Page 65 of Twisted Shot
Theo stares out the window, barely hearing him. The city rolls past in a blur of dreary gray. His knee bounces once, twice, before he pins it down with a palm. His fingers are still twitching.
Mila will be there today.
And after last night…
He can’t stop seeing her.
The image is carved into his soul—Mila, in her hotel room, laid out on the bed like a fucking dream. Her hair wild, her skin flushed.
He watched her unravel for him, hips rolling, thighs trembling, mouth falling open in the most beautiful fucking sounds he’s ever heard. Every moan. Every breathlessplease.
And he hadn’t even touched her. He’d kept the mask on. Kept the mystery. And she let him watch her fall apart anyway.
His cock stirs remembering it. He shifts in his seat, adjusting himself discreetly.
He should feel shame. Or guilt. Or something. But all he feels is hungry. Possessive.
Did she suspect? Did she recognize him from the way he spoke, from the shape of his hands, from something he didn’t even realize he was giving away?
The uncertainty presses against his chest like a bruise.
He wants to tell her—needs to. The guilt is a steady gnaw, hollowing him out. But he’s in too deep, drowning in it, and the thought of pulling her into the truth feels like it would shatter everything—her, him, the fragile thing sparking between them. So he swallows it down, carrying the secret like it’s carved into his ribs, bleeding him out from the inside.
“You know,” Jesse says suddenly, still chewing, “I was fully prepared to throw you a one-man celly last night. Like, with balloons. Confetti. Maybe buy you a pony.”
Theo stares out the window, heat creeping up his neck. “Unnecessary.”
“I’m just saying—OT winner? Bro. That’s, like, Big Boy Hockey Energy,” Jesse says, glancing over. “You’re a stay-at-home defenseman. You barely get past the blue line most games. I was ready to build a statue.”
Theo smiles faintly, but it doesn’t last. The goal last nightwasepic.
But it’s not what he’s thinking about now. He barely remembers the puck hitting the back of the net. All he remembers is the way Mila cried out for him—even if she didn’t know it.
Jesse turns the music down. “Seriously though. Why’d you ghostso fast after the game? Everyone went to Huck’s. You didn’t even shower, you absolute menace.”
Theo shrugs, eyes on the road. “Was tired.”
He doesn’t add, “Actually, I needed to get to the privacy of my own home to see if the woman I’m obsessed with got the sex toy I sent her.”
Obviously.
Jesse looks skeptical. “You score the game-winner and bail? That’s serial killer behavior.”
Theo forces a smile. “Just wanted to be home.”
Jesse squints at him. “Did you at least, like…order a pizza? Celebrate solo?”
“Something like that.”
Jesse turns up the music again, letting it drop.
“You’re a weirdo,” he says cheerfully, “but I love you.”
Theo rolls his eyes, but the words stick. Not in a bad way.
They pull into the player lot a few minutes later. Theo exhales and grabs his bag out of habit, even though he won’t need it. His body knows this ritual, even if today is a different type of battle than game day.
Mila’s leaning against the railing outside the heavy double doors, talking to some AV guy with a coil of cable slung over one shoulder. She’s wearing a simple white top with a blazer over it and jeans that hug her perfect ass. Her hair’s in some kind of messy twist, with loose pieces falling around her face, and those glasses…
