Page 119 of Lighting the Lamp
“Ignore them.” Beau’s mouth twitches like he’s fighting a grin, but his gaze never wavers. “They’re just jealous.”
“They’re all staring,” I whisper back, my voice barely cutting through the noise.
“Good,” he says, his tone warm and firm. “Let ’em see.”
The words send a rush of heat through me that has nothing to do with embarrassment.
“Just kiss her already, Hendrix!” someone shouts, and the entire room erupts again.
Beau doesn’t flinch. If anything, he steps closer, his shoulder brushing mine, his body radiating heat in the narrow space between us. My pulse skips, my skin prickles, and every nerve keys in on him even though I can feel the weight of every gaze in the room. Even so, it’s like there’s no one here but him.
His mouth curves slowly like he knows exactly what he’s doing to me. The noise around us fades to a low hum as he leans in, slow and deliberately, like he’s giving me time to stop him. His scent hits me first, causing my breath to catch, fingers still tangled in the hem of my borrowed jersey.
Is he going to kiss me? Here? In front of everyone? Surprisingly, I’m okay with that.
Beau’s lips are inches from mine, his voice a low scrape I can feel more than hear. “Guess you’ll have to stick around if you want that good luck kiss, hmm?”
And just like that, he pulls back. His warmth disappears, replaced by the cool rush of air between us. He takes a step backward, eyes still on me, and that infuriating grin settles deep on his face. The chirping starts up again instantly.Ooooh, she’s blushing,andthat’s cold, Hendrix!,but Beau just turns away, reaching for something in his locker like the conversation’s over.
“Don’t go anywhere,” he says, glancing at me one last time, a quick up-and-down that’s both a promise and a challenge.
And then he’s gone, folding back into the rhythm of his pre-game routine like I’m not standing there, flushed and breathless, with my heart hammering so loud I can barely hear anything else. I’m still rooted to the spot, trying to remember how to breathe, when Bower slides back into my peripheral like he’s been waiting for his cue.
“Well, that was… interesting,” he drawls, folding his arms across his massive chest. His grin is wide enough to make mycheeks burn hotter. “You know, you might be the first person to make Hendrix crack a smile before puck drop in, oh… ever.”
“I’m not—” I roll my eyes, but my pulse is still galloping.
“Oh, I know,” he cuts in, eyes flicking pointedly to the jersey still bunched in my fists. “Definitely not his girlfriend.”
A couple of guys down the row snicker. One of them, a forward I vaguely recognize, leans around Bower to add, “If you were, you’d be sitting on his lap by now. He’s a creature of habit.”
“I… no?—”
“Relax, we’re just giving you a proper Timberwolves welcome. We did the same thing to your girl Ramona. You survive the chirping, you’re in.” Bower chuckles, clearly delighted by my flailing.
“How do you know… You know what? Never mind. You guys probably gossip more than a bunch of teenage girls.”
“You got that right,” a voice calls from two stalls down—a forward I vaguely recognize by the messy blond hair sticking out from under his beanie. He props an elbow on his knee, smirking like he’s been waiting to join in.
“Locker room gossip is basically a team sport.” He pauses, grin widening. “Of course, it didn’t save me from the black eye I got, courtesy of Hendrix, when I called you a puck bunny.”
“What the hell? You called me what?” My voice cracks so high that half the room bursts out laughing.
“Shhh—” His eyes go comically wide, darting a quick, guilty glance toward Beau. “Please keep your voice down. I really enjoy seeing with both eyes. I’m not looking to start the game half-blind.”
“Rookie mistake,” someone else chirps from across the room.
“Maybe you should’ve thought of that before running your mouth,” I mutter, but the words don’t hide the heat creeping up my neck. Heat that has less to do with the blond forward’scomment and more to do with the weight of Beau’s stare pressing against my skin.
Another voice pipes up over the noise, teasing, “What’s with the headphones anyway? Trying to block us out already?”
The laughter spikes again, but Beau’s voice cuts through it, low and steady. “She doesn’t owe you an explanation.”
The room goes still for a beat. He doesn’t raise his voice, doesn’t move from his stall, but the quiet edge in his tone lands harder than a shout. His eyes never leave mine, and something in my chest stumbles, heat rushing up my throat. It feels like he just put himself between me and all of them without even standing.
Bower chuckles under his breath, clearly enjoying the show, while Beau tugs his laces tight, movements slow and deliberate, like he’s pretending to focus on the routine. But his gaze keeps coming back to me, steady and unflinching, a silent claim in front of everyone. Each glance makes my pulse trip over itself, the muffled chaos in my ears paling compared to the storm breaking loose under my skin.
And the worst part is, I like it. I like the way his attention settles on me like armor, a shield I didn’t ask for but don’t want to lose. It’s reckless and dangerous, but the heat curling low in my stomach doesn’t care about consequences.
