4. Rhys

CHAPTER 4

RHYS

Sausage and bacon sizzle in a pan, seemingly synchronizing with the music playing from the playlist Sage sent me. The cinnamon rolls fresh from the oven scent my kitchen with sweetness. My frittata is cooking in the skillet. The coffee's nearly ready. And Sage should be here any minute.

The sound of my front door opening then closing stops me mid-step between the refrigerator and the kitchen island, a bowl of mixed berries in hand.

"It's me," Jonas's voice calls. Of my three friends who have keys to my apartment, he's the only one who announces himself that way. He's also the only one who uses the key without bothering to knock first if he thinks I'm expecting him.

I set the berries beside the plates and mugs to the sound of his footsteps drawing closer. "I didn't think I'd see you this afternoon."

"Where else would I be?" He wanders into the room, wearing the purple hoodie he had on at practice this morning and orange joggers so bright they almost glow. "Smells like breakfast. But it's lunchtime."

"Sage likes breakfast foods." I adjust the heat on the front burner. A week has passed since I returned to the Metros, and I haven't seen him since we parted ways last Sunday morning, after the flight back from the games against Henderson in Nevada. Leaving him that day was hard enough to carve a hollow spot in my chest.

Jonas pours coffee into two mugs and passes one to me. "So what's going on there?"

"I like him."

"I figured that much out." He steals a strawberry from the bowl. "Other than the handful of hookups you've had, this is the first time in over three years you've shown an interest in someone. You've never cooked for anyone besides us."

I flip the bacon, nodding my thanks when he adds creamer and sugar to my mug. "He's sweet. And fierce. And so genuinely nice."

Perched on a kitchen stool, he sips his coffee. "You didn't have that with the last one ."

The last one, always said in such an ominous tone, although Jonas has never met my ex. Seeing Theodore on a short-lived TV series where he played a lifeguard and on a reality show where he was more cut-throat than kind was enough for my friend to form his opinion.

"I know." I didn't realize I'd been walking around feeling like I was teetering on a knife's edge with the last one until the relationship was over. Relationships shouldn't be emotionally and mentally exhausting. Hindsight and my friends helped me see that.

There's a knock at the door. At Jonas's raised brow, I lift my shoulder. "I gave Sage the code for the security door downstairs."

"Or it could be Quinn or Maxim."

"They're coming too?"

He blinks at me and frowns. "Why wouldn't they? You said you were making lunch."

"No. I said Sage was coming over for lunch."

"Yeah, with us." He nods. Then his eyes widen. "Wait. Was this supposed to be a date for you two?"

"Yeah."

"Oops."

"It's fine. Don't worry about it. Having you all here will be great." I don't want anyone feeling bad or guilty for something that was my error.

He springs to his feet. "Want me to open the door?"

"No, I got it. Can you keep an eye on the bacon?" I thrust the spatula at him, then hustle from the kitchen. When I open the front door, the sight of Sage makes my day a million times better. "You made it."

"Thanks for the detailed directions." Draped in that long, dark coat, he leans in, lifting his face to mine, and I fall into the kiss. He tastes like mint and smells like crisp winter air and faint traces of citrus.

When we part, the sound of Jonas whistling drifts from the kitchen. Shaking my head with a smile, I guide Sage through the entryway. "Jonas is here, obviously. And Quinn and Maxim are on their way. There was a miscommunication on my end. I'm sorry."

He slips his coat off. His black Henley hugs his fit form and dark jeans mold to his legs. His boots are the same ones he wore to the bar the first time we met. They still have faint traces of rock salt swirled over the leather. "It's fine. I like your friends."

I hang his coat beside mine. "How was practice?"

"Yanni misses you." Raking his hands through his hair, he grins. "He said to say hi. Practice was good. I took some hits in last night's game, so today's workout hurt more than usual."

My hands settle on his shoulders, squeezing and flexing in a gentle massage. "I watched that game. You dished out some hits, too."

"I did." Leaning into me, he slips his arms around my waist, pushing under my sweater. He doesn't slide beneath my thin tee, and I wish he would. I want to feel his hands on my skin. "I still can't believe you bought the streaming package for my games."

"Why not? I need to keep tabs on my former teammates."

Grinning, he kisses my chin. "You played two games with us."

"And had a few practices. And," I bend down to rest our foreheads together, "I'm a big fan of their sexy center."

"Sexy?" His breath teases over my lips.

"Very."

I slide my hand into his hair, angling his head to meet my kiss. His mouth is warm and soft, pliant under mine. He sighs, pressing closer. I could kiss him for hours.

But we don't have hours. We have an afternoon, and then I'm boarding a plane bound for Las Vegas, the first stop on our two-game road trip this week. It'll be another eleven days until our schedules mesh and we have the same evening free.

I ease back, smoothing the strands I mussed, and he leans into the strokes. "Hungry?"

"Starving."

A quick knock raps against the door, startling me, and Sage, from how he jumps. I open it. Maxim and Quinn stand side by side, as opposite as two people can be. Maxim, with his long dark hair and fur coat, sweeps forward, holding a box from a bakery. "Sorry we're late. Blame the croissants."

Beanie pulled over his short hair, dressed from head to toe in black, Quinn ambles in after him, pocketing his keys. "Hey, Sage. Good to see you again."

"Guys." Sage extends his hand. He gets a handshake from Quinn and a hug from Maxim.

I slide my arm around Sage's shoulders. "Jonas is in the kitchen."

"He better not have drunk all the coffee again." Maxim heads through the living room. His coat flows behind him like a cloak.

Sage leans his head on my shoulder as we walk, following Quinn. "I like your place. It's so bright with the high ceiling and tall windows."

The modern high-rise is a nice place I like well enough, but I mainly picked it because it was available and close to Jonas. "I never thought of it as generic until I saw your place. Yours seems more alive somehow."

His gaze skips over the dark furniture I chose for function and necessity. Fine pieces, but nothing special. "I don't think this is generic. It's classic."

I bump my hip into his. "Is that a nice way of saying boring?"

"Of course not." We reach my couch. Sage slows his steps, running his hand along its top. "This is soft, and so big you can stretch out. I bet it's great for watching movies. And that TV is massive. You must feel like you're a part of whatever's on screen. I love them. Perfect for a movie buff like you."

His assessment warms places within me I didn't know were chilled. He always makes me feel good. I press a kiss to the top of his head. "Thanks."

"We so need to do a movie night here."

"Whenever you want." Picturing us lounging on that couch, wrapped up in each other, I tug on his belt loop. "I liked our movie night at the hotel room."

He skates his fingers up my chest. "I did too."

We walk into the kitchen. My friends have made themselves busy. Jonas finishes transferring the food from the stove to the center of the island, Maxim unboxes the croissants, and Quinn pours coffee into mugs, topping off mine and Jonas's.

The three are so different. Quinn, with his gruff exterior, Maxim, with his flair for theatrics, and Jonas, with his fun-loving, golden retriever ways. I couldn't imagine my life without them. The mixup with lunch was a good thing because I want these guys, and Sage, to get to know each other. They know my past, and I can see Sage being a part of my future.

One song fades into the next. Sage's attention falls to the food and his eyes light up. "Cinnamon rolls? I love those."

Jonas sets the coffee creamer and sugar on the island. "We were told you like breakfast food."

Sage's mouth falls open and a flush of pink blooms in his cheeks. "You made all of this," he indicates the spread, "because I said that? That's really nice. Thank you."

Heat sweeps through me at my friends' scrutiny. I rub my hand over the back of my neck. My ears are stinging. "No problem. Um, everything's going to get cold. We should eat."

We gather around the island. Sage squeezes my hand and pulls me down for a kiss, murmuring his thanks again.

Seated across the island, Jonas catches my gaze. He raises his brows at Sage, then gives me an approving nod. I know he's thinking Sage is nothing like the last one . And I'm so glad.

Tearing into his cinnamon roll, Sage turns to me. "Are you feeling better now that you have some Metros game time under your belt again?"

"Took a bit to get the rust knocked off, but I'm back to my old self."

The two games I played last week weren't my best, as I got my timing back and adjusted to the faster pace of the game. I'm ready to make a difference again.

Jonas helps himself to a croissant. "We just get you back, and then we lose Linus."

Sage pauses with his next bite of cinnamon roll halfway to his mouth. "What happened to Linus?"

"Tore his ACL at practice today." Quinn forks up some of the frittata.

"Ouch." With a wince, Sage eats another bite. After he swallows, he looks at me. "Didn't he do the same thing two years ago? I remember something about that."

I think being distracted by Linus is the reason I messed up the invite to lunch. "Yeah, he did. Had surgery. Worked hard at rehab. I feel bad for him."

Maxim sips his coffee, then peers at me over the rim of his mug. "Other players have torn their ACL more than once and come back, playing for several more years."

"I know. But he'll be thirty-two. He's out for the rest of the year, and probably half of next season. He might end up retiring." I set another cinnamon roll on Sage's plate. "Now, we're down a good winger and teammate."

Quinn pours himself more coffee. "Everyone else will need to step up. Like they did while you were out. Losing you for half a season was a blow to our blue line's chances of creating offense. With you out, Pettersson and Orlov got more minutes, but they're negative offense players."

"Everyone needs to stop getting injured." I stab a blueberry.

Jonas steals a strawberry off Maxim's plate. "We haven't tried wrapping everyone in bubble wrap yet. I'll pick up some on the way in tonight."

Maxim elbows Jonas then steals a slice of his bacon. "Please don't. Because you'll end up using it for some prank and that'll set off another war. I'm still finding pieces of confetti in my car from the last one."

As Jonas and Maxim fill Sage in on the silly team shenanigans, I turn to Quinn. "The three guys who've repeatedly been healthy scratches lately need to do more, or why are they even here? We should send them down to the Slash for conditioning assignments and bring up some of their players."

Quinn nods. "It's being addressed. Coach had them stick around for meetings this afternoon."

"I'm not trying to take over. I'm just frustrated."

"It's fine. You want to win. We all do." He reaches over and pats my arm. He's a good team captain.

Beneath the island, Sage lays his hand on my thigh and lightly squeezes. "It'll be okay."

His encouragement helps. I cover his hand with mine, linking our fingers together. "Thanks."

The conversation turns to our upcoming games, then Maxim and Sage talk guitars and playlists while Jonas, Quinn, and I debate which restaurant we should go to for dinner in Vegas tonight. I wish Sage was coming with us. He's definitely playing better than the guys we have riding the bench, and deserves a chance to show our team what he has.

After my friends leave to get ready for the road trip, I give Sage a quick tour of the rest of the apartment, saving my bedroom for last because I still need to pack.

His gaze lingers on the bed, and my cock throbs at the thought of the two of us spending time here, and the many things I want to do with him. I subtly adjust my jeans. "Have a seat anywhere."

Ignoring the chair by the window in favor of the bed, he sits with a bounce, testing the mattress. "This is like a cloud."

He looks like he belongs there. I drag my smaller suitcase from where I left it in the closet after the away game in Chicago, my first one back with the team. "Good sleep's too important, and my old mattress wasn't cutting it, so I upgraded last year."

"I have a hard time falling asleep, even on game days when I know I need to nap." He stands and wanders to my closet, leaning on the doorframe, watching me choose a suit. "I like the blue one."

My hand stops on the navy checkered suit I bought before the start of the season. "This one?"

"Yeah. And that light blue shirt closest to it. They make your eyes seem even bluer."

I grab the hangers. "I need another shirt too, as a backup."

Lips pressed together, he studies the row of shirts before choosing a pink button-down and holding it up to me. "Done."

We bring them to the open suitcase on the bed. He sits again while I grab clothes for going out to dinner and the basics I'll need for the next few days, his fingers playing with the zipper tab, flicking it back and forth. "An extra dress shirt is always a good idea. Most of my teammates travel light, but I tend to overpack. There are too many just in case scenarios."

"Maxim's bag is huge. He definitely overpacks." I add sneakers and my toiletries kit. "But that's helpful if someone forgets something."

He gives me a self-deprecating smile. "That's what my teammates say about me."

"I'm only good if they need movie recommendations."

Laughing, he picks up my tablet and charger from the bedside table. "Don't forget these. Can't watch those movies without them."

"I won't." I add them to the padded compartment within the suitcase, then zip it closed. "That's about it."

Taking the hand I offer him, he allows me to pull him to standing. He slides his hands up my chest and loops them around my neck. "Text me later?"

Clamping my hands on his waist, I nod. "I will."

We watch each other for a moment, then lean in, closing the distance, and my heart thuds harder at the way he smiles as our lips meet. He tastes like coffee and cinnamon from the rolls, and his light citrus scent wraps around me, binding us tighter together.

His mouth slants, then opens under mine, parting in an invitation to take things deeper. The lick of his tongue against my lips is a slow stroke that revs my desire. Dipping in for a taste only stokes the need for more.

I take another, and another, skimming my lips over his throat, sucking on his lip, my blood thrumming with every groan and sigh. My hands travel under his shirt, sliding up the warm skin of his back. His firm muscles ripple as he arches into my touch.

Strong fingers caress the back of my neck, teasing circles over the skin, sliding into my hair as Sage takes control of the kiss. His back-and-forth switches between being timid and bold are dizzying and so sexy.

Breathless, we come up for air. I smooth his shirt, reluctant to release him, though I need to get going. "I'll text you when I get to the hotel."

Sage plays with my hair, his smile once again shy. "If Jonas really ends up bringing bubble wrap, I want pictures."

Laughing, I step back. "I promise. Come on, I'll walk you out. Don't forget the cinnamon rolls."

"Oh, yeah. I'll grab them." We head into the living room. He detours to the kitchen to snag the rolls we boxed up after lunch. I wheel my suitcase to the front door, then grab our coats from the closet and answer a text from my dad about what to get my mom for her birthday.

Sage returns, cinnamon rolls in hand. He slips on his coat, and after another kiss, he's gone.

I walk through the apartment, double-checking that everything's in order for me to be gone for a few days. On the kitchen island, there's a single cinnamon roll on a plate, and a smiley face scrawled onto a napkin. He must have done that when he came in to grab the rolls.

Smoothing my hand over the wrinkled paper, I know I'm in trouble.

It's only been two weeks since we first said hello. We both have scars and reasons to be cautious. Yet Sage has slipped past my defenses and is now on a breakaway straight to my heart.