Page 25 of Want You

“He’d been on his way to a date,” Nathan said after they’d left the building.

“What?”

“When he was hit. Sounded like he was really into her too.”

Emma looked back at the building, a pained look crossing her face. “Fuck, he’s picky too, so she must have done it for him if he was going to meet her.”

“I don’t know anything beyond that. I mentioned bringing his laptop last week so he could log into the site he was using and let her know what happened. He told me to forget about her, he had.”

“Bullshit.” Emma scoffed. “Ugh, I hate this. To think he could be the only one of us in a relationship for the first time.” Nathan looked away guiltily. “Wait, you’re not dating someone are you?”

He winced. “Dating…not exactly.”

Emma threw her hands up. “Say no more, I do not need or want to know anything else. Just don’t mention it to him.” She pointed back toward the building.

“Obviously.” He rolled his eyes. “I’m not the one with a head injury, Em.”

“Not officially,” she teased as she went up on her tiptoes and knocked the top of his skull with her fist.

“Fuck off.” He waved her hand away and turned to his car. “I’ll see you next time.”

She waved and got into her car. He waited for her to drive away before pulling out his phone.

“Fuck,” he murmured, realizing the last thing he’d sent Octavia was a text that just said this was a mistake because the picture never sent.

He quickly attached the picture from the previous night.

Kept getting an error when I tried to send this last night.

I meant reading the book on the flight was a mistake.

It wrecked me more than a hit from Mason Turner.

CHAPTER 11

NATHAN

Nathan kept one eye trained on the seat Octavia should be sitting in all through warm up. It was where he kept his eyes glued during the anthems.

Nathan had sent Octavia a text yesterday, letting her know there were two tickets set aside for her for tonight’s game. She hadn’t replied, hadn’t given any indication she’d read his text, let alone intended to accept the tickets.

She’d set a line, it’s just sex, she said it twice. But it didn’t feel like that to him. Sure she looked hungry for it when they met up, but he saw something else there. Like she wanted to ask him more. Or perhaps he was transferring what he wanted onto her. He wanted to ask her about her family and learn all her favourite things. If she ever gave him permission to ask, he’d probably burst with them, overwhelming her with all the things he wanted to learn and reveal.

Then there was the way she kissed him. Those had evolved from their first night. They became slower, more moments where she’d pull back and just look. Then there was the one night where she ran her fucking nose down the side of his while he was balls deep before releasing a little gasp and pulling his mouth back to hers. He’d done the “just sex” thing before, he didn’t like it all that much. Octavia wasn’t just sex. She was a fucking promise of something bigger.

Pavlovic let the first shot of the game in. Fucking high, glove side, just like he’d been letting in during every single practice since his wife told him it was over. Pettersson had broken his stick on the goal post immediately after and miraculously only received a warning from the ref. News of Pavlovic’s family drama had spread through the league like wildfire, fucking rookies.

The seats he’d hoped to see Octavia in sat empty through the first period. Halfway through the second, he caught sight of a blonde sitting in one, a guy in an old team jersey beside her. Octavia had either given away her tickets or the two people had moved from worse seats. He tried and failed to not care that she hadn’t shown up.

“I don’t give a shit that half of you have drama happening in your personal lives.” Coach Sullivan hissed once they’d all taken their seats during the second intermission. “You look like a bunch of fucking minor leaguers out there. Pavlovic, is there something wrong with your glove hand?”

Pav shook his head, his expression remaining blank, the same one he’d been wearing since practice the other day.

“Then lift it,” Coach enunciated before turning on Nathan. “Albertson, where the fuck is your head tonight? I thought I could at least count on you and you’re out there swinging your stick around like you’ve never held one before.”

Nathan stared at the floor in front of him. He could say it was Scottie. Put all the blame on being worried about his little brother, but that would be a lie. He’d let a woman get into his head for the first time in his life. He’d let sex mess with him. And not because he wasn’t getting any, but because he was and he didn’t know why it wasn’t enough.

“One more whistle in your direction,” Coach continued. “And you won’t see the ice for the rest of the fucking game, and you’ll be in the goddamn press box for the next one. Maybe if you sit and watch a game, you’ll remember how to fucking play it.”