Chapter 48: You’re actually curious about me now, Cap?

"Why?" Reid whispered, his chin resting right on my shoulder, his blonde hair brushing against my cheek. He tightened his grip around my waist just a fraction, pulling my hips flush against him. "I’m just watching the master at work. You’re tense, Cap."

I turned my head slightly, trying to create some distance, but the movement only brought his face closer. I could feel the heat radiating from his skin, and I knew, without a doubt, that a bright, telltale flush was creeping up my neck and flooding my cheeks.

Reid’s smoky grey eyes narrowed, a slow, knowing smirk pulling at his lips as he caught sight of my face.

"Your face is red, Evans," he murmured, his voice dropping into that low, intimate vibration that always made my knees weak.

"It’s the steam from the pot," I snapped instantly, my voice tight as I forced myself to stare straight ahead at the simmering beef broth. I cleared my throat, trying to regain a shred of my captain’s authority. "The kitchen is hot. Don’t get cocky, McCoy."

"Right. The steam," Reid chuckled darkly, clearly not buying a single word of my excuse.

He didn’t let go immediately, deliberately taking a long, deep breath against my neck, inhaling the faint, pine-tainted scent he had left on my skin before he finally released his grip and stepped back.

"Whatever you say, Cap. Just make sure the food’s good."

A heavy silence settled over the kitchen, broken only by the rhythmic bubbling of the beef broth and the faint hiss of steam escaping the lid. I focused entirely on stirring the vegetables, but my mind was spinning far away from the food.

Reid was incredibly talented. On the ice, he was a force of nature—fluid, aggressive, and possessed a hockey IQ that most veterans spent a decade trying to build. But beyond his raw skill, there were stories.

From what I’d picked up through the league’s heavy grapevine, his family was absolutely loaded. Old money, corporate empires, the kind of status where professional sports were looked down upon as a vulgar distraction.

Rumor had it they had fiercely objected to him playing ice hockey, wanting him to step into a pre-destined boardroom instead.

Yet, he had walked away from all of it. He went against his family, turned his back on a massive inheritance, and chose the grueling, brutal life of a professional athlete anyway.

I didn’t know if he did it simply because he was good at it, or if there was a deeper, uglier reason why he had fought so hard to carve his own path. Of course, it could all just be locker-room gossip. But standing here with him, the curiosity was a dull ache in my chest.

Slowly, I turned my head, my gaze shifting away from the stove until my eyes met his smoky grey ones. He was leaning against the island now, tracking my movements with that usual lazy intensity.

"I have a question," I said, my tone steady and serious, and it caught his attention.

"Fire away, Cap."

"Why hockey, Reid?" I asked quietly. "From what everyone says, you could have had an entire empire handed to you on a silver platter. Why go against your family just to get slammed into the plexiglass every week?"

Reid scoffed, a dry, sharp sound as he tilted his head. A snobbish, defensive smirk quickly pulled at his lips.

"What’s this? You’re actually curious about me now, Cap? I thought I was just the toxic rookie blackmailing you. Are we moving into the deep, late-night confession territory already?"

He was deflecting. It was obvious in the sudden sharpness of his tone, rattling off a bunch of arrogant nonsense just to avoid giving a straight answer, trying as hard as possible to act cool and unbothered.

I felt a sudden wave of exhaustion, my chest tightening as I turned my head away from him. My gaze fixed blindly on the kitchen window, staring out at the darkness.

"Yeah. Everyone has their secrets," I said, my voice dropping into a flat, distant tone. "Sorry I asked. It’s none of my business."

A quiet beat passed. I expected him to make another snide remark, but instead, the heavy sound of his footsteps moved closer until he was standing right at my elbow.

"It’s rare for the Cap to be curious about me," Reid murmured, his voice losing a bit of its defensive edge. He rubbed the back of his neck, looking away for a second. "And though I’m not really proud of what I’m about to say..."

Despite his words, there was a faint, unmistakable flicker of stubborn pride in the set of his jaw. He looked back at me, his eyes locking onto mine with a sudden, intense seriousness.

"...I’m going to tell you anyway," he said, leaning his hip against the counter. "You know, since we’re fuck buddies now."

I completely blanked my face, my hand freezing around the wooden spoon.

Fuck buddies.

I stared at him, utterly speechless. Yes, this little thing we have going can be called fuck buddies, but that was absolutely not how being fuck buddies worked.

The entire point of that arrangement was to keep things entirely physical, superficial, and devoid of any personal baggage. You don’t share deep, traumatic family secrets or explain your life’s motivations to someone you’re just using to satisfy your body’s base instincts.

But as I looked at the slight tension in his broad shoulders, I chose not to correct him. I kept my mouth shut, letting the ridiculous label slide, and waited for him to speak.

"You’ve probably heard the rumors, and most of them are pretty true, but my folks didn’t just object to me playing hockey," Reid started, his voice dropping into a low, steady pitch that lacked his usual theatrical arrogance.

He reached down, aimlessly tracing the edge of my marble counter with his index finger.

"They treated it like a disease. My grandfather built an international logistics firm from the ground up, and my old man expanded it. To them, life is a series of calculated investments, board meetings, and tailored suits. You don’t sweat in public, and you definitely don’t let people see you bleed for a living."