Total pages in book: 21
Estimated words: 18799 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 94(@200wpm)___ 75(@250wpm)___ 63(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 18799 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 94(@200wpm)___ 75(@250wpm)___ 63(@300wpm)
“Me too.” I smile up at him, and the intensity in his eyes makes me want to look away and lean closer all at once. “I hope we’re not going somewhere fancy for dinner.” I point down at his jersey. “I’m not exactly dressed for it.”
“You look fucking perfect.” He laces his fingers with mine. “Come on. I want to show you something.”
He leads me to his car, his hand resting on the small of my back as we navigate the garage. It’s an automatic gesture, one he probably doesn't even realize he’s doing, but it sends a jolt through me that I can’t ignore. We drive through the city, the Seattle skyline a jagged silhouette of neon and steel against the dark water of the Sound. He doesn't head toward my apartment or the restaurant district. Instead, the roads get narrower, winding upward through a neighborhood of quiet, tree-lined streets.
He pulls over near a small, inconspicuous park perched on the side of a hill. There are no streetlights here, only the glow from the city below and the pale light of a rising moon. We get out of the car, the air smelling of pine and salt. The grass is damp under my shoes as I follow him to a stone wall at the edge of the overlook. The entire city of Seattle is laid out before us like a map of light, the Space Needle a silver needle stitching the sky to the earth.
“This is my favorite place,” Ryan says, leaning his elbows on the stone. He looks out at the water, his profile sharp and thoughtful. “When the noise in my head gets too loud, I come here to unwind.”
I stand beside him, the silence of the park a sudden, heavy blanket after the chaos of the arena. “It’s beautiful, Ryan. I’ve lived in this city my whole life, and I didn't know this spot existed.”
“I found it by accident when I was out driving to clear my mind.” Ryan reaches out, his fingers tracing the line of my jaw before tucking a stray lock of hair behind my ear. His touch is light, almost hesitant, which is more terrifying than if he’d been aggressive. He pulls me against his body, and his warm, spicy scent wraps around me.
I search my mind for something to say, but my brain stopped functioning minutes ago.
He leans in, and for a second, I can see the exact moment the proximity turns into something else. The space between us vanishes. When his mouth meets mine, everything around us disappears. It’s slow, possessive, and turns my insides to goo. I find myself reaching for him, my hands bunching the expensive fabric of his polo shirt, pulling him closer until there’s no room between us.
His tongue brushes against my lower lip, a silent question I answer by parting my mouth. The kiss deepens, becoming something urgent and hungry. His other hand finds my waist, his fingers digging into the jersey, pulling me flush against him. I can feel the hard lines of his body, the strength he uses to dominate on the ice now focused entirely on holding me. My head spins, the scent of him and the cold night air mixing into a cocktail that makes me feel dangerously drunk.
He pulls back just an inch, his forehead resting against mine. His breath is hitching, his chest rising and falling against my own. “This feels real to me. I want it to be real.”
I look into his eyes, seeing the vulnerability he usually hides behind a sneer and a hockey stick. My heart is beating so hard I’m surprised he can’t feel it through the jersey. I should say it. I should say the word that puts the walls back up. Instead, I reach up and trace the line of his lip with my thumb, my own breathing ragged.
“Me too,” I say, the truth coming out before I can stop it. “I’m not sure it was ever pretend for me.”
Ryan groans, a low, visceral sound, and captures my mouth again. This time, there’s no hesitation. This time, the kiss is a declaration. The line between what’s fake and what’s real hasn't just blurred—it’s been completely erased, left behind in the white-hot heat of the moment.
When we finally pull apart, the city lights below seem brighter, more focused. The silence of the park feels less like a void and more like a shared secret. Ryan keeps his arm around my shoulders as we walk back to the car, his touch steady and sure.
We make plans for the upcoming weeks. I’m going to accompany him to the team’s mid-season dinner next week, and he’s going to brave the Fox family barbecue the next weekend. I’m not going to lie, I’m a little worried. If those don’t test our new, very real relationship, nothing will.