The sun was still high in the sky as I exited the studio building with Juliette and Elodie, the crisp spring air brushing against my flushed skin. The lingering scent of sweat clung to my clothes, urging the need for me to go home so that I could take a shower. My duffel bag swung against my hip as we strolled down the sidewalk, our chatter spilling into the street like music.

"That new section you added to the choreography? Chef's kiss," Juliette said, throwing a dramatic hand gesture into the air. "It's exactly what the piece needed."

Elodie nodded, her ponytail swaying as she smiled. "Seriously, Celeste, it's like a whole new dance now. Where did the idea come from?"

I shrugged, trying to play it cool, but warmth spread across my cheeks. "I don't know. I guess... I've just been feeling more in tune with everything lately."

Despite my surprise, living in a house with a bunch of hockey players had done a lot of good for me. They dragged me out of the shell I hadn't realized I'd been hiding in. There was a freedom in the way they existed—loud, unfiltered, unapologetic. It had seeped into my dancing, giving me a sense of ease and confidence I hadn't experienced in a very long time.

Especially around Maverick.

The thought of him made my stomach flutter, an unwelcome warmth settling in my chest. He was the reason I'd been pushing myself so hard lately, both on the dance floor and in life. He had started coming out of hiding recently, making the house feel more like it once did. The way he'd handled the accusations from Mila, the way he carried the weight of it without letting it crush him, had only solidified how much I cared for him.

And that was the problem.

During my confrontation with Mila at the Underground, I realized something. I wanted more. I wanted him. But I was well aware of Maverick's philosophy on dating and I wasn't sure how to bring it up. I needed advice. Insight from people that weren't drowning in the situation like I was. Eden carried a bias that made me assured in what her answer would be. After what had happened with Miles, I didn't want to bring up my boy troubles with Juliette and Elodie either. I didn't want to give them another reason to worry.

So while the girls next to me chatted, I simply nodded along with a smile. If I was going to take a chance with Maverick, I would just have to dive in head first.

When I walked through the front door later on that day, the house was quiet, save for the faint hum of the heater kicking on. My runners thumped against the carpet as I set my bag down.

"Anyone home?" I called, hearing the rummaging coming from the kitchen.

I followed it, my heart skipping a beat when I saw Maverick standing by the stove, his broad shoulders were facing me. The material of his black T-shirt hugged the relaxed muscles as he searched for something in the open fridge. I took a moment to silently appreciate the canvas that was his skin. Now that the weather was warming up, I had the pleasure of appreciating the ink that covered his arms in a location other than his bedroom.

His hair was still damp from a recent shower, curling slightly at the ends. He peered over his shoulder when I entered, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Hey, twinkle toes. How was class?"

"Productive," I said, leaning against the counter. "I think I finally figured out what the routine was missing for the upcoming recital."

"Good," he replied, his tone easy. "Gotta make sure you're the star of the show."

I rolled my eyes, but the warmth in his voice made my stomach flip. "What are you looking for? Because if it's milk, Booker finished the last cartoon this morning."

"Leftovers," he said, pulling a container of chicken from the shelf and setting it onto the counter. "Figured I'd eat something before heading to class. Want some?"

I offered him a sweet smile as payment for his kind deed. "Please."

Maverick slapped the leftovers into a pan, cranking up the heat on the stove. Figuring I would make myself useful I collected a couple of plates and set up some spots for us to eat on the island. Within minutes my stomach was growling at the scent that swirled around the kitchen. He brought the pan over and I had to hold myself back from clapping. Practice often had me feeling like I hadn't eaten in days.

We settled into our seats, the quiet between us comfortable as we started eating. Since Hendrix's concussion, each of us had been taking turns in the kitchen. Last night, Easton tried his hand at cooking. The food was simple—chicken and rice—but it was a whole world of difference from the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches Booker had made earlier in the week.

As I stuffed my fork into the mound of rice, I glanced up at Maverick, my chest swelling at seeing him out of his room. His thick, black lashes swooped as he peered down at his food, jaw flexing with each bite. Maverick Sousa was handsome. The kind of handsome that book girlies all over the internet used as a face claim for their book boyfriends.

But over the course of me moving into the Hockey House, I had come to realize he was so much more than the pretty face that other women fawned over. He was blunt and easily irritated. He was cocky and often acted like a chauvinistic pig. He was also thoughtful and charming. He was reliable and sweet. Not to mention that he was awfully good with that mouth of his. My gaze drifted down to his full bottom lip.

"Do I have something on my face?" Maverick asked, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand.

And very perceptive.

I tilted my head, rolling my lips. "Can I ask you something?"

He held eye contact, his eyes narrowing in curiosity. "Shoot."

I hesitated, my fingers tightening around the fork. "Why do you have that 'no dating' rule?"

Maverick's thick brows furrowed, and he leaned back, considering me. "I just don't think I'd be a good boyfriend," he said finally.

"Why not?" I pressed, stuffing another bite of chicken in my mouth to keep myself from arguing.

He shrugged. "I'm not cut out for it. I've got enough on my plate with hockey, and if I make it to the NHL, I don't want to be tied down. Relationships are... complicated. Women are complicated." Then he paused for a moment before saying, "No offence."

I bit my lip, my chest tightening. "Not even if you found someone worth building a relationship with?"

Maverick scoffed as if I had said the funniest thing in the world. "After all this shit with Mila, I don't think I'll ever want to be in a relationship."

He had every right to feel jaded. Miles had made me believe the worst in myself for the better part of a year. When I left him I was under the impression that I would never find a man who woke up every morning and chose me. I was nothing special.

And maybe that's why I was sitting there with a luke-warm plate of chicken in front of me, pining for Maverick's approval.

I bit my lip, my chest tightening. "Not even with me?"

The words were out before I could stop them.

Maverick's eyes were a kaleidoscope of emotions; surprised then softened before they hardened to his usual burnt espresso colour.

"Celeste..."

"Forget I mentioned anything," I rushed out, forcing a smile as I stood and grabbed my plate. I carried it to the garbage, scraping what was left before setting it into the sink. The clatter of porcelain against metal broke the silence.

"Where are you going?" he asked, his voice following me as I grabbed my bag from the floor.

"Back to the studio," I said, not turning around. If there was pity anywhere on his face I don't think I'd be able to take it.

"Celeste—"

I didn't wait for him to finish. The door clicked shut behind me, the cooling air biting at my skin as I jogged down the steps and away from the Hockey House.

_ _ _ _ _

author's note:

Dun, dun, dunnn. I think we needed a little more drama, didn't you? On a serious note, what are you hoping happens next? I'd love to hear your thoughts.

Happy reading!