Page 44 of Dirty As Puck
Then I see Rochelle, standing by the hallway outside the locker room, notebook in hand, pen poised like she’s ready to capture astory the moment it breathes. My chest tightens. She looks calm, professional even, but I can see the tension in the slight tilt of her head, and the subtle way she bites her lip. Her eyes catch mine for a heartbeat, and everything inside me shivers.
I know I should look away, leave the room empty and safe, but I don’t. I can’t. Instead, I take a casual step closer, the kind that makes it seem like I’m still focused on wiping down my stick, but it’s not about the stick. Her gaze doesn’t falter, and she doesn’t look away. She meets me head-on, daring me to make the first move.
My mind is a war zone. Every rational thought is screaming at me that she’s off-limits. I should be professional and there’s a line I shouldn’t cross. But every fiber of my body betrays me. My hands itch to touch her again, to feel that soft brush of her skin, to taste her lips, to let the steam of the locker room close in on us and shut the world out.
I let my eyes roam over her, not shamelessly, but deliberately, tracing the curve of her jaw, the sharpness of her cheekbones, the way her blouse clings just enough to tease, to drive me wild. She’s aware that I’m looking, of course she is. She always is. And I can tell she likes it, the tension she’s stirring in me, even if she’ll never admit it out loud.
Jake’s voice echoes in the distance again. “You’re practically melting there, man.”
I growl under my breath, but I don’t move, not yet. I can’t. I’m waiting, circling, a predator sizing up its prey, though we both know this hunt isn’t an innocent one.
The air between us is thick, electric, dangerous. I can hear the faint scuff of her boots against the tile as she shifts her weight, and it’s enough to make my chest tighten again. My pulsethunders in my ears, not from exhaustion but from desire, from the game we’re playing without words.
One step closer, and I’m nearly in her space, close enough to feel the heat radiating off her body. I catch the faint scent of her perfume mixed with the lingering tang of the ice rink, a scent that should be maddening, and it is. She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t move back. She knows that she’s got me, and so do I.
I should walk away. I should let the professional distance win. But the second her eyes flick to mine, holding mine steady, everything inside me snaps. I stay. I linger. I want her. And I know she wants me too.
The tension between us is palpable, coiling tight like a spring. One wrong step or the right one, and everything slips through the cracks again. I don’t know if I’ll survive that step.
The locker room empties slowly, laughter and chatter fading into distant echoes as my teammates retreat from the showers. I linger deliberately, letting the noise die down, knowing exactly what I’m doing.
My chest is still tight, my muscles humming from practice, but it’s nothing compared to the tension tightening between us already.
“Looking to have a quick interview with you, Morrison,” she says, voice airy but with a bite I can hear in every word. Her eyes don’t waver. Instead, they meet mine head-on.
“This about yesterday? By the way, you shouldn’t be in here,” I warn, trying to keep my voice level, professional, but failing spectacularly.
“Then tell me to leave,” she replies, just enough defiance in her tone to make my pulse hammer.
I don’t. I can’t. Something in the way she stands there, daring me, teasing me, makes it impossible. My hand tightens on the edge of the bench behind me. I take a slow step closer, careful to make it look casual, but close enough that the air between us thickens like steam.
Her perfume hits me first, that familiar sharp citrus mixing with the residual tang of sweat from practice. My chest tightens again, and I have to swallow hard. Every instinct is screaming at me to touch her, to close the remaining inches between us, to taste the challenge in her eyes.
“You’re playing a dangerous game,” I murmur, low enough that it’s just for her to hear. She tilts her head, smirk threatening, and the look in her eyes says she knows exactly what I’m thinking.
“And yet,” she breathes, taking a step closer, “here I am.”
The heat between us spikes, coiling tight. I can feel the press of her body even though she hasn’t touched me yet, the nearness of her legs, the tilt of her shoulders, the way her hair brushes just past her collarbone. My mind goes haywire. I should step back, remind myself of the line we keep dancing around. But every rational thought is gone.
I let my gaze drift over her, slow, deliberate. Her dress clings in all the right ways, the curve of her waist drawing my eyes downward before I catch myself. She’s watching me do it, and I know she loves it, loves that she can get under my skin this easily.
“You know,” she murmurs, voice low, teasing, “I could make this really complicated if I wanted.”
I growl under my breath, moving closer until we’re just inches apart. Her breath fans across my cheek, a subtle, hot whisper that makes my chest ache. I can feel the warmth radiating fromher, the soft feel of her body as she leans just slightly into me, enough that my fingers twitch to touch her.
“You’re crazy,” I mutter, voice rough. “Do you even realize how reckless this is?”
Her lips twitch, just the slightest upturn, but her eyes are serious, filled with the same unspoken need I feel pressing in every vein. “Maybe I like it,” she says softly, and it’s like a match to gasoline.
The space between us disappears as I step even closer, letting my hand brush along her arm, feeling the subtle tremor she tries to hide. I watch her inhale sharply, catch the faint hitch in her breath, and it’s enough to make me ache. My pulse pounds in rhythm with hers, and suddenly the air feels charged, heavy, almost unbearable.
I know we’re on the edge. Every second is a careful balance between professional restraint and complete surrender. One move, one word, one look and we cross a line we already crossed once.
And yet, neither of us moves away.
We just stand there, locked in a quiet, searing battle, the scent of soap and sweat, the press of skin, and the magnetic pull between us making it clear that this is far from over.
I step just a fraction closer, enough that the heat from her body presses against me, sending a shiver down my spine. The locker room is empty now, the only sounds are our breathing and the faint drip of water from the showers down the hall. Every instinct I have is screaming at me to close the distance completely, to claim the tension that’s been building.
