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KENZIE

Conversation melds with the rhythmic bass of the music resonating through Ally’s house.

The air is rich with the warm, inviting scent of something caramelized and laced with alcohol. One of Nick’s cocktail creations, no doubt.

The house is brimming with people, their bodies shifting and mingling through the living room, the bustling kitchen, and spilling out onto the back patio, where a fire pit crackles and pops against the sharp, crisp air of a Minnesota night.

I take a sip of my drink and lean back against the wall, observing the scene.

Ally moves through the throng with an almost ethereal grace. Her laughter rings out, a bright sound that carries above the music, while her hair catches the light perfectly, shimmering like spun gold.

To most people, she appears to be the quintessential hostess, seamlessly transitioning from one conversation to the next. Her hands lightly graze arms in passing, her smiles are warm and welcoming. People are drawn in.

But I see beyond the surface.

There are the subtle touches. The way Brooks’ gaze softens when he watches her, as though he’s committing each of her movements to memory.

The way Nick leans into her space, his grin wide and conspiratorial, as if they share a secret joke.

The way Tyler can’t seem to go more than two minutes without finding a reason to pull her close, anchoring her at his side.

They don’t merely admire her. They revolve around her.

And it’s not just desire; it’s a deep-seated devotion.

I take another sip, the ice clicking against my teeth as I swallow down a pang of something that feels dangerously close to jealousy.

Not because I want to take it from Ally.

It’s just that I don’t think I’ll ever have something like it.

I step onto the back porch, where the cool night air greets me with a brisk embrace, a sharp contrast to the warm, pulsating energy of the party inside.

The comforting scent of burning wood from the fire pit wafts gently around the space.

A small gathering of people is scattered across the porch, their laughter rising softly in the night, forming intimate clusters. Their breath forms misty clouds in the crisp evening air, a testament to the chill that has settled over the scene.

I pull my arms tightly around myself, as if to ward off both the cold and the heavy feeling lodged in my chest.

Why am I like this?

I should be immersing myself in the joy around me, not letting my thoughts spiral over matters that aren't even mine to worry about.

Ally deserves happiness, and if she's found it in abundance, then good for her.

Still, I can't help but feel somewhat out of place, lingering in the shadows while everyone else mingles with ease. I sigh, taking in a deep breath letting the air fill my lungs and clear the fog from my mind.

Just as I begin to convince myself to call it an early night, a deafening roar bursts forth from inside the house, a cacophony of loud whoops and cheers erupting from the living room, intertwined with waves of laughter and the rhythmic clapping that dances through the open patio doors.

My stomach tightens with a mix of curiosity and intrigue. What on earth could be causing such a commotion in there?

Without a second thought, my feet carry me forward. I step back into the warm glow of the house to uncover the source of the excitement that has captured everyone’s attention.

The atmosphere inside the house has transformed dramatically—it's electric, brimming with animated conversation and the rhythmic sound of hands slapping backs in warm greeting.

I navigate through the crowd, tracing the source of the lively uproar until my eyes fall upon a group of guys stationed at the entrance. Their broad shoulders and massive frames form an imposing barrier, filling the doorway with their presence.

And then I see him.

Holy hell.

He's new.

And he's fucking hot.

The kind of hot that sends a flutter through your stomach, making it twist and turn in unexpected ways, the kind that causes your brain to stumble over itself, desperately trying to comprehend the sheer sight of him.

His chestnut-brown hair is thick and perfectly tousled, just long enough to invite a touch. His hazel eyes capture the warm glow of the lights, their hues shifting fluidly between shades of gold and green, as if they can't quite decide on a single color to settle into.

Tall and lean, he was built with a sinuous elegance, unlike the other guys on the team who relied on sheer brute force. His physique was more akin to a runner's: graceful and fluid.

The sharp angles of his face were softened by a trace of scruff along his jawline, the kind of five o'clock shadow that conjures thoughts of friction, heat, and an unspoken invitation to explore further.

I catch myself and clear my throat, trying to dispel the sudden haze of attraction.

Snap out of it, Kenz. Focus.

He must feel the intensity of my stare because his eyes meet mine, and they linger just a heartbeat too long. His lips curve into a knowing smile, as if he's already unraveled the mystery of my thoughts.

A shiver runs down my spine.

Oh, this guy’s dangerous.

Before doubt can creep in, my feet propel me forward, straight toward him and into the unknown depths of whatever this magnetic pull might be.

I stop just within his personal space, close enough to catch the faintest whiff of cedar mingled with a smoky scent, as if he has just emerged from the depths of the forest after chopping his own firewood.

He looks down at me, his hazel eyes flickering over my face, and for a split second, I swear I see amusement and curiosity dancing like playful shadows in the depths of his gaze.

"Are you new here?" I inquire, tilting my head slightly in a gesture of mild curiosity.

One corner of his mouth tugs upward, forming something dangerously close to a smirk, a teasing glint in his eyes.

"Depends," he replies, his voice carrying a hint of mischief. "Are you planning on hazing me?"

I snort, crossing my arms defiantly. "That depends," I retort, raising an eyebrow. "Are you planning on wearing that sad excuse of a hoodie all night?"

His eyebrows shoot up in surprise, and he glances down at himself with a hint of self-awareness. He’s clad in an old, worn-out hoodie, the kind that’s been through one too many wash cycles, its fabric is faded and frayed, bearing the marks of countless adventures and perhaps harboring more stories than most relationships.

“Oh, you’re bold.” He grins, a low chuckle rumbling from his chest like distant thunder. “You don’t like my hoodie?”

“No,” I say without hesitation, my lips curving into a teasing smile. “It looks like it’s been through a war and lost.”

His laugh is warm and rich, a sound that wraps around me and does dangerous things to my insides. “It’s a classic,” he says, tugging on the frayed hem with a sense of pride. “And it’s comfortable.”

I pretend to consider, tapping my chin thoughtfully. “Maybe. But it’s also sad. Tragic, even. I think it’s time to let it go.” My eyes dance with mischief as I gauge his reaction.

He studies me intently, his gaze searching mine as if trying to decipher whether I’m serious or just toying with him. The moment stretches, charged with playful tension.

Then he leans in just a fraction, his voice dropping to a husky murmur that makes it dangerously intimate. “If I let it go,” he murmurs, “what do I get in return?”

Oh. Oh, he’s good.

His words coil around me, pulling me into his orbit.

And I really, really like the gravitational pull I’m feeling.

I grin, my eyes meeting his with a spark of challenge. “Guess you’ll have to stick around and find out.”

His hazel eyes darken just slightly, like storm clouds gathering, and I know at that exact moment how absolutely screwed I am.

We linger near the improvised dance floor in the living room, engaged in a playful exchange of sharp, flirty remarks. I can’t suppress my laughter at his dry humor, enchanted by the way his lips twist into a smirk of amusement each time I counter his jibes.

Without quite realizing it, we edge closer together, the teasing evolving into something more potent, a crackling electricity that dances between us.

"Come on," I say with a mischievous grin, setting my drink aside and reaching for his hand. "Let’s dance."

He arches a brow in mild surprise, yet he allows me to draw him onto the dance floor. The instant his hands settle at my waist, a surge of heat shoots through me, electrifying my senses.

I surrender to the music, my body moving fluidly against his, feeling the defined contours of his torso beneath the worn, threadbare fabric of his tragically old hoodie.

He matches my movements seamlessly, his grip on my waist tightening just enough to convey a sense of possession, his body emanating a warmth that envelops me as we grind together in a slow, intoxicating rhythm that seems to suspend time.

The heat swirls through my head, mingling with the buzz of alcohol. When he leans down, his breath brushes warmly against my ear, barely a whisper that I struggle to comprehend.

And then his lips capture mine, and I melt into him.

His mouth is hot and insistent, a perfect blend of roughness and tenderness, teasing yet demanding in its exploration.

His fingers dig firmly into my waist, pulling me impossibly closer, until the music and the crowd dissolve into an inconsequential blur.

It's just him and me, lost in the undeniable, magnetic pull that neither of us is resisting any longer.

I break the kiss, breathing hard, my lips tingling from the force of it. His hazel eyes blaze into mine, filled with an intensity that mirrors my own, his chest heaving rapidly as if he's just as swept up in this moment as I am.

"I need air. Wanna go outside?" I say, grasping his hand with urgency.

"Air?" he repeats, his voice a low, playful murmur. "Is that what we're calling it now?"

I just laugh and tug him through the sea of people, weaving past half-drunk teammates and friends who sway and chatter, oblivious to the world outside their immediate revelry.

We push our way out the front door into the night air.

The sudden temperature drop strikes me like a splash of cold water, my overheated skin prickling as the cool breeze sweeps over it.

We barely make it to my Jeep parked in the driveway before he turns me around, his hands firm and urgent, pressing me gently yet insistently against the passenger side door.

His hands glide down my arms, tracing my skin like a gentle breeze over water, before moving over my ribs and finally gripping my hips with a firmness that seems to commit the shape of me to memory.

His lips find mine again, insistent and deliberate, as if each touch is a note in a symphony only we can hear.

I fumble for the handle, the metal cool against my fingertips, and shove the door open.

Before I fully grasp what's happening, we’re clambering into the back seat, the world outside fading into oblivion.

As soon as the door clicks shut, sealing us in this private cocoon, I straddle him, my fingers slipping beneath his hoodie to explore the warm expanse of his skin beneath the fabric.

“This isn’t something I usually do,” I whisper, my words brushing against his mouth like a secret shared in the dark.

He chuckles softly, his fingers teasing the hem of my dress, a playful promise in his touch.

“Me either,” he replies, his voice a velvet murmur.

I don’t believe him. And truth be told, I don’t care.

I dive back into the kiss, surrendering to the sensation of him.

His hands glide across the top of my dress, gripping my breasts through the thin fabric. I gasp against his mouth, arching into his touch.

His lips trail down my neck. "God, you're beautiful," he murmurs against my skin.

I roll my hips against him, feeling him hard beneath me. A low groan rumbles in his chest, his hands gripping my thighs tighter.

"Wait," he pants, pulling back slightly. His eyes search mine, a hint of uncertainty in their hazel depths. "Are you sure about this?"

The question catches me off guard. I blink, my foggy brain trying to process his words through the haze of desire.

"I mean," I start, my voice husky. "Yeah. I want this. Don't you?"

His thumb traces circles on my hip, sending little sparks of electricity through me. "Of course I do," he says. “I just wanted to make sure you were good.”

“Yeah,” I whisper. “I’m good.”

His lips pull me in again as I feel him peeling away my dress, I let out a soft gasp. His hands are everywhere, tracing the curves of my body with a reverence that makes my heart race.

His lips trail down my neck, across my collarbone, igniting every nerve ending.

"You're sure?" he murmurs against my skin one more time.

In response, I grab the hem of his hoodie and tug it over his head, tossing it aside. My hands roam over the planes of his chest, feeling the hard muscle beneath warm skin.

"Absolutely sure," I breathe.

His eyes darken with desire as he pulls me closer, claiming my mouth in a searing kiss. I melt into him, losing myself in the heat of his touch and the taste of his lips.

The world narrows to just this: the feel of skin on skin, quiet gasps and low moans mingling with the muffled sounds of the party outside.

His hands glide down my back, cupping my ass and pulling me flush against him. I grind my hips, eliciting a deep groan from his throat.

"Fuck," he breathes, voice rough with need.

I fumble with his belt buckle, desperate to feel more of him. He helps me, lifting his hips as I tug his jeans down.

My fingers trace the hard length of him through his boxers, and he hisses in pleasure.

"Condom?" I manage to ask between heated kisses.

He nods, reaching for his discarded jeans. He pulls out his wallet, retrieving a foil packet. I take it from him, tearing it open with shaking hands.

As I roll the condom on, I take in the feeling of his hard, thick cock in my hand. It twitches at my touch, and I feel excitement course through me as I climb on top of him, centering myself as I feel his hands fall to my bare hips.

Gently, he pushes himself inside of me, and I moan loudly, feeling him fill me up entirely.

I brace myself with a hand on the seats beside me, tipping my head back, allowing pleasure to race along my veins.

It feels good to be reckless, to have fun like other people my age. It feels good to let go of the staid, boring vet school graduate, who always does the right things at the right times.

Besides, as he fills me to the brim, making sparks of pleasure sing and dance outward from my core, I can’t find it in me to think that this isn’t the right thing. In fact, it feels dangerously like the only right thing I have ever done in my life.

“God, you’re tight,” he growls, lifting his hips to meet my movements, helping me get into a cadence.

“You’re welcome,” I shoot back and then slap a hand over my mouth in shock. I’m not usually sassy like this. Where has this other side of me been hiding?

He chuckles, the sound rich and warm, and it adds a secondary note of pleasure to his thrusting within me.

The intimacy of the moment feels greater than just a hookup, confusing my senses, and compelling me to rock harder against him, chasing my release.

“Use me,” he says to me, his voice low. “Take what you need, baby.”

I blink at him. The words are dirty. One of his hands tangles in my hair, and the other steadies my hip, allowing him to drive into me harder.

I feel the coming tide of my orgasm hovering at the edges of my awareness, and I keen gently, moving faster.

“Come for me, baby,” he orders me, and as if my body is trained to answer his commands, I do.

The loud cry that I utter as pleasure rips through me surprises me briefly. I shake and twist against him, gasping and crying out as the orgasm has its way with me.

“God, that was amazing,” he praises me.

He grips my hips with both hands now, driving harder, making little shocks of fresh pleasure hum through my core.

Then, with a last couple of hard thrusts, he groans out his release, his muscles trembling slightly, his eyes closed. I look down at his handsome face, his long eyelashes catching the dim light shining in on us from the streetlights.

I feel a moment of savage satisfaction that I could reduce this god of a man to this kind of pleasure, that I could make him this naked and vulnerable with me.

“Thank you,” he says to me, his voice low. He opens his eyes, and runs a hand across my cheek.

“You’re welcome,” I say back, automatically, always polite.

“I need some water,” I say, hoping that this is a suitable excuse to break apart. I don’t know the rules of this kind of game very well.

“Sure thing,” he says, helping me rise off of him, and rolling the used condom off.

We fish around for our clothing, knocking heads once and giggling like teenagers.

Its a few quick minutes of bliss before we’re both exiting my Jeep, and I feel my entire face burning red hot from the embarrassment and the booze.

He looks at me for a moment, his head cocked to the side. “You wanna get out of here?”

“Yeah, I don’t think I should drive, though.”

“Don’t worry, you can crash at my place,” he says.

The first thing that registers as I slowly emerge from sleep is the rich, comforting aroma of freshly laundered sheets mingling with a distinctly masculine scent—woodsy cologne layered with hints of something fresh and invigorating, like mint.

The second realization hits me like a bolt.

This isn't my bed.

My head throbs with a dull, relentless ache that pulses behind my temples.

The pillow beneath me is far too soft. And my mind is still shrouded in a haze from sleep and the lingering effects of last night’s alcohol.

Suddenly, the memories flood back.

The party. The mysterious new guy. The electrifying kisses, the intimate touches, the Jeep.

I bolt upright with such speed that a dizzying wave crashes over me, compelling me to press a hand against my forehead for balance.

My dress clings to me, but my shoes are absent. Then I see them neatly arranged beside the bed, as if someone had gone out of their way to ensure my comfort.

My eyes scan the room. It’s a minimalist yet inviting space with deep blue walls that lend a cozy warmth. A few books are stacked haphazardly on the nightstand, and a solitary hockey stick leans casually in the corner.

On the dresser, a photograph captures a young boy, perhaps six or seven, his face brimming with innocent joy.

A sinking sensation settles in my stomach as the reality sets in.

I spent the night at his place.

And, based on the unruffled state of my dress, absent of any telltale creases from intimacy, it’s clear he didn’t cross any boundaries after the Jeep.

I groan softly. I need to get out of here. Fast.

But as I reach the door, he appears in the hallway, a steaming mug of tea cradled in one hand, the other raking through his tousled, sleep-mussed hair.

His presence is unexpected, yet somehow fitting in the soft, muted glow of dawn.

“You’re up early,” he remarks, his voice a gravelly whisper wrapped in the remnants of sleep.

“I, uh, yeah. I should go,” I stammer, inching toward the door, my heart skipping a beat as I catch a fleeting glimpse of pain in his golden-hazel eyes.

“You don’t have to bolt,” he says, his gaze steady, observing me with an intensity that makes the air between us feel charged.

I muster a tight smile, trying to ignore the strange, twisting pang in my chest. “Nah, I gotta go. Can I get my keys?”

Thankfully he drove us back to his place in my Jeep. It made leaving a little more convenient.

Despite the silent plea in his eyes as he passes me my keys, I turn away, stepping into the cool, uncertain morning beyond.

“Sorry, work calls.” I sigh with a smile before leaving.

The second I walk into the clinic, the familiar mix of smells hits—that warm, lived-in animal scent that never really goes away.

The lights buzz overhead, flickering like they do every morning, and I make a mental note (again) to call the damn electrician.

I let out a slow breath.

Last night still lingers, but it’s quieter now.

This place might be in need of some TLC, but it’s mine.

It’s my happy place even as I remain submerged in the overwhelming tide of vet school debt.

I make my way to the back room, where the animals staying overnight are housed. An older tabby cat named Jasper peers at me through sleepy eyes from his cozy kennel, while a pair of rescue rabbits, their noses twitching inquisitively, observe my every move with delicate curiosity.

"Good morning, everyone," I whisper softly, reaching for my clipboard to begin the day’s duties.

A quick glance at my inventory sheet sends a wave of anxiety washing over me. Supplies are alarmingly low, medications, basic medical necessities, and even the most mundane items like paper towels are nearly depleted.

I press a weary hand to my forehead, feeling the frustration simmering. For weeks, I've been scraping by, just managing to keep this place afloat with the bare minimum. But the reality looms large, if something doesn’t change soon, I’ll be forced to take out another loan. A loan I simply can’t afford.

I let out a heavy sigh and affectionately rub Jasper’s soft head before moving on to check the others.

Today, at least one thing is going my way. I don’t have to go to the rink. This means I can avoid seeing him.

The enigmatic hockey hookup.

I didn't even bother to catch his name, a detail that now feels like a chasm of missed opportunities.

It's well past midnight, and exhaustion clings to me like a heavy cloak as I get home.

My bones feel weary from a day spent on my feet at the clinic. It doesn’t help that my mind was swirling relentlessly with a storm of financial stress, business worries, and the new ever-present thoughts of him .

As I step inside, I kick off my shoes with a dull thud against the wall. My keys clatter onto the kitchen counter and I make my way directly to my bedroom.

The air in my apartment is stagnant, a stale reminder of my absence. It's as if the walls themselves have held their breath, waiting for my return.

I know I should open a window to invite the cool night breeze inside, but instead, I surrender to gravity and collapse onto my bed, face-first.

The soft embrace of my pillow greets me, carrying with it the delicate, calming scent of rose laundry detergent.

I should sleep.

But my thoughts refuse to quiet down.

How long can I keep my clinic running before I'm forced to make some tough decisions? What if the day comes when I have to close the clinic's doors for good?

The idea of taking on a second job just to scrape by looms over me like a shadow.

And what on earth am I going to do when I have to confront him again?

I let out a groan and roll onto my back, my eyes fixating on the ceiling above. There are no answers in the plaster patterns, only the stark reality of my predicament.

All I know is that I'm in deep trouble, and it's not just because my business is teetering on the brink of failure. It's also because of a guy with mesmerizing hazel eyes and an infuriatingly charming smile.

I sigh deeply, throwing an arm over my face in a futile attempt to block out the world.

Tomorrow, I tell myself.

I'll face it all tomorrow.