Page 5 of Stick Games
My heart races at the idea of that. I know I don’t look anything like the women I’ve seen him with over the years, the bunnies who throw themselves at him, but there’s no denying what I felt between his legs.
He inches back and I meet his gaze. “Not so bad having your brother’s friend here?”
“Not so bad at all.” I glance around. “This is actually nice. I’m so busy with skating, it’s become my life. It’s nice being here…with you,” I add bravely, just to see how he reacts to that.
“I can’t wait to see you perform in the Olympics, Millie.”
Okay, no comment on the ‘with you’ part. My heart sinks. Am I reading too much into this? “I didn’t know you were going to watch.”
“Hey.” He brushes my hair from my face, his gaze soft as it moves over my face. “Of course I’m going to watch. I’d never miss it.”
I probably am reading too much into this, but when he looks at me like that…holy God. “I sometimes watch your games,” I admit. A half lie. I watch all of his games.
“Do you root for me?”
“Of course I do. We used to be close, remember?”
“How could I forget? We had a lot of fun when we were kids.”
Yeah, it was fun until I started liking him, and then he went off to Boston and acted like I didn’t exist, because he didn’t feel the same way about me. “We did,” I agree, my voice light but laced with an edge of old hurt.
His gaze drifts away for a moment, lost in the past. “You loved playing games,” he murmurs, the faintest smile tugging at his lips.
“I did,” I nod, my heart stirring at the memory. “You did too.”
“I still do,” he says quietly, his eyes locking with mine, and for a second, the air feels charged between us. But then reality seeps in, reminding me that we’re putting on a show here, that this is just a game.
Right?
But game or not, there’s no faking the way he’s holding me, and a guy can’t fake an erection. But doubt creeps in anyway—maybe he’s thinking about some bunny back in Boston.
Gabe breaks the silence, his voice playful. “So… are the Bucks your favorite team?” There’s a mischievous glint in his eyes that makes me smile despite myself.
“Of course not,” I reply, rolling my eyes in mock exasperation. “Los Angeles is my favorite.”
He tilts his head, his grin widening. “Why do I get the feeling you’re not being entirely honest?”
I let out a small laugh, feeling the familiar warmth of his teasing. “Because if I told the truth, my brother would kill me,” I admit, shaking my head.
Gabe throws his head back in genuine laughter, the sound filling the space between us. “So the Bucks are your favorite. I’m definitely locking that away, Millie.”
I narrow my eyes at him, but there’s no hiding the smile tugging at my lips. “You planning to blackmail me, Gigi?”
“Keep calling me that, and I just might,” he says, his eyes gleaming.
It hits me—this effortless connection, this lightness between us. My God, when was the last time we talked like this? When was the last time it felt this easy, like we could be ourselves?
We continue to move together, the rhythm between us so natural, like our bodies were made to fit this way.
I glance up at Gabe, and his voice is soft when he asks, “Your practices been going well?”
“Now that you’re not at the rink to distract me, sure.” He chuckles lightly, but then something flickers across his face, a shift that wipes away the humor. “I mean… you’re such a hog out on the ice,” I add, wanting his playfulness back.
“I don’t want anything distracting you.” His words feel heavy, almost weighted with something more. His gaze flickers, not meeting mine entirely. “The Olympics are too important for that. You need all your focus.”
What he doesn’t know—what he’ll probably never realize—is that I was focused. Especially when he was there, cheering me on from the sidelines. His support gave me strength, kept me going. But then things changed. As we grew older and he started pulling away, coming around less and less, it messed with my focus. Why didn’t he want to be around me anymore? The only explanation I had was that he had figured out how I felt about him, and he didn’t feel the same. What else could it have been?
He nods toward something behind me, pulling me out of my thoughts. “Who’s that staring at us?”
