and ignoring the rest of the world doesn't make all your problems go away.
Emma sips her chai, completely unbothered. “Honestly, you’re living the dream.”
“It’ll die down soon, right?”
“Oh, honey,” she says, with the kind of pity usually reserved for lost puppies and discontinued snacks. “You kissed him like he was dessert and you hadn’t eaten since Tuesday. You’re done for.”
I flop back into the chair, one arm flung over my eyes.
“This is why I don’t do things. This is why I plan . Because when I don’t, I end up straddling Connor Walsh in my office while people write headlines about our hypothetical babies.”
Emma laughs. “Look, all I’m saying is… maybe don’t run this time.”
I lower my arm just enough to glare at her again.
She shrugs. “You’ve been busting your ass for two years trying to build something on your own. Which, by the way, you have . But maybe—just maybe—you’re allowed to stop white-knuckling your entire life for five minutes and let something fun happen.”
“Connor Walsh isn’t fun . He’s chaos in a tailored suit.”
“Chaos that kisses you like that? I wouldn't mind some of that. Just sayin'.”
My face burns with embarrassment as I slide down the seat.
“Seriously, Luce. What’s the worst that could happen? You’re going on the offseason tour anyway. It’s a few weeks. Maybe you enjoy it. Maybe it crashes and burns. But you don’t have to treat every risk like it’s a cliff dive.”
I don’t respond.
Because the truth is… she’s not wrong.
I’m tired . Of planning. Of trying to stay two steps ahead. Of holding everything so tightly it slips right through my fingers anyway.
For a second, just one tiny second, I allow myself to imagine what it’d be like to let go. To stop fighting. To let myself fall into Connor’s orbit and just see what happens.
Then my phone buzzes. And for once, it's not Connor nagging me about not writing back.
Ethan: We need to talk. Alone.
The air goes out of me in one slow, heavy exhale. I stare at the screen like it might disappear if I keep my daggers locked and loaded on the notification.
Emma sees my face and sits up straighter. “What is it?”
I swallow. “It’s Ethan.”
Her expression shifts. “Shit. Still haven't spoken to him since—”
“Since he yelled at me in the parking lot like I’d personally torched his childhood dreams while riding Connor’s face into the sunset?” I cut in, voice brittle. “No. Not a word.”
Emma winces. “Right.”
“Mm-hm.” I toss my phone onto the table like it’s radioactive.
Because suddenly, I remember exactly why I’ve been running. Why I keep pulling back. Why kissing Connor—falling for Connor—can’t be as easy as it feels.
Because when it all falls apart, it won’t just be me left in the wreckage.
***
The Daniels estate is as pristine and soulless as ever when I get there after dragging my ass out of Chapter and Grind.
This is the kind of place where noise doesn’t dare live. Where every surface gleams with old money polish, and nothing is ever out of place. Cream stone facade. Frosted glass doors. Hallways lined with modern art no one’s bothered to appreciate in years, least of all my parents who, as usual, are nowhere to be seen.
It’s silent when I walk in the giant front door. Quiet all except for the echo of footsteps pacing somewhere down the hall.
Ethan.
He’s here. And judging by the sound of those heavy thumps, he’s already wound tight.
I step out of my shoes by the entry table—some compulsive childhood instinct drilled in by a million " Lucy, don't scratch the hardwood " lectures—and follow the sound of his movements until I find him in the sitting room overlooking Iron Ridge.
And shit… he looks like hell.
Tie loose. Hair rumpled. Shadows under his eyes deep enough to hold secrets I still don’t understand.
The second he sees me, he right in my face again, picking up right where he left off.
“What the hell were you thinking?!”
I freeze on the spot.
“Nice to see you too.”
“I’m serious, Lucy.” He storms around the room, hands fisting at his sides. “You just—what? Bid on Connor in front of the entire league , embarrass me and make me look even worse, then let the media turn this into some goddamn soap opera by sticking your tongue down his throat?”
“You mean the media you used to love courting?” I fold my arms. “Seems different when you’re not in control of the narrative.”
His jaw twitches and I'm impressed that he stops to take a breath for a moment.
“Listen, I’m sorry about the other night, alright?” he mutters. “I shouldn’t have yelled. But you don’t get it. You have no idea how hard I’m working to keep everything together right now.”
“Then tell me, Ethan!” My voice spikes. “What exactly is so bad that me bidding at a charity auction is suddenly ruining your life?”
His whole body stills.
Then, quietly, too quietly, he says, “I can’t. I can't tell you Lucy.”
“Bullshit.”
“Luce—”
“Stop treating me like a child!” I step toward him, fury rising in my chest. “You don’t get to tear me down just because I didn’t play the role you wanted.”
“I’m not trying to tear you down.” His voice is strained. “I’m trying to protect you.”
“From what?!” I shout. “From falling for someone you don’t approve of? From embarrassing the family name? From Connor?”
“From everything ,” he snaps.
"You sound just like Mom, you know that?"
Ethan's entire body shakes. “No, I don't. You don't see it, you never have."
I pop a hand on my hip and challenge him with my eyes. "Okay then, wise guy. Why don't you explain it to me then? What exactly are you protecting me from?"
"From all the shit you don’t see , Lucy. There’s more going on here than you know.”
“Then tell me !" It's my turn to scream now. "Let me help you, Ethan!”
He looks at me then. Really looks. And for one second—I see it again. That same fear . That weight that pushing so hard on his shoulders he can't even stand straight anymore. The cracks in his armor are so deep, my brother is almost unrecognizable now.
But just as fast as he appeared three weeks ago, he locks it all down again.
“Just stay out of it, Lucy.”
And that?
That’s what breaks me.
“Fine,” I say, breath shaking. “You don’t want to talk? I’m done asking.”
He frowns. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I’m going on the Icehawks’ offseason tour.”
He blinks like I slapped him. “What?”
“I leave with the team in two days. LA, then a media run. I’m going.”
He shakes his head. “No. You’re not doing this.”
“Why not?”
“Because this isn’t you , Lucy. This isn’t who you are. This job at the Icehawks? This pipedream? You’re not some—some puck bunny chasing a headline.”
My stomach turns. “Excuse me?”
“You’re doing this for him .”
“Yes, Ethan. I am. ” My voice drops to something dangerous. “And you know what? I’m doing this for me, too. And maybe by the time I get back, you’ll be ready to stop acting like I’m your problem and finally talk to me."
I turn on my heels and make for the door, stopping only to lay the final blow on my sorry-looking brother.
"Either that, or you'll be gone. Whichever you choose, Ethan, I'm fine with it.”