He let out a short, shaky breath, his eyes dropping to my mouth. “No,” he whispered, reaching out to grab the front ofmy unbuttoned jersey, his knuckles brushing my chest. “I want you to prove you weren’t just talking. And that you weren’t just saying bullshit at me.”
The restraint I’d been white-knuckling all day snapped the second he moved. Ozzie didn’t just lean in—he surged upward, his hands fist-filling the fabric of my jersey to pull me down to his level.
When his lips slammed into mine, it was a collision of pure, unadulterated heat. He tasted like sharp peppermint and the lingering adrenaline of the game. It wasn’t a soft kiss; it was a demand, a desperate release of everything we’d been dancing around since the first pitch.
A low growl ripped from my throat—a sound I didn’t even recognize as my own. I surged forward, my weight pressing him back against the cold metal equipment trunks. The metal groaned under the impact, but I didn’t care. I moved my hands from the trunks to his waist, my fingers digging into the broad, sturdy muscle of his back, hauling him flush against me.
Oz…
I kissed him back with a hunger that had been building for years, my tongue sweeping against his as I tasted that mint and fire. I wanted to consume him. I wanted to leave a mark.
You’re mine.
Ozzie let out a choked, breathless moan into my mouth, his fingers tangling deep into the hair at the nape of my neck, pulling me closer as if he were trying to crawl inside my skin. He was smaller than me, but he fought for every inch of space, his body molding perfectly against mine.
I broke the kiss for a split second, trailing my lips down the heated line of his jaw to the sensitive skin of his throat. “You have no idea,” I rasped against his pulse, “how long I’ve wanted to shut you up like this.”
He arched his neck, his breath hitching in a high, broken sound. “Then don’t stop,” he whispered, his voice shaking. “Ryan, don’t you dare stop.”
“I fucking won’t, Oz.”
The muffled sounds of the celebration in the distance felt like they were miles away. Here, in the shadows of the tunnel, the only thing that existed was the taste of him and the way he was trembling in my arms.
Finally, I had him where I wanted him.
3
OZZIE
My heart was doing a frantic thudding against my ribs that had nothing to do with the game I’d just played. I was walking down the quiet, moonlit sidewalk toward the team hotel, and every few seconds, I had to remind myself to keep my feet moving.
I kissed Ryan Lindson.
I’d done it. I had actually grabbed the star and captain of the Rock Hills Beavers by his jersey and kissed the life out of him. And the crazy part? He hadn’t just let me. He’d growled into my mouth like he’d been starving for it.
Does that mean I was right all along? That he wants me? That we could be something more than teammates?
Ryan walked beside me, his stride long and easy, though there was a new kind of tension in the set of his shoulders. We were keeping a “professional” distance for the sake of any fansor teammates who might see us, but the air between us was practically humming.
“You’re quiet,” Ryan said. His voice was back to that low rumble, but it felt private now. Just for me.
“Just processing,” I admitted, looking at my cleats as they hit the pavement. “I took a gamble. I wasn’t 100% sure you’d… you know. Kiss me back.”
Ryan let out a short, dry laugh and stopped walking just as we reached the shadows of the hotel’s side entrance. He looked down at me, his eyes dark and intense. “Oz, I’ve been trying to keep my hands off you since the middle of last season. That wasn’t a gamble. That was you finally calling my bluff.”
My stomach did a slow, delicious flip. “Last season?”
“Last season,” he confirmed, reaching out. He didn’t grab me, but he let his knuckles graze the back of my hand. “But we’re in a hotel full of teammates now. We have to be smart.”
He was right. We had to be careful. I may like him, but I didn’t want the news outlet or even my teammates knowing about this.
* * *
The lobby was bright and smelled like lemon polish. Most of the guys were already at the bar or heading to their rooms. We walked to the elevators in silence, the numbers ticking up agonizingly slowly. My skin was itching to touch him again. I wanted to touch him.
When the doors opened on the fourth floor, the hallway was empty. Ryan swiped his key card into Room 412, but before he could step inside, he paused, holding the door open. He looked back at me, a challenge in his gaze.
“My roommate is staying out late with Miller and the guys,” he said softly. “I think I have an extra bag of ice for that shoulder of yours… if you want to come in.”