Page 2 of Break my Heart

But men’s locker rooms?

They always reek.

I hesitate inside the door, cocking my head and listening for signs of life. The steady drip of water echoing from the showers is the only sound that can be heard.

Thank God.

Dad would totally lose it if I walked in on the guys undressing.

For as long as I can remember, there’s been a strict no-hockey-players rule in place. It was never a problem because I was too busy skating to notice them.

I’ve been on the ice since I was four. After one of my coaches said I was a natural, my parents signed me up for private lessons. The next thing I knew, we were traveling all over the country. By the time I was twelve, we had uprooted our entire lives so I could train with a world-renowned coach. My life revolved around the rink—practice, competition—and little else.

Until last year.

I shove that depressing thought away as I swing around the corner and stumble to a halt. My eyes widen as I take in the naked guy with his back turned toward me. There’s not even a towel slung around his waist to shield the view.

Somewhere in the back of my brain, I realize I should retreat or, at the very least, stop staring, but I can’t pull my attention away from the sight in front of me. His back is broad and rippling with muscles, each one perfectly defined.

Before I can stop myself, my gaze dips lower. His ass is just as finely sculpted as the rest of him.

Tight.

Perfect.

Damn.

I suck in a harsh breath and almost choke. A coughing fit is the last thing I need right now. The noise is enough to alert him to my presence, and he swings around.

His green eyes lock on mine, and there’s a beat of silence as the air thickens with something I can’t quite place.

My heartbeat stutters.

And still, he doesn’t bother to cover himself. His eyes scan me lazily, as if he catches girls sneaking into the locker room and eating up his naked body with their gazes all the time.

Who knows, maybe he does.

His gaze never wavers as he lifts the white towel to dry his damp hair. The guy is completely unfazed that he’s stark naked, dripping, and on full display.

If only my reaction were just as casual.

Heat floods my cheeks, as if I’m the one who’s been caught without a stitch of clothing.

My eyes do the exact opposite of what I tell them to. They should be locked on his face, but no, they take a slow and thorough tour of his body. First, the broad expanse of his chest—all hard muscle and glistening with droplets of water.

My mouth turns cottony as my attention drifts lower. I can’t help but catalogue the ridges of his abs. There are eight of them, by the way. I swear, he’s got abs on top of abs. It would be difficult not to appreciate every contour.

My gaze continues to meander until arriving at his?—

Oh my God.

He’s shaved.

Completely.

There’s not a single hair in sight.

And yeah, I’m staring.