“What?” she asks, her gaze searching mine, looking for something, but I don’t know how to do things like this.

I just want her.

“I want to fuck you forever,” I say without thinking.

“Romance at its best.” She huffs out a laugh and moves away to grab a pop.

I exhale and sit up. “I don’t know how to say shit.”

She gives me a smile, and I stand up and look at her wall of Post-it notes, moving over the colors. She put a shitload of thought into it, working through her breakup.

I think about Willow, and all the letters I’ve written her.

“I had a girlfriend once, you know. Willow. She died in a car wreck right after my mom passed away.” The words just come out, and I feel a profound sense of relief.

Sugar freezes, her pop halfway to her mouth. I can feel her rapt attention, the heavy silence.

I hold myself taut. “She left a party because she was angry with me.”

“God, Z, that’s terrible.”

Emotion clogs at my throat and I blink rapidly. “I blame myself.” I rub my chest, touching the ache that’s building. “She was my first…” I stop and my hands clench. I look around the room, purposely not looking at her. “I ruined her life and look how good mine is. Look at…everything I have.” My voice is weird, and I clear my throat to cover it up.

Sugar moves and is standing behind me, her arms around my middle. “Accidents happen, Z.”

I drag my hands briskly over my face. I don’t know where this is coming from, because I never talk to girls like this and tell them about Willow, but my insides feel like I’m ripping them out. I have to get this out—or at least part of it. “She was a year younger than me, and I wanted us to work, but I was going off to college. We were going through some relationship stuff, and that night I was late to the party because I was out running in the park, just working shit out in my head, trying to figure out how to tell her—tell her parents—” My voice breaks, my scalp tingling. “She…she was pregnant.” I’ve never told anyone that but my family and hers. A cold sweat breaks out and the room spins. The oxygen is gone and I can’t breathe.

I tear at my neck, ripping off my T-shirt and throwing it on the floor.

“Z?”

Her voice is far away and my heart pounds, heavy and loud like a sledgehammer, and I’m sitting on her bed, holding my head in my hands. I breathe slowly in and out, and she’s next to me, her hand on my arm, fingers tracing the outline of my dragon.

“I’m sorry.” I push the words out on a gasp.

Her eyes widen. “Don’t be. What’s going on?”

“Panic attack. Not a bad one.”

“What do I do?” She frowns. “Tell me.”

“Just keep touching me, please,” I say. “Don’t…stop.” I need her next to me and I don’t even know why, but if she were to get up and walk away from me right now, I might flip out.

She leans in and does as I asked, continuing to trace the shape of my tattoo, across my left shoulder and down my back. I close my lids.

In and out. In and out.

I think about teaching her to skate, about her in my arms and how good it was. I told her to not be afraid to fall…because I’m falling for her…so hard.

Several minutes pass and gradually, my heart slows to a pace that’s halfway normal.

“Do you want some water?”

I take her hand. “Don’t get up.”

“Want to tell me about these attacks?” She touches my face, tracing my jawline, so sweet and gentle.

I exhale and tell her about the episode when we played Minnesota-Duluth. I explain how I lied to the media. “I’m worried Nashville will figure it out and ditch me. Can you imagine how they’re going to feel when they find out their number one pick has mental issues?”

I hear her thinking. “Are these episodes because of Willow?”

I shake my head. “The truth is, I’ve always been wired tight—maybe it just comes from being the best—and things get to me pretty quick. In the past, I was able to just push it away, but now, I think, really, this might just be me forever.” I pause, watching her expression. “I’m seeing a therapist. That’s why I haven’t been in class.”

“I see.” She kisses my forehead. “I’m glad.”

“I think with the NHL looming, I’m losing my cool, but my guilt somehow makes it worse. If she’d lived, I’d be a dad right now.”

She grows still, and my breathing deepens, worried. She’s seeing it all, all the ugly, awful parts of me, but I can’t stop talking.

“Maybe I deserve the panic attacks. It’s like God saying, You can’t have the NHL because you ruined her life.”

“You can’t blame yourself.”

“That’s like telling the night not to be black.” My voice cracks.

She’s got her entire body wrapped around mine, her legs thrown over my thighs, and she alternates between rubbing my scalp and tracing the dragon on my skin. She toys with the medallion around my neck.

I turn to face her, and her eyes are bright with unshed tears.

“Don’t cry for me.”

She shakes her head. “Ignore me and just keep talking. Tell me about Willow.”

I freeze, and here it is—the opportunity. I swallow. “She was pretty and outgoing. She wanted to move to Hollywood and be an actress. Everyone loved her because she lit up a room when she walked into it.” My hands clench in my lap, trying to work up the nerve to finish.

Sugar holds my gaze, sincerity there. “I’m sorry.”

I close my eyes. Sugar has a way of saying the simplest things and they are just right. She doesn’t have to elaborate.

I ease down to lie back on her bed, and several minutes go by as we hold each other. My head—shit, my brain is urging me to tell her the one thing I’m holding back, the one thing that’s going to slay her when she finds out…

But maybe she’ll never know, I think as my hand rests on her stomach, flicking her belly ring.

“Z,” she whispers huskily as she squirms under my hands, her voice breathy. “I’m not sure if this is the right time, but…”

I flip over until she’s underneath me and I’m lying between her legs, my jeans already tight.

She’s pliant, her skin soft as silk as I remove her camisole and expose her breasts. Soft and round and creamy, they quiver as she breathes, her gaze daring me to take what I want.

I trace my fingers over the outline of her face and kiss her, my tongue dueling with hers, dancing and sparring until the past is gone, until all I see in my head is her. “Fucking you is everything.”

“Poetry, Z. Pure poetry.” She gives me a hot look and licks her upper lip, and I groan and take her mouth again as she says, “Fuck me. Please.”

“I love it when you talk like that. I’ll never get enough.” I suck on her tits, palming them. “I had a physical after my anxiety attack. I’m clean. Are you on something?”

“I’m on the pill, and I’m also disease-free.” She bites her lip. “I got tested after I broke up with Bennett.”

“Don’t say his name,” I growl and shove down my jeans and fight with them until they’re finally at my feet. I give them a good kick off to the floor.

Looking back at her with her blonde hair everywhere, my body quakes, throbbing with desire.

“Julia’s working,” she says as I slide my hand inside her shorts and find her pussy dripping wet.

“Too bad. That closet was hot,” I say, watching her squirm under my touch. She’s writhing, biting her lip, and her tits bounce as she moves her hips to keep up with my finger moving into her.

I can’t breathe for the thought of my bare dick inside her. Fuck, this intensity with her is scary, so new, and what if I do it wrong? What if I messed up already from the get-go with my lie of omission?

“What’s wrong?” she says, and I come back and kiss her.

“I don’t want to scare you, but I want you rough.” I bite my bottom lip on purpose and give her a heavy-lidded look. I know she likes it. “I want to hold you down so you can’t move. I want to make you come hard while I fuck you…”

Her eyes dilate.

I suck her nipples, moving from one to the other.

“I like it.” She moans as I bite down. “Do it. Do whatever you want, but I refuse to use coconuts as a safe word.”

My cock jerks and I laugh.

“Put your hands up around the headboard,” I say, and she does, excitement flashing across her face. Naked, I get up and dig around in her closet, find the scarf, and tie her wrists to the bed. Slowly, I pull her underwear off and suck in a deep breath as I take her in, her body open and ready. My hand drifts down her skin, from the curve of her beautiful face to the tips of her toes. She vibrates and groans when I stroke inside her.

“Z…”

“Shhh, don’t say anything. Don’t move. Just let me make you come.”

She blushes and nods, seeming to get that I need dark and rough and different and then…then…she will always be mine. I don’t know why I think that, it’s just that she’s so ready for anything I want. I don’t normally engage in sex like this, but I’ve always wanted to, and when it’s with her, it means trust. She trusts me and that means something to her.