24. Emmy
TWENTY-FOUR
Our luck has turned around.
After beating St. Louis at home last week, we went on to defeat Calgary and Minnesota.
I scored my first goal in a Stars jersey, and it seems like we’ve gotten over the slump we had fallen into.
We have a game against Boston tomorrow afternoon, and while the rest of the team is planning to head to the Seaport for dinner, I’m opting for a night in at the hotel to recharge.
“You’re not coming?” Piper asks over speakerphone as I scan the menu sitting on the desk in my room. “Lexi agreed to come out, and that girl never hangs out when the boys are around.”
“Sorry, Piper. I need to shower and stretch, and with an early puck drop tomorrow, I want to catch up on sleep.”
“Fine.” She laughs at something on the other end of the line. “Text me if you need me, Emmy.”
We hang up, and before I can toss my phone on the pillows and power down for the night, it lights up with a text message.
Bane of my Existence:
No dinner?
Me
Do you know everything about everyone?
Bane of my Existence:
I’d like to say yes, but Piper just told us you’re bowing out.
Me
I’m tired.
Bane of my Existence:
I’m not going either.
Me
Why not? You always go to dinner.
Bane of my Existence:
Love how you keep tabs on me, Red.
Spicy food makes me sick.
There’s a french fry restaurant up the road. They have a dozen dipping sauces.
Want me to place an order and bring it over, Potato Girl?
I stare at Maverick’s messages and gnaw on my bottom lip.
I should say no.
It would be a bad idea.
Inviting him over feels like an invitation to hook up again. We had insane chemistry in the bedroom, and as much as I said just once, it’s going to be hard to ignore that attraction.
But maybe I can try.
Me
Room 517.
Bane of my Existence:
See you soon.
Thirty minutes later, I open the door before Maverick has a chance to knock. I drag him inside and lock the deadbolt behind him, checking the peephole to make sure none of our teammates spotted him loitering outside my room.
“Did you miss me, Hartwell?” Maverick grins and kicks off his shoes. “You’re very eager to see me.”
“I’m hungry.”
“For what, exactly?”
I narrow my eyes and take the bag from his hold. “French fries.”
“Weird synonym for my dick, but okay,” he jokes.
“You’re two seconds away from being banished,” I warn him. “And I’m going to keep the food.”
“Sorry. I got all the jokes out of me.” He peels off his hoodie and drops it on top of his shoes. He walks into the room and looks at the two queen beds. “Please tell me one of these is for sleeping and the other is for stuffing our faces. I want to murder those fries.”
“Duh.” I shuffle past him and sit on the mattress closest to the door, dropping the food in the middle of the bed. “That’s why I put a towel out.”
“Smart girl.” Maverick sits opposite me and rubs his hands together. “I didn’t know what kind of sauce you would be partial to, so I got one of everything.”
“Everything? What are we talking here? Ketchup? Spicy ketchup?”
“Come on, Red.” He chuckles and shakes his head. “We’re talking pimento cheese. Roasted garlic. Smoked chipotle. Herbed ranch. Do you want me to keep going?”
My mouth waters. “I want you to shut up and show me all these choices.”
Maverick unloads two Styrofoam boxes from the bag. There’s a mountain of fries in the first one, and the second has a dozen individual cups he arranges in a neat line on the towel.
“You first,” he says.
“You paid for it. You should start.”
“I’ve been there before, and you should do the honors. Roasted garlic is my personal favorite, but you can’t go wrong with any of them.”
I pop the top off the cup he points to and dip two fries in the sauce. I shove them in my mouth and groan. My eyes roll to the back of my head and I reach for another handful before I’ve even swallowed.
“Delicious,” I say.
“What was that? I couldn’t understand you through the heathen bite you took.”
I throw a napkin at him but he catches it mid-air. “Forgive me for being starving.”
“Eat up then, Hartwell. I normally put back a large by myself, so it’s nice to share the carbs with someone else for once.”
I open the cup with pimento cheese and almost melt at the smell. “You don’t like spicy food?”
“Nope. Not my thing. I’ve tried dishes that other people recommend, but I end up sick.” Maverick shrugs and reaches into the bag. “I was a PBJ and chicken tenders kid. I’ve gotten better as an adult, and I make an effort to branch out when we’re traveling to try local restaurants.”
“You’re missing out on so much.”
“I know I am. Are you going to do room service for dinner? The fries can’t be all you eat.”
“Yeah. I was planning on eating a little later. The grilled chicken and veggies looked good.” I stand and walk to the desk, picking up the menu and handing it to him. “Do you want anything?”
His mouth pops open, and there’s a drop of sauce hanging near his chin. “Emerson Hartwell. Is this an invitation to join you for dinner? Is the world ending?”
“You brought fries. I can at least return the courtesy of a mediocre hotel meal.”
“I’d love to, but I’m going to need a few minutes. Gotta let the spuds settle first.”
“How about in an hour?” I sit back on the mattress and lean against the pillows. “Does that work with your digestive system?”
“So kind of you to ask. An hour is perfect.” He pops another fry in his mouth and looks at me. “Are you excited for your first NHL game in Boston?”
“Yeah. We get to play in the oldest arena in the league surrounded by the most passionate fans, and it feels like I’m finally finding my groove on the ice.” I cross my ankles and put my hands behind my head. “What about you?”
“I fucking love Boston. I always have my best games of the season here.”
“Really?”
“Mhm. I feed off the negative energy they throw my way. The fans can boo all they want. I’m still going to score.” He wipes his hands with a napkin and chucks it toward the trash can. “I hope you can score tomorrow too.”
There’s a moment of quiet between us. Out of my peripheral vision, I see Maverick getting comfortable on the pillows next to me. The bed shifts, and I let out a shallow breath.
“Do you think it’s interesting that after our night in Chicago, we suddenly go on a win streak?” I ask softly.
“It is interesting,” he agrees. I dare myself to turn my chin so I can look at him, and he’s already staring at me. “I fuck you, then you score your first goal? Talk about coincidence.”
“Yeah. Coincidence.” I laugh, and my nipples pebble under my shirt. I lick my lips, and I swear his hand inches closer to my leg over the top of the sheets. “Do you think we should?—”
“Do it again?” Maverick finishes for me. “It could be considered research.”
“You’re into science now?”
“When it comes to your pussy, Red, I’m Bill-fucking-Nye.”
It’s silly to think that one night together changed the trajectory of our team.
There’s no actual correlation to his dick, my ability to score goals, and our win streak.
But I’m curious.
“Same rules apply,” I say. “You leave as soon as we’re finished, and this night never happened.”
“Any other demands?” he asks. He reaches out and tugs me toward him, his mouth nearly on mine. “I want to make sure I beat my satisfactory rating.”
“Faster this time.” I thread his silver chain through my fingers and run my thumb over the links. “And I’d like to wear some of your jewelry again.”
Maverick’s eyes flash bright with longing, and heat spreads across my skin.
“Maybe my next tattoo will be the word mine on the back of my right hand.” His fingers dance up my neck and curl around my throat. “So you know who you belong to when you’re with me.”
“Show me,” I whisper. “Show me I’m yours for the night, Maverick.”