Page 68 of Ace of Spades

“Easy,” I manage, my voice rougher than it should be.

My hands find her waist, grip tight on instinct.

I shouldn’t touch her—not like this, but my fingers don’t get the memo. They flex once. Just once. Enough to remind me how fucking good she feels.

“I—sorry,” she breathes out, scrambling to move, but I don’t let go right away. I can’t.

“You okay?” I ask, because it’s the only thing I can think to say that isn’tstay.

“I’m fine.” She won’t meet my eyes, probably for the best.

If she did, she’d see everything I’ve been trying to bury.

We untangle ourselves slowly, awkwardly. She shifts off my lap, but the heat she leaves behind lingers like a brand on my skin.

She settles back into her seat, and Julian offers her a stack of napkins.

Meanwhile, every nerve in my body is lit up, every second dragging.

I can still feel the press of her thighs. The curve of her hips in my hands. The fuckingchemistrybuzzing between us like the air right before a lightning strike.

The arena is loud and just as promised, Julian and the other die-hard fans boo every single time the Heatwave team captain makes it onto the ice.

She looks even more uncomfortable here than in the locker room, probably because we’re so close to all the action.

When Brody said we had great seats, I assumed it was up top, away from the crowd in some kind of box seating situation.

Apparently, in hockey, great seats are right up against the glass. We can practically feel the sweat from the team as they shake their hair out between line changes.

I try to focus on the game. On anything. But then I glance over and see she’s chewing her lip. Looking anywhere but at me. Until she finally does.

Her brows cinch together…pain.

And I break.

“Wanna get some air?” I ask, my voice low.

She nods before I even finish the sentence.

She leans over to Julian, who's so glued to the game, I don’t think he registers what she’s saying. He nods and jumps out of his seat just as the Thunderhawks make a shot on goal.

Sienna looks at me and just shrugs.

So I stand and lead the way through the crowd. Past vendors, drunk fans, and cattle bells that are currently giving me a migraine.

My jaw’s tight, hands fisted. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, only that if I sit next to her one second longer pretending I don’t want her, I’ll explode.

We use our VIP passes to enter a dim hallway behind the suites, where the hum of the arena is just background noise.

The door clicks shut behind us, and I turn to her.

She starts to say my name.

It’s soft and unsure.

“Don’t.”

I back her into the wall, our bodies close. Her breath hitches as she looks up at me, eyes dancing with mischief like she wants this.

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