I saw Oakley less than an hour ago at practice, but to an addict going through withdrawals from their drug of choice, minutes have a way of feeling like a thousand years.
That’s what I am when it comes to Oakley.
Addicted, and desperately craving another fix.
The other night in the showers only cemented it into my brain, and now I’d give my left arm to have a repeat of every glorious minute.
Oakley Reed has a deeper pull on me than I realized.
And the second he knocks, I’m hit with a rush of adrenaline. To the point where I almost rip the damn door off its hinges to get to him.
“Hey,” he says, a smile on his face, hauling his bag over his shoulder.
A grin creeps onto my lips too. “Hi.”
God, am I fucking twelve?
He doesn’t even give me the chance to open the door all the way and let him in, just grabs me by the shirt and hauls me to him. His lips are on mine a second later—slow and tantalizing sweet—then they’re gone again, and he’s brushing past me into the apartment.
Ever since he kissed me the day we skated downtown, it’s felt like something’s changed with him. With the way he sees me, the way he wants to continue acting when we’re together. The way he willingly gives affection without thinking about it first.
Even when we’re on the ice, something’s just different.
Almost like he…
I try to shake the insane ideas rolling through my head. Because that’s what they are, right? Completely fucking insane.
But is it really?
He’s the one who threw the rules out; first with the kiss, and then again last week in the shower. Is it really so crazy to think things are shifting for him the way they are for me too?
He gives me a quick glance over his shoulder, that ridiculously sexy grin of his in place. “You ready to smash—”
“What are we smashing?” Hayes’s voice comes out of nowhere.
Both of us turn at the sound of it, finding him leaning against the kitchen counter, dark brows arched in curiosity. He takes a long sip of the water in his hand, eyes locked on me the entire time.
I’ve got no idea how long he’s been standing there, but there’s a good chance he saw the two of us kiss in the doorway before Oakley came inside. And though I know he won’t say anything in Oakley’s presence, that leaves a massive tale for me to unpack with him later.
Maybe he didn’t see.
“Econ,” Oakley finishes his sentence before holding up his textbook. “Quinn took it a couple semesters ago and said he could help me if I needed it. Less than a week into classes and here I am, already caving.”
“Oh, I’m sure Quinn did.” If possible, Hayes’s expression becomes even more impish. He takes another drink of water before adding, “You know, since it’s one of Quinn’s major requirements.”
Goddamnit, Hayes.
Oakley’s eyes shift to me, clearly aware of his fuck up. Which only makes my best friend’s amusement grow, and irritates me even more.
“Yeah,” Oakley says slowly. “Exactly.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way or anything, but don’t you have your own house you can do that at? Or did you move in here and I just didn’t realize it?”
Yeah, he definitely fucking saw.
My teeth sink into my lower lip as I glare daggers at my best friend. “Funny, Hayes.”
“I thought so.” A knowing smirk rests on his lips, and he raises his half empty glass of water in mock cheers. “Well, I’ll leave you to it, then.”
Relief floods my body as the door to his room closes behind him, leaving me alone with Oakley again.
I have to admit; Hayes makes a solid point. Oakley’s here so often now, I might as well just give him the spare key so he can come and go as he pleases. But it’s not like he sleeps here or anything. He always goes home after hanging out or hooking up.
The only time we’ve ever slept in the same bed was by accident, and it was in a hotel room we were sharing anyway.
“Should I go?” Oakley asks, a hint of worry in those brown eyes.
I shake my head. “It’s just Hayes being Hayes.”
“So being a dick.”
A smirk works its way onto my face. “He wouldn’t be my best friend if he wasn’t.”
“Like attracts like.”
“Absolutely,” I confirm before pulling him into my room, the door slamming closed behind us. “Which is exactly why you like me so much.”
His eyes roll so hard, I’m surprised they don’t get stuck. “Sure. Let’s go with that.”
“The world wouldn’t crumble around us if you admit you like me. Even just as a person. Please tell me you know that.”
His expression softens then, and one hand traces up my side. I feel the heat of his skin through my shirt, and once his fingers have passed any specific spot, goosebumps are left in their wake. Another new effect he has on me.
“I think it’s just safer to pretend I don’t.”
I know that. The problem is, I wish I didn’t. Just like I know it’s a problem for me to be seeing him in a completely different light than I was a couple months ago.
In fact, I’m struggling to hold on to the reason why we were even enemies in the first place.
With Hayes’s senses on high alert when it comes to the two of us, sex of any kind is out of the question, at least while he knows Oakley’s here. Which means he really does pull out his econ and set to work, strewing textbooks and flashcards across my bed like it’s a giant desk.
Unfortunate for me, considering I was hoping to get naked and under him this evening.
Hell, I’d settle for just hanging out. Watching a movie. Listening to music. Anything other than crack open another fucking textbook and ignore each other for hours. But considering college is no joke, especially as a student athlete, it’s probably a good idea for us to start getting ahead on class work for the semester.
Crawling over the mess he’s made of my bed, one of my upper level econ textbooks in hand, I slip into place beside him and lean back against the wall. The bed jostling with my movement causes Oakley to shift, rolling his shoulder before settling back into place.
Which would be fine, except it’s the shoulder he tore last season along with his broken collarbone. And I’ve noticed him messing with it a lot more lately.
“You good?”
His brows furrow. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
Reaching out, I run my index and middle fingers along his collarbone over to his shoulder. “I dunno. You’ve been rolling this a lot during practice. And then you just did it again a minute ago. So I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“Oh,” is all he says, the frown still present on his face. “I guess I didn’t realize I did it.”
My teeth scrape over my bottom lip, becoming increasingly aware I pay far more attention to him than I thought I did. Or probably should, for that matter.
From the way he’s staring at me, confusion slowly shifting to realization, he’s figuring it out too.
“What’s that look for?”
His head slants to the side. “What look?”
“You tell me. You’re the one giving it.”
“I didn’t realize I was!”
We both laugh then, the intensity of the moment broken.
It feels great to laugh and joke with him, and even exist peacefully in a way I didn’t know our relationship could be. Two people who finally found common ground, and as it turns out, it’s all we needed to understand each other.
Which is why I’m not at all surprised by his next words.
“It’s just that you’re nothing like I expected.”
I feel my eyes crinkle around the edges with humor. “Uh, thanks?”
He laughs again. “I promise I don’t mean it in a bad way. You’re just…” He trails off and shakes his head. “I dunno how else to say it. Just unexpected.”
“Try explaining it, then.” I close my textbook and drop it off the edge of the bed, only to wince at the loud thud it makes when it hits the floor.
“Hayes is gonna think we’re fucking now,” he says, arching his brow.
I give him a dirty smirk as I spread out on my back. “I mean, we could be, but—”
“Not a chance in hell.”
I chuckle, rolling to my side and hitching up on my elbow. “You were talking about me being different than you thought?”
His eyes roll at my less than smooth reroute of the topic, and he mirrors my position.
“I guess when we’re on the ice, I’ve always had this picture of you in my head. The hotheaded bad-boy of the team who gets in more fights than Muhammad Ali and Rocky combined. Brash and reckless. A rebel, in a way. And so, I sorta just assumed it would extend to who you are off the ice too.”
I search his brown eyes for a minute. “And now you’re saying it doesn’t?”
He shakes his head and sinks to his back, eyes locked on the ceiling now. “No, you are. But you’re more than those things too. Like sure, you’re still a pain in my ass ninety-eight percent of the time when you’re causing chaos on the ice—”
“I don’t do that anymore.”
“—but over the past couple months, I’ve started seeing your cockiness and attitude shifting into confidence in yourself and your abilities, not letting anyone tell you otherwise. And I guess…I kinda admire that.”
“Confident enough to corner you and suck your dick in the middle of a party,” I muse.
He snorts. “You say it like it was in the middle of the crowd dancing downstairs when we both know it was a lot more private. Again, surprising considering your reputation as a manwhore.”
I make a buzzing sound with my lips. “Ah, see. You should know by now, slut shaming doesn’t work on me, baby. I embrace who I am, flaws and all.”
I expect him to come back with a witty retort, but the way his eyes grow wary and distant after I stop speaking tells me I said something wrong. It only takes me a second to realize what it was.
Baby.
I’ve called him that before, whether it be as a taunt or in bed. But never in place of his name. Never as…an endearment.
“I—”
“It’s fine,” he says, his head rolling from side to side against the mattress. “I know you didn’t mean anything by it.”
Except, that’s where he’s wrong. I think…I did mean it. But instead of letting the anxiety of this revelation get to me, I play it off with a smirk on my face and change the subject.
“So tell me. Are you gonna finally try a new pair of socks tomorrow?”
A funny look crosses his face. A mixture of humor and confusion, I think. “I hadn’t really thought about it yet. I kind of just pick a pair each day. Whatever I’m feeling.”
Lame.
“What do you mean finally?” he asks a moment later.
“Because I’ve been checking to see if you’ve worn them yet, and you haven’t.” Obviously. It’s not like I sneak into his room and go through his dirty laundry.
“You’ve been checking,” he repeats.
“Hell yeah,” I tell him, a grin on my face. “I try to check before every game while you’re getting dressed. Gotta make sure you’re still as dedicated to the cause as I am, Cappy.”
“I hate when you call me that,” he grumbles, rolling his head away from me to face the wall.
“Why? Chris Evans is hot as fuck.”
A deeper, richer kind of laugh comes from him. “You’re unbelievable.” But then he pauses, turning back with a seriousness taking over as his eyes narrow in on me. Suspicion radiates off him, and for a second, I worry I did or said something wrong. “You watch me get dressed?”
My lips quirk, and I lean in closer, my mouth inches from his. “No. I watch you get undressed.”
He grins some more and mutters, “Wow. What a creep.”
“Maybe. Or maybe you should just be flattered that you’re the one guy on the team who caught my eye.”
The arch of his brow tells me he begs to differ. “Flattered, huh? That’s what we’re going with?”
“Absolutely. Takes more than a hot piece of ass to get my attention.”
He tries to fight a smile—covering his face with his forearm and everything—but fails. Miserably. At first, I think he’s trying to hide embarrassment. That’s when the laughter starts, and I yank his arm back down.
“Are you laughing at me?”
“I’m sorry,” he says between chuckles. “But you’re kidding, right? You’re the guy on the team who no one would let date their daughter. Straight up fuck-boy. And now you’re trying to tell me it takes more than a hot piece of ass to get your attention?”
I roll on top of him, boxing him in against the mattress with my entire body. My fingers lace with his before pinning them above his head, and I can tell the position I’ve got him in is setting him on edge. There’s fire burning in his eyes while he looks up at me.
“Well, then, I guess I misspoke,” I murmur, leaning in and brushing my lips along his jaw. “It takes more than a hot piece of ass to keep my attention.”
It’s his turn to roll us so he’s the one pinning me to the mattress, slowly fucking into me with every grind of his hips. One quick move, and I’m primed and ready to go to whatever filthy place he wants to take me next.
“But don’t get me wrong, you’re still so fucking hot,” I murmur, reaching around to squeeze his ass. “Never in my life did I imagine telling you something like that, but there it is. Don’t let it go to your head.”
“I think you’re talking about yourself there. I know how to keep my ego in check. Unlike someone I know, who’s gotten all cocky ever since he tasted dick the first time.”
“What can I say? I have superior blow job skills.”
“Again,” he whispers against my mouth, “those socks you got me beg to differ.”
I let out a groan of frustration and let my head slam back against my pillow. “I’m really starting to regret getting those for you.”
His head drops against my shoulder and he lets out a soft, husky laugh that…hell. It does everything for me. Fries my nervous system, short circuiting my brain enough to make our rivalry seem like a thing of the past.
Because I wanna hear it again. Just like this.
In the crook of my neck, floating over my skin like satin.
Breathy and raspy and just for me.
And that’s really fucking dangerous.
