The broad, sculpted plane of his chest is still damp in places, and the defined lines of his abs leading into the low-slung waistband of his sweatpants is… God, it’s sexy as hell.
“Hey,” he breathes, his eyes bright. “Sorry. Team meeting ran late. I just got in and had a quick shower.”
My stomach does a slow, dangerous flip.
“It’s fine.” I step inside, letting the warmth of his apartment wrap around me. “I was running late too. Got… distracted.”
His lips quirk, and unfortunately for me, he finds a shirt and tugs it over his head. “By?”
I drop my tote bag by the door. “A future, apparently.”
He looks at me. “What?”
“Delaney came by. The numbers are starting to settle, and it looks like there might be a clear winner from the vote. The twists are at sixty-eight percent.” I can’t keep the grin off my face. “Big Mike’s talking expansion plans already.”
Colt’s expression shifts into pride, then something softer. “Zoey. That’s…” He takes a breath. "That's amazing. Well done."
“I couldn't have done it without you.”
We share a smile, right near where Colt showed me those same twists, the oneshehad perfected while I felt like my life was spiralling out of control.
And that's when it hits me…
This is what it’s going to be like, isn’t it? Him rushing from the rink, me from the bakery. Both of our schedules colliding while we scrap together the pieces for some stolen hours in the day just to be together.
Neither of us is saying it out loud, but standing here, watching that expression on his face, Iknowhe's thinking it too.
“You hungry?” he asks, nodding toward the kitchen island.
"Yeah."
I follow him in, and he has some soft music playing from a speaker. On the counter, a Leopard Lounge takeout bag sits open, the scent of garlic, bacon, and something cheesy curling into the air.
“Lars sent over the loaded fries,” Colt says, pulling out a cardboard container. “And the crispy chicken sliders. Said it was ‘post-practice fuel.’”
“Really? I'm pretty sure Willa would have a fit if she saw what you are about to eat while you're still supposed to be recovering.”
“She absolutely would." Colt grins, grabbing two plates. “Sit.”
I slide onto a stool, watching him serve up the fries, piled high with melty cheese, bacon bits, green onions, and a drizzle of something that smells like truffle. My stomach growls loudly.
Colt laughs. “Long day?”
“The longest.” I pop a fry into my mouth, and holy hell. “Oh my God.”
“Right?” He takes a bite of a slider, dunking it into the cheesy goodness on the fries before biting down and moaning around it. “Lars is a culinary genius.”
We eat while he tells me about practice today, and how he's slowly being allowed to be integrated back into more physical work on the ice.
Then he asks, “How’s Morgan? She excited about the monster truck show tonight?”
“Of course. She’s with my brothers. Which means they’ll spoil her with junk food and let her stay up past midnight.” I shake my head, smiling. “She texted me a picture earlier. She looked… happy.”
“Good.”
Colt’s eyes linger on my face, and just from that look, I know what he really wants to ask.
The Declan-shaped question that's been hanging between us since last night at the Lounge. I felt the tension immediately when I came back from the bathroom and found them sitting there, both too quiet.