Page 49 of Face Off
I grab my gear, muscles buzzing from the game, adrenaline still high, and let one last glance fall on her. The warmth, the heat, the thrill remains, a silent thread tying us together even as the locker room empties, leaving only echoes behind.
Because Chloe isn’t just a distraction. She’s a storm, a fire, a force that refuses to be ignored, and I’m completely, utterly caught.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHLOE
The first thing I notice is the ache in my lips. It’s faint, but it’s there, like a ghost of last night’s bruising kisses, like my body reminding me.You did that. You let him in. And you wanted it.
I’m still lying in bed, tangled in sheets, hair sticking out in a hundred directions. My phone sits on the nightstand, face down, but the memory of it buzzing at midnight flashes through me. A single word from Ollie after I got home.Safe?
That’s what undid me, more than the heat of his mouth in the locker room or the weight of his hands. That simple, quiet check-in that cut through all my defences.
I drag myself up, pad barefoot into the kitchen, and turn the kettle on. My flat smells faintly of toast from yesterday, and the curtains are only half drawn, letting in pale morning light. Everything looks so ordinary. My life hasn’t changed on the outside, but inside? Inside I feel like someone’s taken a crowbar to the walls I built and pried them open.
I should be terrified. And I am. But under the fear is something warmer. Something dangerous.
I make coffee, pour it into my China mug, and pull my laptop open at the counter. Work emails. Spreadsheets. Notes for next week’s pitch meeting. The normal hum of life that usually grounds me. Today it feels flat, like a cover song that can’t quite hit the right notes.
Because all I want to think about is Ollie.
The way his grin tugged sideways when he leaned in last night. The feel of his chest under my hands, solid and real. The sound he made when I tugged his jersey. And the shock of Jonno’s voice catching us in the act.
I cringe into my coffee. Of all the people. Jonno isn’t a gossip, but still, the risk of it spreading makes my stomach knot. The team finding out? Murphy finding out? It’s one thing to let myself fall. It’s another to blow up his world in the process.
My phone buzzes again.
Ollie: Thinking about you. Breakfast plans?
I stare at it, lips caught between my teeth. My instinct is to pull back, to keep my ground. But then I remember last night, how I melted the second he touched me, how the air felt electric, charged. I can’t pretend I don’t want more.
I type back before I can overthink.
Me: Not breakfast. Coffee. My place. Eleven.
When the knock comes, I’ve already cleaned the kitchen twice and changed my outfit three times. I settle on jeans and a cropped jumper, casual but not too casual.
I open the door and there he is, hair damp like he’s just showered, hoodie pulled up, grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. The kind of grin that sayswe’re both remembering the same thing.
“Morning,” he says, low and warm.
“Coffee,” I answer, pretending my pulse isn’t sprinting.
We move around my kitchen like it’s a dance we’ve rehearsed, him grabbing mugs, me pouring coffee, shoulders brushing as we cross paths. Every touch sparks. I can feel the heat radiating off him, like his body can’t stop reminding me what it felt like pressed against mine.
But instead of tearing into each other, we sit at the counter, steaming mugs between us, and talk.
About the game. About Murphy’s ludicrous shinpad goal reenactment. About Jacko’s brownies. About nothing, and everything.
And it’s nice. Too nice. I’m not used tonice.
At one point, he catches me staring. “What?” he asks, smirking.
“Nothing.” I shake my head. But my cheeks burn, and I know he can see right through me.
The conversation drifts and I ask about his physio sessions, he admits his hip’s been screaming at him. “Coach is on my back about it,” he mutters, rolling his eyes.
“Because he actually wants you to last the season without shattering something,” I point out.
