22. Maverick
TWENTY-TWO
Professional stick handlers
Me
Closed toed shoes tonight.
Easy E
Can I come shirtless?
Hudson
No.
G-Money
Pantsless?
Hudson
No
Easy E
We’re going to start calling you Daddy soon.
Hudson
No
G-Money
Come on, Hud!!!! We beat Chicago!!! We deserve to celebrate a little!
Hudson
By taking off your clothes?
*Redheaded Assassin has left the chat*
*Easy E has added Redheaded Assassin to the chat*
Easy E
I can play this game all day, Emmy.
Of all the places in the world I could’ve seen Emerson after we got back from Chicago, an ax-throwing outing labeled team bonding wouldn’t have been my pick.
Somewhere with less weapons would’ve been ideal. A place where she can’t throw something at my head if I look at her with bedroom eyes when she shows up in a pair of jeans I already know are going to drive me wild, but I didn’t have a lot of say in the matter.
“Are you okay, Mavvy?” Hudson asks. He signs a waiver and hands the clipboard back to the teenage kid behind the desk. “You look a little pale.”
“All good. Coach has had some unique ideas in the years that he’s been with us here in DC, but this one might take the cake.”
“It has something to do with trust. He mentioned we’re not playing like we have each other’s backs, but that’s bullshit. I’d run through fire for you all, and I know you’d do the same for me.”
“Of course we would.” I look around the lobby and laugh. “What better way to develop trust than by giving a bunch of athletes some alcohol and an ax and seeing which one of us loses a finger first?”
“If it will get us out of our slump, I’m all for it. The game against St. Louis tomorrow is going to be tough. Whoever made our schedule hates us.”
“Let’s blame Ethan. He slept with some higher-up’s granddaughter, and they’re definitely fucking us over,” I say. “Hey. Have you talked to Hartwell since we got back from Chicago?”
“No. We don’t talk outside of practice, and after Coach canceled yesterday’s morning skate so we could all have a break, I haven’t heard from her. Last I saw her, she was fast asleep against the side of the airplane. She didn’t even wake up when we had that rough landing. Must’ve been tired,” Hudson says.
Tired or thoroughly fucked,I think, and I clamp down on my smile.
I saw the way she was walking up the stairs when we were boarding our flight home. When I asked her what happened, knowing full well it was my dick that caused her awkward gait, she flipped me off.
Normally, I would have already moved on after a hookup. I don’t give the woman a second thought, but I can’t get Emerson out of my head.
Every time I close my eyes, I see her naked and gagging on my cock.
I hear her moaning my name and saying please.
I feel her nails digging into my skin.
I’ve gotten nothing done in the two days we’ve been back, and I’m starting to think I’m going out of my mind.
She’s hands down the hottest woman I’ve ever been with. I love that she didn’t wait for me to give something to her—she knew what she wanted and she fucking took it.
It wasn’t an act to show me she’s adventurous in bed, either.
That’s all her, and knowing I can’t have her again makes me want her even more.
I blink out of my daydream and clear my throat. “Meanwhile, I hear you breathing and I’m wide awake. I don’t miss the days when we had to share a room.”
“You don’t want to bunk with me again?” Hudson pouts. “I liked our sleepovers.”
“Fuck no. I make sure we’re on separate floors so your snoring doesn’t haunt my dreams.”
“Asshole.” Hudson shoves my shoulder. “What are you doing after this?”
“Heading home. Why?”
“Riley, Connor and I are headed to the bar up the road for a drink. Want to come and play some pool for a bit?”
“That would be fun. Feels like I haven’t hung out with you in forever.”
“Because you haven’t. Connor is pissed because this prick he played against in college just signed a massive deal with Miami and he’s nervous about his own contract extension at the end of the season. Thought he could use some cheering up.”
“Are you talking about Perkins? I hate that guy, and I’m in for a few rounds.” My teammates file into the small lobby, and their bodies take up too much space. “Is Coach coming to this?”
“Doubt it. He’s on dad duty this week.”
“Bummer. He could’ve brought the tyke with him.”
“I don’t think they let kids in here. Seems like a liability.”
“Not any more than Ethan and Grant with an ax,” I counter, and I pull out my phone. “I’m going to see where Hartwell is.”
Me
Hope you aren’t skipping the mandatory team bonding, Red.
Redheaded Assassin
Miss me, Miller?
Me
Nah. I can still see you when I close my eyes.
Redheaded Assassin
I have no clue what you’re talking about.
I’ll be there in a second. The Metro broke down.
Me
It’s freezing out.
I have a second vehicle parked in the garage at my place. You can borrow it.
Redheaded Assassin
No thanks. I don’t like owing people things.
Me
Like your underwear?
Redheaded Assassin
I might kill you for those. They’re my favorite pair.
Me
Interesting.
Mine too.
“What’s so funny?” Hudson looks over my shoulder. “Did I miss a message in the group chat?”
“Nope.” I click my phone off. “You ready to throw some axes?”
Before he can answer me, the door to the building opens. Emerson waltzes into the lobby in a pair of leather pants, boots that come up to her knees, and a sweater that hangs off her right shoulder.
It gives me a nice view of the bite mark I left on her neck the other night, and I grin at the sight of her.
“Is that Emerson Hartwell?” The kid behind the counter stands up, and his stool goes flying. “Oh my god. She’s my favorite player in the league. Holy shit. Is she going to come over here? Can I say hi? Will she give me her autograph?”
“Ask her yourself. Hey, Red,” I call out, and she glances my way. There’s a half a second where I think her eyes sparkle, but then she blinks, and her usual cool indifference settles into place. “Come here. Someone wants to meet you.”
She shuffles past the guys who all say hello to her. There are a couple of hugs. A couple of high-fives. She and Ethan do some sort of secret handshake that involves wiggling their fingers and bumping their hips, and I’m jealous of the attention everyone is getting.
“What’s up?” she asks when she finally makes it to the desk.
“This is Kevin,” I say, looking at his name tag. “He’s a big fan of yours.”
“Thank you so much.”
“Do you think you could—” He gulps down a breath. “Sign something for me? That’s not a legally binding waiver?”
“Of course.”
She puts her swoopy signature on a personalized piece of paper and poses for a photo, her tongue out and her eyes closed. She looks so carefree right now with her wind-burned cheeks and the tug of a smile on her mouth, and it makes my chest hurt a little.
I nudge her shoulder after she finishes the paparazzi session. “You want to be on my team?”
“I’m with Grant. It would be dangerous if you and I were throwing at the same target. I might accidentally miss and cut off your hands.”
“I thought you liked my hands,” I say, dropping my voice low so only she can hear me. “At least, that’s what it sounded like the other night.”
Emerson narrows her eyes. “Don’t start with me, Miller. I don’t want to regret anything.”
“You don’t regret it?” I ask.
She pauses and pretends to brush a piece of lint off her sweater. “No. Do you?”
“Hell, no. I had a great time, and from this moment on, I swear to pretend nothing happened.”
“You were supposed to pretend nothing happened days ago.”
“Whoops.” I laugh and take a step back. “Are you busy tonight? Hudson, Riley, Connor and I are heading out to play some pool. Do you want to come?”
She looks me up and down, and I wonder if she’s thinking about the way she tipped her head back and opened her mouth. The drool on her cheek and the hand she slipped between her legs, wanting to touch herself while she sucked me off.
Fuck.
“Want to make things interesting?” Emerson asks.
“You have my attention.”
“If I score more points than you, you give me back my underwear.”
“It’ll be a tragedy to part with them, but I’ll entertain that option. What do I get if I win?”
“I’ll come to the bar with you.”
I stick out my hand. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”
I’ve never heard Emerson laugh so much.
I’m not sure what the hell Grant is saying, but she thinks it’s really funny, obviously.
She doesn’t think I’m that funny, and I wish she did.
“Hey.” Hudson snaps his fingers in my face, and I turn my attention back to our lane. “What is wrong with you? You missed an easy throw.”
What is wrong with me?
I’d love to answer that question, but I wouldn’t know where to start.
I don’t know why I’m thinking about red hair and a secret hotel room meetup. Purple lace underwear and the feel of a five-foot-ten woman with curves for days in my arms.
It’s probably because there’s no distance between us. After my usual one-night stands, I can easily erase the memory because I never see them again.
That’s not the case with Emerson.
I’m here and she’s here, and the more I look at her, the more I remember.
That has to be it.
The only logical explanation for why my thoughts are so goddamn off-kilter.
“What’s wrong is I prefer hitting things over throwing things.” I stand with the ax above my head and give it a hard toss. It lands in the center of the wooden board, and I pump my fist. “That’s what I’m talking about. Hey, Red. How’s it going down there?”
“Not well,” she calls out, and she drops her head back. “This is bullshit.”
I leave my lane and walk over to her, laughing when I see that her ax landed wide right.
“You don’t like not being anything but good at something, do you?” I ask.
“No.” Emerson stares at the board. “I don’t understand the technique. It goes against everything I’ve been taught as a hockey player.”
“But a good way to get out any frustration you might have, right?” I back off and give her some space. “Try again. Focus on the target. Imagine the board as a net.”
Emerson huffs. She lifts the ax in the air and launches it forward. It doesn’t hit the bullseye, but it comes closer than her last toss.
“Better,” I say. “Nice job.”
“I was envisioning your face as the target,” she tells me. “Maybe it will help me win.”
“You haven’t checked the score?” I lift my chin toward the whiteboard we’ve all been updating as we play. Seymour is in the top spot, and Liam is right behind him. Riley is dead last, the poor fucker, and Emerson isn’t doing much better than him. “You can’t catch up, which means you’ve officially lost to me, Red. Looks like you’re coming to the bar and I’m keeping?—”
“Do not finish that sentence,” she warns me.
“What are you keeping?” Grant asks. “Did you take something of hers? Stealing isn’t cool, Mavvy.”
“I accidentally shoved her gloves in my bag the other night when we were in Chicago. They’re better than mine, and I want to keep them,” I explain.
“Oh.” Grant looks at Emerson, and he wrinkles his eyebrows. “What brand are they? Bauer is the only way to go. They’re expensive as shit, but if you need a new pair, you should check them out. Make sure you get the Pro series, not the HyperLytes. Those suck.”
“Thanks, Grant.” She pats his shoulder, and he beams. “I’ll keep that in mind since it seems like Miller doesn’t understand what ownership means.”
“I understand it perfectly. You’re the one who doesn’t understand Finders Keepers.” I wink at her, and she scowls. “Enjoy your last few throws. You might be a loser on the board, Hartwell, but you’re a winner in my book.”
I hurry back to my lane and ignore the two middle fingers she gives me.