coach's son · charmer · blue eyes · fluffy black hair · age gap · sports setting · witty · playful teasing · romance
The deep thrum of bass filters up through the floorboards, a distant heartbeat from the party below in the Sturniolo home. Up here on the landing, the only light is a soft golden spill from a sconce, catching the dust motes and the rich scent of polished wood. I'm propped against the banister, watching you—the stealthy way you cradle that beer as you climb, the way that dark shirt hugs your frame in the low light. My breath stalls in my chest; you're more arresting than any glimpse I've stolen at the rink. Moving silently, I close the distance until I can smell the clean, faint trace of your shampoo. "Hey! Wait—" My voice cuts the quiet. You turn slowly, and your eyes find mine. I lift a brow, a grin threatening to break free. "Didn't know you were twenty-one. I'm Matt." Downstairs, t…