5. Trevor

5

TREVOR

I didn’t plan to take so long in the shower, but I had to relieve the ache in my balls and jerk off. Twice. No way could I sleep beside Sophie, touching her, smelling her, and not want her. I hear the snores as I open the bathroom door. She’s asleep. Her pink glasses on the nightstand bring a smile to my lips. How many people have seen her wear them? I have the feeling not many, and that makes me happy. She’s on her side, facing the center of the bed. Her hands are sweetly tucked under her cheek. My bedside lamp is on and washing over her in gentle light, and my heart flutters. It must be heartburn. It can’t be anything more than that. This is a no-strings fling. Of course there are feelings, but there can’t be feelings . I slide between the sheets and turn off the light. I’m trying to decide whether to pull Sophie into my arms or give her space when she scooches toward me. I lift my arm, and she settles against me, resting her head on my shoulder and draping an arm over my bare abdomen. Her breathing has remained steady, and her eyes are closed. I think she’s still asleep. She has to be exhausted. I know I am.

This is my first time sleeping with a woman. I’ve had sex, of course, but I’ve never shared a bed and slept through the night, waking up next to my partner. This will be a first, especially since we didn’t even have sex or make out. I press a kiss to the crown of her head and close my eyes to let sleep overtake me.

* * *

The winter sun slants weakly through the window. I watch the sun rise over the Atlantic Ocean, a rare treat. I love living out in the woods, but there’s something about being near the ocean that brings me peace. Especially on January mornings like this, when the beach is empty, the quality of the light is muted, and there’s a dusting of snow on the sand. It’s magical.

I turn off my alarm before it sounds. No reason to break the peace with its annoying tone. Sophie is still cuddled up against me. My arm is asleep under her head, and I’m sore from not changing positions all night, but I wouldn’t disturb her for anything. I hope she slept well. My dick isn’t the only thing stirring, having her so warm and close to me. My wolf is stirring because he caught her scent. It’s hormones, not feelings. We’re both young, attractive, healthy wolf shifters of mating age. Nature is forcing me to take notice of her. But it doesn’t matter if I—as a man or as my wolf—find her attractive. We can’t be with her for anything more than a fling.

She and I cleared the air some, and I understand where she’s coming from. Her goals as a dancer are as precious to her as my hockey goals are to me. We both have a lot to prove, and we must work together to do that. We need to work in harmony to find our groove and win the Platinum Paw. I chuckle quietly to myself. Listen to me with all the dance clichés. Kennie and Randi would laugh their asses off if they knew my thoughts.

My chuckle must have roused her because a sleep-flushed Sophie sighs and cuddles closer.

“Good morning,” she says, her Irish lilt strong and washing over me like a gentle mist.

“Good morning.” Everything in me wants to lower my head and press a kiss to her strawberry lips, but I resist. It’s not only in dancing that I’m taking cues from Sophie. After what we discussed last night, I understand her need for control. I think if we’re going to be successful, I’m going to need to let her be the alpha in this partnership. Yeah, I give off an air of being easygoing and uncaring, but that’s not true. I like to be in control too. But if letting her lead is what’s necessary in this dance, so be it. It’s only two months, not forever.

A beautiful smile spreads across her face, like the sun coming out from behind a cloud. It’s glorious, and warmth spreads through me.

“Did you sleep well?” she asks.

“Um…yeah.” I hope that’s the right answer, and that I kept the inflection of my response neutral enough that it didn’t turn into a question.

The smile doesn’t disappear, and she nods her head in agreement, so it must have been an appropriate answer.

“Me too. Don’t tell my mother, but I think the beds here are even more comfortable than those in the Clardmore hotels.”

“Your secret’s safe with me.” Any and all of them.

Can’t help it, she’s irresistible. Slowly, I lower my mouth to hers, giving her plenty of opportunity to stop me. She doesn’t. Sophie raises her face to meet mine, and our lips cling sweetly. I don’t deepen it, just caress her lips with mine. I don’t rush it because it’s like watching the winter sun rise over the snowy beach—a rare treat I never want to end. My heart races but is also entirely content to let my body set a slow pace. Everywhere her soft hands flutter with gentle touches, my skin ignites with pleased fascination. It needs more, and so do I, but before I can take it, she pulls away. It’s my first good morning kiss. I’ve had dozens, probably hundreds, of good night kisses, but this is my first good morning. I’d be sad about what I missed out on, but I think because it’s with Sophie that it’s this pleasurable.

Sophie’s soft sigh as my lips lift from hers tempts me to go in for round two, but if I do that, we’re not getting out of this bed for hours, and there’s too much I need to do before dance practice this afternoon and my game tonight. She must agree because she wiggles out of my embrace and sits up. She squints toward the bedside clock before reaching for her glasses on the table and settling them on her nose.

“How long have you had glasses?” I ask.

“Since I was twelve or thirteen. When I started shifting, it became obvious I had issues with distance vision.”

I furrow my brow. “How does that work as your wolf? You can wear glasses or contacts as a human, you can’t do that as your wolf.”

She shrugs. “That’s why I say my wolf is decorative, not functional. She’s not blind or running into trees, but she wouldn’t get a driving license.”

That makes me chuckle. I’ve only seen her in wolf form once, but it made an impression. She’s gorgeous. I can picture her behind the wheel of a convertible with her silvery fur blowing in the breeze. Just like in her human form, she’s petite but powerful. No matter her shape or form, she’s beautiful and has a presence that commands my attention as both a man and a wolf.

“You’re okay with me taking a shower before we head to your place? I don’t want to slow you down,” Sophie says as she gets out of bed.

“Take the time you need, Soph, it’s okay. Do you want me to make coffee or something?”

She shakes her head. “I have juice in the fridge. Make some for yourself though.”

When I hear the shower turn on, I get out of bed and pull on joggers and a T-shirt before going to the powder room to brush my teeth. I grab a bottle of water and scroll on my phone until Sophie is ready. Then I open the door and sweep my arm in invitation for her to exit before me.

Pulling the door closed behind me, I try the handle to make sure the lock is engaged. It’s a habit. I always do things like that and checking the knobs on the stove. Making sure my sisters’ curling irons are unplugged. I know everyone thinks I’m a bit of a goof, but I’m a cautious person at heart. She hits the button on the elevator, and we head down to the pedestrian bridge to the parking garage where my BMW is parked.

Shifter males are usually taller and larger than the average human male, so owning bigger, heavier vehicles makes sense. But ever since I was a boy and first dreamed of being an attorney, having a flashy sports car was part of the image I had for myself.

Lawyers on TV always had the tailored suits and the sexy cars. My father is an attorney, but he deals with patents. If station wagons were still a thing, he’d drive one. Instead, he’s in a very reliable fifteen-year-old Honda that’s so plain and nondescript, it’s probably invisible to traffic cameras. Not that Dad would ever run a stop sign or speed or park illegally.

He’s been wearing the same suits for twenty years. “Function over fashion” is what I heard all of my life. It’s silly to buy new suits when the ones you have still fit. The classics never go out of style. Vanity is a sign of immaturity. Why pay twice as much just to look good? My BMW is my way of being my own man and fulfilling my human dreams more than catering to my shifter comfort.

No reason trying to explain that to my teammates. It would be something new for them to razz me about. They’ll claim it’s making up for an inferiorly sized penis or some nonsense like that. They share a locker room with me, and we’ve all seen each other naked. I have absolutely nothing to make up for.

“Are you excited to go to New York this week?” I ask as I drive us to my home.

There’s no stopping the grin stretching across her face.

“I am,” she says, doing a little bounce in her seat. “I’ve watched Ian do the contestant introductions and interviews as a pro dancer the past few years, and it seems so exciting. When I’ve been on the telly before, it’s just been for dancing, I haven’t spoken on camera. I probably won’t be asked anything at the announcement, but I’ve had media training. That was part of what I had to do to get the spot this season. Our meeting on New Year’s and our rehearsals will be edited, so less stressful.”

She gasps and puts her hand on my thigh. “You’re not camera-shy, are you?”

I cover her hand on my leg and give it a light squeeze. “No worries, I’m fine on camera. I’m comfortable with public speaking. I did mock trials and moot court in law school, plus interviews for the Devil Birds. We had media training too.”

She lets out a sigh of relief. I’m glad I can take that stress off her shoulders.

We arrive at my home without incident. I feed us, get my dirty clothes into the wash, and then we head to the studio in the barn to stretch and warm up. The last thing I need is to tear a muscle dancing so I can’t play hockey.

“Okay, ready?” Sophie asks. Her sweater is falling off her shoulder, and seeing the strap of the gray tank underneath and the creamy skin of her shoulder is distracting.

I could kiss that shoulder, nibble it where it joins her neck just to see what she tastes like. “Yeah, let’s do this.”

“Let’s start with the counts we worked on last night.”

Darn. Sophie interprets “this” to mean continuing to learn our first dance.

We try to get through the twenty-four counts that I successfully learned last night, but I can’t even make it past the first eight this morning to her satisfaction. She shows me the steps, and I do them. And I do them again. And again. It’s eight counts. I can count to eight quite successfully. But according to Sophie’s standard, the concept of numbers and counting must be completely foreign to me. Apparently I’ve never moved my body in any kind of coordinated manner. She’s getting frustrated, and frankly, so am I.

“How about we move on to the next eight counts?” I suggest.

“Why?” she says from inside her sweater. She’s pulling it over her head, so the words are trapped in the knit as her head emerges. “If you can’t get these first eight right, how are you going to learn more?”

I swallow the growl that wants to erupt and count to ten. See, I’m so good at counting to eight, I can add more to it.

“We can polish it after I’ve learned a chunk of it. If we wait until every piece is perfect before building on it, we won’t have a whole dance. Unless the plan is to do the same eight counts twenty times.”

Tiny fists get planted on shapely hips as she glares up at me. Her blonde hair is up in a ponytail, and her gray tank is molded to her high, firm breasts. but they look gorgeous with a slight sheen of sweat glistening on them. Wait, she’s glaring, and that’s usually not a sign of attraction. Focus, Trevor.

“Are you trying to tell me how to teach, Trevor?” Her Irish lilt gets more cutting when she’s angry. Maybe it’s the Scottish side of her coming out.

“No,” I respond as calmly as I can. If we’re both frustrated, I see this rehearsal going downhill quickly. I’ll take one for the team and swallow my annoyance. “I’m trying to explain how I can learn.”

She tosses her head, causing her ponytail to swish. It’s a good thing she’s short, otherwise I’d be getting thwapped in the face with it.

“I don’t see the point in building on a faulty foundation.”

The chuckle escapes before I’m even aware of it bubbling up.

She glares at me through narrowed blue eyes. “What’s so funny?”

I hold up my hands in a “no offense” gesture. “I’ve heard Mac say the same thing, and it was funny hearing Mac’s words in your voice. That’s it. And like I’ve told him, progress is better than perfection. The dance is a minute and a half, right?”

She nods.

“Okay, so we need a ninety second dance in two weeks?—”

“Ten days.”

I nod. “Ten days. So, teach me the dance in three chunks over the next few days. Then we spend the next week or so polishing it.”

Sophie’s head is shaking so hard I’m afraid it’s going to fall off.

“No! There’s no point in learning new stuff when you don’t know the old stuff. It’s like trying to teach hockey to someone who doesn’t know how to skate.”

I know she thinks she’s right, but she’s not. At least, she’s not right about the best way for me to learn this.

“Sometimes good enough is, well…good enough. It’s better to have ninety seconds of something than ten seconds of perfection and standing there twiddling our thumbs for the other eighty seconds. Can’t we at least try it this way, and if it doesn’t work, we’ll try your way next week?” I think that’s a fair compromise.

Her sniff of disdain shows she does not. “We probably won’t be there for week two if we do it half-assed like you’re suggesting.”

Now I’m getting pissed. “It’s not half-assed. It’s how I’ll be able to learn the dance. I’m doing the best I can.” I cross my arms over my chest. I took psychology in college. I know it’s a defensive posture, but damn it, I’m feeling defensive. “If I’m spending all my time doing this, I want to win. I’m not going to suggest something that sabotages us. It’s not like I asked for any of this. I was volun-told in front of a crowd.”

Sophie huffs. “Well, you weren’t my first choice, boyo, but I know Dec won’t do it.”

My brows lift at being called “boyo.” I don’t think it’s a term of endearment.

“I still don’t know how it’s going to work to learn dance routines in addition to hockey practice and games,” I say. Bitterness probably creeps into my voice. No matter how sexy the little blonde before me is, no matter how sweet her kisses, I should be on the ice, not dancing, dammit.

Her arms are crossed now too, but I’m not registering defensiveness. I’m distracted by the way her boobs are lifted and the top swells of her breasts are visible out of the neckline of her tank top.

“Fine,” she snarls. “We’ll do it your way. But you need to learn the whole thing in three days so we can spend the rest of the time polishing.”

* * *

After the stress of this morning’s rehearsal and having to endure Sophie’s endless criticism when I’m trying my best, the last thing I want to do is spend the afternoon practicing again in the theater with Nigel and Nasty, I mean Nancy, watching and filming every little misstep I make.

I was able to get the basic steps down in our morning practice, but it took so long I didn’t get any ice time to decompress before this afternoon’s practice. I need to be on the ice. It’s where I can let everything go. If I don’t get it, I’m all keyed up and growly. We’re filming where she starts “teaching” me the dance. That’s why we busted our asses last night and this morning—so it would look like I was picking up the steps faster. Best foot forward and all that bullshit. I want to be in skates and slapping a puck into the net. Not talking about hip movements and flowy arms.

“Flirt!” Nancy snaps, waving her clipboard. “Sophie, bat those lashes and ask him if he’s single. You know what’s expected of you!”

They expect her to act like a simpering idiot?

“So, Trevor,” Sophie says with a grin. “Are you single?”

Bat, bat, bat goes her eyelashes. Gone is the spunky woman from this morning with her ponytail and a fierce stubborn streak. This afternoon, Sophie’s made up with false eyelashes and hair that looks sexily tousled but somehow still sporty. She’s hot, but it’s so fake it’s leaving me cold. I’ll play a role in this charade.

Turning on the charm, I grin. “That’s how we’re going to start? Okay. I am, Sophie. Are you?” At her nod, I turn up the sizzle in my smile. “That’ll make dancing together all the more fun.” We gaze into each other’s eyes like we’re seconds away from getting naked.

“Great!” Nancy says. Nigel rolls his eyes behind her. Sophie shuts off the coquettish sparkle like it’s a faucet. If the dancing thing doesn’t work out, she should pursue a career on the stage. She can act. I almost believed she was attracted to me for a moment, not merely tolerating me as a means to an end.

Nancy gestures for us to move to the center of the room. We’re in one of the backstage studios in the theater. The winter afternoon sun is trying to bleed in through the windows, but it’s a losing battle. The icy wind off the Atlantic Ocean is rattling the glass. It almost sounds like a cha-cha beat. “Show him the first few steps, Sophie.”

Sophie does as directed, and I watch intently, then try them. Sophie and I discussed that I’m supposed to pretend this is new and make a minor mistake or two to start and then do the steps correctly.

We work our way through the first few sets of eight counts, and it’s the smiling, supportive Sophie whose hand I’m holding now as we do side-by-side work across the floor. She’s calling out counts, and I’m trying my best to dance to the rhythm of her counts—and now the beat of the windows. I can see the frustration flash in her eyes when I miss a step.

“Oops! Missed a step there, Trevor. Let’s try again. You’re doing a great job.” To the world, it looks like she’s smiling, but I know she’s gritting her teeth and probably wants to smack me.

Mercifully, rehearsal ends, and we confirm when and where we’re supposed to be for tomorrow’s cast announcement. We’re riding in Teagan Penhall’s chopper. We’ll leave at five in the morning and arrive in Manhattan an hour later. Allowing for traffic, we should be at the studio at half-past six for hair and makeup. The show’s costume designers will be there, taking measurements while we’re getting ready so they can start pulling basic costume pieces for us to wear during the promo shots we’ll do after the cast announcement. There will be meetings with producers and other staff and interviews with stations around the country. It’ll be a full day that will hopefully have us back home by dinnertime.

I’m going to miss hockey practice tomorrow. That’s annoying. With Mac not playing and Crosby moved up, we need to get reps in so we’re comfortably working with each other. Regardless of what I told Sophie, I do subscribe to the practice-makes-perfect philosophy with my hockey. I like to run plays until they’re second nature. I like to know my wingers’ habits so well I can just sense where they are on the ice and get the puck to them without looking. It’s kind of like dancing. When you rehearse enough and know your partner, you can reach out your hand and be confident they’re going to grasp it. That’s how I am with my teammates. It would be nice if I could get there with Sophie, too.