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A garbage truck drops a trash can to the ground across the street, the metal crashing when it hits the concrete. Ollie’s irises clear from the noise, and he steps away. The spell is instantly broken. Our connection is lost. I suck in oxygen.
Ollie pulls his shirt off and wrings it out while turning away from me. His back is tan and rippled.
“I think it’s clean,” he grumbles, his voice thick like molasses.
He clears his throat and opens the back of the Bronco. He pulls a dry shirt from the vehicle. I’m frozen in the same spot as he covers that beautiful skin from my view.
The air is thick now and colder. All the playfulness from before has disappeared. I blinked, and Ollie erected a wall between us. His entire demeanor has changed. He won’t look at me. He looks past me instead.
He grabs a sweatshirt from the back of the vehicle and extends his arm as he continues to fiddle inside the SUV. He shakes the material in his big hand while still avoiding my face.
“Take it,” he demands gruffly.
“I’m not cold,” I spit, suddenly angry. I don’t reach for it. I don’t even know why I’m mad, but I think the sudden artic freeze emanating from him tripped a fuse inside of me.
He went from hot to cold in a breath. We were having a good time, and now … we’re not. And I hate it. He’s making me feel like I did something wrong.
He turns to face me, but his eyes are focused over my shoulder. “You’re practically naked, Madison. You need to cover yourself.”
His haughty, scolding tone incenses me further.
I stand tall and arch my back so my breasts stand high and proud. “You didn’t seem to mind a minute ago.”
His eyes whip to mine, and I give him a tight smile.
That’s right; I’m calling you out. Plus, we both know it’s nothing you haven’t seen before. Multiple times. Maybe not my body, but I’m sure you’re well versed in the female form.
I recognize the challenge in his gaze as he briefly dips his eyes back to my chest like he’s testing me.
“Well, I didn’t realize washing my car was code for a wet T-shirt contest. I know you like attention, Mads, but you didn’t need to put on a show today. What’s next … a striptease for the breakfast I made you?”
His words aren’t kind, and he’s not being complimentary.
I flip my head, and a wave of water drips from the ends of my wet ponytail. Some of the droplets land on his dry shirt.
I smirk. “Consider it a bonus.”
I turn my back on the hockey stud who stirs a fire within my belly that is hard to snuff out. But that same fire has transitioned from lust into anger now.
I reposition the wands on the wall just like they were when we arrived. The machine abruptly turns off.
Time’s up.
CHAPTER TWELVE
OLLIE
My quads and glutes are on fire as I speed-skate from one line to the other. I stop abruptly and change directions, digging in until I’m soaring as fast as I can across the ice again. Sweat pours down my forehead and stings my eyes as it drips into the corners. But I don’t stop. I keep pushing. Up and down, back and forth. Ice sprays when my sprints finally end, and the burn subsides, leaving my muscles feeling nothing but fatigue. My breath is labored, and it takes a few minutes for my heart rate to fall back to normal. I drift a few feet ahead with my hands on my head so my lungs can fully expand. I need all the oxygen I can get.
A slow clap echoes through the deserted stadium from the players box. My eyes whip over to see Coach standing there.
“What’s your name, son?” he jokes. “I could use a player like you.”
One side of my lip tips up. It’s all I can manage at the moment. “I’d laugh,” I retort breathlessly, “but I don’t have the energy.”
He chuckles knowingly and looks away. I glide closer.
“You’re always grinding, Burnham. You were one of the only players I never had to push. If I told you to skate a lap, you’d finish three. If I asked you to double your weights by the end of the summer, you’d quadruple them.” He laughs again.
