Page 6

DECLAN

I roll my shoulders, enjoying the burn of well-used muscles as I change after ballet. The locker room is almost empty now, most of the guys already gone to start their evenings. Usually, I’d stick around, maybe try to ‘accidentally’ bump into Victoria on her way out. But today?

Today she bolted like the room was on fire.

The thought lands sharp, like a slapshot to the shin.

I stuff my sweaty gear into my bag, my mind looping the moment we almost kissed in the training room. I’d told her later, and she’d said yes. But since then? Nothing. She skipped the team dinner last night. Rushed out after class today. Message received.

Except... I’m not ready to let this drop.

I know she usually wraps up with admin stuff after class, so I grab my bag and take off. Fast. If I don’t catch her now, she’ll disappear again, and I’m not spending another night wondering if I imagined everything between us.

The arena’s hallways are quiet, my footsteps echoing as I push through the exit and into the parking garage. My eyes scan the rows of cars until—there. Her.

Victoria.

She’s walking toward the far end of the lot, her bag slung over her shoulder, her pace unhurried. My heart kicks hard in my chest, and before I even register the decision, I break into a jog.

“Victoria! Hey, wait up!”

She freezes. Slowly turns. Even from a distance, I can see her putting on the mask of composed, unreadable. And something in me twists at the fact she thinks she needs that wall between us.

“Declan,” she says as I catch up, her smile polite. “Did I forget something?”

She looks so damn good it hurts. Her bun is loosening, a few strands curling around her face. I want to tuck them back just so I have an excuse to touch her.

“No, I just...” I stop, rubbing the back of my neck like an idiot. “I missed you at dinner last night.”

Not what I meant to say, but it’s true. I spent half the night scanning the room for her, the other half wondering why she hadn’t come.

She shifts her bag. “Oh, that. I didn’t want to impose. It felt like a team event.”

“It wasn’t just for the team.” I step a little closer. “Calvin brought Olivia. Luc had Natalie. Emile brought Sara. Everyone had someone. You were invited too.”

“I had lesson plans to finish,” she says, too quickly. Then softer, “And it looked like a family thing. I didn’t want to intrude.”

Family.

The word hits deeper than I expect. That’s exactly what this team has become for me. And the strange part is, she fits . Her laughter at the room. Her pastries. Her quiet fire. It all makes sense in a way I can’t explain.

“It was,” I admit. “Actually, it turned into more than a celebration. Calvin proposed to Olivia.”

Her face lights up, no hesitation in the warmth of her smile. “Oh! That’s amazing. They’re such a beautiful couple.”

“They are.” I watch her closely. “He said he knew the moment he saw her. Just… something clicked.”

I let that hang there. I want her to hear the unspoken part. That I get what Calvin meant. Because the first time Victoria walked into the rink, I felt that same spark. Like everything shifted a little, quietly but permanently.

She takes a half-step back. It’s subtle, but I see it.

“Some people get lucky,” she says, tone cautious. “But it’s not always that simple.”

I follow her. Just one small step. Not letting her pull away.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said yesterday. In the training room.” My voice lowers. “You said we’d talk later. Well… it’s later.”

Color spreads across her cheeks, and God, I want to trace that blush with my fingertips, follow its path down her neck to see how far it goes. I’ve never been this fixated on a woman before, never felt this constant awareness of another person’s presence, their reactions, their breathing.

“About that...” she begins, swallowing hard. “I’ve been doing some thinking—a lot of thinking, actually—and I, well, I don’t think that’s such a good idea anymore. In fact, I think it’s probably a really bad idea. A terrible idea, if we’re being completely honest.”

“Victoria.” I try to interject, but she’s building momentum now, words tumbling out faster.

“No, please, let me finish.” Her eyes go wide, almost panicked. “We hardly know each other, and I’m only here temporarily, and you’re... well, you’re you, with your perfect smile and your perfect hair and your perfect...” Her eyes drop to my chest and arms before snapping back up like she’s been caught stealing. “…everything. And I’m just the ballet teacher who’s supposed to keep professional distance, not fantasize about your turnout position. These private lessons need to stop. It’s not fair to other players, and Coach Belanger hired me to fix your footwork, not get all tongue-tied whenever you’re near. I have a studio waiting back in Peach Springs. A whole life that doesn’t include... whatever this tornado between us is, and?—”

“Victoria,” I try again, but she’s on a roll now, unraveling herself right in front of me while all I want to do is gather her up and tell her she’s wrong because we are so damn right .

“—and the thing is, I’m not even your type, am I? I mean, look at me. I’m not exactly the kind of woman people expect to see on a hockey star’s arm. I’ve spent my whole life being told I don’t fit the mold. ‘Too big for ballet,’ that’s what they all said. But I built my own studio, where I belong, where it doesn’t matter what size I am because it’s about the joy of movement, not about fitting some impossible ideal, and I just don’t think?—”

“You talk too much, you know that?” I interrupt, my voice low and rough with wanting.

“What?”

She blinks. And she’s so goddamn beautiful, all flustered like this, her eyes bright, her chest rising and falling with each rapid breath. And hearing her talk about not being my ‘type,’ as if I haven’t been dreaming about her curves, her softness, her strength every night since we met—it pushes me over the edge I’ve been carefully balancing on for weeks.

“I said you talk too much.”

Before my brain can veto the idea, my hand slides to the back of her neck, fingers tangling in her hair as I pull her toward me. Her lips feel softer than I imagined—and trust me, I’ve imagined plenty. I pour weeks of frustration and hunger into that kiss. Gentle isn’t in my playbook right now. This kiss makes a statement: I want you.

And then, holy hell , she kisses me back.

Her duffle bag hits the ground as her hands find my shoulders, gripping tight like she needs something solid to anchor her. I feel her lips part on a small gasp, and I take the invitation, deepening the kiss, tasting her for the first time. The sound she makes—this little whimper of surrender—nearly undoes me on the spot.

I pull her closer, one arm wrapping around her waist, hauling her body against mine. She’s all soft curves and warmth, fitting against me in a way that feels like finding something I didn’t know I was missing. Her hands slide up my neck, fingertips grazing my jaw, and I’m lost. Completely, utterly lost in her.

When we finally break apart, we’re both breathing hard. I don’t let her go far, my hands finding their way to her waist, keeping her pressed against me. I need her to know that this isn’t casual for me, that this isn’t just some passing attraction.

“I don’t care what anyone expects,” I tell her, my voice dropping to a growl. “I see you, Victoria. I’ve seen nothing else since you walked into that rink. And I want you—curves, strength, sass, all of it—exactly as you are.”

“Declan...” she breathes, her voice trembling.

“No more excuses.” I rest my forehead against hers, needing to stay close. To keep her grounded. To keep me grounded. “No more hiding behind ‘it’s not professional’ or ‘it won’t work.’ Give us one shot. Just one real date. That’s all I’m asking for.”

I can see the conflict in her eyes, the battle between desire and caution. For a terrifying moment, I think she’s going to pull away, tell me I’m imagining all of this.

“One date,” she whispers instead, and relief crashes through me like a wave.

I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face. “One date,” I confirm, pressing another quick, hard kiss to her lips because now that I’ve started, I don’t think I can stop touching her. “Tomorrow night. I’ll pick you up at seven. Wear something nice, but comfortable.”

“Wait. I don’t think—” She pulls back slightly, uncertainty clouding her features again.

My heart sinks, but I try for lightness. “If you’re trying to argue with me so I’ll kiss you again...”

“No, I’m not arguing,” she says quickly, though color floods her cheeks again. “I just... I don’t want to go on a date. Well, not a public one anyway.”

Her words confuse me. “What do you mean?”

Victoria takes a deep breath, organizing her thoughts. “I’m leaving at the end of the season, Declan. Going back to Peach Springs, back to my life. Being part of the ballet world taught me plenty about what it’s like being a plus-sized woman under public scrutiny, and I don’t want to invite that on myself again.”

“Victoria—” I start, wanting to tell her that none of that matters to me, that I’ll protect her in any way I can, but she holds up a hand.

“You don’t understand,” she continues, her voice urgent. “It’s not just about me. It’s about my dancers back home. These twelve-year-old girls already struggle with body image without seeing their teacher bullied online by some size-two puck bunny posting side-by-side comparison photos and ‘what is he thinking?’ captions.” She shakes her head, and I glimpse raw pain in her eyes. “Last time I was featured in Dance Monthly, some troll created an entire hashtag: #TooMuchTutu. The comments, the DMs... people get vicious when they think women like me should remain invisible.”

Anger flashes through me at the thought of anyone making Victoria feel this way, making her hide her light. “That’s not going to happen.”

“You can’t promise that,” she says, her voice soft but firm. “I’ve worked too hard building a space where all bodies can dance, where my students feel safe and valued. I can’t risk that for... for what? A few weeks of fun before I go back to my real life?”

I study her for a long moment, taking in the vulnerability beneath her strength. Finally, I nod slowly. “OK. No public date. Not yet, anyway.” I can’t help a small smile. “But I’m not giving up, Victoria. I still want to spend time with you, get to know you better.”

She might think this has an expiration date. That it’s just a temporary spark that’ll burn out the second she leaves Sugar City. But she’s wrong. I’m already too far gone to treat this like a countdown. Whatever time she’s willing to give me, I’m going to make it count. And then I’ll find a way to make her stay.

“Declan—” she begins, but I’ve already found my solution.

“I have an idea. My place. Tomorrow night. I’ll cook for you. Just the two of us, no public scrutiny, no puck bunnies, no pressure. What do you say?”

I can see the temptation in her eyes, the way she’s already imagining it. But still, she hesitates. “I don’t know...”

“Please?” I reach out, unable to stop myself from tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Her skin is warm beneath my fingers, and she leans into my touch just a little. “One night. If you don’t enjoy yourself, I promise I’ll back off. Scout’s honor.”

“Were you even a scout?” she asks, a small smile tugging at her lips.

I grin, encouraged by that tiny crack in her defenses. “No. But I’m still honorable.”

The moment stretches between us, charged with possibility. And then, miracle of miracles, she nods. “OK. One private dinner. But that’s it.”

My smile widens, triumph and anticipation surging through me. Because I know, with bone-deep certainty, that once I get Victoria Fletcher alone in my apartment, there’s no way this is stopping at just one dinner. Whatever this is between us…it’s just beginning.

“I’ll text you my address,” I say, bending to pick up her duffle bag and handing it back to her. “Seven o’clock. Don’t be late.”

She nods, still looking a bit dazed as I back away, keeping my eyes on her until the last possible moment. I give her one final grin before turning and heading back toward the arena entrance, my steps lighter than they’ve been in weeks.

The second I’m around the corner, out of her sight, I pump my fist in the air like I’ve just scored a game-winning goal. In a way, I guess I have. I pull out my phone and find Coach’s contact list, scrolling until I locate Victoria’s number. I hesitate only briefly before adding it to my contacts and typing out a message.

Me: Looking forward to tomorrow, Victoria.

I send a follow-up immediately, not wanting to seem creepy.

Me: This is Declan, by the way. Got your number from Coach’s contact sheet. Hope that’s OK.

Then, unable to help myself, I add one more.

Me: P.S. You’re a really good kisser.

I grin at my phone like a rookie who just scored his first NHL goal. That kiss will replay in my head all night, guaranteed. Victoria Fletcher thinks she agreed to one simple dinner, but I’m playing a longer game. The moment her lips touched mine, everything clicked into place like a perfect slapshot—this isn’t just attraction or curiosity.

This is the beginning of something real.

And I’ve never lost a fight worth winning.