Page 21

Chapter 21

Deep End

Erin

M y phone buzzes for the fifth time this morning. Dmitri.

[Dmitri]: Back from morning skate. Package coming today.

[Me]: What package ?

[Dmitri]: Surprise, solnyshko. Call you after the game.

I grin at my phone like a lovesick idiot. Five nights in his bed, and I’m still feeling the aftershocks. We barely slept—too busy burning up the sheets—but somehow, I’d never felt more alive. Like he was pure adrenaline, keeping me wired, making me insatiable.

And then last night’s FaceTime.

The memory alone sends heat licking up my spine.

But now I’m crashing.

Three cups of coffee in, and I’m running on fumes—buzzed, jittery, vibrating with something restless. But I don’t care. Because every time I close my eyes, I swear I can still feel him on my skin.

[Me]: Score for me tonight?

[Dmitri]: I’d rather score with you tonight

[Dmitri]: Planning on ruining you thoroughly when I’m back

Heat unfurls in my chest, slow and insidious. It’s hard to be without him. The way he’s been looking at me this past week, like he’s trying to memorize every detail, like he’s bracing for something inevitable. Like he knows exactly where this is headed, even if I’m too much of a coward to admit it.

Every time I try to have The Talk —the dreaded, hive-inducing, what are we conversation—he derails me. Sometimes with kisses that melt my bones. Sometimes with that slow, lazy smirk that should require a license to wield.

“Not now, solnyshko ,” he’ll murmur against my skin, his voice a dark promise. “Just be here. With me.”

And when I push—because apparently, I like suffering—he goes full poetic on me. Quotes Pushkin, like some devastating, brooding philosopher trapped in a hockey player’s body.

“We understand time differently when happiness slips through our fingers like water—what seems like forever to one is but a moment to another…”

Then he kisses me stupid. Until I forget why I was worried. Until the only thing that exists is his hands, his mouth, the way he makes me feel like I belong to him.

Hedonistic much?

But every time he looks at me like I’m something rare—like he’s afraid to blink and find me gone—I wonder if maybe he’s right. Maybe we don’t need labels or timelines or carefully drawn boundaries.

Maybe sometimes things just are what they are.

God, I’m in trouble.

The doorbell chimes, yanking me from my Dmitri-induced haze.

“Delivery for Erin O’Connor?”

Three massive boxes sit on the doorstep, pristine white with gold ribbons. The kind of packaging that whispers luxury.

[Me]: What did you do?

[Dmitri]: Open them.

My fingers tremble as I drag them inside, anticipation thrumming through my veins. The first ribbon slides free, and?—

Oh. My. God.

Red silk spills over my hands like liquid fire. I lift it carefully, and yards of fabric cascade to the floor in a waterfall of crimson. It’s…breathtaking. The kind of dress that turns heads, that steals breath, that doesn’t belong in a hockey player’s foyer but on a red carpet.

The bodice is intricately beaded, catching the light like scattered diamonds. The skirt flows in perfect pleats, and the slit—Jesus—is high enough to be a scandal. But the back is what does me in—barely there, just delicate straps of crystal leaving most of my spine bare.

[Me]: Dmitri Sokolov

[Me]: What’s this?

[Dmitri]: Keep going

My pulse hammers as I move to the second box. Blue velvet, rich and decadent, pools in my hands. Off-the-shoulder with a sweetheart neckline that will showcase...well, everything. The fabric hugs every curve before flaring at the knee in a perfect mermaid silhouette. It’s timeless. Classic. Devastating.

But it’s the third dress that makes my breath catch.

Black. But not just black. The kind of black that ruins men.

Sheer panels flirt along the sides, teasing glimpses of skin while strategic beading keeps it just this side of sinful. The neckline plunges, indecently deep, and the back—or lack thereof—ensures there won’t be room for undergarments.

[Me]: Dmitri. These are...I can’t even

[Dmitri]: You deserve to feel as beautiful as you sound

My heart stutters.

[Me]: These must have cost…

[Dmitri]: Don’t

[Dmitri]: Let me spoil you

The words land like a blow, knocking the air from my lungs. Because he isn’t just giving me dresses. It’s about him supporting me. Wanting to give me what I need.

[Me]: The dresses are stunning

[Me]: Thank you

[Dmitri]: I want to see you in them

[Dmitri]: In your videos

[Dmitri]: On stage

[Dmitri]: And I want to peel them off you

Heat floods low in my belly. There’s a promise in those words. A plan.

[Dmitri]: Have to go

[Dmitri]: Team meeting

[Dmitri]: But Erin?

[Me]: Yes?

[Dmitri]: Think of me when you’re playing

A shiver skates down my spine as I trace my fingers over the black dress, imagining his reaction when he sees me in it. Imagining his hands sliding over the fabric, his mouth following, finding all those strategic cutouts.

After he leaves, I turn back to practice for my graduation recital. But Shostakovich is not cooperating today. The notes keep slipping away, my focus shot to hell. Every time I try to lose myself in the music, my mind betrays me, dragging me back to Dmitri’s bed, to his breath skimming my neck, to the way his hands hold me while he thrusts into me. The way his voice goes thick when he asks me to spread my legs for him. The way I fall apart from his gaze alone.

My phone buzzes, saving me from another losing battle with this cursed passage.

[Sophie]: Incoming! Jenna needs emergency bestie time

[Sophie]: We’ve got your London Fog and a salad

[Me]: You’re a goddess

[Me]: Also, caffeine. More. Now

[Sophie]: Meet us by the pool? It’s gorgeous out

She’s not wrong. The early May sun streams through the windows, the pool practically winking at me. Dmitri had it serviced last week, muttering something about Ris’s swimming lessons.

Thoughtful bastard.

I swap leggings for a sundress—light, flowy, something that makes me feel like I have my life together. By the time Sophie and Jenna arrive, bearing sustenance, I am ready to not think about Dmitri for at least an hour.

Or so I tell myself.

“Okay, spill.” Sophie doesn’t waste time as we settle by the pool. “How’s living with Dmitri?”

Heat crawls up my neck. “Fine. Normal. He’s not as scary as I thought.”

Jenna snorts. “Right. And Mark didn’t just dump me because Stanford is ‘too far’ from Cornell.”

“What?” I sit up. “That absolute?—”

“It’s fine,” she cuts in, but her voice wobbles. “I mean, he’s not wrong. Long distance is hard.”

“Still,” Sophie frowns, “after three years?”

I grab the escape hatch. “Speaking of distance—Jessica? How’s the away trip? Did she say anything?”

“She’s thriving,” Sophie drawls. “But she’s not liking Tampa too much.”

I absolutely do not react to the mention of Tampa. Except I do.

“At least she gets to travel,” Jenna mutters, poking at her salad. “Meanwhile, I’m stuck here overthinking everything with Mark.”

“He’s an idiot,” Sophie declares.

“Yep. If there ever was one,” Jenna sighs, then turns to me with laser-sharp focus. “How’s it going with you and Dmitri? A little birdie says there have been...developments?”

“He looked like he was going to eat her alive,” Sophie supplies helpfully, stabbing a tomato.

I focus very intently on my salad. “No developments.”

“Uh-huh,” Jenna says.

“Things are fine,” I amend.

Sophie gives Jenna a knowing look, then turns back to me with an eyebrow raised. “So that tension between the two of you is?—”

“Non-existent.”

“Right.”

My phone buzzes.

[Dmitri]: Missing you.

My stomach flips. I bite my lip, fighting a smile, but it’s useless.

Sophie narrows her eyes. “Okay, that’s it. Stop fibbing and spill. You’ve been glowing and distracted for days. Did he break?”

I sip my drink. “Nothing to tell.”

“Bullshit.” Jenna points at me with her fork. “You practically combusted looking at your phone.”

I sink deeper into my lounger, the giddy warmth in my chest impossible to hide. “He might have...given in.”

Jenna gasps, nearly knocking over her iced tea. Sophie lets out a triumphant squeal. She leans in, eyes gleaming. “Define given in .”

I bite my lip, trying—and failing—to fight back a grin. “Let’s just say…he’s not holding back anymore.”

Jenna gasps. “Oh my God.”

Sophie clutches my arm. “ How not holding back?”

I exhale, shaking my head like I still can’t believe it myself. “Like…how he completely ruins me. How I forget how to breathe, let alone speak. How he spends hours making sure I feel exactly how much he wants me.” My voice drops, heat curling in my stomach. “How he growls absolute filth one second, then whispers the softest things the next. How he sends me evening gowns for no reason whatsoever.”

Jenna slaps the table. “I knew he’d be swoony.”

Sophie fans herself. “That man was walking sexual repression. Of course he snapped.”

I laugh, sinking deeper into my chair. “Snapped hard. And honestly?” I shake my head, dazed. “I was terrified at first. He’s just…too much. But now?” My phone buzzes, and I glance at the screen.

[Dmitri]: I can’t wait to have you in my bed again

A giddy warmth spreads through my chest. I hold up the phone with a dreamy sigh.

“More details,” Jenna demands, clutching my arm. “Is he what you thought he would be?”

“Is he bossy?” Sophie cuts in, eyes widening. “Tell me he’s bossy.”

I let out a dreamy sigh, flopping back against my chair. “Bossy doesn’t even begin to cover it. He’s—he’s everything. Intense. Overwhelming. Dominating in the best way. He gives orders with his eyes. And when he speaks? I swear to God, my knees just...cease to function.”

Jenna fans herself dramatically. “Holy shit.”

“At first, I was scared.” I take a breath, my heart still catching up to the reality of it all. “Not of him—of how much I felt. How much I wanted. It was walking into a storm with no umbrella. But now?” I bite my lip, pressing my phone to my chest like an absolute goner. “Now I’m floating.”

Jenna groans. “I hate you. I love you. I hate you.”

“Holy mackerel,” Sophie breathes.

I groan into my hands. “I can’t focus. I can’t practice. I can’t think about anything except him coming home.”

Sophie hesitates, then: “Erin…”

Something in her tone makes my stomach drop.

“Liam’s a little concerned.”

I blink. “What? Why? Dmitri told him. He said he’s fine . ”

She studies me, weighing her words. “He sees how you look at Dmitri. And how Dmitri looks at you.”

A beat.

“Are you sure you’re ready for what that means? He has obligations, you know?”

“It doesn’t have to be that serious.” I wave her off, sitting up. “Look, my YouTube channel just hit five hundred thousand subscribers. The collab with Luka is going viral. I’ve got performances lined up?—”

“Liam says you didn’t get into Tanglewood,” Sophie interjects.

Silence. A slow, tight knot forms in my chest.

“No,” I admit, voice even. “I didn’t.”

Sophie and Jenna exchange a glance.

I force a shrug. “Weirdly? I don’t even care.”

Sophie lifts a brow. “And that’s exactly what Liam’s worried about.”

I scoff. “Oh, come on?—”

“He thinks you’re getting too wrapped up in this . That you’re gonna forget your dreams and end up bitter and angry later.”

I laugh, but it sounds hollow. “Well, that’s ridiculous. Because I am going back to the city. Resuming my life. Just like before. No need to worry . ”

I say it like I believe it.

Like it’s true .

“His mother-in-law is coming soon,” I add, like it’s some kind of reminder. See? I know the plan. I have an exit.

Neither of them looks convinced.

“We get it,” Jenna says, grinning. “You sure can get railed all you want, girlie. It’s good for your mental health.”

“Exactly.” I sip my London Fog, desperate for something to do. “Come summer, I’ll be back in the city. He moves on, I move on.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.” I lift my chin. “No one gets hurt. We’re too busy for anything serious. His playoffs, his daughter, my music?—”

Sophie clears her throat. And something about the way she does it makes my stomach tighten .

“Did you know,” she says carefully, “that he hasn’t been with anyone since Elena died?”

The words slam into me like a wrecking ball.

My stomach plummets . My pulse pounds in my ears.

I blink at her, certain I misheard. “What?” My voice comes out too thin, barely audible over the rush of blood in my head.

“Three years,” Sophie says softly. “Not a single woman.”

Not even?—

My throat locks up.

I force a swallow, but my hands are already shaking.

“Stop.” It’s barely a whisper. “Just…stop. He’s discreet, that’s all.”

Because suddenly, all my careful excuses—the ones I’ve been repeating to myself like a shield—feel like they’re built on quicksand.

Jenna shifts beside me, shooting Sophie a hesitant look, like they’ve had this conversation before.

Like they knew I wasn’t ready to hear it.

“But I thought…” My mind spins, grasping for solid ground. “I mean, he’s gorgeous. The other players always have women?—”

“Not Dmitri,” Sophie murmurs.

The weight of it settles over me, pressing into my chest.

I thought this was just attraction. Just chemistry.

Just a hot, single dad who needed a distraction.

Something light. Something temporary. Something that wouldn’t tangle my heart in the process.

But I knew better. Dmitri Sokolov doesn’t do casual.

Every glance, every touch, every moment in the spaces between the chaos?—

It was never just fun to him.

It was never just physical.

I saw it right away.

Because the way he looks at me—the way he sees me—has never been careless.

The way he holds me—like I’m something rare, something fragile—has never been fleeting.

The way he says my name—low, reverent, like a prayer—has never been temporary.

And yet, I’ve been pretending. Telling myself this is nothing but heat and adrenaline, desire and convenience.

But Dmitri doesn’t see it that way.

Maybe he never did.

And suddenly, three days feels like both forever and not nearly enough time to figure out if I’m ready for what comes next.