Page 17

Chapter seventeen

~ AVERY~

I wake up, blink, and instantly know something’s off. This bed isn’t mine. It’s way too big, and the pillow smells… masculine.

Oh, God.

The realization crashes down, a mess of thrill and panic tangling in my chest as I remember. Damien. Last night. All of last night. I bury my face in the pillow, like that’s somehow going to help, but all I do is inhale more of his intoxicating scent. The whole bed smells like him. My body’s got its own embarrassing reminder—hello, soreness. Every tiny move feels like a highlight reel of everything we did, except in painfully clear HD. This wasn’t just some random hookup. This was me… not being a virgin anymore. With him.

I press my hands to my cheeks, feeling them go traitorously hot. My first time. I never thought my first time having sex would be with a pro athlete, let alone Damien. And yet, I’m trying so hard not to smile because here I am, feeling bruised in the best way after a night with Damien. And this isn’t just any guy; this is my brother’s best friend.

And I let him do all that to me. With me.

The weird part? I can’t even bring myself to feel guilty. Instead, I feel like I’m in on this insane secret, one that only I get to hold, stamped into my bones. I mean, me, actually being with him. Damien . My heart stumbles a little as I force myself to move, trying not to wince.

I sit up, hoping the world won’t split in half as I check my phone, praying there’s no “WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?” message from Rowan. I mean, slipping back to my room in daylight? Not ideal.

Please don’t let him have noticed.

When I open my messages, though, there’s a text from him, and my pulse skips.

Rowan : I tried knocking on your door, but it seems like you’re still sleeping. We’re off to practice.

Okay, he has no clue . Breathing out, I close the text and lean my head back against the headboard.

Then, I spot another message from Damien. Just his name showing on my screen has my heart picking up, but I hesitate before reading it, bracing myself for… I don’t even know what.

Damien: Didn’t want to wake you. We’re headed to practice. Make yourself at home. You can wear something of mine if you don’t feel like putting on yesterday’s clothes. Don’t worry about locking up when you go back to Rowan’s. Text me if you need anything.

I can feel the grin behind his words, teasing and playful, but there’s also an undertone that makes my stomach flutter. There’s a gentleness in there. Didn’t want to wake you. He could’ve just laughed it off and made some smug joke, but he’s actually… soft? Damien has a sweet side, and it’s aimed at me?

I read his text again, biting my lip against a smile. He even suggested I wear his clothes. And now I want to.

The beach is breezy but sunny, perfect weather for hiding under my baseball cap and Damien’s oversized T-shirt while I spill my guts over an iced coffee and chocolate-dipped cone. Sarah, meanwhile, is perched across from me in full glam mode, like she’s ready for a paparazzi ambush any second.

I’m sitting there, trying not to sink into my seat, as she stares at me like I just admitted to robbing a bank. She’s silent for a full thirty seconds before she finally speaks up.

“Okay . ” She sits back, hands clasped together like she’s about to start a sermon. “You snuck out of your room through the window because Damien curled his finger. And you spent the night at his house.”

I nod, cheeks flaming. “Yeah, that’s about the gist of it.”

“And he popped your cherry? He gave you his hockey stick?”

“Oh my god,” I groan, burying my face in my hands. “Do you have to say it like that?”

“Why are you acting shy?” She leans back, clearly loving this way more than I do. “You had your first time with a hockey god . You’re basically in the top tier of all first-time experiences. Like, who even gets that?” She raises a brow and leans in, eyes glittering with curiosity. “So?”

“What?” I shrug.

She rolls her eyes. “So, how was he? If the stories are true, I’m not sure how you’re not at home with an ice pack between your legs right now. How big was he?”

“Sarah!” I feel my face get hotter, and I can’t even look at her.

“Spit it out, girl.” She grins like she knows she’s got me cornered. “Was he this big?” She holds out her hands about six inches apart. I giggle and shake my head. She pulls them further apart with a raised brow.

“Put your hands away,” I plead as she stares at the space between her hands.

“Then tell me,” she insists, dropping her hands down.

“He was…” I bite my lip at the memories flooding my mind. I couldn’t describe it with a single word to save my life.

“He absolutely rocked your world, didn’t he?” Sarah giggles. “I bet it was intense.”

“Yeah.” I lick my ice cream, preventing it from dripping on my hand. “But he wasn’t all rough or anything. He was…” My voice trails off again. No, no words can describe what Damien did to me last night.

“ Oh, he made sure you felt everything, didn’t he ? ” She’s practically bouncing in her seat now, grinning wide.

“I—oh my god,” I stammer. “Sarah, please stop!”

“At least tell me it was good.” She’s practically glowing now, loving every second of this.

“Good? It was mind-blowing. I didn’t even know I could feel all that,” I admit truthfully.

Sarah leans back, her grin only getting wider. “You’ve officially bagged yourself an NHL hockey player. Oh my god, you should totally wear his jersey to the next game. Like one of those trophy hockey wives.”

I nudge her playfully, trying not to think about how much I want to wear his jersey.

“Well, I’m wearing his T-shirt. That’s close enough, right?” I grin back. Sarah’s eyes go from the shirt and back to me before she lets out a laugh.

“Oh, I love this,” she says with a little too much satisfaction.

My phone chimes, stealing my attention. I look down at a text from Rowan. I’d texted him earlier, telling him I was at the beach and asking if he could pick me up.

Rowan: Practice is taking longer today. Meet me at the rink. We’ll head home from there.

Of course, the rink. Right where Damien is. The idea of being in the same place as him, especially after last night, makes my heart race a little faster.

But I take a deep breath, send a reply, and try to ignore the flutter in my stomach.

“I guess I’m seeing him sooner than I thought,” I sigh, looking at Sarah.

I step into the rink, instantly hit by the chill of the air. The sound of blades slicing through ice is sharp and familiar, and it almost distracts me from the nerves buzzing at the back of my mind. But that’s only for a second. Because the next moment, I see them.

Damien, Rowan, Ares, and their teammates. They're all in full gear, moving like a storm. I spot the number 13 on Damien’s jersey written in bold black letters traced in yellow.

He’s on the ice like a predator, his massive frame cutting through the chaos with terrifying, controlled aggression. He’s a blur of black and gold, his team colors, slamming into his teammates with a force that makes me flinch, even from the stands. When he checks a guy into the boards, I can feel it all the way up here. The crack of bone against the unforgiving ice. It’s like he owns the rink, and everyone else is just playing along.

Memories of him from last night flash through my mind, and I feel my cheeks heat. I shouldn’t think about this here.

I wince as I shift in my seat, the soreness still fresh, like every part of me is too tender to move without feeling it, feeling him. I shift uncomfortably again as I watch Damien plow through his opponent. His movements are fluid yet brutal, and he’s looking every bit the enforcer. Damien has a reputation for a reason.

He skates up the ice, easily blocking another opponent with a flick of his stick, shooting a look over his shoulder at his team, his jaw set in a determined line. There’s a rawness to him today, fierce, unstoppable, like nothing and no one can touch him. His eyes are locked on the puck, but even from here, I can tell he’s aware of everything happening around him.

Next to him, number 8 flashes through. Ares. He’s even more intense today. He’s slamming guys into the boards with a viciousness I haven’t witnessed before. The whole rink feels like it’s shaking from the force of it. When Ares checks someone into the glass, I swear the guy’s entire body jolts. Ares doesn’t give a shit. His face is a mask of fury behind the helmet, and when he gets the puck, it’s like watching a bull in a China shop. He’s not looking to score but to crush anything that stands in his way.

Rowan is quieter, more strategic. He’s everywhere, weaving through opponents, setting up plays with a flick of his stick, faking turns that his teammates should be used to by now, but he’s faster.

I can’t look away, even though my body still feels like it’s made of Jell-O after last night. I can barely keep my knees together without wincing.

But as I keep watching, I see Ares’ aggression ramp up, and something feels different. He’s pushing harder, shoving opponents down in a way that’s almost reckless. Ares isn’t reckless. He’s the opposite. What’s gotten to him today?

He’s not just playing to win the practice game; he’s playing to dominate, to send a message. I have no idea what’s going on, but it’s clear something’s off.

I settle into my seat, watching the ice, captivated by the sheer brutality of it all.

And Rowan’s afraid of me figure skating again. I huff out an annoyed laugh as I keep watching.

They’re playing like it’s war out there, and everyone else on the ice is just an obstacle. The team is split in two, jerseys clashing as they rush up and down the rink, carving lines across the ice with sharp precision.

Damien’s careful with his teammates, guiding his body around them when he needs to, blocking them with just enough force to assert his presence but not enough to send anyone crashing.

But Ares keeps playing hard, not caring that this is a practice game and his opponents are actually his teammates. He slams into anyone in his path and looks like he’s on a mission to obliterate everything between him and the puck.

My eyes track Damien as he cuts across the ice, his focus zeroed in on the goal. Just as he swings his stick to catch a pass, I see Ares charging toward him like a freight train. There’s no hesitation, no mercy. Ares plows into Damien full force, slamming him hard against the boards with a bone-rattling crash.

Damien’s roar of pain echoes through the rink, and I feel it like a punch to my gut. Before I even realize it, I’m on my feet, my voice escaping in a panicked shout.

“Damien!”

He’s gripping the boards, his face twisted in pain, and for a moment, it looks like he might stay down. But then Rowan skates up to Ares, shoving him lightly in the chest, his tone hard as I hear him bark, “Take it easy, man. What’s the matter with you today?”

Ares doesn’t even look at Rowan. He just glances down at Damien and reaches out his hand, offering to help him up, but Damien swats it away, pulling himself to his feet. He straightens, rolling his shoulders with a wince, and then looks up right at me.

Our eyes lock, and my heart stumbles. His gaze is silently reassuring me, telling me he’s fine. And then his eyes travel to my T-shirt, his T-shirt, under my unzipped hoodie. He grins that cocky, maddening grin before turning his attention back to the game, heading toward the center like nothing happened.

I’m still reeling, barely able to catch my breath, when I hear a voice next to me.

“Men on fire today, huh?”

I turn, startled, to find the blonde girl from the parking lot from a few days ago standing there, her eyes on the ice, a sly little smile playing on her lips.

“Yeah, I guess,” I say, trying to sound casual, though I know I don’t. My voice is shaky, still thick with concern.

Why is she even talking to me?

She doesn’t look at me, but she’s studying me out of the corner of her eye. “Must be exciting, watching your first hockey practice up close.” Her tone is sweet but laced with something that prickles at my skin. Passive-aggressive, with just enough venom to remind me she’s not here to be friendly.

“It’s not my first time watching,” I say, trying not to let her get under my skin. There's no point in telling her that my brother’s down there, and my… Damien.

“So, you and Damien, huh?” she asks with a huff. I arch a brow, and she laughs. “Oh, please. I saw you in the parking lot a few days ago. He’s good, isn’t he?” She gives me a mischievous look. I turn back to the ice, staying silent and still wondering why the hell she’s talking to me.

She turns, giving me a pointed look. “The guys are really going at it today. Guess that’s what happens when you’re passionate about the game.” Her eyes flick over to Damien, who’s back in the thick of it, already tangling with an opponent, showing no sign of the hit he just took from Ares. “Or about other things.”

There’s a glint in her eyes, something knowing, something that digs under my skin, despite my efforts not to let it. She leans closer, her tone dropping to a mock whisper.

“But you already know Damien has a… strong track record when it comes to his passions, don’t you?”

I grit my teeth, trying not to let her get a rise out of me, but it’s hard to ignore the smug look in her eyes. Her gaze lingers on me, clearly entertained by whatever she thinks she’s getting at. I force myself to shrug.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She just smirks. “Let me know if you need any tips,” she says a little too brightly. “I know exactly what Damien likes.”

She doesn’t wait for a response, instead giving me a dismissive once-over before heading off, clearly pleased with herself. I watch her go, heat creeping up my neck. My eyes drift back to the ice where Damien’s charging up the rink, unbothered.

We’re back home. Practice ended a few hours ago, and Rowan took me to grab a bite before heading home. I’ve been reading in the living room for the past couple of hours but can’t concentrate. I’m still feeling the sting of the blonde’s words, like little needles stuck under my skin. Her smug, loaded smile, her comments about Damien’s “passions.” What the hell does she know about it?

It doesn’t help that I feel him between my legs every time I shift or move. Rowan even started asking questions about how uncomfortable I looked. I was more than relieved when he got up for a quick workout.

I take a deep breath and close my book. I need to change, so I grab my cup of tea from the coffee table and carefully walk up the stairs.

I try to balance the mug on my book as I open my door and step into my room, but come to a screeching halt the moment I see him—Damien, lying on my bed, one leg over the other, flipping through my reading journal like he owns the place.

How did he get in here? I freeze in the doorway, my heart slamming into my ribs. My window is slightly open, the curtains billowing gently in the breeze. Of course. My throat goes dry as he glances up, completely at ease in my room, surrounded by my things like it’s the most natural place for him to be.

“Damien,” I manage, forcing my voice to stay steady, though I’m acutely aware of how my legs feel unsteady. “How did you get in here?” I can still feel him everywhere: on my skin, in the ache between my thighs.

Damien’s eyes flick up, a mischievous glint in them as he taps his fingers against the journal. “I needed to see you.”

I bite my lip to keep from smiling. He came to see me.

He lets out a soft, teasing chuckle, and my heart stumbles.

“What, no keys available?” I say, trying to sound casual even though my pulse is racing. “And you just thought… the window?”

“Seemed like you left it open just for me,” he murmurs, rising from the bed and closing the journal. He’s studying me now, his gaze sweeping over me in a way that feels both possessive and strangely comforting like he’s here to claim me all over again. His eyes go to his T-shirt, and now it’s his turn to bite his lip with a cocky smirk.

“Bold of you to wear my clothes in front of your brother.”

I stay frozen in place, my tummy doing cartwheels.

I bite my lip, my thoughts tangling as I close the door behind me, looking over my shoulder for Rowan.

“You… are you okay?” I ask, remembering the brutal hit he took from Ares earlier. “The hit you took from Ares. You looked pretty—”

“Pretty?” Damien asks, cocking a brow as he steps closer. “You’re not bad yourself, baby.”

“I’m serious.” I roll my eyes, trying to hide the flutter in my stomach. “Are you okay?”

He shakes his head with a chuckle. “If you think that had me hurting, you really haven’t been watching us enough. Ares and I go at it like that all the time. Comes with the territory.”

He’s brushing it off, laughing it off, like being slammed into the boards hard enough to make the rink shudder is no big deal. Like the way he’s standing here, in my room, while Rowan is somewhere in the house, is totally normal.

I can feel the air between us sparking, that same electric tension from last night bubbling up again. Damien’s eyes darken as he studies me, his gaze flicking down to where my fingers are twisting nervously.

“Did I make you worried, baby?” he drawls. His calling me baby almost has me throwing myself on him, but I stay put.

“No,” I lie, feeling breathless.

“Is that why you called out my name, sounding like you were about to cry?” He takes a step toward me. “Because you weren’t worried?” His little knowing smile is back in place. I stay silent as he takes one more step until he’s right before me. “Did you keep your window open just for me?” His voice is just above a whisper.

“I forgot to close it after I—” My voice falters. “After last night.”

He hums, stepping closer, his hand coming up to brush a strand of hair away from my face. His touch is featherlight, but it sends a bolt of heat right through me, settling in the pit of my stomach.

“And here I was, thinking it was a special invitation,” he murmurs, his voice low and predatory. There’s something almost dangerous in his eyes, that same intense hunger from last night. It’s as if he’s here to remind me of it again.

Damien’s fingers trail down my jaw, his thumb brushing along my lower lip, and I’m not sure if I’m breathing.

“I came to get my clothes back,” he murmurs.

I look up at him, my brows furrowed.

“Seriously?” I huff out. “I would have washed your shirt and given it back.”

He shakes his head with a little chuckle. “I want my T-shirt back now, Avery.” His fingers curl under the hem, and he starts to toy with it.

I widen my eyes in realization. This has nothing to do with him wanting his shirt back.

The air between us feels charged, like static crackling just before a storm.

“You want me to take it off?” I whisper, tilting my head back to look at him. His gaze drops to my lips, and I can feel my pulse hammering, every nerve on edge, as his hand slides around the back of my neck.

He flashes me a wolfish grin, and then his mouth is on mine.

It’s not gentle. Not this time. His kiss is consuming, fierce, and possessive. His fingers tangle in my hair as he tilts my head, deepening the kiss, and I melt into him, my hands clutching at his shirt, pulling him closer.

My back hits the wall, and he leans in, pressing his body against mine, his mouth rough and demanding. When he finally pulls back, I’m breathless, heart pounding so hard I can barely think.

He smirks, and his voice is a low growl as he whispers against my lips, “Let me help you take it off.”