16

MAYA

“Keep your knees bent, rookie!” Davies shouted across the frozen rink.

His deep voice bounced off the scratched plexiglass. My skates scraped against the fresh ice, wobbling as a gust of cold air hit my face. My breath plumed in the freezing arena.

“I am not a rookie, Captain,” shooting back a glare, my hands tightened around the borrowed hockey stick. The fiberglass felt cold even through thick padded gloves.

He skated backward with smooth steps. A cocky smirk plastered his handsome face. “Could have fooled me. You look like a baby giraffe trying to cross a frozen pond.”

Julian skated past us, laughing out loud. He tapped his stick against the ice in approval. “She's got you there, Cap! Her stance is giving pure NPC energy. Just standing around waiting for a quest.”

“Shut up, Julian,” tossing a loose chunk of shaved ice at his chest, a smirk fought its way onto my lips.

Practice had been raging for an hour. Joining them on the ice seemed like a brilliant, fun idea until Davies decided to make me his personal target. He spent the last twenty minutes bullying my skating technique. Every time my blade caught a groove, he was right there to point it out.

He enjoyed this way too much.

“Come on, Maya,” Davies stopped right in front of me. His skates sprayed a thin layer of snow over my bulky boots. “Show me that killer slap shot you keep bragging about. Or are you too scared of falling on your ass?”

Challenge accepted.

Gripping the taped stick, my eyes locked onto the empty net at the far end of the rink. A solid black rubber puck sat right at my feet. Drawing the stick back, my core twisted tight. My weight shifted to my back leg, just like I watched them do it a hundred times. The blade slapped the puck with a loud, echoing crack.

It flew wide right, missing the net by a solid three feet, and smashed into the boards with a dull thud.

A loud, mocking groan erupted from the Westbridge players resting on the bench.

“Tragic,” Davies shook his head slow. He leaned his weight onto his stick, looking down at me with fake pity. “Just tragic. You have the upper body strength of a wet noodle.”

“Oh, really?” Dropping my stick onto the ice, my hands flew to my hips. The oversized jersey swallowed my frame, but my glare held pure venom. “At least I do not telegraph my passes. Every time you cross the blue line, you drop your right shoulder. It is obvious. A blind goalie could read your next move from a mile away.”

His cocky grin vanished. The teasing light in his eyes shifted into a sharp, dangerous focus. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” Stepping closer, my skates slipped a fraction, but my chin tilted up to meet his intense gaze. “You lean too far left on your crossovers. Your center of gravity is off balance. Nathan always exploited that exact flaw when you two played in the juniors.”

Mentioning Nathan's name did the trick. A muscle jumped in Davies's jaw. The playful atmosphere evaporated into thin air.

“My crossovers are flawless,” his voice dropped a full octave. The deep rumble sent a strange shiver down my spine.

“They are sloppy,” a wicked smile touched my lips. Provoking this giant beast of a boy was a dangerous game. “You look like a lumberjack trying to figure out ballet. Fix your posture, or the Detroit scouts will laugh you straight out of the arena next week.”

A few guys on the bench let out low, dramatic whistles.

“Damn,” Chad muttered, taking a long sip from his water bottle. “She cooked you, Cap. Roasted and served.”

Davies took a slow, deliberate step forward, closing the space between us. His massive chest almost brushed my oversized jersey. The scent of wintergreen gum and raw adrenaline radiated off his skin.

“You talk a lot of trash for a girl who cannot hit an empty net,” he whispered, his dark eyes scanning my face.

“Just stating facts.”

Before he could deliver a comeback, a stray puck sailed through the air from the defensive zone. It flew fast, heading straight for my unprotected head.

Davies moved like lightning. His thick gloved hand shot up, snatching the black rubber out of the air mere inches from my nose. The smack of the puck hitting his palm echoed sharp and loud.

My heart dropped into my stomach. A gasp left my lips.

He tossed the puck casually onto the ice. “Keep your head on a swivel, rookie. I will not always be here to save your pretty face.”

The shrill blast of Coach Vance's whistle cut the moment in half. “Bring it in, boys! Hit the showers. Film session in twenty!”

The ice cleared out fast. Players bumped shoulders, barking out tired jokes and complaints about their sore legs as they headed for the concrete tunnel. My ankles throbbed with a dull ache. Sitting on the wooden bench, taking off the heavy skates felt like lifting cinderblocks off my feet.

Walking down the quiet hallway, Davies matched my slow pace. He held his scratched helmet under his massive arm. Sweat dripped from his dark hair, trailing down his thick neck.

“Sloppy crossovers,” he muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. “You just made that garbage up to piss me off in front of the boys.”

“It worked, didn't it?”

“You are a menace, Maya. A tiny, terrifying menace.”

“And you need to keep your back straight when you shoot,” bumping my shoulder against his solid bicep, a soft laugh escaped my chest. “Do not get mad because your fake girlfriend has a higher hockey IQ than you.”

“Careful,” his eyes darkened. A wicked smirk returned to his face, making my pulse jump. “Keep insulting the team captain, and you will get benched.”

“You cannot bench me. I am the main attraction for your PR campaign.”

He chuckled, pushing the heavy metal door to the boys' locker room open with one hand. Thick steam rolled out into the hallway, smelling of mint body wash, athletic tape, and damp towels. “Go find an empty stall in the girls' room. Do not take all day in there. We still need to grab food before my next class.”

Nodding, my boots carried me down the corridor toward the women's athletic locker room. It sat abandoned during this time of day. The silence felt heavy compared to the chaotic shouts of the hockey boys.

Pushing the door open, the quiet atmosphere felt relaxing. Dropping my heavy gym bag on a wooden bench, my hands reached inside the main compartment for my shampoo and towel.

My fingers met empty space.

A frustrated groan slipped past my lips. My stupid brain forgot the travel-sized shower gel in the side pocket of Davies’s massive duffel bag. We shared it yesterday after an impromptu late-night gym session.

Without a second thought, my feet carried me back out into the bright hallway. The boys usually took a solid ten minutes to undress, complain about Coach Vance, and chat before actually hitting the showers. Snapping the small bottle out of his bag would only take two seconds. It was a flawless plan.

Pushing the boys' locker room door open, loud rap music blasted from a portable speaker. Chad and Julian were arguing over a video game in the far corner near the whiteboards. Davies's black bag sat unattended on a bench near the shower entrance.

Walking fast, my hand unzipped the side pocket and snatched the green bottle.

Mission accomplished.

Turning around to leave, my heavy boot caught on a stray pair of unlaced sneakers left in the middle of the aisle. Stumbling forward, my momentum carried me straight past the tiled wall separating the lockers from the open shower bay.

My boots slipped on the wet tile, sending me crashing against the doorway.

Catching my balance, my head snapped up.

The breath left my lungs in a violent, forceful rush.

Davies stood directly in front of me, turning the silver shower dial. He wore nothing. Not a towel, not compression shorts. Nothing at all.

Water cascaded from the showerhead, hitting his broad shoulders and running down the deep groove of his sculpted back. He turned his head at the loud sound of my squeaking boots.

His dark eyes locked onto mine.

Time stopped. My heart slammed against my ribcage like a trapped bird desperate to escape.

He was a masterpiece of raw, powerful muscle and scarred skin. Drops of water traced the hard ridges of his abdomen, trailing lower, past the sharp V-line of his hips. My gaze dropped against my own will, defying every logical command my brain sent.

He was relaxed, yet his sheer size remained terrifyingly impressive. The vivid memory of that thick length stretching me in the dark cabin flashed bright behind my eyes. A sudden, heavy rush of wet heat pooled between my thighs.

Panic set in. My face burned with the heat of a thousand suns.

“Maya,” a slow, wicked grin spread across his handsome face. He did not bother grabbing a towel. He just stood there, letting the hot water run over his magnificent body, putting his perfection on full display. “Did you miss me already?”

“I... I...” Words died in my dry throat. My brain short-circuited.

Spinning around so fast my neck cracked, a frantic squeak escaped my mouth. I slapped my free hand over my burning eyes.

“I just needed my shower gel!” My voice cracked, sounding pitchy and desperate.

A deep, rumbling laugh echoed off the wet tiled walls. It vibrated through the air, traveling straight down my spine.

“You could have just asked,” Davies taunted. His voice sounded smooth, dripping with dark amusement. “No need to go sneaking into the men's showers. Unless you came looking for a private show.”

“Shut up!”

“Like what you see, sweetheart?” The sound of his wet footsteps stepped closer to my back. The heat radiating off his skin warmed the air behind me. “You have seen it all before. Tasted it, too. No need to act all shy and innocent now.”

“You are a menace!”

Clutching the plastic bottle to my chest like a shield, my boots scrambled against the wet floor. Fleeing the scene felt like running for my life from a wild predator. The boys in the locker area went dead silent as my red face sprinted past them and out the heavy metal door.

“See you at dinner, gorgeous!” Davies yelled from the showers, followed by a loud chorus of hoots and barking sounds from his teammates.

Humiliation tasted like ash on my tongue.

Bursting into the women's locker room, my back hit the closed wooden door. My chest heaved up and down. Dragging a hand down my flushed face, the skin felt burning hot to the touch.

Stupid. So stupid.

Stripping out of the sweaty clothes, my movements were jerky and frantic. Leaving the pile of fabric on the wooden bench, my bare feet hurried into the empty shower stalls.

Twisting the knob, scalding hot water blasted from the showerhead. It hit my shivering skin, washing away the sweat and the freezing chill of the ice arena.

Closing my eyes, a desperate attempt to clear my mind proved useless.

The vivid image of Davies standing naked under the water burned bright in my brain. The broad stretch of his shoulders. The dark hair trailing down his flat stomach. The heavy, thick weight of his manhood resting against his muscular thighs.

My breathing hitched. The steam in the stall felt suffocating.

The hot water cascading over my chest did nothing to soothe the sudden ache deep inside my core. My nipples peaked into tight, sensitive buds. They brushed against my own arm, sending a sharp spark of electricity straight down to my groin.

Leaning my forehead against the cool, wet tile, a soft moan escaped my lips. The sound echoed loud in the empty room.

My hand drifted down my stomach, chasing the phantom feeling of his large, rough palms gripping my hips. An intense throb pulsed between my legs. The arousal felt heavy, demanding, and impossible to ignore.

My fingers brushed the wet curls between my thighs, finding slick, desperate heat waiting for his touch.

“Stop,” a harsh whisper left my mouth.

Snapping my eyes open, a wave of self-loathing hit me harder than a hockey check. My hand shot away from my body like I touched a hot stove.

Grabbing the green bottle of shower gel, my knuckles turned white.

This was a fake contract. A business deal to pay for hospital bills and save a draft stock. He was a cocky, arrogant hockey captain who enjoyed taunting me for sport. Getting worked up over an accidental glimpse of his body was pathetic. Nathan ruined my life, and falling into another toxic spiral with his arch-rival would destroy whatever sanity I had left.

I was losing my grip on reality.

Scrubbing the soap over my skin with aggressive, fast motions, the scent of mint filled the small stall. It smelled exactly like him. A frustrated groan echoed in the empty room.

Rinsing off quick, my hands slapped the water dial off.

Grabbing a fresh towel, my priority shifted to escaping this locker room before my treacherous body betrayed my mind again.