Chapter 6

Riley

I tiptoe across the cold hardwood floor, the early morning light shining through Amelia's living room, with a need to use the bathroom. As I see a shower come into view on my right, a sliver of an open door on the left catches my eye. My heart thuds against my ribs. Curiosity wins.

I peer inside, and it's like stumbling onto a film set—lights, camera, action, minus the crew. A backdrop stands against the far wall, colorful and vibrant, and the whole scene screams of an online production. Although, it’s the long green wig that sits on a foam head on a dresser that makes my heart drop to my toes.

My pulse races, forming a picture I can't quite believe. This is her stage, her platform. Questions churn in my mind, each one more invasive than the last. This is who Amelia Brooks is when the camera rolls.

I step back, the image burning into my memory. There's no unseeing this, no unknowing. But what now? Do I confront her? Do I pretend this glimpse into her private world never happened?

With a shaky exhale, I back away from the doorway, the weight of my discovery heavy in my chest as I walk back to the living room. Her breaths are soft and even, the rise and fall of her chest hypnotic, but I can't afford to get lost in watching her sleep. With a finger, I quietly lift my jacket from the back of a chair and slip it on. The last thing I want is to wake her.

The air is stale with the scent of last night's sexual chemistry, a stark reminder of the line we crossed. It's not guilt that gnaws at me—it's curiosity, mixed with a dash of disbelief. She's right there, so close yet worlds away with her secrets that I just stumbled upon.

With every step towards the door, I creep out of her apartment like a thief in the night—stealing answers to questions I never dared would ever be revealed.

Outside, the chill bites at my skin, and it’s sobering. The city is just waking up, unaware of the turmoil twisting inside me. I've played games on ice my whole life, but nothing has prepared me for skating on the thin ice of intimacy and revelation.

As I walk away, the image of Amelia, vulnerable and asleep, clashes with the vibrant, secret persona hidden just across the hall. I'm left wondering which version of her is the one I'm falling for.

I'm already in my car and halfway down the block when I pull out my phone. The green hair wig flashes through my mind again, and my dick jumps. Damn, Amelia is the woman behind that screen. She’s the same one who's been igniting my late-night fantasies since college with her sexy videos and that emerald allure.

"Shit," I mutter, thumb hovering over her contact name. What do I even say? 'Hey, so I know your secret and by the way, I've been getting off to it for years?’ Yeah, that'll go over well.

I take a deep breath, trying to steady my racing heart. Keep it simple, Riley. No need to dive into the deep end before you know how to swim.

Riley: Got called in early for a team meeting. Didn't want to wake you. We'll talk later.

I type out the few short sentences quickly. It's not exactly a lie. I do have practice later, but it's not the whole truth, either.

Sent.

I toss my phone into the car’s open console like it's burning hot. Now, the waiting game begins. Will she see through my vague excuse? Does she even care that I left without saying goodbye?

How can I look at her the same way, knowing what I know now? Yet, how can I pretend this changes nothing when, in reality, it changes everything?

Damn!

I'm gripping the leather of my steering wheel so tight my knuckles are white. It’s like I got slapped hard across the ice by an opponent that I didn't see coming and my head is ringing from the hit.

Could I be with Amelia? Really be with her? It's like asking if I can skate on blades made of butter. She's out there, revealing herself to strangers for cash and likes, and here I am, feeling like I've taken a slapshot straight to the gut.

A relationship means trust, vulnerability. How do you trust someone who trades skin for screen time?

The heated air blasts from the vents, doing nothing to warm the cold knot forming in my stomach.

Amelia doesn't know I've seen her channel, doesn't know she's the fantasy I kept close on lonely nights.

A surge of something twists inside me—guilt, maybe, or the sharp edge of desire. It's confusing as hell, like trying to read a play when your visor's all fogged up.

"Shit," I hiss, thumping my fist against the steering wheel. Could I really fall for someone whose body isn't just hers but a spectacle for the world? However, she's the same woman who laughed at my dumb jokes when we went for drinks and the one who looks at me like I'm more than just the hockey jock. She looks at me like I’m the one that can protect her and be there for her when she always looks to be so alone.

My car rolls to a stop in the parking garage of my apartment building.

Sex and secrets.

Great combo.

It's a line that might've made Amelia chuckle, but now it just sinks into the silence of my empty car. With a deep breath, I kill the ignition and step out into the cold, all while Amelia's unaware gaze haunts me from a memory I can't shake.

I slip my phone back into my pocket, the vague text sent to Amelia that's going to ricochet back at me sooner or later. I can almost hear the ticking of the clock, counting down to the moment she realizes I've seen her secret studio – the evidence of her double life.

"Damn," I mutter, staring at the reflection in the mirror above my dresser. The guy looking back is a tangle of contradictions: hockey captain, potential boyfriend, accidental voyeur. The green hair wig from Amelia’s studio flashes across my mind again and my stomach tightens.

When Amelia finds out I know, all hell's going to break loose. She's guarded for a reason. Her walls are high and strong, built brick by secretive brick. There's no way she's going to be happy with me knowing about the OnlyFans account that's been my guilty pleasure for years.

"Shit," I exhale, pacing through my apartment. My gaze drifts over the memorabilia from seasons past, each one a testament to teamwork and trust - two things I might've just completely fucked up with Amelia.

"Could she ever..." I trail off, grappling with the idea of us as an 'us'. A woman like Amelia, sharp and driven, with me – the jock whose teammates have bullied her each day at work. Those assholes don't see her like I do. They don't know her strength, her sass, her... everything. But that doesn't change the fact they're my team, and their crap behavior reflects on me, whether I like it or not.

I pause mid-stride, a sense of dread icing over me. If Amelia links me to those bullies by association, any chance of something real between us might just end up in the trash. I wouldn't blame her either.

I’ve got to play this just right. What’s the playbook for a situation like this? Yeah, it doesn't exist.