Page 63 of Playing Rough

London leans close, his voice low. "We did it, Riot. We really fucking did it." His eyes gleam with pride and relief and something that makes my pulse quicken.Love. "And now that everyone knows, we can do this." He nods in the direction of the ice. "Together."

His words resonate through me, filling me with a fierce sense of belonging I've never felt before. This team is my family, and now that they’ve accepted me for who I am, acceptedus, I'll protect them with everything I have.

Practice drags at first as I adjust to being on the ice with London as more than just rivals out in the open for the first time. But soon we find our groove again, skating hard and fast like we were born for it.

The guys chirp at us good-naturedly as we take the ice for drills. “Watch out, Kensington. Your boyfriend’s gonna try to steal your thunder as our favorite,” Mateo taunts.

“He’s my favorite, so that makes sense.” I shrug. “I’ve got no problem letting him take the lead," I say with a smirk. “He's better at it anyway.”

London smirks at me, his eyes glinting wickedly. "You sure about that, Kensington?"

I laugh and my heart feels like it’s flying as our teammates tease the hell out of us. This is what I've been missing all this time—being able to be myself with these guys and not hide who I am or who I love. It feels fucking incredible.

As we head into the final scrimmage of practice, I feel a surge of confidence. We've got this. Me and London—we're unstoppable together.

London and I linger on the rink as the others clear out. Alone at last, I pull him close, holding him tight.

"That was fucking brutal," I mutter into his hair, relieved this hurdle is done and it went better than either of us dared to hope it would. "But we did it. No going back now."

London leans into me with a shaky exhale. "I know telling them was the right call. But fuck, that was hard. I was fucking terrified." He nuzzles my throat. "Don't know what I'd do without you getting me through it."

I lean down to capture his lips in a kiss, slow and sweet and filled with everything I feel for him right at the blue line. “You’ll never have to find out.”

London's eyes gleam. "Damn straight." He kisses me again, deeper this time, until I'm breathless and so goddamn hard it hurts.

"I meant what I said in there," I murmur against his temple. "You and me? We're endgame." I squeeze his hips through his pads. "All that other shit, we'll handle it. Together."

London grins. "That's the only way I want it, Kensington."

We reluctantly let go, knowing Coach will be out here ripping us new assholes if we don’t get into the locker room. But as London leads me off the ice, I feel so free. Coming out to the team was one hurdle, but there's still plenty of shit ahead for us to navigate. The hockey world's not exactly known for its acceptance of gay players, so we gotta be smart about this.

Am I gay?

No, I think bisexual’s a better label, like I told my dad. But it won’t matter to the world because I’m in love with a man and that’s all they’ll see.

As we head back to the locker room, I feel a surge of gratitude for this team that's become my family. They've got my back through anything, and that's more than I could've ever dreamed of.

London squeezes my hand, his hazel eyes bright as we step into the locker room together. "We're gonna be just fine," he murmurs, low enough that only I can hear. "And we're gonna make history."

I smile back, feeling his words resonate through me with soul-deep certainty. Together, we're gonna take the hockey world by storm.

25

RIOT

Wakingup next to London never gets old. The warm press of his body against mine, his breath tickling the back of my neck, his arm slung over my waist—it grounds me in a way I’ve never known. For once, I’m not itching to jump out of bed and be productive. I let myself bask in the gray morning light filtering through the blinds, etching muted stripes across our bodies.

London stirs, nuzzling the back of my shoulder. “Mornin’,” he mumbles, his voice still rough with sleep.

I roll over to face him, taking in his tousled blond hair, eyes still heavy-lidded. He looks unfairly sexy like this. I brush my lips over his, reveling in the roughness of his morning scruff.

“Morning, Hotshot.” I play with his hair. “Ready to make today our bitch?”

London groans. “Five more minutes. You’re too damn comfortable.” But he’s got a soft, crooked smile as he nuzzles his face into my neck and nips at my skin, clearly just as content to laze here a while longer.

Our lazy kisses get cut short by my annoying phone alarm. With matching sighs, we drag ourselves out of bed to get ready for our workout.

The frigid morning air bites through my hoodie as we step outside into the gloomy drizzle. I stole it from London and it smells like him.

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