Page 67 of Rookie Moves

The door closes behind me with a soft click, and I watch as Colby kicks off his shoes, and then falls onto the bed face-first.

The sound of our teammates talking echoes from the hallway, where they’re returning to their rooms to get changed into their swimsuits. Colby declined, and I made the excuse that I was getting a headache and was too tired to join them, but it was all a lie.

I’m not tired at all, nor am I getting a headache, but I am desperate to try and right the wrong of my earlier words.

The truth is, I’m feeling a bit of a mess inside. I’ve been trying to stuff my feelings about my future to the back of my mind, because if it’s locked up in a vault, then it isn’t real. That’s how it goes, right? Avoidance is key. It’s future Tyler’s problem to worry about. But then spending time with Colby’s parents brought it all to the surface.

My future. This weekend being my last tournament.

The knowledge that whatever is going on between me and Colby goes much deeper than being teammates.

I let my fear get the better of me, and I’m pretty sure Colby took it as rejection.

Stepping further into the room, I glance over to where Colby’s lying on the bed. He’s rolled onto his back, and his eyes are closed, arms limp at his sides. He looks exhausted, and the tournament hasn’t even started.

I shrug off my hoodie and toss my hat onto the desk while toeing off my shoes. Instead of going to my own bed, I place my knees at the bottom of Colby’s and crawl over him until my face is hovering close to his. He doesn’t open his eyes, but the twitch of a smile has me grinning down at him. My hair falls forward, the ends brushing the side of his face.

“What are you doing?” he murmurs.

“Trying to get your attention.” I inch closer until our noses almost touch and whisper, “Wanted to tell you I’m sorry about earlier.”

His eyes slowly blink open. “What about?”

“What I said, or… well, what I didn’t say.” I heave out a sigh. “There’s just a lot going on in my head right now.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

I shake my head. “Not this weekend. I just want to focus on winning games and blowing your mind.”

A slow smirk tips the corner of his lips. “Oh, yeah? And how are you planning on doing that?”

“I figured I’d kiss you until you’re gasping for breath, then I’d strip you naked and give you the most epic blow job, nothing will ever beat it.”

He lets out a silent snort. “Is that right?”

“Mhm.” I cock my head to the side and hover my mouth over his, mixing our breaths together. “Then maybe we can take a shower together, and you can fuck me so good we’ll wake up so rested and satisfied, we’ll smash through practice, and Minnesota won’t know what’s hit them when we face them on Thursday.”

Colby licks over his lower lip, catching my own with his tongue.

“What do you say?” I ask, mouth brushing against his as I speak.

“I’d say, what are you waiting for?” he whispers.

I take his lips in a bruising kiss, slipping my tongue into his mouth with a low groan, leaving the topic of our feelings on hold for a few more days.

Wednesday goes by in a blur. We have practice in the morning, followed by a workout session, and then after lunch, we have another video session before Colby, Liam, and Winslow attend a press conference. I don’t hear what’s said, but Colby returns to our room looking drained, so I distract him in the only way I know how.

Even though we’re enjoying making each other come at every opportunity, we both accepted the fact we need a solid eight hours’ sleep to ensure we’re at the top of our game.

Which is good because it’s like Minnesota woke up this morning and chose violence. Each hit they make is legal, but there’s a dirty taste to the way they’re playing, and it’s like they’ve put a target on Colby’s back. Every time he’s on the ice, there’s someone shadowing him, checking him into the boards even when he doesn’t have possession of the puck, or knocking him off his skates.

I grind my molars, making a mental note of each player who so much as breathes near him so I can check them when I’m on the ice at the same time.

Come on, Colbs, I mentally shout. Don’t let them overpower you.

Coach Vaughn paces behind me like a caged lion, cursing under his breath as the officials miss yet another call.

“What fucking game are you watching?” he bellows, smacking his clipboard against the plexi behind us as the linesman skates by.