27. Emmy
TWENTY-SEVEN
It’sdark outside when I open my eyes, and my chest presses against something firm.
I take a second to get my bearings, and I realize the nausea from earlier has subsided. I’m relaxed, and a bone-aching bliss settles over my body in a way I don’t ever remember experiencing.
I stretch my arms and turn my head to the side, and I find Maverick next to me.
There’s a pillow crease on his forehead, and his hair is rumpled beyond belief. One of his hands sits on my hip, long fingers splayed out over the curve of my thigh and the bottom of my tattoo. He’s shirtless, fast asleep and breathing heavily, and in all the moments I’ve known him, this is my favorite one.
I stare at him, and the last few hours come rushing back to me.
The hair washing and the door he knocked down.
Waiting for him to put clean sheets on my bed and carrying me to my room.
The soup he spoon-fed me and the water he made me drink.
I rub a hand over my chest, an ache nudging its way behind my ribs as I watch his eyelashes flutter and listen to his soft exhales.
He dropped everything for me.
He helped put me back together and stayed to make sure I was okay all because he wanted to.
No one’s ever been so nice to me before, especially when I’ve felt small and uncomfortable and nothing like myself, and that’s disorienting.
There’s this magnetic need to touch him, and I don’t fight it. I cup his cheek and run my thumb along his jaw. I study the planes of his face. The hook of his nose and the way it looks like he’s smirking, even when he’s unconscious.
Beautiful man.
Stubble pricks my palm, and I smile when he turns his head and nuzzles into my touch.
“Are you awake?” he rasps, a tired slur from the back of his throat. The fingers on my hip stroke across my skin, and it almost feels like he’s trying to write out a word. “Or am I dreaming?”
“Definitely dreaming,” I murmur, scooting closer to him. “What time is it?”
“Don’t know.” He rubs his eyes and reaches behind him to turn on the lamp with his free hand. He taps his phone and I see a photo of him and June wearing face paint and sticking out their tongues. “Eight.”
“Why didn’t you wake me up?”
“You were burrowed under the covers like a bear in hibernation. It was cute.” Maverick pinches my cheek. “I had to squeeze in here and see if you were that tired, or if the bed is that comfortable.”
“Both. It’s Piper’s mattress, and when she told me she spent four grand on it, I nearly had a heart attack.”
“It’s nice.” He elbows the pillows and tries to fluff them up. “But not as nice as mine.”
“How much did you spend on yours? Five grand?”
“Close. Six.”
“Doesn’t surprise me. Come to think of it, I remember the toilets in your apartment being made of gold.”
“Joke all you want, but my physical therapist tells me my back muscles are in great shape. The mattress was worth the investment.” He yawns and pulls me away from his body. His eyes bounce over my face and down to the front of the T-shirt he must have slipped me into. A line of wrinkles forms between his eyebrows, and I decide I don’t like it very much when he’s not smiling. “How are you feeling?”
“Better. I kept the food and water down, so I think I’m on the mend.”
“Good. I’m going to make you drink another glass of water before you go to sleep for the night. Your skin was clammy, and you were severely dehydrated.”
“I think hurling up every liquid and piece of food you’ve put in your body will do that to you.” I sigh. “Was Coach pissed I missed practice?”
“No. I told him you were violently ill, and he said you’re not allowed back until you can keep your dinner down.”
“That’ll be tomorrow.”
“Debatable. You’re going to have to get cleared by the team doctor first. The boys were happy to hear you’re okay too.”
“They were worried about me?” I ask.
“Yeah. Well, to be fair, they thought you were hacked up into a million pieces by a serial killer while getting shoved onto the Metro tracks, so to hear it was food poisoning was a huge relief,” Maverick says.
“You all are weird.”
“We are, but we’re your weirdos. The good news is you should be back to a hundred percent before the holiday gala in two weeks. It’s our biggest fundraiser event for charity, and the donors are going to be psyched you’re there.”
“Don’t remind me. An auction for a lunch date with me sounds like hell. I’m probably going to end up eating KFC with some creepy guy named Bartholomew.”
“Know a lot of Barthalomews?”
“No. But they’re probably lurking out there.”
“I won’t let that happen, Red. I’ll throw a couple thousand into the pot to keep you free from any finger-licking dudes.”
“Glad to know you’re a man of the people. Are you—” My phone rings, and I untangle my legs from his. I look under the pillows and on the bedside table. “Where the heck is my phone?”
“Here.” Maverick unplugs it from the charger next to his, handing it to me with a frown. “Grady? Who the hell is Grady?”
“Shit. You cannot say a word.” I snatch it out of his hands and answer, scooting to the edge of the bed so I can have some space. “Hey.”
“There you are. I called you four times yesterday, and you didn’t answer,” Grady says on the other end of the line. “Are you alive?”
“I’m alive, but barely. I was sick,” I tell him. “Vomit, everywhere.”
“Food poisoning?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s the worst.”
“It was miserable. Anyway, I’m sorry I’ve been missing your calls and texts. November was hectic with sixteen games, and I’ve been busy to start this month too.” Behind me, Maverick snorts, and I flip him off. “How are you? I miss you.”
“Miss you too. Are you feeling better?”
“I am, yeah.” A hand wraps around my waist and rubs across my stomach. I tip my head back to get closer to him and let out a shaky breath. “How are things in California?”
“Fine. Jeremey got sent to the AHL, so that was good news.”
“When will it be your turn?” I ask, and Maverick’s fingers move up my skin. He pinches one of my nipples, and I hold back a groan. “You’re just as good as any of the guys in the AHL.”
“I know I am. It’s easy to get frustrated about when I’ll get my chance, but I keep my head down and play the best that I can.”
Maverick’s other hand brushes over the front of my underwear, nudging my thighs apart. He presses against my clit, and the palm under my shirt moves to my neck.
I cover my mouth and squeeze my eyes shut, so close to crying out his name.
“You’re number one in my book,” I tell Grady, but it’s muffled.
“You okay, Em?”
“I think I might get sick again. Can I text you tomorrow? I need to catch up on my sleep, so it’s going to be an early night for me.”
“Sure. Love you, Emmy. Talk to you soon.”
“Love you too, asshat,” I say, and I end the call. “You’re a goddamn menace, Miller.”
“You took a call from another guy while you’re in bed with me. I had to remind you who filled you up three nights ago. When were you going to tell me you’re fucking someone else?” His lips ghost down my neck. He sucks on the spot on my shoulder that drives me wild, and I lean against him. “And love? Emerson Hartwell. Who are you?”
“He’s my best friend.” I squirm when Maverick rubs a slow circle over my clit. “And look who’s talking. You probably have a line of women waiting at your apartment.”
“Hang on.” His hands fall away from my body and he lifts me into his lap. “What are you talking about?”
“What are you talking about?”
“You’re not sleeping with him?”
“With Grady?” I burst out laughing. “He’s like a brother to me. I saw his dick once, and it was traumatizing.”
“Are you sleeping with anyone else?” Maverick asks.
“Are you sleeping with anyone else?”
“No. You’re the only woman I’ve been with lately.”
“I am?” I straddle his hips and look at him. “You haven’t brought anyone to your hotel room? Or your apartment?”
“Between our hookups and the text messages you send me, when would I have time to bring someone to my hotel room? You ride my cock so well, Red, and I can’t keep my eyes open after you’re finished with me. I don’t have the physical capacity to fuck someone else, nor do I want to.”
“We’ve never talked about exclusivity or if we were sleeping with other people. I just assumed based on your past that you’re not a one-woman kind of guy.”
“I wasn’t before, but you’re taking care of me just fine, Emmy girl. Fucking yourself on my thigh? Making me watch you use your fingers before you finally let me touch you? Those pictures of you in my shirt?” He bumps his nose against my chin and nudges my attention to him. Our eyes meet, and I inhale a sharp breath. “I don’t need anyone else when I have you.”
My heart hammers. That same ache from before settles in my chest. I’m too warm, too overwhelmed by the gentle consideration of the press of his hands. How his words sink into my skin and stay there, a key in a lock.
It’s entirely too intimate a conversation to have, but I’m desperate for it.
“What does this mean?” I whisper. “You don’t date. I don’t date hockey players. Are we—” I break off and reach for his necklace, tugging on the chain. “Is there a label for this?”
“Friends with benefits who are exclusive?” Maverick suggests. “Orgasm sharers who don’t get off with anyone else? Teammates who fuck then play together on the ice and help their team lead the Atlantic division without any bullshit like emotions and feelings? You’re enjoying this, right?”
“God, yeah,” I say before I can stop myself, and his smirk is proud. He’s gloating, and I hate it. “This is the most fun I’ve ever had with a guy. As long as we’re both on the same page, why not keep doing what we’re doing?”
“Can I propose something?”
“Possibly.”
“We don’t just fuck when we’re on the road. I’m literally in the building next door. Think of all the fun we could have on our days off. Plus, I’m superstitious as shit. It would be in the best interest of the team.”
“I’ll consider it,” I say, because it does sound like fun. “Anything else?”
“We keep our arrangement between us. None of the guys need to know. It’s easy right now, and the more people that find out, the more it’ll complicate things. I don’t do complicated.”
“Deal.” I stick out my hand, and he shakes it. “I can’t believe you were jealous.”
“Seems like I’ve been jealous a lot lately. Your phone calls with friends. The secret handshakes you have with some of the guys.” He topples us backward onto the pillows and holds me close to his chest. “I want that too.”
“You get me here, though. I’m not going home with any of them.”
“Let’s keep it that way. And this is my favorite place.”
I yawn and close my eyes, snuggling into his arms. I’m not usually a cuddler, but there’s something about Maverick’s embrace that makes me want to stay awhile. “You’d like Grady. Hudson reminds me of him. Eternally optimistic. A nice guy.”
“Who doesn’t love a nice guy?” He runs his fingers through my hair and I hum in appreciation. “I’ll have to meet him one day.”
“We’ll see about that. Whose turn is it to ask a question? I can’t keep track.”
“You can ask first. What do you have for me?”
“What did you study in college? Did you graduate?”
“I didn’t. The chance to enter the NHL draft presented itself, and I took it. When I was in school, I wanted to get my degree in biology.”
My eyes fly open. “Biology? That’s surprising.”
“Surprising? Wow, Hartwell. You thought I was a dumb jock, didn’t you?” he asks, and he digs his fingers into my ribs. I shriek and try to wiggle out of his hold, but he doesn’t give me an inch. “I was great in school. Straight-A student, fuck you very much.”
“It’s just an unusual subject,” I say, and he finally relents, letting me go. “I don’t know anyone who studied biology.”
“Now you do.” His smile hits me straight between the legs, and I want to smother him with a pillow. “What did you study?”
“I got my degree in communications. If the whole hockey thing didn’t pan out, I wanted to work in PR. Thankfully my skills on the ice came through. I’d hate having to talk to people all day.”
“People are the worst, aren’t they? Okay. My turn.” Maverick rubs his jaw, deep in thought. “What’s something you want to do before you die?”
“Go to Antarctica. It’s a once in a lifetime trip, and to see the glaciers and miles and miles of landscape no human has ever touched would be incredible. And I want to see the penguins too, of course.”
“That’s a good one. It’s too predictable if I say I want to win the Cup, isn’t it?”
“You’re going to have to think outside of hockey.”
He’s quiet for a minute, and when he talks again, it’s softer. A dream he’s dreamed a thousand times and is finally sharing with the world. “I’d like to set up my own charity and create scholarships for kids who might not have a roof over their heads. Yeah, I want to see the world and travel and spoil the people around me, but my legacy doesn’t mean anything if I don’t share the resources I have with those who get overlooked and might need a little extra help.”
I cradle his chin in my hand. “That’s a wonderful idea.”
“I’m talking with my lawyer about distribution of wealth and a lot of other legal words that go way over my head, but I think we’re going to get the ball rolling on it next season. It’ll be a special milestone anyway—my tenth year in the league.”
“You have a kind heart, Maverick, and it’s special that you want to share it with so many people.”
“Shucks. You’re really inflating my ego over here.”
“For once it deserves to be inflated.”
“How are you feeling? Do you want to try to eat anything else?”
“No. I think I’m ready to go to sleep for the night. I’m still so tired. Thank you for all your help. You nursed me back to fantastic health. Ten out of ten, would recommend your puke-cleaning services again.”
“Will you text me if you need anything or if the nausea comes back? I can be over here in three minutes. Two if I run.”
“That’s about as fast as you do other things.”
“You’re a little shit.” He climbs off the bed and pulls on his shirt. “Need anything else before I head out?”
There’s a moment where I think about asking him to stay.
To lie back down and curl up next to me until morning, but I’m not sure where that falls on the fuck-buddy scale or if I’m even allowed to have it.
I shake my head instead, shoving the invitation far, far away. “I’ll see you at practice tomorrow.”
“You’ll see me at the arena tomorrow. Whether or not you’re going to practice is up in the air.” Maverick bends down and kisses my forehead. He tucks a piece of hair behind my ear and smiles. “Bossing you around is fun.”
“Don’t get used to it.” I pull the covers up to my chin. “Night, pretty boy.”
“Night, Emmy girl,” he says, and he leans against the door of my bedroom, watching me until I fall asleep.