Chapter 20
BENNETT
Back at my condo, I crash into bed, still dressed and frustrated.
We can’t afford reckless.
Tori’s voice echoes in my head, a clear warning.
Bro — reckless is my middle name. It’s who I am. It’s what I do.
And how I got myself into this mess in the first fucking place.
Ugh. Why is she always right?
It’s a very annoying trait.
I reach down and rub my rock-hard cock, pulsing and insistent in my sweats.
Fuck it.
Freeing my cock, I take a few long strokes. Close my eyes and picture a naked Tori beneath me.
Her thick fringe of lashes as she gazes up at me, pupils blown. The pink creeping up the long, delicate column of her neck. That fucking freckle that tastes like heaven. Her deep red lips parting on a sigh when I kiss her.
God, she’s beautiful.
Perfect.
That sexy lace bra. White because — of course.
I pump my cock, muscles coiling tight. I want her here, right now.
Naked in my bed beneath me. Her perfume’s still on my skin, the expensive floral scent winding around me.
I fist my dick and move faster. Think about her tight, wet pussy sliding up and down my shaft.
The quiet little noises she’d make as she tried — and failed — to stay in control.
Zero fucking chance.
I’ll undo her so fast she’ll be screaming my name like a motherfucking mantra.
My lower abs tighten as I work my dick, up and down. Harder. Faster.
I want you to finish what we started.
I keep pumping, eyes screwed shut, chasing my relief.
None comes.
Dissatisfied, I puff out a breath and flop my arm down by my side.
Dammit.
I’m too worked up and in my head to even get off.
Fuck my life.
I stare at the ceiling for a long time, my breathing fast and shallow. This is a very big problem.
I’m not like this.
I love-em-and-leave-em. I don’t do feelings, I don’t do relationships.
And I sure as hell don’t do careful and controlled.
But I don’t want to fuck this thing up.
I actually like Tori.
Shit.
That thought lands hard in my solar plexus.
I don’t just want her — I like her. Her sassy mouth, those sharp retorts, teasing her and pushing all her buttons.
But also the way she looks at me. Like I’m more than a one-night thing.
Levering up on my elbow, I grab my phone and google ‘flower shop near me.’ Salt & Stem pops up on the screen and I click the link.
Scroll through the pages and pages of floral arrangements.
Finally, I land on the one that screams Tori.
All white. Ranunculus, calla lilies, orchids.
I pick the biggest size and throw in a vase for good measure.
Knowing her, she probably has one, but I’m not taking any chances.
I hit the order button and immediately land on the message section.
More staring at the wall, wondering what to write. I type and retype six different messages before settling on:
Messy looks good on you, Sunshine.
-B
I schedule the delivery for first thing in the morning, then add a second order of pink roses for the afternoon. Throw an evening delivery of white peonies in for extra fun and type in my credit card info.
Overkill? Yeah. That’s the point.
Bennett Steele doesn’t do subtle.
Yanking my shirt off, I finally close my eyes and drift off to sleep, knowing Tori will be running through my dreams the rest of the night.
The next morning, practice is rough. I feel like I have a massive hangover and I didn’t drink a drop.
“Steele — you gonna skate today or are we running on vibes?” Keller barks across the ice.
“On it, Coach.” I channel all my nervous energy into the puck, try to forget about her.
“You up too late last night with the ladies, Puck Bunny?” Callum catches the puck with his glove, kicks it back to me.
“Not with the Ice Queen babysitting him.” Weston slides up next to me and jabs me in the shoulder. “How’s Elsa doing, by the way?”
“Don’t fucking call her that, Wes.”
Callum raises a brow and Weston spins around me, a look of shock on his face.
“And she’s not fucking babysitting me, dickhead.” I grip my stick tighter and Weston notices.
“Touchy subject.”
“Fuck off.”
Coach blows his whistle, ending practice and the interrogation. I hustle off the ice and hurry to the locker room. Metal doors slam open, the showers hiss, rap music thudding.
I block everything out and type in my code with shaky hands.
Pathetic.
I’m an athlete, I take hits from two hundred-pound men for a living.
And I’m losing my shit over a five-foot-six woman who could ruin my life in one sentence.
I stare at my phone, tucked into the outer pocket of my bag.
I should hit the showers, go review film with Weston and Morrison.
Instead, I pull out my phone and tap the screen.
Delivered — Salt & Stem (9:04 AM)
There’s photographic proof of the delivery, the massive white floral arrangement taking up the entire doorstep.
Nice.
The flowers suit her. White, because she’d hate anything loud. Clean lines to match her condo.
Sunshine: The flowers…are excessive
Sunshine: And the messy comment was uncalled for
I grin down at the phone like a damn idiot, giddy. This is what she’s doing to me. I’m checking texts like a fucking teenager.
Bennett: Uncalled for? Maybe
Bennett: Accurate? Definitely
The blue dots appear and my pulse skyrockets.
Sunshine: Confidence isn’t a substitute for good judgment
Bennett: Confident’s a solid upgrade from cocky. I’ll take it
“Who’s got you looking like that?” Weston peers over my shoulder, trying to sneak a peek at my texts.
“How do you know it’s a who?” I shoot back, swiping off the text thread quickly. The best defense is a good offense.
“Because I’m your triplet. You don’t smile that dopey unless a woman’s involved.”
“He doesn’t smile like that, period.” Callum sinks down onto the bench to tie his shoes.
“Not true. I’m a happy guy.”
“Lately — not so much.” Weston locks his eyes on mine.
The guy has a point.
“Well, I’m off probation. Back on the ice, in the game.” I pull out my bag and slam the locker shut.
“In the game. Code word?” Callum snickers and I punch him in the biceps. He doesn’t flinch.
“Don’t hurt your hand, Puck Bunny.”
“You two are annoying, you know that? How about you mind your own damn business for a second?”
“Boring. Besides, we’ve made it our life’s mission to watch over yours.”
These two assholes.
My phone buzzes again, a photo of the second delivery filling the screen. Big and pink and very obvious.
Shit.
“Oh. Okay. I see you, Puck Bunny. Who’s the lucky lady?” Weston tips his chin at the phone, the roses in full view.
Callum leans over, getting a better look.
“Shit. That’s at the condos.” Realization spreads over Callum’s face like the sunrise. “You sent roses to Tori.”
“Whoa. Bennett’s down bad for his babysitter.” Weston grins and Callum shakes his head.
“I am not.” I try to sound convincing but fail miserably.
Callum drops his voice lower, leaning in closer to me. “Don’t fuck this up, Bennett. If you break Prince’s daughter’s heart, he’s gonna cut you.”
Like I hadn’t thought of that until now.
“I’m not going to break her heart. Damn. We’re talking, not getting married.”
“Talking or fucking?” Weston tips his head, one brow arched high.
My jaw ticks, prickly irritation rolling through me. “Talking, asshole.”
“Since when does Bennett Steele send flowers to women he’s ‘talking’ to?” Weston air quotes ‘talking’ and the irritation intensifies to anger.
“Drop it, okay? It’s nothing.”
He holds up his palms. “Heard. I won’t bring it up again.”
“Be careful, Benny. Seriously.” Callum’s eyes flick to mine. “You’re already on Prince’s short list.”
My chest tightens. My brothers are right.
But there’s no way in hell I’m following their very solid advice.
“Sure.” I grip my bag and hustle out of the locker room, even more determined to do exactly what they just warned me not to.