My resolve crumbled like wet paper.
"Okay," I whispered. "Okay."
His whole body relaxed—shoulders dropping, the tension in his jaw easing, something almost childlike in the relief that washed over his features. He stepped back, fumbling for a moment before grabbing a t-shirt from his bag and pulling it on with movements that were endearingly uncoordinated for someone with professional-athlete reflexes.
"I can, um—" He gestured vaguely at the bed, then at the couch, then back at the bed, as if the logistics of two people sleeping in the same room were an unsolvable equation. "If you want, I can take the—"
"Taz."
He stopped.
"Get in the bed."
He got in the bed.
I kicked off my shoes, stripped down to my t-shirt and boxers, and climbed in beside him. The sheets were already cool from his body temperature, and I shivered slightly before he pulled the covers up over both of us with the careful precision of someone tucking in a child.
"You're shivering," he said immediately, his brow creasing with concern. "I can turn the heat up, or—"
"Come here." I reached for him, and he came—hesitant, careful, folding himself against me like he was terrified of taking up too much space. For a man his size, he had an extraordinary ability to make himself small. "I'm fine. You're not that cold."
"I'm always that cold."
"Then I'll get used to it."
He made a sound—not quite a laugh, not quite a breath—and buried his face against my shoulder. His arm settled across my waist, heavy and grounding, and I felt the cool press of his palm through the fabric of my shirt. But then as the seconds ticked past, he warmed, or I got used to it.
"Forty-four saves," I murmured into his hair, which smelled like cheap hotel shampoo and something underneath that was uniquely him—clean and sharp, like winter air.
"You already said that."
"It bears repeating." I traced idle patterns on his back, feeling the muscle and bone beneath my fingers, the slight tremor that ran through him when I hit a particularly tense spot between his shoulder blades. "You should be celebrating. Not hiding in a hotel room with me."
"This is celebrating." His voice was muffled against my shoulder, sleepy at the edges. "This is the best celebration I've ever had."
My heart did something complicated and painful. "You need better celebrations."
"I have you. That's enough."
"Taz—"
"Don't argue with me. I just got a shutout. I'm invincible."
I laughed despite myself and felt him smile against my skin. His breathing was already evening out, his body growing heavier against mine as sleep pulled at him. I closed my eyes and decided to question my judgment tomorrow.
Chapter twelve
Hooking - Using the stick to impede or pull back an opponent.
Taz
The bed was cold when I woke up.
Not my kind of cold—not the deep, bone-settled chill that lived under my skin like a second heartbeat. This was the ordinary kind. The absence of warmth. The ghost of someone who'd been pressed against me and wasn't anymore.
I reached across the mattress before I was fully conscious, my hand finding nothing but cool sheets and the faint impression where his body had been. My dragon stirred, a low, uneasy hum beneath my ribs, but I quieted it with a breath.
He'd left early. Of course he had.