Page 17 of Hard Check

He walked half a step behind me as we approached the room, right at my shoulder. I muttered under my breath. "This wasn't my idea."

"I figured. I can ask to switch if it's a problem."

"And tell Coach what? That you're scared I'll corrupt your innocent routines?" I waved the card key over the lock. "We're adults. We can handle one night."

"Dibs." Pike dropped his backpack on the bed nearest the door. I always preferred that one when I had to share—easier for middle-of-the-night bathroom trips—but it wasn't a disagreement hill I was willing to die on.

"Fine." I strolled to the windows and stared at a gorgeous parking lot view.

Kicking off my shoes, I sprawled on my bed and watched him unpack. He didn't toss things around like a normal person. He actually unpacked his backpack.

Pike carefully placed a monogrammed Dopp kit on the corner of the dresser. He arranged his socks and underwear in a drawer like they were display items at a fancy department store.

"What is this? Are you planning on moving in?"

Pink crept up the back of his neck. "My mom was a flight attendant. She taught me how to pack and make things comfortable in a hotel."

I shook my head. "Mine taught me how to swear in three languages, so I guess we all have our skills." I rummaged through my chaotic bag, pulling out a faded Rage Against the Machine t-shirt and basketball shorts that had seen better days. "I'm grabbing a shower."

When I emerged from the bathroom twenty minutes later, I had one towel around my waist and another over my shoulders. Pike sat on his bed, phone in hand. His eyes widened, and he looked down at my chest for a moment before thinking better of it.

"Forgot my underwear." I snatched shorts from my pack and returned to the bathroom.

After I settled on my bed, Pike headed into the steamy bathroom for his shower. I flipped on the TV and tried to ignore the sound of running water. It brought to mind an image of a naked Pike.

What the fuck was wrong with me?

I'd seen him in all states of partial dress and undress in the locker room. Why was the idea of him showering fifteen feet away from me making me… uncomfortable?

The bathroom door opened, releasing a cloud of steam scented with pine and something fresher—peppermint, maybe. Pike emerged in flannel sleep pants and a Forge t-shirt that clung slightly to his still-damp shoulders. His hair was darker when wet, curling slightly at the temples.

I'dseenahundredguysinahundredlockerroomshalf-naked,butsomethingaboutPikesteppingoutofsteam—flushed,damp,softattheedges—mademythroattighteninawayIdidn'twanttothink too much about.

He placed his toiletry bag precisely on the corner of the dresser, movements deliberate and measured.

When he settled onto his bed, he pulled his hands up behind his head. "So, Carver, any unique pre-game rituals I should know about?"

"Nothing weird. Left skate before right. Same underwear if we're on a streak."

"That's disgusting."

"That's hockey." I turned my head to stare at him. "You're telling me you don't have any superstitions? Mr. Sunshine has to have something."

"I count ceiling tiles. Always do it before I sleep in a new place."

"Seriously?"

"It started when I was a kid. Dad's job had us moving every few years. I had new ceilings above my bed all the time. Counting them helped somehow."

"How many in here?"

He glanced up. "Thirty-six visible from this angle. Probably forty-eight total."

"Huh." I turned back to the TV, uncomfortable with the warm sensation that filled my chest. "My old man's idea of settling in was finding the nearest bar. At least yours taught you math."

I yawned, the day's travel catching up with me. "Should probably turn in. Early skate tomorrow."

"Yeah." Pike reached for the lamp between our beds. "Need anything before I kill the lights?"

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