I’M SHOVING MY feet into my skates when Cauler shows up. He sits in his stall and starts putting on his own. “What’re we doing?”
I pull my laces tight. “Practicing one-timers.”
He snorts. “It’s not gonna help in the draft, you know. They know what they’re getting from us at this point.”
I glare at him as I push on my gloves. “What happened to seven months to battle it out?”
One of his eyebrows twitches up, and I want to jump him right now. But my nerves are tingling and my heart is barely keeping up with the adrenaline and I’m not ready yet. I grab my stick from the twig rack and head out before I can act on impulse. His footsteps trail after me. I push the stack of pucks off the boards and corral them into one of the face-off circles. I go to the opposite point, and Cauler’s standing with the pucks when I look back.
He’s watching me curiously, dressed in black joggers and a hoodie, glasses on. My mouth waters at the sight of him. He tilts his head and waits for me to nod before sending me pass after pass.
I whiff on most of them. Slap shots just aren’t my thing. The ones I do get a stick on are high or wide or barely have the strength behind them to reach the net.
To my credit, I am extremely distracted.
Cauler’s sending his passes weaker and weaker, drawing me closer to him. My heart races and I can hardly breathe and finally … I’m barely a step away. I look up at him, breathless and electric, and he looks down at me with his head cocked to the side.
“Those were some of the worst passes I’ve ever seen from you,” I try. My voice shakes.
“What are we doing here, Terzo?”
I lick my lips. Shift my weight from skate to skate. “I don’t know. I just…” I feel comfortable here? Don’t have to worry about Dorian and Barbie barging in? I look down at the space between us. I swear my breathing echoes through the entire empty arena.
He steps closer, letting his stick drop to the ice. He pulls his right hand out of his glove and reaches up, trailing his fingers across my cheekbone and pushing them back into my hair. Each second lasts longer than the final moments of a tight game. I can smell the cinnamon on his breath, the sweat from inside his gloves.
“Same page?” he asks softly, a slight tremor in his voice.
“Same page,” I almost whisper.
He shakes off his other glove and wraps his arm around my waist, pulling me in. I drop my stick and almost trip over it as I step closer, way too eager.
But he doesn’t kiss me. He turns us around so my back is to the boards, and I grab hold of his shirt as he guides me until I’m pressed against the glass.
And then his mouth is on mine, his full weight pinning me and both hands pushing into my hair. I feel it everywhere. It takes everything in me to hold myself up.
I let go of his shirt to reach for the back of his head and pull him down to my level. His skates scrape against the ice as he struggles for balance, but he doesn’t stop kissing me. It hurts, with all the bruises on my face, but the pain is nothing compared to the total ecstasy of his mouth on me. The metal hoop in his lip clacks against my teeth, and it’s a little awkward, a little messy, and a lot frantic, but it’s easily the best kiss I’ve ever been given. And I’ve kissed a lot of people.
I don’t know if it’s the way he has me shaking, gasping, my fingers numb, or if it’s just because it’s Jaysen Caulfield.
His hands slide down to my hips, slip under my shirt, send chills through my core as they brush against my bare skin. I sigh into his mouth, grab fistfuls of his shirt again to hold steady.
My head is fuzzy by the time he pulls away, my breathing ragged. If it weren’t for his weight against me, I’d be melting into the ice right now.
It’s a feeling I could get used to. Before either of us catches our breath or says something stupid, I lean up and kiss him again.
* * *
OKAY, BUT PICKING up the pucks together after that is extremely awkward. My legs feel weak, like I just did a whole-ass bag skate or something, and I’m doing my best to stay turned away from Cauler. These joggers really don’t hide anything.
My mouth still feels numb and dry and my heart rate only slows back to normal when I’m in my sneakers and my skates are put away.
I should say something. It’d be weird to walk out without saying anything. Right? Like admitting defeat. Or maybe saying something would make him all smug. Even more than usual. I should act like nothing happened. Don’t change anything. Let him think I don’t care one way or another.
“Uh, Terzo?” Cauler’s holding the door open, looking back at me. “You plan on staying the night here or what?”
The collar of his hoodie is stretched out from where I was pulling on it. It’s obvious what he was just up to. I feel myself blushing just looking at him and tuck my chin to my chest to hide it as I follow him out.
We walk close enough that our arms touch. When he’s sure no one’s looking, he even slips his hand along the small of my back, sending chills through me.
I’ve got a thread of messages from Dorian demanding I come to the hockey house.
Dorian: Terzooooooooo
Where are you?
Hockey house now
You missed team dinner
Which means.
My room.
Is empty.
My heart’s straight-up pounding as we get closer to my building. He has to walk past mine to get to his. My window of opportunity is closing.
How do you invite a boy back to your dorm room? Last time I hooked up with a guy, it was my senior year lab partner, and we were studying in his room while his parents were outside, so I didn’t have to do any of this awkward, I don’t know, propositioning?
We walk past the front entrance of my building. My room is toward the back, so it’s not totally obvious that I’m stalling. I duck my head farther into my hood when we pass by a group of drunk people singing the alma mater in the parking lot.
As soon as they’re behind us, I suck it up.
“Do you—” I say at the same time Cauler says, “Are you going—”
We stop outside the last door to my building and face each other. I look up at him and wait for him to finish what he was saying. He licks his lips, glances around the parking lot. Puts his hands in his pockets and hikes his shoulders up.
I can feel his nerves.
He doesn’t look at me when he finally says, “Were you gonna go to the hockey house?”
“Nah,” I say. “We missed dinner.”
He swallows. “Ah.”
I shift from foot to foot. “Were you?”
“I don’t think so.”
The air between us feels dangerously charged. Or maybe that’s the anxiety. It’s freezing, but my hands sweat in my jacket pockets and my face feels hot.
“Did you wanna…” I trail off, motioning vaguely toward the door with my elbow.
Cauler looks at me, meets my eyes. Doesn’t look away. I can’t breathe. My whole body shakes, and it’s not just from the cold. I don’t think I’ve ever been this nervous when it comes to something like this.
Maybe with Nova, but that was because it was the first time. I wasn’t even this nervous my first time with a guy. It’s not like I have feelings for Cauler, either.
He’s just … really hot.
Cauler nods his head. “Yeah,” he says. His voice cracks and he has to clear his throat. “Yeah, okay.”
* * *
WE BARELY MAKE it through the door before Cauler’s pulling off my shirt and putting his lips against my neck.
“Okay?” he asks when my back hits the mattress.
“Can I?” I ask with my hands at the waistband of his joggers.
“Do you want to?” he asks with a wrapped condom in his hand.
A breathless yes at each progression. He’s gentle when he needs to be. Less so when I ask him not to. He kisses me like he means it. Holds me close to him.
It’s enough to rip my empty chest wide-open.
NOVA VINTER
Mickey: This just in
Hooking up with a hot guy does not cure depression
Nova: I could’ve told you that Mickey: Well why didn’t you??
Nova: You never asked?
Regret it though?
Mickey: I mean it literally just happened
Like he just left
And it hasn’t come back to bite me in the ass yet so not yet
Nova: Then what’s it matter