6. Jessica
Chapter six
Jessica
I can’t believe what just happened.
I’m still standing in the living room, breathless, my skin tingling in the aftermath of what we just did.
Sex with Eric was not something I thought would be more than a fantasy I used when touching myself. Immediately, I feel like this was a mistake. A handsome, sexy, but reckless mistake. Sure, he’s handsome and hot. But we both work for the Avalanche. This is all wrong. I wonder what he is feeling or thinking as he steps back from me, and I release my grip on the couch.
My lips feel swollen, my pulse is still racing, and Eric… Eric is a tall presence that radiates sex appeal just a few feet away, the same guy who, minutes ago, had me holding onto the back of the couch for dear life while he made my body come alive.
I’m not sure what to say or even how to act. We’ve kissed before and touched, but that… that was a whole different type of intimacy. That was way more than a kiss, and the fact that we’re silent and already sort of pretending like none of this is affecting us is, well, awkward for me. I wish we could stay in fantasy land and have sex every day, but we can’t. My job could be at risk now. I scold myself, wondering how I let it get to this.
Eric is already getting dressed, pulling on a t-shirt with his back to me, and I realize I should probably do the same before I start to feel even more exposed. I grab my sweater from the back of the couch and slip it over my head, my mind racing, replaying everything that just happened.
The holiday music I’d put on earlier feels too happy, too bright… too innocent. And right now, I feel anything but that last part.
I glance over at him, and to my surprise, he doesn’t look nearly as conflicted as I feel. In fact, Eric looks almost… calm. That’s probably what bothers me the most right now. How is he so collected while I’m standing here with my heart still racing, uncertainty clawing at me?
Right when I think I’m going to have to fill the silence, there’s a loud rumble from outside, and I squeal, zipping up my jeans fast. The sound of a truck pulling up catches both of our attention.
“Are you expecting anyone?” Eric asks, moving toward the window. I bite my lower lip when he takes a hand and brushes it over my arm when he walks by. Does he care… or is he just thanking me for a good time?
The questions are already starting. I know they’ll plague me for days if I don’t just ask him what he thinks about the sex we had. I sigh. Now is not the time. There’s a huge truck of some sort out front.
I follow him, looking out just in time to see a huge moving truck backing into the driveway. The timing couldn’t be worse… actually, it could. My heart stutters for a second as I picture the movers showing up just ten minutes earlier… I definitely dodged a bullet there.
Eric pulls out his phone and opens his emails, clearly frustrated. “There’s been a mistake. The movers were supposed to drop all my stuff off at the storage unit I got in Denver, not here.”
I watch as he walks outside, leaving the door open behind him. I take a deep breath, trying to regain my composure before I follow him out. The cold air hits me like a slap to the face, which is exactly what I need right now to keep myself feeling in control of my emotions.
The November wind bites through my sweater, and I hug my arms to my chest. The driveway is covered in a thin layer of frost, and the sky teases the possibility of snow. It’s invigorating. My breath hangs in the air, swirling in little puffs, and I wonder how Eric is handling it, coming from Nashville, where the winters are so much milder.
Eric is already talking to the movers, his tone firm but polite in that way people who are used to calling the shots have.
“I’m sorry, man,” the lead mover says, rubbing his gloved hands together. “Our paperwork says to drop everything here. We didn’t get any info about a storage unit.”
Eric doesn’t miss a beat, his decision quick. “No problem. I must have put the wrong address into the system. Let’s do this fast so you two can get out of the cold. Stack everything but the clothes boxes in the garage for now. I’ll figure out the storage situation later.”
The mover nods, clearly relieved that Eric isn’t giving him a hard time. “Sure thing. Where do you want us to start?”
Eric glances at the driveway, assessing the situation. “Let’s start with the boxes marked ‘fragile.’ Those go in the far corner. Anything else—clothes, shoes, whatever—just stack it along the left wall. We’ll keep the right side open for Kathy or Bill’s car, in case they need to park here.”
The movers nod, following his lead. Eric’s quick thinking and calm demeanor stand out to me, and I can see why he’s not just a star athlete but also a natural leader on the ice. Even in this unexpected situation, he’s calm as a cucumber. And honestly, it’s more than a little sexy to see a man in control like this.
I stand there, my arms wrapped around myself, watching him as the movers begin unloading the truck. His breath puffs in the cold air as he gestures toward the garage, organizing everything like he’s done this a million times before. The more I watch him, the more I realize that Eric is used to taking charge, used to being the one who people look to for direction. Even outside of hockey, it’s just who he is.
It makes his silence after sex that much more disturbing. Why isn’t he leading us into a conversation about it? Am I expecting too much?
After about an hour, the last of the boxes are stacked in the living room and the garage. Eric tips the movers, thanks them, and walks back toward the house. He pauses on the steps, glancing over at me. “I didn’t mean for all this to end up here,” he says. “I’m glad they didn’t show up earlier this week when I was out of town and you were here alone.”
I blink at him. Is he being considerate of me? Even protecting me?
“I’ll get it moved to storage as soon as I can.”
I shake my head. “It’s fine. Just keep it in the garage for now. We can deal with it after the holidays.”
I realize my Freudian slip too late. I’m implying we will be living here together for another month. If he notices it, he doesn’t say anything.
He holds the door open. I follow, closing the door behind me as I face the couch… the living room… and try to push the image of what we just did in this very space out of my mind.
We’re back to being roommates. I can feel it in our energy. That’s all this is. Just roommates.
But even as Eric casually and without comment about sex starts sifting through one of the boxes marked “Clothes,” I know that we’ve crossed a line that we can’t take back.
“Want some help?” I ask, trying to act as casual as possible. As low maintenance as possible.
He looks up, surprised for a second, but then gives me that easy grin of his. “Sure, sunshine. Why not.”
I kneel beside him and start unpacking one of the smaller cardboard moving boxes. Inside are a few well-worn t-shirts, a couple of pairs of jogging pants, and what looks like an old family photo album. I pull the album out carefully, glancing at Eric.
“I think this is a bit fragile,” I say, holding it up.
His expression changes instantly. There’s something in his eyes—a hesitation I haven’t seen before, accompanied by a sigh. He takes the album from my hands like it’s precious, like it’s something he hasn’t touched in a long time… like it’s something he’s not sure he wants to see right now.
“I haven’t looked through this in years,” he says with an attempt at a smile, flipping the cover open.
I move back to give him some space, watching as he turns the pages slowly, his gaze lingering on the old photographs. I can tell these memories mean something to him, but there’s a distance in his eyes, like he’s trying to keep himself from feeling too much.
After a few minutes, I notice his fingers pause on a photo of a woman, probably from the 1980s, her hair big and styled in that over-the-top way everyone wore back then. There’s something scribbled on the back of the photo, but I can’t make out what it says from where I’m sitting.
Eric closes the album abruptly, his expression hardening. “I’ll put this away later,” he says, his voice tense. It’s clear he doesn’t want to talk about it, so I don’t push.
Instead, I stand up and stretch, trying to shake off the awkwardness that keeps piling up on this day. “I’ll make us some hot chocolate,” I offer. “I’m still freezing from earlier outside.”
He nods, but his mind is somewhere else. I can see it in the way his jaw is clenched, the way his eyes are distant, even as he watches me walk into the kitchen.
While I prepare the hot chocolate, I can’t help but think about how much I don’t know about Eric. I know the basics—he’s an incredible hockey player, he’s been through some tough losses, and he’s dealing with more than he lets on with this mid-season trade deal. But what I don’t know is what makes him tick. What’s behind the hard exterior and the easy charm he shows to the world?
When I come back into the living room, two mugs of steaming hot chocolate in hand, Eric is sitting on the couch, staring at the fireplace like it holds all the answers. I hand him a mug and sit down beside him, careful to keep some space between us. After what happened earlier, I’m not sure how to act around him. That’s mostly because I don’t know how I feel about the sex we shared.
He takes a sip of the hot chocolate and glances at me, his expression softening just a little. “Thanks,” he says quietly.
I nod, wrapping my hands around my mug for warmth. “So, I read somewhere that you lived with your grandparents, right? Did your grandparents always go all out with the Christmas decorations?” I ask, trying to steer the conversation back to something pleasant.
A small smile softens his lips, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah, they did. My grandma especially. She was the best, and man, she loved Christmas. It was her favorite time of year.”
His voice is soft, almost wistful, and I can tell that the memories of his grandparents are still fresh for him, even though I believe they passed away years ago. He doesn’t mention his parents, though, and I notice that he hasn’t talked about them once since we met.
“What about your parents?” I ask gently, hoping he might open up a little more.
Eric’s expression is guarded again, and I instantly regret asking. “They died when I was a kid. I don’t really remember them.” He smiles that fake smile public figures use when they have to seem pleasant. “I’m just glad I had family to raise me, my grandparents.”
I can definitely tell he doesn’t want to talk about it, so I don’t pursue the topic. Instead, I let the silence settle between us, sipping my hot chocolate and wondering if I’ll ever really get to know the person behind the hockey star.
After a few minutes, I decide to share a little of my own story. Maybe it’ll help make things less awkward. “My dad… he’s always been a tough guy to impress,” I say, keeping my voice casual, like it’s no big deal. “He’s an entertainment attorney, so he’s used to working with big names and celebrities. Nothing I do ever seems good enough for him.”
Eric glances at me, his eyebrows raised in surprise. “Really? But you’re coming from NYC, so I just assumed”
I shrug, trying to downplay it. “Assumed that working for a good firm in the Big Apple would be enough for him?” I laugh harshly, then nudge him with my shoulder to soften my attitude. “Wishful thinking. It is what it is, right? You can’t force people to change. But yeah, it makes the holidays a little… complicated.”
Before Eric can respond, my phone buzzes on the coffee table and I glance at the screen. It’s my dad. Of course. His timing is weirdly perfect in the worst way.
I decline the call, feeling a little embarrassed, but Eric doesn’t say anything. He just watches me, his expression unreadable.
“Your dad?” he asks the obvious, his voice low.
I nod, setting my phone down. “Yeah. He calls to check in, make sure I’m doing everything ‘up to his standards,’ especially with this new job. Working for an NHL team is a big deal.” I say it with a laugh, but there’s a bitterness in my tone that I can’t quite hide. My words make me realize again that I made a really big mistake by having sex with one of the NHL’s more popular players.
Eric doesn’t ask any more questions, and for that, I’m grateful.
Instead, Eric stands up. “I should probably unpack some more of those boxes,” he says. “I’m going to head out to the garage and see what’s all out there.”
It’s an excuse to be alone, and I feel the same way right now. I nod, watching him as he walks toward the garage, his broad shoulders tense. There’s so much more to him than I ever realized, and now he knows there’s more to me too.