Page 114 of The Beautiful Collision
“I love you,” I tell her when I set her down. “I love you so fucking much, and justwaitfor all the Gucci you can buy when I get drafted…”
“I know,” she says, grinning. Then, softer, “I love you too. Even though you smell like a hockey bag fucked a brewery.”
“Romantic.”
“That’s me.” She links her fingers with mine. “Come on, champion. Your team’s waiting. And then…” Her eyes darken in a way that makes my whole body respond. “Then we’re going home, and I’m going to show you exactly how proud I am, you beautiful, brilliant, emotionally available man.”
And that—being seen, being known, being loved for exactly who I am—that’s better than any championship could ever be.
Though the championship is pretty fucking sweet too.
forty-one
MAYA
The door clicks shuton the last of our friends, the sound echoing through the apartment like a gunshot in church.
The sudden silence is almost oppressive after hours of shouting, laughter, and the kind of testosterone-fueled celebration that only comes after winning a national championship. The air is thick with it all—stale beer clinging to every surface, cold pizza congealing in boxes on the counter, and something else.
And when I look around, I figure it out. It’s nothing to do with hockey or the aftermath of the party, and has everything to do with the way Maine is looking at me from the kitchen archway, still wearing his jersey from the game, still not having even showered.
And holy shit, that look.
It’s not the cocky grin I’ve seen a thousand times, the one that used to make me want to both jump him and strangle him in equal measure. This is something else entirely. It’s raw and overwhelming, like he’s seeing me for the first time, or maybe like he’s finally letting me seehim.
All of him, with no masks, no performances, no walls.
The intensity of it makes my skin prickle with heat, makes my pulse kick into overdrive. Because I know that look. I’ve been wearing it myself for weeks now, this overwhelming sense of finally—finally—being honest, finally being together, finally beingus.
He doesn’t say a word, because he doesn’t need to. He just pushes off the doorframe with that lazy, predatory grace that still makes my mouth go dry, even after all these months of living together, of learning each other’s rhythms and tells.
I stay frozen by the door, my hand still on the deadbolt I just turned, watching him stalk toward me. My heart is pounding so hard I’m surprised he can’t hear it from across the room. Or maybe he can. Maybe that’s why his eyes darken as he gets closer.
“Maine—“
But whatever I was going to say dies on my tongue as he reaches me.
His mouth crashes down on mine, and it’s nothing like any other kiss we’ve shared. This is deeper, hungrier, full of promise and history and the kind of bone-deep certainty that comes from fighting through hell together and coming out the other side.
His tongue slides against mine, and I moan into his mouth, my hands fisting in his jersey. It’s still damp with champagne, and now the fabric clings to his chest, outlining every ridge of muscle, and suddenly I need it gone. Need everything gone. Need nothing between us but skin and sweat.
“Bedroom,” I gasp against his mouth, but he has other ideas.
His hands drop to my thighs, lifting me with an ease that takes my breath away. My legs wrap around his waist automatically, and he carries me not to the bedroom but to the kitchen counter, setting me down on the cool granite where we were doing shots twenty minutes ago.
“Here?” I laugh, but it comes out breathless and needy.
“Everywhere,” he growls against my throat. “Starting here.”
His hands are everywhere—sliding up my thighs, pushing my dress higher, thumbs ranging along the sensitive skin of my inner thighs. I’m already wet, have been since the moment he looked at me across the room, and when his fingers brush against the damp lace of my panties, we both groan.
“Fuck, Maya,” he breathes, his forehead dropping to my shoulder. “You’re already soaking?—“
“Since you made that pass to Cooper,” I admit, and feel him freeze against me. “Watching you choose the team over glory? Yeah, that did it for me.”
He pulls back to look at me, his eyes wide and dark and full of something that makes my heart skip. “You’re going to be the death of me.”
“What a way to go,” I tease, but my voice catches as his fingers slip beneath the elastic of my panties, finding me slick and ready.
