After the first home game of the season, I'm exhausted. I didn't realize how much jogging I'd be doing to try and keep up with the players on the ice. Back and forth I went, snapping away, which didn't agree with my calves. They're on fire as I fight my way to the employee entrance of the stadium.

What I need to do is learn the rules and regulations of hockey. That's going to help me immensely. If I can point my camera for a shot ahead of time, knowing where a player will be, those few extra seconds will be crucial for a game-winning shot. I bet the local library has some books on it, or I could stay up and spend the next couple of hours surfing the internet when I get home.

"About time."

Lifting my eyes from the floor, I clutch the strap of my camera bag as Connor leans against the door in that sexy way of his. He's showered since the game ended, having changed into grey sweatpants and a t-shirt that's a tad bit tight, outlining the muscles in his abdomen. Why did he wait for me? This is the employee exit.

"What are you doing here?" I ask. No matter how much I try to fight it, I can't look away from the mop of curls still dripping with water, a few pieces stuck to his forehead. The urge to push them out of his face is a horrifying one, so I quickly push that urge deep, deep down to a place where it will be forgotten.

"Some of the guys want to go out for a celebratory drink at a nearby bar. I was going to invite you out."

"You could have texted." But even that sounds too informal. We aren't friends. He shouldn't even have my number to begin with.

He arches a brow. "Figured you couldn't say no to me in person."

I scoff. "You're about to be highly disappointed, then."

Those green eyes of his trail me when I reach the door. He doesn't try and stop me, moving to the side so I can push it open, but I'm not surprised when he follows me into the parking lot. The exhaustion of tonight's game is weighing on me. I don't have the energy to deal with him and tell him to leave me alone, which would just be a waste of my breath, so I allow him to walk in step beside me.

"Are you really going to say no?" He asks.

A flicker of amusement courses through me. "I don't think you're used to hearing that, are you?"

"Honestly? I'm not."

His honesty is surprising, and despite how much I've tried to forget about his fucking text a few nights ago, the message has been on my mind every waking minute. He said he's only trying to impress me, but Connor is the fucking center for the California Cyclones. He could have every woman in LA at his beck and call. Why does he seem to be infatuated with me, of all people?

"We could have a lot of fun," Connor adds, earning an eye roll in response. "The guys wanted you to come, too."

"I'm not the last photographer," I reply, digging around in my pockets for my car keys. "I have no interest in being a groupie."

"Never said you did."

When we reach my car, a tiny hatchback, Connor (shockingly) doesn't make any comments about it. I know he probably has more than one luxurious car, and a tiny hatchback definitely isn't up to par with his standards, but I don't catch an ounce of judgment from him. Instead, he rests his back against the door, folding his arms across his chest.

"I'm not going to change my mind," I tell him.

"Didn't think you were. Am I not allowed to ensure you get into your car safely?"

Why...Why is he being so nice? Connor isn't someone I would classify as a gentleman, but yet... Didn't he stand up for me when Matti asked rudely about my scars? He's never been disrespectful towards me, just flirtatious and aggravating. I don't know how to feel about that realization.

When I inch closer, he moves to open the car door for me, making an exaggeration of a bow as he extends his hand. "After you," he says.

"You make it sound like you're going to ride with me."

His eyes pop up to mine. "Would you like me to? I'm an exceptionally good driver if you'd rather switch places."

"Is that so?"

A smoldering gaze overpowers his eyes, and dammit if my heart doesn't pick up speed. "I'd say I'm particularly skilled with a stick shift. You know, wielding it and all."

"Mmm," I hum, taking a step closer. I rest my hand on the door, extremely grateful that it's separating us. If it weren't, I'm not sure what my body would do. React on instinct? Give into the heat pooling between my legs and the pulse thrumming rapidly in the base of my throat? Regardless, I refuse to give into my lust-filled brain. My judgment is cloudy, and I won't give him the satisfaction of it. He deserves a taste of his own medicine. "I'm going to have to decline that offer. After all, I'm particularly skilled in handling a stick shift, but something tells me you already know that."

"Aria." He strains on my name like a whispered prayer, a tremor radiating from his jaw. The mask has fallen again, and what's revealed to me is... God, he's fucking beautiful. It's pitch black aside from the lights lining the parking lot, casting him in a golden glow. His hair is still wet, his tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip and holy fuck I need to leave.

But I can't bring myself to move. We're both stuck in the same memory—when I shoved him onto his back, impaled myself on his cock, and rode him until his eyes rolled to the back of his head. I remember his large hand digging into my side, the other grasping the headboard behind him, but more importantly, the constant muttering of, You're so fucking beautiful.

He didn't realize at the time just how badly I needed to hear it. After my life shattered completely, I was left with a scar that, every time I looked at it, reminded me how not beautiful I was. My actions... My choices led to that scar. No matter how many times he uttered it that night, I was a stranger to him. If he truly knew what I had done, he wouldn't say the same.

"I need to go," I whisper. Then, when I clear my throat and collect myself, I'm able to make my voice sound stronger. Assertive. "So do you."

His hand flexes on the car door, but he eventually steps aside, allowing me to climb in. I should leave as I said I was going to. Instead, I remain rooted where I stand. "You're positive you don't want to come tonight?"

"Positive," I reply, stifling a yawn. "I have to move out when we return from the first away game. If I push off packing any longer, I'll never get done in time." As soon as the sentence spills from my lips, I instantly regret it. Why am I telling him about my personal life? This is what I need to be avoiding, and yet, it felt so natural telling him that I didn't have to think twice.

"Moving?" He arches that damn brow again. "Where to?"

I should keep my mouth shut, but now that the gates have been opened, I might as well continue. "A place on the outskirts of the city."

"You don't like it downtown?"

I shake my head. "It's too busy for me. My mind is already hectic enough, and the noise can be—" Realizing I'm revealing too much, I reel it back. "Living on the outskirts is more appealing to me. Quieter. Peaceful."

Connor narrows his eyes, deciphering between the lines, but I wish he wouldn't. He needs to forget about me and move on to someone else already. Sure, I'm a hot commodity to him now, but he'll soon get tired of the chase. This is only temporary. At least, I keep trying to tell myself that.

"Anyways, you didn't need to know that. I don't even know why I said it."

He smiles, and those damn dimples will get me every time. "I find it to be valuable information."

Even though I most definitely shouldn't, I ask, "Why?"

"Because..." He steps around the back of the door, almost pressed against my chest, and suddenly, I'm not breathing. His stare roams over my scar, but not in a pitiful way as most people's gazes tend to do. It seems as if he's...admiring, and the warmth that floods my chest because of it makes me want to run for the fucking hills. "When I win you over and you're officially mine, I'm going to need to find somewhere to buy us a house, right? Knowing you prefer the outskirts is crucial information, is it not?"

"I..." My mouth is dry. There is nothing I can think of to reply to that. What is someone supposed to respond with? He's insinuating that we'll be together. As in, move in together. Living together. And why the hell is my heart fluttering at the thought? "You're delusional," I say instead.

He eyes my throat where the rapid pulse continues to soar, his grin kicking up a notch. He hasn't even touched me. The reaction he elicits is disturbing. "Have a good night, Aria," he whispers seductively. "I'll see you at practice tomorrow."

Author's Note:

ARE YOU GUYS SMILING AS HARD AS ME?!

OMG I LOVE HIM SO MUCH.

Also, am I surprised we reached this goal so quickly? Yes. I think I always will be. Totally not me fishing for compliments!! I just want you to know how grateful I am for the support.

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