Chapter 5

The team video room was dark, the only light coming from the massive projector screen at the front of the room where Coach was breaking down our defensive flaws from the last scrimmage.

The air conditioning was blasting, making the room freezing, but I was sweating through my t-shirt because the guy sitting next to me was deliberately trying to drive me insane.

I kept my eyes locked on the screen, trying to memorize the breakout formations, but my peripheral vision was completely hijacked by Jules.

He was slouched in his chair, looking entirely too relaxed, and because he’d worn a slightly loose, long-sleeve practice shirt today, the collar kept slipping just enough to reveal the dark, purple edge of the hickey I’d branded on his neck last night.

Every time he shifted, the fabric brushed against the bruise, and I could see the subtle wince on his face, which only made my blood run hotter.

Before I could tell him to pull his collar up, Jules bumped his knee against mine under the table. It was a light, teasing tap, but the message was clear.

I shot him a lethal glare out of the corner of my eye, but he just smiled, his eyes sparkling with that bratty amusement, and bumped his knee against mine again.

This time, he let his leg rest against mine, the heat of his body seeping through our sweatpants. My jaw tightened, and I knew if I didn't do something right then, I was going to lose my mind in front of the entire team.

I grabbed my pen and pulled the team playbook onto my lap, hiding my hands beneath the edge of the table.

I flipped to a blank page in the back and quickly scrawled a single, filthy sentence on the margin. *Keep touching me, rookie, and I’ll drag you into the equipment room right now and bend you over the padding.*

I tore the page out, folded it in half, and slid it across the table until it bumped against his hand.

Jules didn't even look at me as he unfolded it, but I watched his throat swallow hard, his breath hitching just a fraction before he quickly folded it back up.

He wrote something on the back and slid it back to me. I opened it under the table and read his messy handwriting. *You couldn't handle me in the equipment room, Captain. You were shaking too much.*

Fuck. My grip on the pen tightened so hard the plastic cracked. Without thinking, I dropped my left hand from the table and let it fall onto his thigh, right between his legs.

I squeezed the hard muscle there, my thumb brushing dangerously close to his inseam, and felt the way his breath completely stopped.

He didn't pull away, but his hands gripped the armrests of his chair, his knuckles turning white as I slowly dragged my hand higher, testing exactly how much control he had left.

"Alright, that's enough for today," Coach’s voice suddenly boomed through the speakers, making me jump and yank my hand back to my side like I’d been caught committing a crime.

The lights flickered on, blindingly bright, and the rest of the guys started groaning and shuffling out of their seats.

Coach clicked the projector off and stood at the front of the room, holding a clipboard.

"Before you hit the showers, listen up. We’re heading to Michigan for the away series this weekend, which means we need to finalize the hotel rooming list. I’ve paired you up based on class year and position."

He started reading off names, and I tuned out until he hit the bottom of the list. "Mercer, you’re rooming with Vane. Make sure you’re packed and ready to go by Friday morning."

My stomach dropped straight to the floor. A hotel room. Just the two of us. In a bed that was probably way too small for a guy my size, let alone sharing it with the brat who had been torturing me all morning.

I glanced at Jules, who was biting his lower lip to hide a massive, triumphant smirk. He was thrilled, the little shit.

We filed out of the video room and into the hallway, the noise of the team echoing off the cinderblock walls.

I was trying to figure out how I was going to survive three days in a cramped hotel room without completely losing my restraint, when Brody fell into step beside us.

Brody was our starting right defenseman, a loudmouthed hockey bro who never met a boundary he didn't want to push, and he was staring at us with a weird, calculating look on his face.

"Man, you two have been glaring at each other all week," Brody said, chewing on a piece of gum loudly. "It’s intense. You sure you aren't gonna murder each other in that hotel room? Because if Vane starts crying, I'm not dealing with the paperwork."

"We're fine, Brody," I grunted, keeping my voice low and my eyes fixed straight ahead.

But Brody didn't drop it. He slowed his pace, his eyes darting from my white-knuckled grip on my playbook to Jules’s flushed face, and then down to the way Jules was subtly adjusting his stance, like his thighs were still sensitive. Brody’s eyebrows shot up, and a slow, suspicious grin spread across his face.

"Actually, why is Jules walking kinda weird? And Jax, you're gripping that book like you wanna snap it in half. You guys sure there isn't something else going on here?"