Oops! I'm Living With The Hockey Captain

Hidden Promises

“Drake, stop. You promised you wouldn’t cause a scene, remember?” I whispered urgently, clutching the front of his jacket.

I looked deep into his eyes, trying to convey both my absolute panic and my desperate plea.

"I just can’t stand watching him look at you like that, babe," Drake whispered softly, a confession that completely left me speechless for a second.

Did he just call me “babe”? My God, this man was testing every ounce of my patience.

“J-just go to the arena, Morvane. You’re already fifteen minutes late. Please?”

Drake stared down at me for a long beat. The wild, lethal flash of anger in his eyes slowly receded as he registered the genuine anxiety on my face.

He let out a slow, heavy sigh, then tilted his head down to press his lips against my forehead, his warm breath fanning across my skin.

“Focus on your painting,” he murmured hoarsely against my ear, giving my hip one last possessive squeeze before finally letting go.

He swept the studio with one final, bone-chilling glare directed straight at Julian, a look cold enough to freeze the entire room, then turned on his heel and strode out.

The second the heavy studio doors swung shut, a massive sigh of relief escaped my lungs.

I sank into my stool, facing my completely blank canvas. The girl at the easel next to me turned around, whispering excitedly,

“Murphy, you are insane. Nobody on this campus has ever managed to thaw Drake Morvane’s heart like that.”

I offered a stiff, nervous smile, my heart still hammering against my ribs simply because he’d called me babe.

“Yeah, well, I just found out his death glare can actually kill,” Julian’s dry voice rang out from across the room. I didn’t respond.

Even though I could still feel Julian’s curious, piercing stare on me every now and then from the corner of the room, I chose to ignore it.

I took a deep breath, picked up my brush and palette, and lost myself in the strokes on the canvas.

For the next three hours, my mind was hyper-focused on the colors and textures, completely drowning out the chatter of my classmates who were still buzzing about the hockey captain’s surprise visit.

By five in the afternoon, class finally wrapped up. Drake had shot me a quick text earlier letting me know his team was stuck in extra drills until late tonight to prep for next week’s semifinal.

He offered to have Ronald pick me up, but I politely declined. I knew how insane their schedule was, and the last thing I wanted to be was a burden.

I walked back alone through the streets of Toronto, which were just beginning to be blanketed by the crisp evening air.

When I unlocked the loft, the place felt eerily huge and quiet without Drake’s massive presence occupying the space. Today had been utterly exhausting; diving back into a relentless class schedule right after a chaotic break had completely wiped me out.

After a quick shower to wash the paint residue off my hands, I slipped into one of Drake’s oversized T-shirts, the fabric practically steeped in his signature scent of sandalwood and mint. I didn't even have the energy to brew tea or turn on the TV. I just collapsed straight onto his massive, soft bed.

The heavy scent of him lingering on the pillows and sheets felt like the most potent sleeping pill. Within minutes, my heavy eyelids fluttered shut, pulling me into a deep, dreamless sleep.

The soft rustle of sheets and the mattress dipping beneath a heavy weight slowly pulled me awake.

I stirred lazily, my mind still thick with sleep, as I felt a feather-light touch right on my forehead.

A pair of warm lips, accompanying heavy, ragged breaths, gently pressed against my skin. The kiss lingered long enough that my eyes gradually fluttered open.

Leaning right over me was Drake.

He had ditched his team jacket, left only in a sweat-soaked sleeveless workout top that clung tight to his broad chest and sculpted abs.

His messy dark hair was still damp, and his razor-sharp jawline looked worn out after hours of brutal training on the ice.

Yet the instant his piercing blue eyes met mine, a soft, incredibly relieved smile touched his lips.

“Hey,” he whispered softly, his raspy voice cutting through the quiet dark. “Sorry for waking you, Murphy.”

I blinked up at him, trying to assemble my scattered thoughts. “What time is it…?”

“Almost midnight.” Drake reached out, his rough, calloused fingers gently tucking a stray lock of hair behind my ear.

The fierce intensity in his eyes melted into a look so tender it felt like all his exhaustion had vanished the second he saw me in his bed. “I was creeping around looking for you earlier. Thought you hadn't come home yet.”

"I got home at six," I murmured, my voice soft as I held his possessive, gentle gaze. "Did your practice just end?"

"Yeah. Coach made us run ice drills three times longer than usual," Drake muttered, resting his elbow on the mattress as his broad frame leaned even closer.

“Honestly… the entire time I was out there, all I could think about was you asleep in my bed.”

I held my breath, my heart doing a quiet little flutter. “You’re such a smooth talker, Captain.”

“I’m deadly serious, Rose,” he murmured, closing the distance until his nose brushed my cheek, aiming to capture my lips in another kiss.

But just as we were a hair’s breadth apart, the sharp scent of fresh sweat, melted ice, and post-workout heat slammed into my nose.

The warm, romantic haze in my brain instantly evaporated, replacing itself with stark reality. My eyes snapped wide open, and I slammed both palms against his broad, sweat-slick chest.

“Drake, wait!” I gasped, shoving his massive body back with everything I had.

Drake’s brow furrowed, his movement halting as he gave me a completely bewildered look. “What?”

“You haven’t even showered, Morvane!” I squealed, a mix of laugh-amusement and total annoyance, squirming under his weight as I tried to nudge his unyielding body off mine. “You literally reek of sweat! Get away from me!”

Far from being offended, Drake just let out a low, deep chuckle that vibrated hard against my palms.

“I just worked myself to the bone for our future, Murphy, and you’re kicking me out of bed because of a little sweat?”

“Yes! Go shower!” I pushed harder against his chest, throwing every ounce of strength I possessed until he finally gave in and sat up on the edge of the bed. “Or you’re sleeping on the couch tonight!”

Drake towered over me as he stood up, shoving both hands into the pockets of his sweatpants while giving me an impossibly sexy, dangerous smirk.

“Fine. I’ll take a shower,” he drawled, his raspy voice practically dripping with hidden promises.

He turned toward the bathroom, but paused right at the threshold, casting one last burning glance back at me over his shoulder.

“But after this, Rose… you run out of excuses to push me away.”