Page 32 of Two Guys One Puck
“Don’t fucking look at me like that.”
I sit back, caught off guard. “Like what?”
“The fucking pity, princess. I don’t want it, and I’m sure you don’t want mine. This is just a truce. Any time we are on the ice, I’ll slaughter you.”
I roll my eyes. “Can’t be soft for five fucking minutes, can you?”
“I’m Ukrainian. We are always hard.”
I drop my gaze to his dick. “Is that why you were so big in the shower?”
“Don’t be jealous my genetics are better than yours, sweetheart.”
“You really are just insufferable.” I turn off my iPad and set it aside. “I’m going to sleep before we get in another fight, and I kick your ass, then feel bad.”
“That’s your problem.” He moves back to his side of the bed, and I’m almost sorry at the loss.
“What?” I fluff up my pillow and lay down.
“You have regrets.”
“How can you not have regrets?” I roll on my side to face his direction.
“I just accept things as they come. Why worry about things I can’t change?” Ktytor can’t really be like that.
I just don’t buy it. “Because everyone does?”
“Sounds like a waste of time to me.” He’s so fucking smug about it.
“So you don’t regret kissing me?”
“I regret nothing.”
I don’t dare ask him about the rest. He’s so close and if I open my mouth we’ll either end up fighting or fucking and I don’t know which is better.
ELEVEN
KTYTOR
He goes to bed after asking me if I regret kissing him. Either he’s fucking clueless or doesn’t actually have any game. Probably the latter, as people just throw themselves at hockey players.
Whatever. I pick up my book, but it isn’t holding my interest anymore. I glance over at Seaborn and find him snoring lightly. I realize I don’t know his first name. A quick Google search tells me: Ronan Seaborn. It tastes weird on my tongue, and I can’t decide if it fits him. Part of me wants to say it to see what he’ll do.
But I let him alone and lay down. It takes me ages to fall asleep. My mind isn’t here. It’s home with my brother. It’s praying to the gods that our futures are bright.
Consciousness comes in sparks, in soft morning sounds, in the creaks of the building, in the gentle breeze filtering through air vents. In breaths, but not my own. And then I come fully awake, remembering who’s in the bed beside me. He’s close, closer than when we fell asleep. The heat of his skin radiating off him, but it’s more than that. His scent is there, too. All over the sheets. He smells like the summer, sun on skin mixed with the spray of the ocean. It’s not just warmth from his body; it’s warmth in every aspect of him.
I slide my fingers across the sheet, wanting to touch, but I retract my hand at the last second. The sun isn’t up yet, and I already need to escape this delusion. I don’t know why I even thought having him in my room was a good idea. I rub my eyes and glance at him again. He’s peaceful, and my resolve sets in.
I carefully get out of bed, grab a tee, and shove my feet in slides. I pocket my phone, cigs, and my key card and leave. I light a smoke as soon as I’m outside and check my notifications. A bunch of crap on apps, and I clear them all. I open Snap and see if Seaborn looked at my stories.
He hasn’t. I’d been with him most of yesterday. I don’t know why I’d think he would. I turn off my phone and shove it in my pocket before holding my hand out. It’s drizzling. The world smells fresh with it. What is the fucking point in having a bad day when the universe is promising rebirth? There isn’t.
And there is a reason I don’t get involved with anyone. It makes people lose their fucking heads.
“Why the fuck are you up?”Seaborn pulls a pillow over his face when I get back to the room.
“I’m always up.”
