Page 19

Chapter nineteen

~ AVERY~

The morning light is creeping in through the cracks in the curtains, but I can’t bring myself to move. My body feels like it’s been through an intense workout I didn’t sign up for. Sore doesn’t even begin to cover it. I feel like I was thoroughly taken for a ride .

“Oh my god.” I bury my reddened face in my hands, memories from last night flooding my mind. The only thing that’s missing is the part where I fell asleep. One minute, I was awake, my mind spinning in a haze of pure Damien, and the next, I wake up with no idea how I got under the covers.

I glance over to the pillow next to mine. It’s a little crumpled, the crease in the fabric way too deep to be from me. I lean in, sniffing the air like a freak, but I can’t help it. There it is, the faint but unmistakable smell of Damien—that smoky cologne and something else that’s entirely him. I bite my lip, excitement bubbling up in my chest like a damn geyser. He spent the night here. He slept here with me.

I let out a little squeak and curl up tighter into his shirt. The whole idea of him here, of everything that happened last night, has my pulse spiking.

It’s like my heart’s doing somersaults in my chest, but my brain’s still trying to catch up. How did I go from barely talking to him to this ?

I roll out of bed, feeling like every muscle in my body is a little bit on fire. I walk over to the dresser, stretching and wincing as I go, and grab my phone, tap it open, and immediately see a message from Damien.

DAMIEN: Rise and shine, princess. I’ll pick you up for practice at 10.

Showered and dressed, I grab my coffee and sit at the table across from Rowan, who’s flipping through a magazine. His posture is casual, but there’s something about him that’s always so present, like he’s aware of everything around him, even when he’s just sitting there reading.

I eat the breakfast he made us, trying not to fidget too much, but it’s hard when my brain’s still whirling around last night. Can Rowan smell Damien’s cologne on me? Will he smell it if he walks into my room?

I’m getting paranoid.

Every time I think I’ve got a hold of it, the image of Damien flashes through my mind.

Rowan lets out a small chuckle and flips another page.

“Well, that’s a nice piece of fluff.” he mutters.

I glance over at him, curious. He raises an eyebrow, catching my eye.

“You’re reading a fluff piece?” I tease, half-smiling.

Rowan chuckles, his deep voice like gravel smoothing over.

He turns the magazine around and hands it to me.

“LA Panthers’ Captain Rowan DiMarco Leads Team to Victory—A Look at the Man Behind the Skates,” I read the headline.

Rowan shrugs, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “They needed to fill space.”

I flip the page, looking at a section in the middle.

“Check this out,” I say, and begin reading out loud. “Rowan DiMarco has proven time and again that he’s not just the heart of the LA Panthers; he’s the driving force behind their relentless offense. With forty goals this season, DiMarco’s powerful performance has made him a leader not only in the locker room but on the ice. His commitment to his team and his work ethic have earned him respect from every corner of the NHL, making him one of the most formidable players of the decade.”

I pause and glance up at him. He’s looking at me with that kind of wry smile he always gets when trying to seem humble.

“Told you. Fluff,” he replies, brushing it off like it doesn’t matter, but I can tell from the way his shoulders relax that he likes hearing it.

I lean in and look at the article a little longer. I love that for him. He works his ass off. He deserves all the praise the world’s giving him. All of the Panthers do, for that matter.

“Your brother’s pretty impressive, huh?” Rowan gives me a look, his lips twitching with humor.

“You’re just a guy who gets sweaty and hits people with sticks for a living,” I say with a roll of my eyes, but it has no bite to it. I couldn’t be prouder of him, and he knows it.

That earns me a full-on chuckle. “I think you’re confusing me with Damien.”

We both go quiet as he takes a sip of his coffee.

“I have a physical exam today,” he says, flipping the magazine closed.

“Like a full body check-up?” I ask, chewing on my pancake. “Are you injured?”

“No, no. They just make sure everything’s in one piece. Stretch, squeeze some dude’s fist between my knees, things like that. So I can get the clearance to keep playing,” Rowan says, a little too nonchalant about it. I know hockey players are scared shitless of physicals, even if Rowan’s downplaying it. “Part of the job. Can’t be out on the ice if I’m falling apart, right?”

Rowan left for his appointment thirty minutes ago, leaving me to do the dishes. Just as I close the dishwasher and rinse my hands, I hear the roar of an engine outside.

I peek out the window and see a black matte BMW parked at the end of the driveway.

Holy shit.

I’m not a car expert by any means, but I can tell it’s serious . Like, if the car were a person, it’d probably be one of those dudes who flexes in the mirror for fun and then immediately intimidates you by just existing.

I know it’s him. My heart does a little flip as I hurry to grab the keys and head for the door.

As I close the door behind me, Damien leans out the window and flashes me a smile behind his black sunglasses.

“Good morning.” I might be going crazy, but he looks better and better each day. He looks every bit the arrogant NHL star, yet this is the same man who slept in my bed last night.

“Good morning.” I give him a smile as I round the car.

I climb into the passenger seat, and my heart does this little stupid flip at the way he looks at me behind his sunglasses. He sinks his teeth into his lower lip and turns his attention back to the road as he starts driving.

“What kind of car is this?” I ask, trying to keep my thoughts in check.

“M8 Competition.” His forearm flexes as he steers the car, his biceps as big as my head, even when he’s not flexing them. “You like it?”

“It’s very… you.” I shrug with a smile.

“Ah, so you love it.” He smirks, and my smile grows. I sit back and try to relax, but his cologne is everywhere. Not in an overwhelming way, but in a soft, faded, Damien kind of way.

“Rowan’s at his physical today,” I start, trying to distract myself from whatever dangerous thoughts my brain is cooking up.

“Mhm, I know.” He nods, tapping his fingers to the music.

“Don’t you have one, too?”

Damien raises an eyebrow, keeping his focus on the road as he accelerates, the car purring smoothly.

“I’ll do a physical for you any day.” His voice drops to this teasing, low register, and I try not to blush, try being the operative word.

“What do they do to you exactly?” My face is heating up in a way that has absolutely nothing to do with the speed we’re going.

“It’s just a bunch of checkups,” he says nonchalantly. “They poke and prod a bit, make sure we’re all in one piece for the season.” He smiles, throwing me a sidelong look. “Why? Want to give me one yourself? I’d be happy to strip down if you’re feeling professional, baby.”

My stomach does that flip again. God, I need to get it together. But I can’t. I still feel him down there. I can still feel his hand over my mouth to keep me quiet. I squeeze my eyes shut and sink into the seat, unable to handle thinking about him while he’s right here.

“Did you… sleep in my bed last night?” My heart pounds as I decide to just ask.

“I did.” His lips quirk as he speeds past a few boys, giving him thumbs-ups.

I bite my lip, warmth spreading across my chest.

I knew it! He stayed.

“You asked me to stay.” He shoots me a sideways glance, his tone casual, but there’s something he’s trying to mask. “So, I stayed. Besides, you stayed in my bed. I just returned the favor.”

I’m starting to see past his nonchalant facade. He didn’t stay just because I asked. He stayed because he wanted to.

“I liked it,” I admit with a smile. He turns his head to me for a second before his eyes snap back to the road ahead.

“You and me both,” he says, revving the engine.

At the rink, the air is crisp, and the ice gleams under the overhead lights. Damien’s already tugging on his skates while I fumble with mine.

“Here,” he says, kneeling in front of me and brushing my hands away. His fingers make quick work of the laces, tightening them with precision. “You’ve got to get them snug, or you’ll lose control out there.”

I watch him as he ties the other one, the cords of his muscles dancing.

“Alright,” he says, standing and offering me his hand. “Let’s step it up today. You’re ready.”

“Ready for what?” I ask, taking his hand and stepping onto the ice.

“Ready to stop skating like a beginner.” He smiles, skating backward with effortless grace, his hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie.

“I’m not that bad anymore,” I protest, stretching my hands out for balance.

“No,” he agrees, circling me like a shark. “But you’re not that good yet either.”

I groan, but he ignores me, pulling me into a glide.

“Cross your feet when you turn. Like this,” he says, demonstrating a sharp crossover. His movements are so smooth that it looks as easy as walking for him. Because it is.

I try to mimic it, wobbling slightly. His hands are there instantly, steadying my waist.

“Bend your knees more, baby,” he murmurs, his voice low near my ear. “Trust your edges and flow with the ice.”

Baby. He’s calling me baby, and I can’t distract myself with how it makes me feel, or I’ll fall.

His touch lingers a beat longer, and when I glance up at him, his eyes are locked on mine. My heart stutters.

“Now, try again,” he says, stepping back.

This time, I manage to pull it off, and his grin is approving, proud.

“Not bad,” he says, skating around to face me. “You might even replace Rowan out there if he doesn’t pass his physical today.”

I stick my tongue out at him, and he laughs, the sound deep and warm, making my knees feel like jelly.

We continue practicing, him showing me more advanced turns and edges, each one more challenging than the last. He makes them look so easy, so effortless, and it’s hard not to get caught up in the way he moves. He’s so infuriatingly good at this. And how can he not be? He takes hit after hit from the other players, blocking them as they charge full speed ahead, and he still stays upright like an unmovable force. The only time I’ve seen him fall was when Ares struck him down. But he wasn’t expecting that. Ares wasn’t even supposed to go against Damien; they were on the same team during practice.

“I canceled my physical today,” he says after a while, skating up behind me and placing his hands on my hips. “You see, I have a bite mark on my shoulder from a certain someone who couldn’t keep her pretty mouth quiet last night.”

My face flames, and I sputter, but he just chuckles, guiding me through another turn.

“Damien,” I manage, my voice half a laugh, half a gasp.

“I don’t want the doctor worried,” he says innocently, leaning down so his breath brushes my neck.

My breaths become shallower with every brush of his hands, every low word murmured close to my ear. When I stumble again, he catches me, pulling me flush against him.

“You need to focus, Avery,” he says softly, his face inches from mine.

“I’m trying,” I whisper, my voice trembling.

“Try harder,” he teases, but his gaze drops to my lips. “Or is something distracting you?”

“Yes,” I breathe, my hands clutching his T-shirt. “You are.”

Last night flashes through my mind, and before I can think twice about it, I tug on his T-shirt. He’s too tall for me to kiss without him having to lean forward, but thankfully, he gets the hint and moves his face lower.

“Me?” he asks with a smirk. “I’m trying to teach you how to turn without breaking your ankle.”

“You’re teaching me other stuff, too.”

“Mhm,” he agrees with a hum. “And what have you learned?”

He lets me pull him toward me, his lips finding mine. The kiss is soft at first, but when I press harder, it deepens. His hands tighten on my waist, pulling me closer, and my insides turn into jelly. Heat pools deep in my belly as he presses his large frame against me.

A sharp creak breaks the moment.

I pull back, breathless, and glance toward the sound. The hinges of the rink’s front doors squeak again, and I catch a glimpse of blonde hair disappearing into the hallway.

My stomach drops.

“Damien,” I whisper, panic creeping into my voice.

He’s already looking in the same direction, his expression hardening.

“Fuck.” His jaw tightens, and his hand slides from my waist to my shoulders, pulling me closer to him.

But the dread in my chest only grows. Someone saw us.