Page 4

Chapter four

~ARES~

The locker room reeks of too much cologne and testosterone. The usual. I toss my shit into my locker, shoulders tight and jaw clenched. The ache in my hip is dull and getting too familiar. I’ve played through much worse. I’m not about to be a burden to the team, sitting on a bench when I can be out there with them.

A little smirk plays on my lips at the memory of Irene’s full cheeks reddening at the photo of me on her phone. What was she telling her friend about me?

“Dinner at my place tonight,” Damien says, breaking me out of my thoughts. He shoves his gloves into his bag. “You in?” “Rowan’s coming, too,” he adds when I don’t answer.

“Yeah,” I grunt, grabbing the tape for my knee. “Sure.”

The rest of the team is loud as fuck—laughing, talking, and running their mouths. Nothing new, except…

“I have an appointment with the new PTA today,” Stone’s voice reaches me. “You think you can dislocate my shoulder or something so I can go see her more often?”

“Only if you fuck up my knee. Let’s see who gets to ask her out first.” Davidson laughs.

It takes a second for it to hit me. The heat is low in my chest, curling slow and tight. Irritation. I rip a strip of tape off my wrist. The sting barely registers. I keep my head turned and act like I don’t hear them, but my pulse is already hammering.

They’re talking about her again. She’s only been here a few days, and they’re already fucking drooling.

I have no right to feel this way. I don’t even know her. Yet, I know I do. I know that face has crossed my path, but the memory slips through my fingers every time I try to grab it.

The way the guys talk about her like she’s something for them to pass around, something to fantasize about in the showers, makes my fingers itch to grab the nearest hockey stick and bust it over their heads.

Rowan catches the shift in my face.

“What’s up with you?” He leans in, studying me.

“Nothing.” I shake my head.

But Damien’s smirking now. Because he sees it, too, and when he speaks, it’s like he’s testing me. Pushing buttons he knows he shouldn’t.

“All of us are gonna have to go through Mathews assistant for our physical exams.”

The words punch through me, straight to the gut. The image of the guys in her office, her small hands on their bodies, assessing their injuries, talking to them in that soft, warm voice. Something snaps tight in my chest.

I don’t react outwardly. I just exhale sharply and slam my locker shut. But my blood fucking boils.

Because they’re right. She’s cute. No, she’s fucking gorgeous. But that’s not the problem. The problem is the way I noticed the second she walked in. The problem is the way her scent lingered long after she was gone. The problem is that when I see her again, I already know I’ll want to rip her away from every single one of these motherfuckers before they get the chance to touch her.

Her beauty is blinding, but it’s the feeling that’s fucking killing me—this goddamn déjà vu. The more I look at her, the more I feel this pull, and I hate it. I need to know why her face looks like a fucking ghost from my past. And that’s a dangerous fucking problem to have.

I’m on the leather bench near the stretching rooms, pulling off a strip of tape to wrap around my knee. I usually shower and go home after practice, but I have more excess energy than usual today. It’s nothing an hour of boxing can’t get rid of.

I sense her before I see her, striding into the gym area with her tablet in her hands. She’s dressed in a baby-blue set today, and it takes a great deal of will not to drag my gaze over her.

“Hey! Do you have a minute?” she asks, her voice sweet and melodic.

I look up at her and straighten my back.

“I need to schedule your physical exam,” she says, her tone almost apologetic. “I already talked to the other guys, but I can work around your schedule. When are you available?”

I exhale sharply, my eyes drifting to an empty space in front of me. My hip’s fucked. Not enough to keep me off the ice, but enough that I don’t want anyone knowing. They’ll bench me for the rest of the regular season, and I can’t afford that. I can’t afford to disappoint Coach Brown. I have to be useful to him. It’s the least I can do. If I’m injured badly, he won’t need me. And if he doesn’t need me, he’ll…

“I’ll see,” I say flatly, shaking off the thought.

“You don’t need to be examined?” She shifts on her feet, raising a skeptical brow.

“Didn’t say that.” I keep my eyes on the tape in my hands.

I definitely need to be examined for the obscene thoughts running through my mind each time I look at you, little thing.

“Want help with that?” She shifts closer. Her scent hits me first, light and sweet.

“I can manage.” I don’t look up. I’ve been doing this myself for years.

She laughs softly—a quiet, sweet laugh. I hate how much I like the sound of it.

Then she snatches the tape from my hand. I go still, my eyes following her hand. Did she just take my tape from me? No one does that. What’s the deal with this girl? She wasn’t even able to look at me without shivering earlier, but now she’s taking my tape.

My jaw ticks as I look up at her. Big, bright eyes. Long, dark hair. Small upturned nose. Lips that belong somewhere far from this room, far from me.

“Good thing you have a PTA to help you,” she says with a bright smile and slowly sinks to her knees in front of me.

Fuck.

I can only stare as she sets her tablet down and unrolls a piece of tape. My pulse is steady one second, then fucking erratic the next. Her hands touch my knee, pressing the first strip of tape down.

Heat. Straight to my cock. I clench my jaw so hard it aches.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

I’ve had so many hands all over my body—fast, desperate, and greedy—but this? This isn’t that.

Her touch is slow, careful—way too soft for the filthy thoughts racing through my head. She pauses. Her fingertips hover over my knee, eyes locked on the ink beneath them.

“Vincit qui patitur.” She traces the words as she reads them aloud with feather-light strokes over my skin. “What does this mean?” She looks back up at me with excited eyes.

I can’t answer. I’m too busy trying not to haul her into my lap.

Fuck, I’m no better than the animals in the locker room. I’m fucking worse.

My pulse is hammering. My fingers are locked, and my entire body is coiled like a wire stretched too thin. She’s right there. On her knees. And my dick is getting too hard. Right next to her perfect little face.

Christ!

I exhale through my nose, try to ignore it but fail miserably.

The image slams into me so fast, so vicious, I have to grit my teeth to keep from making a sound. Her on her knees like this, but not for this . Lips parted around my length, cheeks wet with tears as she chokes on my cock, struggling to take every thick, pulsing inch of me.

Would she beg? Would she look up at me with those innocent eyes while I ruin her?

Shit, I need to move before she makes me find out.

I exhale, sharp and slow.

“I’m sorry if it’s a personal question,” she says gently and looks down at my knee again. She’s busy working, smoothing the tape over my knee with delicate fingers.

It makes it worse.

I don’t know why. I don’t know why she’s different. I’ve had women on their knees for me more times than I can count. None of them have ever made me feel like this. Half of me wants to wrap my arms around her and shield her from everything bad; the other half knows that I’m everything bad.

It’s the feeling of familiarity, that nagging question in the back of my head—where the hell have I seen her before? It hasn’t stopped banging against my skull ever since I saw her.

Fucking enough.

I grab the tape from her hands and stand, putting as much distance between us as I can.

“I can do it myself.” My voice is sharp and rough. I’m fully aware I sound like an asshole, but I need to get away from her.

She blinks up at me, lips parted and brows drawn in confusion and hurt. She inhales as if she’s about to say something but doesn’t. Instead, she watches as I grab my water bottle. And then I turn and walk away before she sees the wreckage she just caused. Boxing is canceled.

I don’t look back. Because if I do, I might lose it.

And she doesn’t want to know what happens when I lose it.