Page 69 of Securing the Pucking Rebound

He never told me what we were doing tonight.

The thought of watching the game alone with him in his apartment sends a rush of anticipation through me.

The last time we were alone for a significant amount of time, he almost kissed me twice, and I came very close to throwing caution to the wind and climbing him like a tree.

Wearing his jersey while alone with him seems like a really stupid thing to do.

Wearing a player’s jersey is a big deal. Okay, sure, I’ve done it a million times before. But I was nothing more than a fan then. Now, I’m…now I’m…something?

I guess we’re friends.

We’re certainly no longer connected just because of our friends.

We’ve been hanging out. We’re messaging.

We’re definitely friends.

I’m still debating my wardrobe choice and whether I should comply with his demand when the buzzer for my apartment sounds.

Oh shit.

My stomach twists with nerves, and with his jersey clutched in a death grip, I make my way toward the front door on shaky legs.

Get it together, I tell myself as I pull the door open.

My breath catches when I find him standing on the other side. He’s trimmed the stubble covering his jaw, his hair is still a little damp, and he’s wearing a Vipers hoodie and a dark pair of jeans and sneakers. He looks hot as hell.

It isn’t until he clears his throat that I realize I haven’t said a word. Instead, I’m just standing here, openly checking him out.

“See something you like?” he asks, my eyes jumping to meet his.

“Um…”

When he reaches out and tugs the fabric from my hand, I let it go without a second thought.

A moment later, he drops it over my head, letting it fall into place.

“I’m not sure I’ve ever put clothes on a woman before,” he murmurs, amusement in his tone.

“It’s still early.”

I gasp, my hand coming up to cover my mouth when I hear the words that just spilled free.

“I…I didn’t mean that,” I stammer as his smirk only grows wider.

“Sure you didn’t,” he says before reaching out and tucking a lock of hair behind my ear as he steps closer. My heart kickstarts as his eyes drop to my lips.

There was a naive part of me that tried to convince myself things would be different tonight. Calvin would realize his mistake in trying to kiss me, and we’d be back to how it was when I was sick. But clearly, that isn’t happening.

“What are we doing tonight?” I squeak as I back away from him, putting some much-needed space between us.

He smirks, following me inside. “Watching a hockey game,” he states, his eyes leisurely tracing every inch of my body.

“You’re infuriating,” I huff. “Are we staying in, or⁠—”

“We’re going to a bar.”

A huge rush of air passes my lips.