“Ask them to grab us towels,” I hiss to Lucas, realizing he forgot them.
“I’m not asking him that,” Lucas growls at me.
“Hello?” the voice calls again.
“Lucas, it’s obvious that we or at least someone is here. Just say something,” I hiss at him again.
“Mitchell. It’s Donato.”
“And someone else by the looks of it unless you've taken up a new taste for thongs,” Mitchell snickers. Out of all people. It had to be Blaine fucking Mitchell.
“Don’t make me come out there and punch you,” Lucas responds.
I playfully slap him on the chest. “Be nice! He is going to come back here if you don’t.”
“Can you just . . . leave?” Lucas complains.
“Please,” I say loud enough for Mitchell to hear.
“Please, Mitchell,” Lucas sounds like he’s in pain asking for Mitchell’s help.
“Yeah, sure bro,” Mitchell sounds like he’s listening.
“Wait. Can you grab some towels from the closet and put them by my locker?” Lucas asks, holding his breath. “I’ll owe you.”
“Yeah, Donato. You owe me.”
The door to the locker room closes. We both sigh with relief before breaking out laughing.
“Out of all people . . .” Lucas starts.
“I know!” I retort. “Anyone would have killed the mood, but Mitchell . . .”
“Yep, he murdered it.” Lucas sighs with disappointment. I expect him to turn off the water and walk out of the shower. But instead, he grabs some body wash and starts washing my body and his.
“Can I wash your hair?” he mutters. “Sorry, that’s weird.”
“No, it’s not,” I lean in to kiss him. “I would love that.”
I turn my back to him. He lathers my hair with shampoo before running his fingers through it. It’s intimate—I think the most intimate moment we’ve had together. He even puts conditioner in my hair, something I didn’t expect this locker room to have. I wash his hair next. It’s just as sensual and oddly romantic.
His hand caresses my cheek as his lips press against mine longingly before shutting off the shower. It’s not a hot, desperate kiss craving pleasure but a delicate, lush kiss filled with love and compassion.
“Let me make sure Mitchell isn’t lingering around,” he growls.
The disdain in his voice lingers in the air. He really doesn’t like that guy. But it’s a good call. After a minute, he calls to me that the coast is clear.
“Who knew the hockey locker room shower could be so romantic?” I croon as I dry myself off with one of the towels Mitchell left.
“Are you kidding me? You should see it after a hard win. It’s definitely very romantic,” he laughs.
“Do I smell like lavender?” I ask as I dry my arms and legs more after slipping at least my undergarments on.
He laughs. “Yeah. It’s lavender body wash. I told you it can get romantic.”
Chapter forty
Lucas