Asher’s POV
The apartment feels smaller with Blaze in it.
He stands in the middle of my living room, taking in the space with quiet curiosity. It's not much—a worn couch, a coffee table covered in hockey magazines, a small kitchen barely visible through the doorway. The walls are bare except for a single framed photo of my team from last year's championship run.
"Nice place," he says, and somehow it doesn't sound sarcastic.
"It's small."
"It's yours." He turns to look at me, that soft smile playing at his lips. "That counts for something."
I don't know what to do with my hands. Don't know where to look. Having him here, in my space, feels too intimate. Too real. Like crossing a threshold I can't uncross.
"You want something to drink?" I ask, just to fill the silence. "I've got water. Maybe some beer."
"I'm good."
More silence. The air feels thick, charged with everything we're not saying.
I need to get out of here. Need space to breathe, to think, to process the tornado of emotions tearing through my chest.
"I'm gonna shower," I blurt out. "It's been a long day. I need to just... wash it off."
Blaze nods, settling onto my couch like he belongs there. "Take your time. But don't be too long—I want one too."
Something about the casual way he says it makes my stomach flip. I retreat to the bathroom before he can see the heat climbing up my neck.
The hot water pounds against my shoulders, steam filling the small bathroom until I can barely see the tiles in front of me.
I've been in here too long. I know that. Blaze is sitting in my living room, probably wondering what the hell is taking me so long.
But I can't face him. Not with the memory of his body on mine still burning under my skin, his breath against my lips, the way I pulled him closer instead of pushing him away.
I press my forehead against the cool tile. My thoughts are a mess—Amelia, the almost-kiss, the way Blaze looked at me when I invited him up.
The bathroom door opens.
I spin around, heart slamming against my ribs. "What the—"
Blaze stands in the doorway, steam swirling around him like something out of a fever dream. He's already stripped down to his boxers, all tan skin and lean muscle and that infuriating smirk that makes my blood pressure spike.
"You've been in here for thirty minutes," he says casually. "Thought you might have drowned."
"I'm fine." My voice comes out strangled. I press my back against the tile, suddenly very aware that the only thing between us is a foggy glass door. "Get out."
"Relax, Ash." He pulls the shower door open like he has every right to be here. "We've got the same parts. Nothing I haven't seen before." His smirk widens. "Remember when we were kids? We used to shower together after practice all the time."
"We were ten."
"So?" He steps into the shower, water immediately soaking his boxers. "Bodies are bodies."
Except it is a big deal. He's standing three feet away, water running down his chest, and I can't stop staring. Can't stop tracing the lines of his abs, the V of his hips, the way the wet fabric clings to—
I snap my gaze back up. "What are you doing?"
"Taking a shower. Your water pressure is better than mine."
"Blaze."
"Ash." He reaches for my shampoo, lathering his hair. Water runs down his arms, his chest. "You're tense. I can see it from here."
"Wonder why."
He rinses the shampoo out, tilting his head back. The movement exposes the long line of his throat, and something hot twists low in my stomach. I press harder against the tile, trying to create distance that doesn't exist in this tiny space.
"You know what I think?" Blaze opens his eyes, fixing me with that warm brown gaze. "I think you're scared."
"I'm not scared."
"You're terrified." He steps closer, and I have nowhere to go. "You've been running from this since I got here. From whatever this is between us."
"There's nothing between us."
"Liar." Another step. Close enough that I can see water droplets on his eyelashes. "Your heart is racing. I can see your pulse."
His eyes drift down. Slowly. Deliberately. Taking in every inch of me.
I know the exact moment he sees it. The evidence I can't hide.
His smirk turns dangerous.
"Well, well." He looks me over, pausing his gaze lower and then it lifts back to mine, sparkling with something dark and delighted. "How far are you willing to go for that captain position, Ash?"
The words hit me like a punch. "That's not—I'm not—"
"Not what?" He's so close now. Close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off his body, mixing with the steam. "Not hard right now? Not standing in the shower with me, clearly enjoying the view?"
"Fuck you."
"Is that an offer?"
I shove at his chest, but he catches my wrists. Pins them against the tile on either side of my head. Water cascades over us both, and suddenly we're sharing breath, sharing space, sharing something I don't have words for.
"Let me go," I manage.
"Do you actually want me to?"
No. The answer screams through me, terrifying in its certainty. No, I don't want him to let go. I want him closer. I want—
"I'm not gay," I whisper. The denial sounds weak even to my own ears.
"Okay." Blaze doesn't move. Doesn't release my wrists. Just holds me there, pinned and panting. "Then what are you?"
"I don't know." The words crack open something in my chest. "I don't know, okay? I don't know what I am or what I want or why I can't stop thinking about—"
"About what?"
You. The word lodges in my throat, too terrifying to speak.
"Tell me to stop." Blaze's voice is rough now, stripped of teasing. "Tell me to stop and I will. I'll walk out of this shower and we'll pretend this never happened. But you have to say it, Ash. You have to mean it."
I open my mouth. The word won't come.
His eyes search mine, finding whatever answer I can't give out loud. Something shifts in his expression—relief, hunger, something softer underneath.
"That's what I thought," he murmurs.
Then his hand slides down. Past my wrist. Past my hip. Lower.
I gasp, the sound swallowed by the rush of water. My head falls back against the tile as his fingers wrap around me, sure and steady and devastating.
"Still not gay?" Blaze whispers against my ear.
"Shut up." It comes out strangled, wrecked. "Just—shut up."
He laughs, low and dark, and starts to move his hand. Slow at first. Testing. Learning what makes me gasp, what makes me shudder, what makes my hips jerk forward seeking more.
"God, you're beautiful like this." His lips brush my jaw, my throat, the sensitive spot below my ear. "All that control finally cracking. All those walls coming down."
I should stop this. Should push him away, remember all the reasons this is a terrible idea.
Instead, I moan his name.
His grip tightens. His pace quickens. I'm unraveling under his hands, and I can't bring myself to care.
"That's it." His voice is rough. "Let go, Ash. I've got you."
The same words from the supply closet. I've got you.
Something snaps. The last wall I'd been hiding behind.
I come undone with his name on my lips, pleasure crashing through me in waves. He works me through it, hand gentling, lips pressed to my temple.
When I finally come back to myself, Blaze is watching me with an expression I can't read.
"Still think there's nothing between us?" he asks softly.
I don't have an answer. Don't have words for what just happened, what it means, where we go from here.
All I know is that everything has changed.
And I'm not sure I want to go back.