hockey thirst is real.

With final exams behind you, there was nothing more that you were looking forward to than summer. The warmth of the sun, the carefree freedom that was already ready to consume every bit of you as you left all your responsibilities behind you. There was nothing better than the summer vacation after a hectic academic season, especially after the stressful junior year you had. The stress of your studies aside, you could have considered it to be a great year, that was if it hadn’t been for your roommate. 

At the beginning of the term, you and your best friend had decided that you wanted to live off campus. Tired of the dorm life there was nothing more exciting than having your own place, but that came with a great cost - which meant rooming with more people than just your best friend. The three-bedroom duplex apartment you have been able to secure not far from campus was perfect, especially since your best friend had gotten her boyfriend, Jack Hughes, to room with her - but that had left a spare room to be filled. And Jack had taken the liberty of offering it to his college hockey captain: Nico Hischier. 

This hadn’t been an issue at first. He was easy enough on the eyes that you didn't complain, but it quickly become clear that the two of you weren’t going to get along. He seemed to know how to press all of your buttons, your days starting and ending with snide comments or heated arguments that left you both returning to your respective rooms - and you couldn’t wait to put that all behind you. 

With summer, you could leave that animosity behind you. You wouldn’t have to see him until you both returned for your senior year in the fall. That thought alone excited you as you packed a single duffle bag, but what excited you more was the trip you and your bestie had planned to take. You had been looking forward to it for months. The two of you had rented a van - one of those ones with the small bed and kitchen in the back. You were going to travel the country together, take in the sights and monuments the great country of America offered you. But the excitement quickly faded as you threw your bag over your shoulder and made your way down to the van that waited in the driveway. 

You wore a smile as you spotted your best friend throwing her back into the back, but then it wavered as she tossed in one bag and then another. Your lips parted to call out to her, but your throat was left weak at the sight in front of you. The devils and angels had been gambling with your happiness as with your bestie came her boyfriend Jack and with him Nico. Your biggest college nemesis would be joining you on what was supposed to be your greatest escape from him. 

Most nights, the four of you piled into the back of the van. You would all sleep stuffed into the cot, elbows bent into backs and uncomfortably hot as you found yourself venturing into the southern states. It left tensions high, and you constantly on edge, especially when Nico tested the boundaries of just how much room he was allowed to take up on the bed. He was by far the biggest of the four of you, standing at 6’1 - a whole 2 inches taller than Jack - and broad with muscle he seemed to take up more and more room as the nights went on. It sent your blood boiling as you fought him on it, as it sent Jack closer to the center of the bed, and your best friend further into you,  and in turn you were forced closer to the wall of the van. It left you claustrophobic and struggling through sleepless nights so finally after mere days of driving the four of you agreed to check into a motel for a proper night of sleep. 

What the four of you couldn’t agree on was the sleeping arrangements. With your best friend dating Jack she was quick to state they would be sharing a room, but you couldn’t afford a room all to yourself and that only meant sharing with Nico. You were far from interested in that. 

“We could share a room, and the boys could share a room,” you insisted, your arms coming to cross your chest as you leaned up against the van, “it’s not like they haven’t shared a room before - and we used to share a bed all the time-”

“Tell us more,” Jack was wearing a wide grin as he grabbed his bag from the back, earning a displeased groan from your lips. 

“You wish Hughes,” you scoffed at him and looked at your best friend with pleading eyes. She had to be able to see this from your perspective. She had to understand why you couldn’t stand to spend another moment with Nico never mind having to share a room with him. “Do me a solid, just this once-”

But her mind was clouded by one thing, and one thing only. Sex. You could see it on her face as a blush crept up onto her features and her words became a soft, unapologetic, “sorry.” And you couldn’t blame her. The pair of them were like two love-sick puppies that fucked like rabbits, and they hadn’t been able to fuck since the four of you had left Newerk - though you were sure Jack had finger-fucked her at least once when they thought you were asleep in the passenger’s seat during Nico’s turn to drive. 

As much as you wanted to protest, to stop your foot and throw a tantrum because Nico wasn’t even supposed to be on this trip you conceded and pointed a finger at Hughes and narrowed your eyes, “You owe me one.”

“We’ll make it up to you,” his smile didn’t waiver as he tossed your bag at you, and locked up the back doors of the van before the couple ran off to one of the two rooms Nico had gone to the front desk to secure. 

They left you both to stand in the parking lot, a standoff of sorts as he held up the remaining key. “I’m about as excited about this as you are.” Which meant he was dreading it fully, with his entire being. He’d rather die than have to be rooming with you on the road, and yet you both stood there, full of life but seething. 

“One room?”

“Yup.”

“One bed?”

“Yup,” Nico answered again, and you could have sworn you saw the corner of his lip threaten to curl up into a smirk. 

“Fuck me,” you groaned out as you reached out to snag the key from his hand, but he pulled it back, just out of your reach. Hearing your words sent his smirk blossoming into a full grin now. 

“Keep dreaming,” and when he said your name, you were on the verge of letting out an annoyed scream. 

“I wouldn’t fuck you if we were the last people on the planet and the fate of humanity was solely up to you and me,” you assured him. 

“If we were the last people on the planet, it wouldn’t be long until you were the only one left-”

Your lips curled up into a smirk of your own as your stepped forward, “Let’s play a little bit of pretend, shall we? Our planet is the hotel room, and it’s just you and me alone on that planet - so why don’t you just fuck off, sleep in the van and let me enjoy the bed.”

“Not a chance,” his eyes narrowed, “if you want the van, go right ahead but I’m not missing out on sleeping in a bed even if it means having to share it with you.” 

You had dipped into your saving to be able to cover your share of the room, you weren’t going to concede for a second time. “Just get us in the room for fuck sake, I want a real shower.”

In an instant, you knew you should have bit your tongue as Nico’s dark gaze had risen to meet your and there was a flicker of light in them that sparked like the ignition of a flame. A shower. A real shower. No one had one in days. You were sure you stunk. You knew he did. And now you would be fighting him for it. 

You couldn’t fight Nico for the key. Not with how he towered over you, and not with how the strength of his hands had fisted the key in his palm for safekeeping. Holding it down by his side, he stalked off in search of the room, but you never let him get too far out of your reach. For as soon as you heard the lock of the door disengage you had thrown a shoulder into his chest in a desperate attempt to shove him out of the way. Yet, he barely budged. Hell, you hadn’t even thrown him off balance. The only thing you had managed to do was coax a smile onto his lips as he leaned into the door, the heavy weight of him easing it open. 

Stumbling in after him, you reached your hands out to give him a good shove. Your palms met the plains of his back, your breath catching in your throat as you felt the strength of him flex beneath your touch. It was almost enough to have you conceding, your mind suddenly clouded when it shouldn’t have been. You had lived with each other for the entirety of a semester. You knew how strong he was. You had seen it when he had worn a tight t-shirt to class or had caught a glimpse of him as he made the short walk from the bathroom to his bedroom in nothing but a towel when he was sure no one would notice - because if there was one thing he was that you didn’t really mind, it was that he was modest. 

He didn’t flaunt himself around the house or the campus like the other players seemed to. His appointment of being the team Captain didn’t go to his head either. He respected his position and accepted any and all responsibilities that came with it. He didn’t even use it as a way to get girls to come back to the house - hell, had you ever seen him bring a girl home at all? 

It was a thought that left your brows furrowed as you battle him along the path towards the bathroom. You would push him, and he would shove you back - but his hands were careful, calculated in just where he touched you. Finding your waist at its curves or against the back of your shoulder as he tried to move you out of his way. But neither of you would concede. Not even as you both tried to jam your way through the bathroom door. Your bodies collided, pressed firm together at your sides and earning an exasperated sigh from both of your lips. 

Groaning you let out a sigh as you turned just enough so that your back was pressed against the cold frame. Nico did the same but stretched an arm across the doorway to grip at the frame as he tower over you. Suddenly you felt claustrophobic and small as he looked down over you, his dark hair hanging into his eyes and his smile crooked - conniving. 

“Hischier,” you swallowed hard, challenging him with nothing but his name. What was he thinking?

Whatever it was, you didn’t wait long enough to find out. You wanted to shower, and you were going to be the first one to indulge in it. Even if that meant stooping low. Easing away from the door, you inch dangerously close to Nico, giving yourself just enough room to reach down and draw your shirt up over your head. Then you reached down to your shorts, thumbing the button free before letting them fall to the floor before you were standing there in nothing but your bra and panties. 

You watched as his face softened, his dark gaze raising just enough for you to know you had some kind of effect on him. Cocking your head, you smiled, pressing up onto your toes just enough to mutter up to him, your words hot against his cheek, “I’ll try to leave some hot water for you. Now, be a gentleman and shut the door.” 

Ducking under his arm you sauntered off into the bathroom with your bag in hand and a bit of a hop in your step. You would celebrate every single one of your little victories. 

With Nico’s silent surrender, you heard the door close behind you and you let yourself undress and relish under the heated embrace of the water - but you did keep the shower quick. It was the least you could do when he was nice enough to concede when you challenged him. 

Exiting the bathroom, you were dressed in an oversized t-shirt and a pair of barely there shorts. You had hoped that you would be able to sleep without pants for the first time in days but there was no way that was going to happen now. Nico wasn’t about to get a free show, not from you. 

“There’s still hot water there for you,” you told Nico firmly as you moved for the bed and crawled up onto the side of the bed that was left for you. 

It wasn’t the side you normally slept on, but you weren’t going to fight him on it. You had gotten to shower first, so he could have his preferred side of the bed. You settled into the bed, it was stiff and the sheets a bit scratchy but it would do. Anything was better than sleeping in the van at this point. 

You had hoped to be asleep before Nico had come out of the shower, but the rush of the water in the next room was all too loud and you couldn’t get comfortable. Worst of all, when the tattooing of the water against the tub had seized, your discomfort only intensified when Nico had come to bed. You could feel his heat radiating across the safe distance you had both agreed upon - a good foot of mattress that left you both sleeping on the very edge - and to your distaste he had decided to sleep shirtless. 

Every opportunity you felt sleep had to take you, you ruined it with one accidental glance over at Nico who fell asleep all too quickly at your side. You would catch a glimpse of his soft features, or the flex of his all-too-impressive muscles and it would leave you tossing and turning in bed in a desperate attempt to get comfortable. But your mind continued to haunt you: How unfair it was to have someone so irritable look like that?

Scoffing to yourself you curled up with your back to him. You thought of literally anything else but him in an attempt to bring yourself to a state where maybe, just maybe you would be able to fall asleep - but Nico had found yet another way to keep you awake. He was talking in his sleep. 

You let out a long, agonized groan as you took your pillow and shoved it over your face. You would have to go out and sleep in the van at this rate. 

Rolling over you contemplated waking him up, but the shimmer of sweat on his skin and hardening of his features was almost enough to leave you concerned. Was it a nightmare? You leaned in, encroaching on the space between you both, a careful hand coming to rest on his shoulder - it was then his lips parted, muttering an almost silent word before you heard something all too familiar: your name. Nico was dreaming about you. You swallowed hard, your eyes widening in shock before falling back into their heavily lidded state. That had to be a coincidence. Maybe you had heard him wrong. 

That was what you told yourself as you settled back into your place in bed. And with a final huff sleep crept on you, one final thought on your mind: If he was dreaming of you, you hoped it was a nightmare. 

Come morning, the space at the center of the bed no longer existed. Your bodies had both moved inwards on the surface to avoid tumbling over the edge in the night - and with that, your bodies had become intertwined. You could feel Nico against your back,  his legs tangled with yours, and you could feel the stiffness of his cock pressed up the back of your thigh. For a moment you almost forgot that it was Nico in bed next to you, a faint smile on your lips as you wiggled your hips back into his cock. His cock was impressive, to say the least, the outline of it felt so clear as he snuggled a little closer - but as Nico cuddled in close you caught a breath of the unique scent of him and it sent your heart plummeting. 

This was the worst-case scenario - and you hadn’t even thought once that it might happen. You couldn’t hate yourself more than you did at the moment as you shifted just enough to press your ass into the girth of his cock. And you chastised yourself for it, disgusted with your own actions as you wiggled and pressed yourself against Nico to feel all of him. He would notice, he was still asleep - and with how carefully and subtly you moved you hoped in the off chance that he did wake up that he would think you were still sleeping too. 

But then you felt a hot, heavy breath blossom out and over your shoulder and the strength of his arms was coiling around you like a boa constrictor. Nico had been awake the whole time. You should have pulled away at the realization, but instead, you were frozen, petrified as he leaned in and nuzzled his face into your hair. Then, with sleep still heavy on him, he leaned in and placed a lazy kiss on your neck. And when he finally spoke you could hear the amusement in his words, “I won’t tell them if you don’t.”

For a moment, you think it might be some kind of joke. Something that will end with him peeling away from you with laughter at your willingness if you were to agree with him. A cruel joke for him to play, but then you feel his hips as he presses his hips up against your ass as if you hadn’t felt his hard-on already. It was that action, that really had you entertaining the idea of letting him fuck you. You really should have, not with how much you loathed him, and not with how much he loathed you. He was all around intolerable, you knew it. Everyone knew it - and yet, when he shifted just enough to ease his cock from his boxers and ease it into the small triangle of space between your thighs and clothed cunt you were caving. 

“For fuck sake, Nico,” you groaned out, using his first name for the first time. It felt foreign as it slipped off your tongue, having only exclusively addressed him by his last name until that moment as he slowly fucked that space between your thighs and your judgement waivered. 

“Is that a yes?” he spoke against the sensitive skin of your neck, his voice low, sultry hum that left your arousal puddling between your legs. 

Your head cocked, “You won’t say anything?” 

“Not a damn word,” he promised, angling his hips just right to press the head of his cock up against the sensitivity of your clit as thrust lazily. 

You had to bite your lip to combat the shutter that threatened to crawl up your spine and the soft sound that would have left your lips with it. Fuck, what an embarrassing thing it was to be so desperately wet for him - but he was hard for you, and something now was telling you that the dream that left him muttering your name in the night was no nightmare, but a sex dream. You almost smiled. Almost. But you didn’t want to give him the wrong idea. This was nothing but an agreement of convenience. 

“Then stop teasing me and fuck me properly, or did you need me to teach you how to do that?” Even in bed, you wouldn’t let your rivalry wouldn’t subside. 

Drawing back, Nico was free of the space between your legs and he had given you just enough room to roll over and push the flimsy fabric of your panties down the length of your legs. You didn’t even think to discard your shirt until you were climbing into his lap, taking the dominant position on top of him, and meeting him at the mouth. 

You had never considered kissing Nico. Not once, not ever. But now as you were, feeling his soft lips against your own, and tasting his morning breath - which really wasn’t all that bad - in your mouth you started to question why it had never crossed your mind. He was a very attractive man after all, and he was very, very good at it - not that you could have predicted that when you seemed to do nothing but challenge and throw childish insults at one another. 

The caress of his tongue against your own left you melting into him, your hands exploring the shape of his body - something you hadn’t done so much as catch glimpses of before. You could feel every ripple of his muscle as his hands moved to hold you just right, and every twitch of his cock as you let your hips roll up and down the length of him without taking him inside you. It left his coated in the slick of your arousal, sending tingles down to your toes, but you were impatient - and your best friend would be too when they would be kept waiting on the both of you. 

Reaching down between the both of you, you took hold of his cock in your hand and stroked it slowly. Nico let out a soft sound against your lips, coaxing a smile onto your lips as you guided him to the entrance of your cunt and eased yourself down onto him. His cock stretched out in all the best ways, sending a burn of pleasure to spread throughout your body in a heatwave as you rode him in a steady rhythm. 

For a time, you thought Nico was just going to fall into submission. That he was going to let you ride him hard and steady as you would your fingers into his messy hair and relish in how you tugged it - but you could always count on Nico to challenge you. His large hands spread over your hips, lulling you into the false sense that he was going to help guide you up and down the length of his cock but he was only trying to find his leverage. Soon, he was holding you firmly in his hands, flipping you so that your back was against the bed - and not once had his cock left you to feel void. 

You could feel every inch of him with every thrust as his large hands guided your legs up to wrap around his hips. The simple action had left your lips parting to protest him - there was something too intimate about missionary, the last thing you wanted was to be looking him straight in the face as he fucked you - but your words were silenced completely by a moan. He was bringing pleasure to you that the frat boy hookups you had collected during your time in college could only dream of bringing you. 

It left you reeling against the mattress, your head thrown back into the pillows as you reached out to grasp at anything to ground you. The mattress, the T-shirt that still hung off your body, and Nico. You clung to Nico as if he was the very source of your gravity. Your hands found his shoulders, clutching at his strength desperately as your legs wound around his middle. Heels pressed into his back and the pressure of his weight against your inner thighs as each deep thrust tested the depth of your flexibility but you were desperate to take him to your limits. 

It left your head spinning as the pleasure of him fucking you - and not just fucking you, fucking you hard. His every thrust fueled with every ounce of animosity the two of you had held since September - threw you into ecstasy, your mouth agape with a silent moan as you refused to give him the satisfaction of hearing you - and you could not risk anyone hearing you both from outside the motel door. 

But Nico wasn’t as discrete. His lips parted in a soft moan that had you drawing him into you to place one last hungry kiss on his lips before he was pulling back and pulled out of you. His face was soft, completely and utterly relaxed as he took hold of his cock and stroked it until his cum had shot out over the thin fabric of your oversized t-shirt. 

It left you cursing. You slept in that shirt more often than you would like to admit, and now it was going to be a mess you had to hide - but at least he hadn’t cum inside you. 

Pulling off the shirt, you stepped into the bathroom to clean yourselves up in silence. You shared nothing more than careful glances as you dressed and you didn’t speak to one another until you were both standing at the motel room door, staring at it as if it were going to open itself. 

“This never happened?” You quirked a brow up at him. 

“What never happened?” he met your gaze, his face expressionless but you could see the playful smile that lingered in his dark eyes.

“Exactly,” you breathed out and reached for the handle. 

You were both hit with the blinding light of the morning, your eyes squinting before you could pull your sunglasses down to shield them. You tried to keep your head down, to make your way to the van with the hope that Jack and your best friend had yet to finish up your own fun - but it was that very pair that greeted you, her voice all too chipper for you to be happy about so early in the morning, “we were starting to think you killed each other- 

Groaning, you opened the side door of the van and tossed your bag into the back. It wasn’t abnormal for you to be irritable in the morning, you were in no way a morning person, but the last thing you wanted to talk about was Nico. Especially when you could still feel the ghost of his touch on your body, and the heat of him as he trapped you between his body and the van as he reached around you to toss your own bad inside. Sure, you could pretend he hadn’t just fucked the life out of you, but it wasn’t going to be something you forgot about. Not when your legs were still on the verge of trembling and not when you could feel Nico’s eyes dragging over the curves of your body - undoubtedly admiring how you looked in the little sundress you had put on. 

He would have to get better at hiding that stare of his. Climbing into the back of the van you let yourself glance back at Nico, your eyes meeting his as your lips pressed into a firm line to suppress that smile you wanted to give him It was then you finally answered your best friend, “Yeah, well, there’s still time.”

The rest of the summer had been cruel. Both June and July had been heated, and not just because of the rising temperatures. As you travelled from state to state you teetered on the tightrope walk of secrecy you had created with Nico. Since the two of you had shared the bed back in at the cheap motel there was no ignoring the magnetic draw you had towards one another. Don’t get it wrong, you still hated him - or at least that’s what you told yourself as you travelled across the country with him, your best friend and Jack. 

The two of you would start fights just for the hell of it. The arguments were mundane and heated to distract your friends and yourselves from the lingering glances the two of your found yourself sharing, or the lingering of his hand against your thigh as you both sat in the back seats and you were sure your friend and Jack couldn’t see a damn thing - and not once did they think anything was going on between the two of you because on the surface nothing had changed. 

It was in secret, between breaths and late nights that you and Nico had stolen your moments. Time in time again the two of you would sneak away - sometimes it was Jack and your best friend that left you alone when they would sneak off for some shameless fun of their own - to break the tension that would build in the hours, minutes and seconds from the last time you would have indulged in one another. It was a whirlwind of emotion to go from fighting one moment to having Nico’s hands on your body the next. It was an exhilaration you chased right down to the very last day of your trip. 

You relished in every moment of no-rule, no-strings-attached affection the two of you indulge yourselves in over your 100 days of summer. Even now as you sipped back your drink in the dim light of the dive bar you frequented on campus you struggled to forget the hookups and makeup sessions that had been the highlights of your summer fling. 

Shutting your eyes, you sighed out, the memories so clear as you let your mind wander. You could remember so clearly how the two of you had stood in the warm embrace of the van’s bright headlights, your silhouettes stretching out over the motel’s brick walls. You were mere feet apart, the spotlight on you keeping you at bay as you exchanged subtle glances. His dark eyes left you melting, your heart racing with excitement as your best friend and Jack had already run off to their motel room. You and Nico had put on your usual charade, protesting about having to share a room with one another again. It had become a version of foreplay more than anything as when the van’s headlights dimmed, and his features were left aglow from the buzzing light that flickered above the nearby vending machines there was no stopping the two of you. 

His gaze had dropped, his lips curling up into the cocky smirk he often found himself wearing when it was just the two of you before the space between you was stolen and he was pressing you back against the hood of the van and kissing you. The kiss had been far from chaste. There was always an insatiable hunger the two of you shared, one that could only be combatted by the touch of his hand against your skin, or the taste of his tongue in your mouth. You remembered it all so fondly, and you wish you hadn't because it left you to drown your longing in your drink as you watched Nico as he leaned up against the bar. His features were illuminated by the neon glow of the neon bar lights. He was entertaining the attention of a pretty girl, one that had been shamelessly flirting with him for the last 45 minutes - not that you were counting or anything. 

Upon arriving back on campus after your summer-long adventure together your secret summer fling had been left behind. It was easier that way, at least that was what you told him. You needed to focus on your studies, and he was juggling his college hockey career and maintaining a high enough GPA not to get kicked from the team. With your responsibilities aside, it had been a relationship of convenience, you had been stuck with him all summer, so it just made sense. Right?

That thought didn’t make the jealousy any less tolerable as your empty glass met the tabletop and you excused yourself to get some fresh air. You had thought the crisp autumn breeze would have been enough to calm you. That it would ease the race of your mind and draw you from the void you felt aching deep in your chest. But the chill only brought attention to how you missed the warmth of his body against your own and it left you sinking to the ground, your head in your hands as you sat on the curb as you let out a sob. 

As much as you tried to hide it, the crying drew the attention of those outside taking long drags of cigarettes and those coming and going from the bar. There was a time nobody would have given a damn. When they would have just passed you without looking twice, but you were best friends with Jack Hugh’s girlfriend and no longer got to slip beneath the radar. 

It only took a few minutes for your best friend to come running out of the bar, her face blanketed with concern and Jack in tow. Even he, who seemed to be the embodiment of smiles and sunshine, had let his face go soft. They had never seen you like this before. Your name was a mere echo in your mind as your best friend’s voice echoed in your mind. 

“Hun, what’s wrong?” she spoke out to you in a soft tone, her hands on your shoulders as she tried to get you to look at her, “did something happen?”

“No, no,” you shook your head, your hands raising to wipe your cheeks free of your tears, “I’m fine, really.”

It was a lie. You knew it. They knew it, but you refused to tell them the truth. You couldn’t exactly tell them that you hated seeing Nico with someone else. Not when they thought you hated him - not while you were still trying to convince yourself you hated him too, but there was a very thin line between love and hate and you had broken it. 

Through vision blurred by your tears, you watched as Jack and your best friend exchanged worried looks, and without exchanging a single word they had reached a decision. “Com’on let’s get you home,” your friend sighed, her arms wrapped around your shoulder to help you into a standing position, and when she spoke again you almost vomited, “Jack, go get Nico-”

“No!” You blurted out, your eyes wide and your stomach in knots. 

And they don’t question it, because why would they? To them, you hated Nico and leaving him behind had always been something you had been advocated for - especially since that often meant you had more time away from him. Yet, it didn’t stop Jack from going back into the bar as your best friend helped you into the back seat of the car where she would sit with you for the duration of the ride home. Her hand stroked over your hair, her arms keeping you pulled into her as you couldn’t shake the cries that consumed you. 

You choked back each sob, your face burying into your friend's shoulder as Jack, who was always your designated driver, drove through the campus traffic and back to the house. But it didn’t stop the tears from leaving the hot trails down your cheeks and you couldn’t ignore how Nico’s stare had been fixed on the rearview mirror that was angled just right for him to take in the sight of you. With just a single glance at the mirror, you were left to fight a shiver that threatened to travel up your spine. You didn’t like the way he was looking at you. It wasn’t with annoyance, frustration or anger for pulling him away from the nightlife, but instead, he was looking at you with concern. 

Feeling the heavy weight of his stare on you for the duration of the car ride, you were quick to get out of the car the moment it had been thrown into park. Your limbs felt numb, and your heart was racing. Your tears had seized, but you had been thrown into a flight response. Quick steps carried you up the driveway as you pleaded with your friend. Your words assured her that you were fine as you abandoned them in the driveway and disappeared through the gates of the garden. 

You were welcomed by the garden that had already welcomed the embrace of autumn. Flowers wilted, and leaves began to change into brilliant shades of red, orange and gold before tumbling to the ground with the gentle embrace of the breeze. It sent a chill through your body as you settled yourself down on one of the garden benches, and it left you contemplating about going inside and locking yourself in your room but you needed the distraction. You needed to hear the rustle of the leaves. You needed to smell the unique scent of their decay. You need to feel the change of the season, the changes that came with life that you would be forced through and accept. In that you found your calm, one that was challenged in an instant as you heard a pair of footsteps against the cobblestone path that wound its way through the garden. 

Looking up, you had expected to welcome your best friend, she had never failed to make sure you were taken care of and yet it wasn’t the sight of her that greeted you. Somehow, some way, Nico must have convinced her that this was a job he was suited for and it left you sick to your stomach. 

“Can I help you with something?” you didn’t mean to be so polite, you should have bit out some kind of snarky remark at him, but your voice was weak and you didn’t have enough energy for a fight. 

Nico was silent for a moment as he came to sit down at your side on the bench. He didn’t meet your gaze, his hand folded in the hold of one another as he fidgeted with his fingers. You watched him out of the corner of your eye as he looked down at the ground, his dark hair falling down into his eyes as his lips parted in an uneven breath. “No, I ah-” he rambled out gently, you had never seen him as such a loss for words before. Nico had always been so quick to counter you, to challenge you and you so quick to do so in return and yet you both had been reduced to tiptoeing around just the right words to say, “I just, wanted to- Are you okay?”

You answered with a stiff; “Ha!” Your gaze cast to the side as you rolled your eyes, “as if you care.” 

Your words left him wincing, his head cocking to the side. You had his full attention now as his jaw slacked, and his mouth was left gaping as if to say, did you really just say that to me? 

“Of course I fucking care,” he bit out, your name followed after, his voice raised. Offended. 

You could only scoff again, “Why would you?”

“Why would I?” he echoed you, a thick brow raising up, “you damn well know why. So why don’t you tell me what happened, and whatever asshole did this to you is going to have to deal with the entire hockey team-” 

You near groaned, he would never understand. There was no one to punish because the person who did this to you was yourself. You chose to push Nico away after returning home. You chose not to sneak around anymore and that meant you couldn’t have him. Then, the protectiveness of his tone dawned on you and you almost laughed. He had no reason to be getting that way. Not when he had no claim on you, not when you had both agreed to act like what happened during the summer didn’t happen - and yet your heart still ached for him, and it seemed he struggled to put it behind him as well. But if his words were enough to lull you into a false hope that maybe he had fallen for you too, you couldn’t let yourself admit it to him - you hadn’t even fully admitted it to yourself either. Pushing up from your seat you began to walk away from him, your hand waiving him off carelessly. 

“Just as I said earlier, I’m fine,” you did your best to assure him as you tried to leave him at the centre of the garden, but in one rushed stride and he was close enough to reach out for your wrist. 

“For fuck sake, talk to me,” he demanded, his voice raised as he tugged on your arm just hard enough to turn you back around to face him. 

You didn’t know if it was his tone or the way his skin felt against your own but it felt a rage inside you, one that wasn’t quite an anger, and not quite desire, but it left you to shout, “I love you” before you could stop yourself. Then your eyes went wide with the sudden realization of what you had just let yourself say. Then your words fell into a scoff, your head shaking as if you were talking to yourself and yourself alone, “Ain’t that the worst thing you’ve ever heard?”

As we made our way through the front door and back to the blissful existence that is climate control, I asked him, “Is there a place where I could shower, maybe?”

He was unclipping Daze’s leash and hung it on a hook by the door, “Yeah,” he confirmed, “there’s a guest room with an ensuite through the door at the end of the kitchen.”

I looked at my bag, torn. What started as a casual conversation about a shower (if there was such a thing), seemed to have evolved into a bigger discussion, which, it occured to me, had been entirely avoided by my ability to fall asleep on the couch. “Do you want me to stay there?” I ventured.

He arched a brow; I could sense that he and I were on the same page and again, I was both irritated and impressed by his perceptiveness. But he remained unfazed as he told me coolly, “The master is down the hall, and you’re welcome to as well.”

I looked down at the weekender bag, which was still sitting by the door, and shifted my weight on my feet in an effort to buy myself some time. Maybe the silence would drive him crazy and he’d cave first and just tell me what to do. Instead, Mark trailed his hand across my back and pulled me into him, kissing the top of my head, before he headed to the kitchen and grabbed two bottles of water. “I’m not making the decision for you, Lemon,” he informed me, “you’ve had enough of that.”

“But…”

He smirked, though his lips were wrapped around the mouth of the water bottle. With his head tilted back, he downed all 16oz in a single drink; watching his throat move as he swallowed almost gave me heatstroke. At least, that’s what I’m saying it was, if anyone were to ask. The self-loathing I felt creeping through me was, I realized, entirely unrelated to all of my usual neuroses but instead, likely triggered by the level of “thirsty fangirl” I was feeling about the handsome man standing in front of me. It was then that clairity dawned on me: I didn’t know what was going to happen if I put my bag in his bedroom, but I knew what wouldn’t happen if I went to the guest room. Thus, I snatched the bag from the floor and disappeared down the hall toward the master, making a sincere attempt to look cool, unhurried and 0% desperate, though I probably failed on all three accounts.

His bedroom, like the rest of his house, was masculine yet warm and comfortable. A huge bed with a heavy looking dark wood frame fit the large space well, and I didn’t know what size it was, but it seemed larger than a King. I’m sure there was some super special athlete sized bed only professional athletes could buy. The sheets were dark gray and crisp, and his bed was made. He didn’t seem like the type to make his bed in the morning so I assumed the cleaning service had changed the sheets and made the bed.

The bathroom was also huge; the shower and tub were enclosed in the same glass room and it honestly just looked like a bitch to clean, although I suppose one could just spray the entire thing with windex and use a squeegee. And yes, this was the first thing I thought about upon entering it, despite all of the lust and hormones swirling around in my brain. You can take the housewife out of the house, but short of a lobotomy, I was still wired to think about cleaning and cooking, it seemed. With gratitude, I gleefully realized that cleaning the bathroom was entirely not my problem and I set my bag on the bed. Daze hopped up, circling three times before curling into a ball, right in the middle of the huge monstrosity, her keen eyes studying me carefully.

True to form, Nora had packed my half my bathroom and exactly one change of clothes, I loved her optimism that I wouldn’t *need* clothes, but I did like having the option of wearing them, which was the main reason I had run home the day before and now the bag was straining at the seams.

In the bathroom, there was a set of lush towels hanging on the towel bars and an entire additional set folded and set on the counter. The ones on the bars near the shower room were obviously the ones Barbs used, and therefore, I presumed the ones on the counter were for me. Suddenly furious, I narrowed my eyes; that assuming, idiotic moron man. He obviously assumed I’d be sleeping in his bed and using his shower. Despite my rage, a little voice in the back of my head, which sounded most concerningly like Nora, immediately wondered if there was an identical pile of towels in the guestroom.

Answering that question at once preempted all other activities, sweaty hair be damned. So, I marched down the hall and into the kitchen, prepared to give Mark the what-for, and much to my surprise, I was hit with the smell of onions and garlic sauteeing in olive oil. Mark was in the kitchen, tea towel thrown over his shoulder, the spitting image of, like, all of the hottest fantasies I’d ever had of him. My eyes widened and, distracted by the vision in front of me, my stare was fixated on him instead of where I was going, meaning, I hit the back of the couch with quite a bit of momentum from my march of irritation. Unceremoniously, I flew over the back of it in the most ungraceful somersault that had ever been done by a human and smacked my head on the coffee table. The resulting “thwack,” which echoed loudly through the space, functioned as an entirely too perfect soundtrack accompaniment to reality’s literal smack in the face. I sat on the ground, waiting for the rest of the life’s laugh track to kick in. I was only 50 percent positive the tweeting cartoon birds were my imagination.

“Holy shit! Clementine!!” I heard Mark yelp.

Unlike the birds, I was sure I hallucinated Mark vaulting over the back of the love seat that sat perpendicular to the couch to get to me.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

If getting to Tine just then depended on my sinking the winning puck in the Stanley Cup final, I know I could do it with one arm tied behind my back and my eyes closed. By the time I vaulted over the couch like Simone Biles, she was already sitting up, hand on her head as I knelt down.

“It’s fine, I’m fine. I’m totally fine,” she shushed me, before I could even say anything. “The good news about being crazy is I can’t possibly get MORE fucked up due to trauma to the head, so it’s fine.”

“Jesus Christ,” I said, sounding a little more exasperated than I intended, “Shut up and lay down on the couch.” As I picked her up under her armpits and deposited her there, I realized she didn’t really have a choice. I was considering plopping down on top of her to make her stay put, but that seemed a little excessive. Instead, I directed her firmly, “Stay there.”

Clumsiness and head trauma apparently didn’t fall under Daze’s duties, because it was a few minutes before she wandered in from the bedroom, mostly seeming curious as to what all the commotion was about. After retrieving a flexible ice pack from the freezer, I yanked the towel off of my shoulder over and wrapped the ice pack in it, making my way back to Clementine. I was half-surprised that she was actually laying down where I left her; leaning over the arm of the couch, I moved her hand from her head and put the ice pack on it. Curiosity got the better of me and I found myself asking, “What were you even doing out here? I thought you were taking a shower.”

She had hit her head over her right eye and sure enough, there was a big bump quickly forming there. She looked a little like a lopsided unicorn when she pulled the pack away, checking to see if there was any blood. She sighed, “It’s dumb.”

Once again, I was thankful for my taste in big furniture, because I stepped over the side table and settled onto the couch next to her, trapping her against the back, and held the ice pack to her head for her. “Try me.” I deadpanned.

She mumbled, words falling out of her mouth in one fell swoop. Were I not more well-versed in mumbling as a language (thank you to so many of my teammates for this unforeseen boon), I might not have followed her, but sure enough, when she uttered “Iwantedtoseeifthereweretowelsintheguestroom,” I knew exactly what she meant.

“I had towels set out for you, babe.”

She rolled the one eye I could see— well, I assume she rolled both, but I just saw the one not obscured by the ice pack, as she grumbled, “I KNOW. In your bathroom. I wanted to see if there were towels in the OTHER bathroom too.”

I cocked my head to the side, half-concerned I was following her inane “logic” and half-grateful I was able to as I clarified, “So you came out here all stomping mad because I laid towels out for you? And actually, let me note, that I personally didn't; I had the service do it yesterday. And you’re mad?”

“IN YOUR BATHROOM, BARBS,” she maintained shrilly.

“No,” I corrected her, “In both bathrooms. I wanted the place to be prepared for you to stay, in whichever way you felt comfortable.”

Her voice was small as she replied, “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.” I couldn’t fight the smile on my face if I wanted to, and frankly, I didn’t want to. “Now who’s the idiot?” I teased her.

She traced her fingers across the portion of my chest revealed by the several open buttons at the top of my shirt and innocently, played with the hair that peeked out. She always seemed to be touching the hair on my arms or, in this case, my chest and oddly, I liked it. “I mean,” she feigned consideration, “Probably still you. As a rule.”

I lifted the ice and gently kissed her new horn as I agreed, “Probably, but also you a little bit.” She smiled at me and it was so sincere and beautiful that I almost got lost in it.

We sat quietly for a few moments and she intertwined the fingers of her free hand in mine. Replaying the events of the minutes prior in my head, I realized I was missing a piece and as evenly and straight-faced as I could manage I asked her, “But how did you go from mad to tripping over the couch? It’s huge and kind of hard to miss.”

She squirmed away from me slightly, which was a feat, since there really was nowhere for her to go. “Nothing. It’s nothing,” she said breezily and I grinned, there was definitely something.

“Lemon,” I insisted, my smile practically reaching my ears.

“Barbs.” her tone was the one she frequently used when she was tired of my antics.

“Clementine.” I wasn’t going to let her off the hook.

“Mark,” she declared, almost petulantly.

I stuck out my bottom lip and gave her the sad eyes. It always seemed to work for Mikko. “Please?” I asked, with as much earnestness as I could muster.

A faint smile appeared on her face as she acquiesced, albeit resignedly as she griped, “Okayyyyyyyyyyy.” She looked me dead in the eyes, quirking an eyebrow at me as she added the disclaimer, “But you can’t make fun of me.”

“Ok.” I nodded, “I promise.”

She sighed again, pausing before she spoke, “I just… you’ve been bringing me food “from your mom” and I know she’s not sending a bunch of meals to you from Montreal, so I just figured you’ve actually been cooking them yourself this whole time and I have this fantasy of you with a towel tossed over your shoulder cooking dinner for me and I was, for once in my life, NOT the one cooking dinner and instead, I was drinking wine watching you cook and…..and that’s like, exactly what you were doing except it was breakfast not dinner and it’s all very hot.”

If I were a better man, I would’ve wiped the smirk off of my face. But I’m not. So I didn’t. “Do I fuck you on the counter?” I suggested. “Is that where it gets hot?”

“No,” she answered, “The whole fantasy is just you cooking.”

“That’s it? That’s what made you trip over the entire fucking couch?” This information was not what I was expecting and as much as I wanted to tease the shit out of her about it, it was so sweet and pure and genuine, I couldn’t find it in myself to do it. Plus, I’d promised.

She squirmed away from me again, frowning as she reminded me, “You said you wouldn’t make fun of me.”

I pulled the ice off of her head and set it on the coffee table. Gently, I took her chin between my fingers, turning her head toward mine so I could give her a soft kiss. “Baby…” I whispered, “I’m about to blow your mind.”

I kissed her again, sloppy and fast and stood up, scooping her up too.

“Ohmigod, BARBS!!” She shrieked, “Put me down!! I am NOT telling Bednar I’m the reason you can’t start the season.”

I ignored her and instead, deposited her on a bar stool, skirting the island and making way to the fridge to grab a bottle of prosecco and a carton of orange juice. “I know you said wine,” I remarked, “but it’s not even noon yet. SO, if you take sparkling wine and mix it with orange juice and call it a Mimosa, you’re allowed to drink before noon. I learned that from Landy.”

The look on her face said she was not at all surprised that Landy drank mimosas and was the party who had clued me in to this novel fact.

I set the champagne flute in front of her, filled with the boozy mixture of sparkling wine and Vitamin C. She fingered the stem absently, looking like she was approaching, though not necessarily imminently, a panic attack.

I lit the burner and put the pan back on it, grabbing another towel and throwing it over my shoulder before I added more olive oil to the onions and garlic.

Tine took a sip from the flute and after a moment, followed it up with a much larger sip. “Lemon,” I looked at her plainly, “Just down it if you want, zero judgment from me. I will pour you another.”

She eyed me over the top of the glass before taking another sip. I took my glass and raised it toward her, then downed the whole thing in a single gulp. It was about four seconds before my face contorted into a grimace and I choked out, “Oh bubbles, that was a bad choice.” I screwed my eyes shut as the carbonation tickled my sinuses. Maybe she was onto something, sipping on her mimosa. I was gonna have to serve myself a side of humble pie along with this omelet.

My eyes watered a bit which, I’m sure, did nothing to bolster my reputation in that moment. I raised my eyebrows to stretch out my face and hopefully, make the sensation go away as well as perhaps be so adorable that she wouldn’t totally roast my ass for my terrible and frattish suggestion.

I pushed the onions and garlic around the pan to make sure they caramelized evenly and turned to pull some veggies out of the fridge. When I set them on the island, I caught Clementine’s gaze and she was looking at me like a timbits player looks at the Stanley Cup: with awe, adoration, and a lot of hope.

“What’s on your mind, Clementine?” I prodded.

She took another lazy sip of the mimosa and rolled the drink around in her mouth before swallowing. “This is a good Prosecco,” she complimented, “Did you choose it?”

I was quartering a zucchini before slicing it as I responded, “I think we both know Gabe brought that over once and it’s been in my fridge ever since. And that can’t be why you’re looking at me like a cop looks at a donut.” The words were barely out of my mouth before I realized what I said. Hurriedly, I tried to backpedal, “Fuck, shit. I’m sorry, Lemon. I didn’t mean…”

Her face didn’t change much, but nonetheless, her expression solidified just a bit and her expression became more wooden. She traced one of the veins in the quartz countertop as she said slowly, “You can make jokes, Barbs. It’s ok. Cops do love donuts.”

I sighed and put down the knife, bracing my hands on the counter and berating myself inwardly as I grumbled, “And now I’ve ruined the moment.”

She drained her glass and set it down on the bar, filling it with Prosecco and adding just a dash of orange juice before taking another swig. I arched a brow at her, intrigued.

She jutted her chin in the direction of the clock on the microwave behind me, and said, almost daringly, “What? It’s 12:01. Don’t judge me.”

I resumed chopping, and we sat quietly for a bit while she watched me, the only sound in the kitchen coming from the vegetables sizzling away in the skillet. Finally, I had to fill the silence and I asked, “So, why the cooking fantasy?”

She took another sip of her mimosa, if you could even call it that now, and shrugged, responding with an offhanded “I don’t know.”

I scoffed, not even half surprised with her answer and refusing to settle for it. “That’s such a crock of horseshit.”

She looked around, almost like she was looking for something to throw at me and took another sip of her drink instead. “Excuse your language,” she admonished me.

I scoffed again and suddenly, I realized how much time we spent rolling our eyes around each other and trying to figure out if that was a bad thing or a good thing. “Oh, please” I huffed, “You can ‘shit, fuck, damn’ with the best of us, honey. Don’t think I don’t hear you when you miss a good shot of me.”

“It’s because I have to work harder to make you look good,” she threw back easily.

A bark of laughter escaped my mouth and it sounded a little bit deranged but hopefully still manly. “I own a mirror,” I informed her, rejecting her chirp, “So that ain’t flying.” I gave it a minute, sensing that this could be a bit of a loaded issue and wanting to allow her a little bit of time and space. Maybe she wasn’t ready to talk about it, and I didn’t want to push her so hard that she was uncomfortable. I turned to look at her and my eyes met hers.

Softly, I asked again, “Seriously, Clementine.”

She sighed and took a deep breath before she explained, “I don’t think I’m comfortable going into the details, but Bill really wanted to be born in the 30’s so he could have a 1950s housewife instead of me. So, dinner was always at a certain time and I always made it, regardless of anything— even if I was sick, I made dinner. He insisted on approving any activities I might want to do at night, and if I wanted to join a book club that started before his dinner time, it was a no go. So, I …..I don’t cook anymore.”

I had a feeling my penalty minutes were going to skyrocket this year as I listened, letting everything she told me flow into a box labeled “Discuss with therapist later.”

She seemed to be waiting for a reaction from me and I started breaking some eggs into a bowl as I replied, “That sounds like it would suck any joy of cooking. So, it’s a good thing I love how you pause when you eat the first forkful of something you didn’t have to make and savor it, because, that moment right there? Because of that moment, I’ll cook for you anytime.”

The little wrinkle appeared between her brows and the sight of it made me smile. She eyed me over the top of her glass again and smiled at me in return as she chuckled, “That was a surprisingly insightful answer, and it is appreciated on many levels, Mr. Barberio.”

I continued cracking eggs, congratulating myself inwardly. “Weren’t you going to take a shower?” I wondered outloud.

She lifted her arm and took a whiff of her armpit, which made me smile again because she made a disgusted face, which was actually quite adorable. “Ugh, yes,” she sighed.

“Can you do it in 15?” I countered, “Brunch is almost ready.”

“Just for that, I can do it in 15. I don’t need to wash my hair today anyway, just get the sweat out.”

I continued chopping vegetables for the omelets while she climbed off the barstool. “I’m going to make you work out with me soon.”

She blanched and I laughed, “What? it’s good for you and it makes sex better.”

She rolled her eyes so hard I was certain she could see through the back of her skull, and wandered down the hall without a word. Daze stopped and looked at me, the giver of treats and back down the hall the way Clementine went. “You should probably follow the walking accident waiting to happen, Dog.”

Daze let out a huff in what I assumed was agreement and followed her charge down the hall.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Daze wandered in and I closed the door to the master bedroom behind her, since the bathroom didn’t HAVE a door, per se; the toilet was in its own little closet, but the rest of the bathroom had an open doorway and a half wall of glass bricks to let the light shine in.

I looked at the tub— it was wide, long, and deep, and for a brief moment, fantasized about filling it with gallons of steaming hot water and hopping in and sinking up to my chin in bubbles, but I knew that was going to take longer than 15 minutes. However, Mark’s shower looked equally luxurious and, from even a cursory inspection, seemed to have enough showerheads to ensure that no portion of your body would go untouched.

Turning on the shower, I was proven correct; Water streamed out from what seemed like an uncountable array of showerheads (Spoiler alert, it was actually 3), including a giant rain one that hung down in the middle of the space. I had died and gone to heaven and heaven was Mark Barberio’s bathroom -- who knew. I had to pause for a moment and I leaned heavily on the counter while the water warmed. I was about to take a shower in God’s bathroom, while a man--scratch that, while a stupidly hot man-- made me brunch. It was a lot to absorb, and there was a definite tingle between my legs that, honestly, had been there since our makeout session on the balcony.

I just wanted to attach my face to his and put him inside me and that was how we were now. Freaky siamese twins attached at the mouth and genitals. In the sexiest and most not insane way possible. I didn’t think that was normal, but considering Bill was my ONLY relationship, I didn’t know what normal was. So maybe it was normal, because I had certainly NEVER felt that way about Bill.

I shrugged out of the clothes I had been wearing, which I realized had been marinating on my body for over 24 hours. The crotch of my panties was totally soaked, and even though I was alone, I made a face as I shoved all my dirty clothes into a small pile in the corner of the bathroom.

By this time, the glass shower enclosure had filled with steam and I swear, the minute I stepped in, I could feel my pores open up. All of the stress just leaked out of my body and into the swirling mist, and I realized that the only thing that could possibly improve this moment would be if the shower included some sort of eucalyptus oil diffuser to imbue the steam with all of its relaxing goodness. If Mark managed to figure that one out, he could probably charge admission fees for a visit to his shower.

The spray hitting me from 400 different angles felt amazing and I seriously wondered how Barbs didn’t fucking live in this shower and become some kind of landlocked merman.

I twirled my wet hair and plopped it on top of my head and, after doing so, realized too late I had left all my shower paraphernalia on the counter; however, I was so zen at that moment that I said fuck it, whatever, (three words I was pretty sure I’d never uttered in my life). Barbs had to have something in here, I figured, and I’d just use that. I saw something sitting on a small built-in ledge and I grabbed it: it was one of those homemade soaps with the loofah molded right in, which would suit me just fine. I was familiar with that type of item, as I had one just like it, and it was actually one of my favorite instruments of torture when I was trying to cleanse myself of the voices. I lathered it between my hands and realized that whatever this soap was, it was definitely one element of the fundamental smells that combined to make Barbs’ unique sexy manly smell - as I continued to lather, I detected hints of sandalwood and pine.

I ran the bar over my body and let the suds cover me before I flipped it to the other side, letting the water-softened loofah scrape against my skin in the way I would imagine rough but gentle hands would feel. I dipped the bar across my hips and then, between my legs and the rough edge of the loofah dipped between my lips, just catching my clit.

The sensation made me gasp. I had obviously tried to masturbate over the past years-post Bill, and considering the last time I was successful was pre Bill, my therapist and I speculated it was because of the trauma I suffered. But maybe, I didn’t need to ‘get over’ my trauma or learn to work with it, I just needed to be...turned on? What an entirely insane concept. That intense need I had felt that morning with Mark, I had never felt with Bill, even before the abuse started.

I made the same motion with the loofah again, and my hips twitched. I did it again and again and I could feel the euphoria building in my body. Eventually, I traded the loofah for my fingers and I swirled circles around my clit until I had to brace my free hand against the glass wall to keep my legs from going out from under me, hips twitching as the wave crested.

Mark’s name may have been on my lips and a pleasant roaring muted the rest of the world and I thought I heard my own name but I wasn’t sure.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The omelets were done, and I debated with myself about whether or not to set the table in the dining area, or if we should eat on the bar side of the island. I set the table, but it looked too formal and maybe too reminiscent of Tine’s old life, so I took the placemats and put them on the bar. In the end, it looked like a planned but informal meal and I was wondering what was taking Tine so long.

I knocked on the door to the bedroom, but didn’t get an answer. So, I knocked again, opening the door a little as I said her name.

“Lemon?” I spoke softly, words softly echoing through the mist rolling out of the bathroom.

Her hand against the glass was the only clear thing I could see, but it didn’t take a genius to see the shadow of her other hand between her legs, body bent as she came and I heard her say my name.

I closed the door quietly and leaned my head back against it. Holy fucking shit. Holy. Fucking. Shit. I was aching behind the zipper of my jeans, dick bent at an awkward angle and stuck my hand down there to straighten him out. I had no idea how I was going to function for the rest of the day without bending her over the back of the couch and fucking her until my balls were empty. I don’t think I had ever been so hard or turned on in my life, and as a professional athlete I felt like that was significant.

It took more than a few moments for me to compose myself but when I did, I knocked on the door again, this time being sure to stay on the outside of it. “Lemon?” I forced out, casually, “Food is ready.”

After a moment, she opened the door and smiled at me as she padded back into the bedroom. Her hair was still wet, held on top of her head with a clip, and she was in simple leggings and an oversized Avs shirt. Its neck was so stretched that it was hanging off of one shoulder and I could see the strap of her tank top or bra or whatever. Her cheeks were flushed, skin still dewey from the shower.

“That shower is amazing,” she sighed, “I might just live there.”

I didn’t know what to say since “I want to cum on your chest” was probably inappropriate. So I settled for nothing, raising my brows and nodding slowly in acknowledgment of the shower’s awesomeness which had been raised to another level since I was never ever ever going to be able to take a shower without thinking of that moment.

Her nose crinkled and I could tell she was on to me. Fuck. As she made her way through the bedroom, she looked at me over her shoulder and asked, “Lunch ready?”

I nodded, that seemed safe, and watched as she made her way down the hall, her gait a lot more relaxed than I had ever seen it. Daze followed behind her, avoiding my gaze.

I honestly had no idea what to do; she seemed unaware I had seen something so intimate and HOT and I didn’t know how to bring it up and explain WHY my horniness went from a normal 100 to a supercharged 1000 and I was acting like a totally awkward and lovestruck teenage boy. Or, more like one than usual.

She stopped short of the kitchen and looked at the island, where our places were set and the food was waiting for her. Daze whined and shoved her nose into Tine’s hand. When Tine turned her head and looked down at the dog, it seemed like she was trying to blink back tears. I cleared my throat and she looked over her shoulder at me again, a small smile on her lips.

“What are we eating, Chef Barberio?” She took the seat she’d occupied earlier, setting the napkin in her lap and leaning forward toward her plate, wafting the smell of the omelet toward her face with her hand.

“It’s just an omelet, Lemon.” I said modestly.

She snorted. “It’s about to be the best omelet I’ve ever eaten.”

I slid into the chair next to her and she lifted her glass, which I had refilled while she was in the shower. “To hockey players slash chefs slash playboys who turn out to be actually decent guys,” she toasted.

She took a sip from her glass and I followed suit; then, she dug into the omelet and let out a moan that made the situation in my pants a lot more dire than it had been and I didn’t think that was possible.

I shifted uncomfortably, she noticed but seemed to mistake why as she said quickly, “I’m sorry, it’s just really good, Barbs. I’m not exaggerating.”

I sighed, about to reinforce the playboy image and not the actual decent guy part. With my arm settled around the back of her chair, I confessed, “Lemon, it’s not that. Your moan gave me a hard on.”

She tried not to smile, holding her hand in front of her full mouth. She chewed several times before swallowing and apologizing, “Sorry. I’ll do my best to keep my pornagraphic food noises to myself.”

“God, no, don’t do that,” I objected. It was my turn to take a bite of my creation and I let out an exaggerated moan of my own; two can play at that game. As I chewed and swallowed, I smiled at her as I agreed, “But you’re right, I’m good.”

She smacked my arm lightly and admonished, “Stop making fun of me, it’s not nice.”

I stood up and cupped her head in my hands, pressing a kiss to her temple, and went to the fridge to grab a bottle of water. “Eat up, Lemon,” I encouraged. “Trying to make sure you eat enough is a full time job.”

She frowned, pushing a mushroom around on her plate absently. “But what if I get fat,” she retorted.

Oh my god, that fucking ex-husband of hers. I leaned down on my forearms and stared at her over the island, resisting the urge to verbally rip him to shreds and ruin our brunch. “Babe,” I chose my words carefully, “You’re not thin now, and I like you a lot. I care more about your health than your size. You wanna be fat, get fat. But healthy, so you gotta be like one of those chubby instagram workout girls.”

She glowered. “Your sentiment is nice,” she acknowledged sarcastically, “But your execution leaves much to be desired.”

I didn’t choose carefully enough, it seemed. But even so, I grinned. “There’s my girl,” I teased.

We finished our meal in comfortable silence, with maybe some juvenile knee shoving under the countertop. Which was maybe started by me.

When she finished, she sat back in her chair, looking like she was contemplating licking the plate. I stood, grabbing her head and pressing a kiss to her temple again, which was starting to become a habit and I found that I couldn’t care less. I started clearing the plates.

She grabbed my forearm and rose from her own chair, saying “No, Mark, stop. I’ll clean up.”

I pried her fingers off of my arm with my free hand, and gently pushed her hand away. “No, Lemon,” I insisted, “Just go watch TV or something. I got it. I made you a meal and I intend to finish making that meal by cleaning up.”

“Mark, please.”

I gave her a pointed look, “Lemon, no.”

She practically pouted, “Fine, but I’m going to sit here and keep you company.”

I scraped crumbs off the dishes and put them in the dishwasher, having cleaned up the rest of the dishes while she was in the shower. The petulant silenced stretch uncomfortably, “Lemon,” I asked, “Can you see if there’s anything good on the Food Network?”

It was a small manipulation, just a small one. But it got her on the couch, trying to bring up the TV while I finished cleaning.

By the time I was done, her head was back against the cushions and she was snoring softly. She was almost too predictable, and it pissed me off to no end that some asshole managed to use that against her for who knows how long. Daze accompanied her sleeping human on the couch and was keeping a weather eye on her, like she knew something about Clementine I didn’t know. Which, to be fair, she probably did.

I took the mean looking torture device out of her hair, laid her down on a pillow, picked her feet up and sett them on the couch before I pulled the blanket off the back of it and covered her with it.

I’d probably get so much shit if the guys knew most of my second stay over date was Tine catching up on a decade of sleep, but if I was honest, I didn’t mind. Partly because I felt some pride in the fact that part of her subconscious had decided I was safe and honestly, partly because of how intense it was being with her. I never knew when she would casually drop a small bomb of information on me, because her experiences were normal for her though they were absolutely not normal for me. I tried to be conscious of the language I used and the words I chose, but it occurred to me that maybe that was one thing I shouldn’t worry about doing. Like Stephanie said, maybe that was my burden and I didn’t need to watch myself that carefully, because that was work she needed to do and not work I needed to take on for her. It was a bonus that while she was here she was out of reach of her awful awful parents.

I kissed her forehead and decided to work off the sexual frustration in the building gym instead of utilizing Rosie Palm and her five sisters.. I left a post-it on her phone, knowing she would check it immediately when she woke, mostly, I assumed, to appease Nora, who had been texting Tine every hour on the hour, it seemed.