All Chapters of The Way He Looked at Me: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

Luca Moretti povBennett is practically buzzing with happiness. He has a stick tucked under one arm, and his fangs are so visible that I'm shocked his lips haven't split apart. He tries to keep within arm's length of Carter while wearing a rather disoriented appearance. I can't recall ever seeing someone look that foolish. We haven't even touched the ice yet, but I've already seen him examine himself in the glass twice. Right now, he's in front of the board, swaying on his skates to prevent himself from bouncing.He sighs as though he's having the rapture when he's not staring at himself. He closes his eyes and inhales the chill. A full, flawless grin is formed by the curve of full, flawless lips. Avoid falling for that. Don't be fooled by that attractive face. He's not that great. Bennett is the first player over the board when Coach signals. I come in second. Before the majority of the guys had time to put their skates on ice, he completes two full circles. It flows like water.

Tyler Bennett povThe problem with dicks is that they're not very intelligent. It's simply one of those things. Everybody is aware of it. Everyone who has one or frequently interacts with one is aware of it, at the very least. Sometimes, they get hard for no reason. It does occur. Ask anybody. They will inform you. Sometimes, for no fault of your own, they become difficult when you don't want them to, and other times, they don't become difficult when you do. Of course, I've never experienced it, but I have solid proof that other men do.My point is that I've attributed the strange behaviour in the shower the other day to both Moretti's and my own Penile Lack of Intelligence, and I won't be thinking about it anymore. I'm not required to. There are a ton of other issues that genuinely require my attention. Two additional games have been played, both of which we have lost. I'm feeling the strain, even though I'm making a great effort not to worry myself out. I know I'm here to help th

Tyler Bennett povWe land in Vancouver, the city lights slicing through the dusk like knives. The bus waits, humming, ready to take us to the hotel. Tomorrow’s a matinee, which means the second we finish, we’re back in the air. My chest tightens with that familiar, electric anticipation. I’ve always had a thing for this city the heat in the people, the lethal grace in the women, the Vultures themselves. They think they’re untouchable, but back when I played for the Wranglers, we left them battered five out of six times. I know their weakness.As soon as the bus lurches forward, I hit play on the Bears’ goal song. The horn bellows, low and primal, reverberating in my chest like a heartbeat gone wild. Drums smash in, guitars scream, and chaos fills the cramped space. Jace is uncontainable whooping, throwing his arms like he’s trying to tear the roof off, twisting the lyrics of “It’s Raining Men” into some warped, vict

I’ve pushed him. Like an idiot.He’s less than a foot away now. I can feel the cold night clinging to him, sharp and biting, flooding my space until I don’t know if I’m burning up or freezing in place.“I, uh…” My voice falters, useless. I have no idea what I was about to say and the silence stretches, thick and dangerous.He doesn’t fill it.He just watches me.By the look on his face, I’ve hit his last nerve. He rises, eyes locked on mine, and the air between us tightens. He tilts his head forward, leaning so close our noses almost touch. I have to tilt my chin up to meet him.From here, he’s different human and animal all at once, a predator wrapped in familiar skin. Too close. Way too close. My body betrays me, every sense igniting like it did back in the locker room shower: pulse hammering, veins thrumming, heat coiling low in my gut.“Because,” he says, slow

Tyler Bennett povWe lost again.The bus ride to the airport was deathly silent, the kind of quiet that presses against your chest and refuses to let go. Nobody spoke. Earbuds in, overhead lights dead. The hum of the engine was the only sound, and it felt like it was echoing the hollowness inside all of us.By the time we touched down in Montreal, it was late, cold, and the rain pelted the city like a punishment, the wind slicing through every layer I wore. I’d been away so long, I’d forgotten how miserable this place could be.I used to love the rain as a kid. Back then, it felt like home. A crackling fire, the soft glow of lamps scattered across the living room… safety, warmth, something you could sink into without fear. On nights like those, the rain rattling against the windows wrapped the house in a cocoon. A cocoon made only for the people who shared my last name.On the worst nights, when the storm was relentless, my mom would make hot chocolate. Real hot chocolate. Not powder