He’s one of the last ones to come out of the dressing room, freshly showered with towel-dried, messy hair under a baseball cap, red cheeks, and bright pink lips. He’s carrying his big hockey bag again, but he stands tall, the weight nothing for his strong, broad shoulders. Beside him walks that same guy I met when I almost took a puck to the face, though his name escapes me. Did I even get his name?

“Hi, again,” I say to his friend. Then to Ozzie, teasing, “That took a while.”

“Pretty boy had to clean himself up,” his friend says, rolling his eyes.

Ozzie shoves his friend in the shoulder, almost knocking the guy off balance. With his bag on an angle, it takes him a step to the side to right himself.

“I’ll see you guys back at the house,” his friend says.

“We could all walk together,” I suggest, but the guys exchange a conspiratorial glance, and he shakes his head.

“I’ve uh…got some things to do. I’ll see you there.” He mock-salutes his friend and walks away, hockey bag hefted over his shoulder like Ozzie. Only when his back is to us does his name finally come to me: Michael!

Ozzie waves a hand in front of me. “After you.”

We stroll to the exit doors, and he pushes one open for me to pass through. Another corridor and another exit door and we’re out front. It’s warmer tonight, but there is a crispness in the air that has me reaching to put my hands in my pockets.

“Your coach is really colorful.”

He laughs out loud. “Isn’t he, though?”

I love the way his nose crinkles when he’s trying to be funny.

“Does he always talk to you guys like that?”

“Only when he’s not mad at us.”

“Oh… Oh! Really?”

Ozzie grips his bag with both hands and bounces so it’s higher up on his shoulder. “He’s not the worst I’ve had. He’s a great teacher and he’s got some great plays, but he’s got the warmth of a snake.”

“I saw that,” I say. “I’ve seen serial killers on television with more empathy.”

Ozzie touches my shoulder and nudges me to the left to avoid a divot in the sidewalk that I didn’t notice.

“Thank you.”

“No problem.”

“He’s a good coach, then?”

“He’s one of the best. We should have won playoffs this year.”

But he was benched. That’s why Jack said they lost. “So why didn’t you...do you think?”

He looks away, his shoulders tensing. “Not our year, I guess.”

I eye him, and when he finally looks my way, I can tell he’s hiding something. It gives me pause. I could prompt him... I’m dead curious why he didn’t play. But he could have been benched for no reason at all. His coach is a jerk. Maybe he just talked back or pissed him off.

“Someone told me you didn’t play in the playoffs,” I say innocently. “That must have been hard. Playing all season and then not getting to play at the end.”

He stiffens and slows his pace. With a furrowed brow, he speaks, his tone dismissive, “Shit happens.”

“Is something wrong?”

He shakes his head and reaches down to massage the back of my neck. “No. Not at all.” He forces a smile. “What have you been up to the last couple of days?” he asks, changing the topic so quickly I think he’s given me whiplash.

“Um…nothing.” I rub the back of my neck, the tension he relieved a moment ago returning. “School. Studying. Exams are soon.” I’m a terrible liar, but I can't tell from his expression if he buys it or not. Telling him the truth is not an option. I went to your old school to dig up dirt on you? No. I can’t tell him that.

“When I didn't hear from you yesterday I thought maybe you'd already gotten sick of me.”

“Really? Does that happen a lot? Girls have a sleepover with you and then ghost you?”

He grins and gives me a sideways glance. “No, I don’t get ghosted much.” When he winks, I’m swooning, giggling to myself and tucking my head to hide my flaming cheeks. “Like I said before, I didn’t think I was your type so I thought maybe you’d lost interest.”

He stares straight ahead, scratching at his cheek. “I’m in new territory here. I’ve never been this interested in keeping a girl around. If they stay, whatever, or if they move on, that’s fine, too.” He glances at me shyly. “I barely know you and I think I’d miss you.”

“Stop,” I say laughing. “You’re a charmer. I get it.” I take a breath and meet his warm eyes. “I’m interested.” My voice is soft and quiet and my palms start to sweat. He’s putting himself out there and I want to meet him halfway. This must be as much a struggle for him as it is for me.

He heaves an exaggerated sigh. “That’s good to hear. I can just relax and be myself now.”

“And what does that look like?” I move closer to him, my arm brushing against his as it lightly swings.

He leans in to whisper. “Obnoxious.” He holds up a finger and then adds more as he rhymes off the rest. “Boring. Unreliable...disrespectful...”

Playfully, I shove his shoulder. “You just listed my four must-have characteristics for a boyfriend.”

“Really?” He grins. “Well, aren’t I lucky you have low standards.”

We laugh in unison.

“Seriously, though, what made you stop by practice tonight?”

I shrug and round my shoulders. It’s so hard to be open with people, especially someone I’m not crushing on. And I like this guy. Really like this guy. I’m grinning like an idiot. Those damn butterflies haven’t stopped since he skated up to me in the rink.

“Come on,” he urges. “Talk to me.”

“All right... I didn’t want this.”

He sucks in a breath. “Okay.”

“No, let me finish. When we met, I wasn’t planning on any sparks or any feelings or to feel anything at all, actually. I thought you’d be this stereotypical guy without a lot of substance.”

“Wow, you really know how to romance a guy.”

“Stop,” I say, shoving him again. “You surprised me...and it was a good surprise. I just needed to get my head around the idea of something happening between us. And if I’m being honest...I like you, too. It’s so easy to be around you, and I usually feel uncomfortable around most people. But please tell me you’re who you appear to be. Please don’t turn out to be someone else.”

He clears his throat and adjusts the bag strap on his shoulder again. “I don't play games, Charlie. This is me. I hope the same goes for you. Because I feel the same. It’s easy to be around you, too.”

“Where did you come from?” I tease. “Where were guys like you in high school? Why couldn’t there be more guys like you?”

We pass a bush with a flower bud on it. It’s pink and white, and he plucks it, handing it to me. I twirl it between my fingers and raise it to my nose, smelling the light and sweet hint of what’s growing inside.

“You ever hear that quote, ‘I am a part of all that I have met’?”

With a lazy finger, I point in his direction, recognition coming easily. “Tennyson.”

“Exactly. Well, I’m not sure if most people go through everything I’ve gone through in twenty-one years. It changes a guy. Some of the stuff I’ve been through was pretty bad, and I finally learned how to get past it a few years ago...with the help of someone who’s pretty important to me.”

“Who would that be? I'd like to meet her.”

He reaches out, and I think he's going to take my hand, but instead his fingers lightly touch the ends of mine. My core starts to heat, and tingles crawl up my arm like an electric current. I’m about to wrap my fingers around his, but he pulls away and uses both hands to secure the strap on his shoulder.

“My parents died a few years back, and I didn’t have anyone to take care of me. I was kind of lost while I went from foster home to foster home, but then my social worker took me in. She didn’t have to. In fact, she took a lot of shit for it and almost lost her job for getting too involved, but she didn’t care. When it comes to family, she’s all I got.”

I stop and turn to him, and he does the same. He takes a step forward, looking down at me with those beautiful blue eyes of his. The cocky, charming boy with the killer smile fades away. That picture online flashes in my mind. I see it so clearly now as he grits his teeth and frowns at me. There are three perfect creases on his forehead, each a continuous line that could only have developed from someone who’s seen too much, someone who might not have had a lot of reasons to smile in his young life.

“You didn’t have to tell me about that.”

He hitches a shoulder. “No, I didn’t. But I wanted to. A first for me.”

My heart swells to the point of bursting. I reach for his hand, and he welcomes it, gripping mine tightly. After a quick shake of his head, he turns on a heel and keeps walking. I stroll beside him, closer, as if he’s giving off a gravitational pull.

“How did they die?” I ask. I know. But then, I guess I want to hear it from him. Not to make him talk about it or relive it, but I guess because I want him to want to tell me about that, too. I want him to tell me everything. To trust me, and I want to deserve his trust. I swear to myself if he does, I won’t betray him. It’s not an option anymore. I’m in too deep.

He’s quiet for a beat. I look around the campus, and when nothing catches my eye, I look up at the now dark sky and the big, gray moon.

“They died in a fire. I don't really want to talk about it, though. Not right now.”

“That’s okay. But know that I’ll always be willing to listen if you change your mind.”

“Can we just walk for a bit?”

I shrug. “We can do whatever you want.”

When we get to his shared house, it’s almost empty. There are a few guys in the kitchen, and I see them as we pass, but they’re laughing about something and they don’t notice us. I think Ozzie will take me to meet them, but he leads me up the wooden staircase and to a door with a poster of Wayne Gretzky on it. I’m no hockey fan, but I know who he is. How could I not? I’m Canadian. He might be the only hockey player I can recognize in a photo. Ozzie opens the door and waves me in. I go ahead of him, surprised by the cleanliness of his room. It’s like everything has a place, and it makes me smile. Perhaps we have something in common after all.

The walls are gray and bare except for a few posters, all of hockey players. I don't know these guys at all, and I certainly don’t recognize the team jerseys or the teams each of them play for. He goes to his closet and sets his bag down. While he rolls his shoulders to shake off the weight of the bag, I stand by his bed. It’s made. I smile at this, too. Blue comforter with white sheets. The bed looks clean. Actually, his room would likely smell fresh if it weren’t for the hockey bag and a few pieces of his hockey clothes hanging up on hooks by the window.

“Did you want anything to drink?” he asks as he approaches me. His eyes look hungry, when he’s stalking toward me. Surely, when I told him to take me here, he thought I wanted him. And I do. God, even now when he removes his hat and his hair is wispy around his ears, I can't deny how magnetic he is. My body is drawn to him. It begs for him to touch me. These feelings are so new I’m unsure of what I’m supposed to do next. I’m not used to feeling so much for someone so I’m unable to differentiate want from need. Because right now I need him. The feeling is all-consuming and makes it difficult for me to focus on anything or anyone else. The only thing I can think about is satisfying my desire, something only him, and him alone, can do.

“I’m not thirsty.” My voice comes out husky. My mouth is dry and so are my lips. I lick them for moisture. It draws his eyes to them, and he does the same. I know what he wants, and he knows I want it, too. The question is, can I do this? Will I be able to go all the way? If he keeps looking at me like he wants to eat me, I don’t think I could say no if I tried.

“Why did you want to come over here?” he asks.

“I think you know,” I whisper.

He stops a foot away from me. His breath washes over my face as he looks down at me with his hungry eyes. “Is it too soon for you? I don’t want to fuck things up.” He touches a hand to my face, his thumb stroking the fading bruise and scratch on my cheek.

I don’t let him question me any longer, because the more we talk, the more chance I have to lose my nerve, and I want this. Now. I don’t want to talk myself out of it like I do with other things that make me nervous. I want to leap and worry about the consequences later. This is a first for me, and it’s significant. It hits me hard when I realize I am able to let go and allow myself to ignore the worry and anxiety in my head for him and only him.

I stretch up on my tiptoes and press a soft kiss to his lips.

“Say you want me,” he says. “Say it out loud.”

“I…” My cheeks heat and so does the fire in my belly. “I want you so badly. And I don't want to wait another second.”

He bends at the knees and raises me in his arms, pulling me in tight against him. I wrap my legs around his waist and cross my ankles, using my legs to pull him even closer. The bulge in his pants grows and rests hard against the tender flesh between my thighs. I wiggle against him as he plants a frantic kiss on my mouth. His hands move from my hips to grip my ass. He squeezes, and a moan escapes his mouth as our lips part for a moment. He walks forward to the edge of the bed and leans over to set me down. He lets go of me and straightens, looking down at me with a small smile.

“You’re beautiful,” he says.

For the first time in my life, I don’t shy away from the compliment. Instead, it empowers me. I crawl back on my elbows and feet so I’m near the top of the bed. When he pulls off his shirt, the taut lines of his stomach and the hard lines of his chest make my thigh muscles clench. There is a tugging sensation between my legs that causes me to gasp. Like lightning, electricity jolts through my body, setting my flesh on fire. I groan and hold my hands out to him, begging him to cover my body with his.

He puts his hands on the bed and crawls up to meet me. I wrap my arms around his neck, but after a quick kiss, he pulls away and reaches for the hem of my shirt. I help him remove it, lifting my back to make it easier. Unbeautiful Charlie makes an appearance, and I was doing so well! My confidence and desire dampen when I think about the stretch marks on my waist and chest from the weight I’ve lost. The thought strikes me hard, and I cover those spots with my hands. He grips my wrists and kisses my palms. He guides them to the sides of my head.

“You’re beautiful. Believe me when I say this. Every inch of you.”

If I wasn’t so hot for him, I might persist, grab my shirt, and decide I can’t do this. Maybe it's better to wait until I’m more comfortable naked with him. But honestly, that day might never come, and my body wants him more than my mind wants me to run away. My head has surrendered to him and my body. The fight is no contest. It wasn’t from the day he bandaged up my leg. I just didn’t see it right away. How could I?

He dips his head to kiss my collar bone, his tongue running along the gentle curve. He peppers me with soft, slow kisses, tasting my flesh as he works his way up to the side of my neck. When he returns to my lips, his hands roam, first brushing over the swell of my breasts before pulling one of my bra cups down to caress my bare skin. I let out a satisfied moan as I feel myself growing wetter still.

“I want this,” I say again. But this time, it's for me. It’s to stop my head from chiming back in, to make me think about the situation, about him, about the life I want and how hard it would be for him to fit into it.

He moans as his hands now slide down my sides and push between my back and the sheets. I arch my body to help him. He undoes my bra with a single hand and pulls it away with the other.

He leans his head back to look at my breasts, now swollen with desire. I put my hand on the back of his head and try to guide him to look up at me. But it’s out of self-consciousness, and he seems to sense it. He gives me a sweet, reassuring smile, and I heave a sigh and close my eyes. As if closing my eyes will prevent him from seeing the extent of my body’s flaws. He chuckles at me.

“It’s so sexy that you don’t know how hot you are.”

“I…I just…I don't have a lot of experience,” I say between heavy breaths. “And I…”

His voice is deep. “You see flaws,” he says. He runs his hands over my breasts and gently squeezes them, his eyes widening. “And I”—he bends to lash my nipples with his tongue—“I see perfection.”

I arch my back again as he pushes his erection against me. He’s so hard it’s almost painful, and yet it makes me hornier than before. I fumble with the belt of his jeans and finally get them undone, the buckle clinking against its metal loop. I unbutton his pants and reach inside to find he barely fits in the palm of my hand. I gasp, earning me a sly smile.

“Is this your first time?” he whispers between heavy breaths.

I shake my head. But it’s not far off. I run my hand along the length of him and feel his wet tip. I smear my thumb with his cum and slide it down his shaft, wetting him all over. He groans and moves his hips slowly, helping me reach the rhythm he likes.

“Just like that,” he says.

While I touch him, he cups my breasts. His cock twitches with excitement when he licks my nipples. He lets go of a low moan that almost sounds like a growl before he nips at them, the discomfort delicious and consuming.

I’m so wet, and I want to touch every inch of him. I want him deep inside of me. I let go of his shaft to grip the edges of my pants and panties. He helps me pull them down before sitting up and taking over. With his eyes on mine, I lay back as he slides them down my legs and over my ankles before tossing them to the floor. He breathes heavy as he eyes my pussy, my legs falling to the sides.

He pulls his pants down in a hurry. I watch him and he’s all too happy to let me. He touches his cock, gripping himself from base to end. I lick my lips and reach for him, and he leans forward to lay on top of me, settling in between my legs.

“I haven’t done this in a while,” I say, looking anywhere but at his face.

“We’ll go slow. I want you to feel good. Whatever you want, tell me, and I’ll give it to you.”

I offer a small nod as the weight of his lower body comes down on me. He holds my chin with his finger and thumb and kisses me softly. “Soft, slow, fast, hard, tell me.”

Ozzie reaches over to the drawer of his nightstand and pulls out a condom. He leans back to roll it on, the plastic stretching taut over his thickness. He’s so quick I barely see it happen. I hold my breath while he returns to settle between my legs, his hips moving around until his cock finds my slick entrance. My heart pounds in my ears and my body is on fire. I tip my hips up, ready, begging for him to just do it. To make me lose myself with him inside of me. He pushes into me, just the tip, and I release a gasp, feeling myself stretch around him. It stings a little but then he pushes in farther and it eases.

“Slow,” I say.

He kisses my mouth and then moves to my ear. His breath tickles me first before his lips touch me, his tongue teasing my lobe. His hot breath gets me excited. I grip his hips, and after I pull him in as far as he can go, I let out a satisfied moan.

He stills, but it’s not that kind of moan.

“I’m okay,” I whisper. “I like it deep. Just like this.”

I never really thought there was such a thing as a G-spot. I thought it was a myth, perpetuated by boys to make girls desperately work to find it, though many never do. But there it is, that sweet, electrical pulse. He’s pressing against it for all he’s worth, and my toes are curling in ecstasy. He pulls back, almost all the way out, but then slowly slides back in. He hits it again.

“Oh, God,” I say. “It’s real. It exists. It’s right there.”

He chuckles before his eyes go dark and sexy. “Did I ever tell you how good my aim is? And not just in hockey?” His words tickle the sensitive spot behind my ear as his lips brush against me.

I smile wide as he pumps inside of me, over and over, each time hitting my sweet spot as if his cock is the puck and my sweet spot is the net. If he’d talked about his aim before sex, I would have laughed at his cockiness, but I have to give credit where credit is due. This guy’s aim is flawless. I squirm underneath him, overwhelmed with desire and pleasure. I worry it’s too much. That I might actually pass out.

He picks up his pace and slams hard into me now, and I let out a scream as I feel myself climbing to a peak I'm destined to fall off.

He covers my mouth and winks at me. “I have roommates.” When he moves his hand, he silences me with a kiss, and he thrusts inside of me again, deeper than before. My eyes roll back into my head and my body shatters into a million pieces.