Page 63 of Face Off
I groan, burying my face in my hands. “Why are you two so reasonable? I was hoping for ‘Yeah, keep sneaking around, sounds fun.’”
Jacko chuckles. “Sneaking aroundisfun. Until it’s not.”
“Thanks,” I mutter.
Maya reaches over, touching my arm lightly. “Look, I know about the whole debacle with Murphy, Owen filled me in, but if Chloe makes you happy, that’s what matters. The rest, you’ll figure it out.”
I nod, throat tight. She makes it sound so simple.
Jacko claps me on the back hard enough to nearly send me into my sandwich. “Now eat up. You’ll need the energy tonight.”
Game night hits like a storm. The rink is packed, the roar of the crowd vibrating through my chest as we line up. My nerves buzz, but once the puck drops, instinct takes over.
The first period is chaos. Hits come fast and heavy. Shoulder to shoulder, sticks clashing, blades carving sharp lines into the ice. I take a hard check into the boards, ribs rattling, but I bounce back up, adrenaline surging.
Jacko’s a wall out there, throwing his weight around like he’s indestructible. Murphy’s chirping non-stop, winding up the other team until tempers flare. By the time the second period rolls around, fists are flying.
I grab a guy by the jersey, shoving him off one of our rookies. He swings wild; I duck and land a shot to his gut. The ref’s whistle is shrill, but the crowd is deafening, eating it up.
We end up in the box, breathing hard, sweat dripping down my temples. Murphy leans over with a grin. “Nice hands, Ollie. Didn’t think you had it in you.”
I flip him off, grinning despite myself.
We’re up by one heading into the third, but it’s brutal, fast, punishing, every stride a battle. By the time the final buzzer sounds and we’ve scraped out the win, I’m running on fumes.
The locker room is chaos after. Helmets clattering, music blaring, Murphy already leading some kind of victory chant. I shower quick, half-dazed, my body screaming in protest.
That’s when Chloe finds me.
She slips in through the side door, her cheeks flushed, eyes bright. She’s supposed to be professional, I know that. But when her gaze meets mine, the world tilts.
“You okay?” she asks, voice low.
“Better now,” I murmur, pulling her into the shadows near the showers.
It’s reckless. Stupid. But the second her lips are on mine, I don’t care.
Heat flares, urgent and unstoppable. The roar of the team fades into background noise as I press her against the tiles, kissing her like I’ll die if I stop. Her hands are in my hair, mine are on her waist, and everything else disappears.
We’re careful at first, listening for footsteps, holding back. But the hunger takes over. Her breath is ragged in my ear, when she whispers, “Ollie, someone could…”
“I don’t care,” I growl against her mouth. And I don’t. Not when she feels this good. Not when every second with her feels stolen, precious.
It’s fast, frantic, water pounding from the shower above us, steam curling around our bodies. The tiles are cold, her skin is warm, and I can’t get close enough.
And then.
“OI!”
We freeze.
Murphy’s voice cracks like a whip off the tiles, sharp and furious.
“What the actualfuckis this?”
Chloe stiffens in my arms, her nails digging into my shoulders. I turn slowly, dread flooding my gut.
Murphy’s in the doorway, towel knotted tight at his waist, eyes blazing. There’s no grin. No smirk. Just raw anger.
