11. Griffin
CHAPTER 11
GRIFFIN
My mouth tastes like piss and cotton balls. Fuck, I hate alcohol.
At the very least I know I didn’t make a complete ass of myself because Hawks forced me back to the room early last night. Not early enough to avoid the hangover but before I could go off the deep end.
Doesn’t make me feel any less like shit this morning.
That Chicago winger should have kept to his play on his side of the damn ice. Not up in my business finding ways to piss me off and get a shot through me. It’s a low tactic.
I roll over to reach for the ceremonious puke bowl Hawks is sure every player gets after a game because he knows we’re a bunch of man babies, but instead of the nightstand my hand smacks against the solid form of what is most definitely another person.
I know Duart didn’t crawl into my bed because for a sports guy he’s awfully space conscious.
Not a chance in hell did I pick up last night—I may have been missing Riley like mad but I didn’t black out and turn into a douche or anything.
Right?
I use every bit of my strength to open my eyes without puking and come face to face with deeply amused gray eyes and a familiar smile.
“Was starting to think you weren’t coming to, baby.”
Baby.
Despite my muscles and head protesting, I push up onto my arms and stare down at what is most definitely Riley Easton sprawled across my bed. He’s on his side with an arm tucked under his head watching me like this is the most natural, normal thing in the world.
And it is. Usually. When we’re on the road playing together.
But I left him nine hours away in our apartment with a banged up leg.
I lift the blanket and—yup—right there is his Ace-wrapped left leg, just chilling with the rest of them.
“Nash is going to have your ass,” are the first words out of my mouth, but his chuckle knocks me out of my surprise and into a blinding grin. “You motherfucker.”
Riley barks out a laugh as I collapse on top of him—careful of his injury—and grab his face for a tongue-heavy kiss. He obliges me for all of two seconds before easing me away and wrinkling his nose.
“Maybe we make-out after a morning shower and brush?”
I shove his shoulder, but his arms around my waist keep me flush against his chest. Which means I feel the way his morning wood presses into my hip.
“If you want to get rid of my hangover breath…” I drag a hand down the length of his body and shift my hips so I can wrap my fingers around his bulge. “I’ve got something else I can do with my mouth.”
He laughs hotly in my ear, but before I can wiggle my way down, he stops me with a hand between my shoulder blades and his forehead resting on mine. “Later. I just want to see you. Hold you. I missed you, too, you know.”
The emotions from last night dredge up in my throat like thick sludge.
I told him I needed him, and here he is.
I told Riley I loved him, and he hasn’t said it back—but he didn’t turn away either.
“How long have you been here?”
“A couple of hours. Took us a little bit longer because I needed breaks to stretch my knee.”
“We?”
Riley smiles and rolls to his back, taking me with him and settling me on top of his chest. “Locke drove. I think he kidnapped your roommate.”
Reminder: I-O-U gift for Locke for putting up with my boyfriend on what was likely a nearly twelve hour drive in the middle of the night.
“You’ll be getting an earful from Coach when we go over the game on the bus.” I prop my chin on his pec. “You’re coming with us, right?”
He strokes a hand through my hair and hums. “Long trip to Toronto, right?”
When I nod, he flips me back to the side and sits up, making me instantly miss the warmth of his touch.
“Make a deal with me. You go shower and get some water in you while I hunt down Coach and the doc to work out a traveling PT schedule.”
“What about rest and recovery?”
Riley shrugs and pats the mattress. “I can rest and recover during games. Keep you out of trouble.”
His dimpled grin makes my chest feel warm and tight, and though I want him to wrap up in the sheets burrito style with me, I reluctantly agree to his terms. It earns me a short kiss and a smack on the ass until my feet hit the ground, and then I watch Riley reach over for his crutches and hoist himself up to his feet.
Regret and fear are what hit me first. Regret that I might never get to play on the ice with him again—my beast on the ice. Fear of what the loss of connection could do to our relationship.
I swallow it down, because at least for the next few hours, I’ve got my Riley back.
It turns out our day of rest and reconnection has to be put on hold because that short conversation I was promised turned into two hours waiting for Riley to come back to the room.
Which turned into a team meeting where we got reamed out by Coach about the game. Then, he announced Riley would be traveling with us to keep an eye out and discuss plays with the other coaches.
By the time we finished, it was time to board our plane—which Riley wouldn’t be on as it was booked, but would hop one arriving an hour later—and even though the flight to Toronto was only a little over an hour and a half, I’m ready for the day to be over when we land.
We all drop our stuff off at the hotel, and then I Uber back to the airport to wait on Riley. There’s only a few hours before we have to suit up and get prepped for warm ups, so I go ahead and find one of the bars in the building and order both of us some food.
A quick text of where he can meet me, and then all there’s left to do is wait.
Which is a little torturous, and only serves to remind me why I want at least a little piece of the world who is in on how absolutely crazy I am for this man.
It’s not long before the food comes out, and I pick away at the platter of fries while scrolling through my phone and checking out the highlights from last night. Maybe I should say lowlights.
A familiar warmth fills my body, and I look up just as Riley leans his weight on the edge of the booth, tucking both crutches under one arm. Those coal gray eyes watch me with a fervent reverence so strong I can feel my body burning.
He swings into the booth opposite me and gives the tiny dining area a once-over. “Dimly lit corner of an airport restaurant. I’d almost say this looks like a date.”
I kick his good leg under the table and toss a french fry at him. He chuckles and reaches for his own burger and fries plate—not piping hot anymore but still warm.
“Maybe I need a date, and this is better than nothing.”
I mean for the words to come out playful, but it’s impossible to miss the longing bleeding through.
Riley puts on a thoughtful expression that melts into content appreciation. He rests his hand palm up on the table, and I don’t waste a second covering it with my own.
It’s not often that Riley accepts public displays of affection, and after last night I desperately need the way his fingers squeeze mine and his thumb strokes over the inside of my wrist.
“Sometimes I forget that you aren’t used to this,” he says softly, swirling a fry in some ketchup as he avoids my gaze.
My throat clogs on the bitter honesty that wants to crawl out, but I swallow it down with half a glass of iced tea.
“So. You square everything away with Coach and Nash?”
“I’ve got a rough PT schedule outlined, and I’m allowed to come to practice and as long as I stay in the locker room.”
“Basically the same permissions they would have given you in six weeks when you get to ditch the crutches.”
Riley laughs and squeezes my hand. “Nash put me on the injured reserve list… but I might not be cleared to play again.”
As if I don’t know that. As if I don’t know that this could very well be the end of us playing together. That life might change drastically for both of us once the healing period is over.
At least I get to keep him for the season. His surgeon said it’d be a good six months before he could be cleared to play heavy contact sports.
Six months of limbo.
“You should have taken me up on that quickie earlier.”
“Don’t worry,” Riley says with a cheeky grin. “I may have convinced Coach to room us together like usual.”
“Oh?” I lean back in my seat as his fingers trail up to rest at the crease of my arm. “Do you have plans, Easton?”
“Remember what I told you on the phone?” His eyes spark with heat. “Even with one leg, I can make you scream, baby.”
I have to play a whole ass game knowing this sexy fucker is waiting for me? Goddamn, I’m screwed.
“Hey,” he says, more serious than playful this time. “I wanted to touch base before the game.”
I furrow my brows. “What, you want to go over plays with me or something?”
His lips twitch, and staring at the copper hair there kind of makes me miss the beard burn I have to try to keep to a minimum during the season.
“No. I meant about the fight. You don’t hot-head yourself into penalties very often anymore.”
I stuff a fry in my mouth and shrug. “Guy just pissed me off. That’s all. He wanted to annoy me, and it worked.”
Riley’s sneaker thunks against the booth under the table and nudges my ankle.
“You want to tell me the truth?”
“Not particularly.”
His brows draw together, and I go to town on my burger in an attempt to avoid the conversation. Riley isn’t having it though, because he leans back in his seat and crosses his arms.
“Get over here.”
When I don’t move, simply set my half-eaten burger on the plate and wipe my hands on my thighs, Riley snorts and taps me under the table again.
“Griffin Foster.”
I roll my eyes and slide out of my seat, slipping into his booth with an exaggerated plop onto the seat.
“Yes, Riley Easton?”
He smiles, shakes his head, then weaves his fingers into my hair and draws our mouths together.
It’s a slow build with his tongue stroking mine, the hand in my hair moving to cradle my cheek.
Riley is a beast when he wants to play rough, but it’s the gentleness that has my heartbeat thundering in my chest.
“You’re hot when you’re bullshitting me,” he says with a smile against my lips. “But if you want to get lucky, you’d better spill it.”
Bartering sex for honesty. Clever man.
“It was stupid.”
He laughs and pulls away, dropping his arm to my shoulder. “It usually is.”
It’s refreshing that for a moment, Riley can have his guard down. Kissing and touching in public isn’t exactly our MO, but if he’s comfortable, I’ll never turn it down.
Deciding that he deserves a reward for the affection, I sigh and lean into his arm.
“The guy was poking fun at you getting hurt, alright? I told you it was stupid. I lost my head.”
Riley is quiet, but his fingers tighten on my shoulder.
“You punched a guy for being a dick about my injury?”
“Yeah. What of it?”
His laughter tickles the top of my head. “The big bad hockey player can’t handle a little chirping?”
“Not when it’s about you.”
Riley quiets, and I feel his lips brushing my hairline.
“That shouldn’t make a difference.”
“It does though.” I turn my head into the crook of his arm. “I can’t stand by and watch the people I love get hurt.”
“You’re a dumbass.”
“A dumbass who loves you.”
Riley pushes his lips into a line, but his eyes are soft and swimming with insecurity. He tips his head back, and I can feel the distance he’s putting between us in his mind.
His jaw moves, but he doesn’t speak, and when I try to slip out of his hold, he tightens it.
“A dumbass in love is still a dumbass.”
It’s not a confession, but my anxiety loosens anyway. Moving from fooling around to a relationship was hard for Riley. Not because he didn’t want it, but because he has this nasty habit of not letting himself have what he wants.
Like he’s eternally punishing himself for… I don’t even know what.
He looks down at me, and the head difference between us has never done anything but serve to turn me on. So, when I tilt my head back, he takes the invitation to cover my mouth in a commanding kiss that is much bolder than any public display I’ve gotten out of him.
“I need you,” he whispers into my mouth as his hand slips under the table to stroke teasingly along my thigh.
We don’t have time to get hot and sweaty, not unless we want a quickie in an airport bathroom, but that runs too much of a risk of getting caught.
I need him too, though, and it’s physically painful to break my mouth away and scoot out of the booth.
“Tonight. After we kick ass and make up for last night’s loss.”
He smiles, and it’s not just heat I feel, but a burning desire to have this man in every way imaginable. One I have to bury as we dump what’s left of our food in the trash and wait for the Uber to take us to the hotel.
Sitting on the metal bench, Riley twines his fingers with mine and presses his thumb to my wrist.
Feeling my pulse and tapping out the rhythm.
I’m here, Riley. I’m not going anywhere.