5. Sonya
Sonya
“ A re you sure you don’t want to stay at my place a little longer?” Dad’s tone wasn’t pushy for once, it was almost pleading.
I shot my dad a look over the edge of the mattress we carried together. “I’m a grown-ass woman, Dad. I need my space.” I’d lived on my own too long to go back to answering to anyone.
He grunted under the weight, one hand slipping slightly. “Yeah, yeah. But it’s a lot of work setting up a whole apartment alone.” He looked around the space. “You sure you want this furniture?”
I looked around the small space with a heavy sigh.
The benefit of this place was that it came furnished so all I needed to buy was a bed and a desk.
“It’s fine, Dad.” Who knew how long this opportunity would last anyway, but I kept that to myself.
“As for set up, that’s what I have you for.
” We dropped the mattress onto the frame with matching sighs of exhaustion.
“Besides, we both need our own space. I love you, but it’s time. ” Five days living with Dad was plenty.
He gave a low chuckle, wiping sweat from his brow with the hem of his T-shirt. “Fine. I get it. Just thought I’d offer one last time.”
“You mean nag me one last time,” I teased.
He smirked, shrugging as if nagging me was his prerogative. Then his expression sobered as he looked around the new one-bedroom cottage. It wasn’t much—small, functional, freshly painted with decent light—but it was mine. And affordable.
A new start. New job. New town. Same sport hanging over my life like a dark cloud.
Dad fisted his hands at his hips, his gaze met mine, serious as the night we lost Mom. “My players are off-limits, Sonya?”
I paused unpacking new dishes and stared at him, brows raised in disbelief. “Seriously?”
He shrugged, looking every bit the stern coach instead of my father. It was a look I’d grown familiar with over the years, and it was that coaching instead of fathering that sent me so far away in the first place. “It’s not personal. It’s policy.”
Policy. I snorted. “You mean you don’t want me getting involved with one of your precious boys and making your life complicated.”
“That too.” He admitted so freely it was almost offensive.
I straightened and crossed my arms. “I can date who I want, Dad.”
“You can,” he said, “anyone except one of my players.”
Oh, so we were doing this.
I bit back a grin. I had no interest in dating a hockey player; I barely wanted the job working with them, but here I was.
I let out a harsh sigh and stared him down.
“Trust me when I tell you that I want no part of this game at all. Not the sport or the players or anyone or anything else. I’m here to work and I won’t reflect badly on you for pulling strings to get me the job, but what I do off the clock is none of your business. ”
Dad paled. “Sonya.”
“Relax,” I said, laughing as I moved to pull my new coffeemaker from its box.
The talk of dating sent my mind back to two nights ago with Nick, the raven-haired cowboy with a tongue made for sinning.
I had no idea what he did for a living or if he even worked.
We hadn’t even exchanged last names or phone numbers, so as far as I was concerned he was a walking, talking fantasy.
He was from Seville, which meant he was definitely a hockey player and almost certainly a fan of Coach Mac.
Good thing I wasn’t interested in his hobbies or favorite sport.
But the man had haunted my every thought since I snuck out of his house this morning and I was interested in another night. Or ten.
That body. That mouth. The way he looked at me like I was dessert and he had a sweet tooth that couldn’t be satisfied.
And the things he’d done to me with that mouth and that body? Goodness gracious, oh me, oh my!
I caught myself staring into space, fingers frozen around a utensil drawer organizer, while memories of that night rolled over me like warm, sticky honey.
The strength in his hands as they gripped my thighs.
My hips. The soft rumble of approval with every moan I let out.
The heat that darkened his blue eyes every damn time I cried his name.
He made me feel like the most desirable woman that ever lived. Not just a conquest or a one-night fling, but like I was the fantasy come to life.
A no-strings-attached fantasy, granted. But still.
I gave myself a shake and finished lining the drawer before Dad walked back in with bags of clothes and my new knife block. He helped me settle them in the dining nook I’d repurposed into an office space and then handed me a couple of takeout menus.
“For later,” he said, almost reluctant to leave.
I didn’t bother telling him this was all available online. Instead, I gave him a quick hug and nudged him playfully towards the door. “Thanks for the help, Dad. I’ve got it from here.”
He gave me one last look and kissed my cheek. When he pulled back, Coach Mac had returned. “I mean it, Sonya. Watch yourself around those players.”
“Glad to see where your concern still lies, Dad.” I took a step back and gripped the doorknob, opening it without another word.
When he stepped out looking ready to say something, I pushed the door closed with a quiet click.
I didn’t want to argue about the same old thing that had no resolution.
Nothing would come of it except getting us both riled up and putting more distance between us.
Once alone, I leaned back against the door and exhaled. My eyes slid shut and slowed my breathing. Don’t fall into the trap, Sonya. You’re not a little girl anymore. I just had to keep my distance outside of work and the obligatory monthly dinner and we’d be fine.
As fine as we ever were, anyway.
The place was quiet and chaotic, so I shook off thoughts of my messy, complicated relationship with Dad and hockey, and I let my thoughts drift to Nick while I unpacked and put everything in its place.
I let the quiet of the cottage, the new neighborhood and the new town wash over me.
City living was behind me, at least for now, and I was determined to make the best of it.
I had to.
I’d run fast and far from hockey but it still found a way to lure me back in.
I wandered back to the kitchen, unboxed a set of mismatched mugs I bought at the big-box store, which inevitably led me back to another mug. Nick’s mug with the Thunderhawks displayed on both sides, the one I’d left a note under, scrawled with a rushed Thanks for a great night. ~S .
Casual.
Flirty.
Anonymous.
We hadn’t exchanged numbers. Hadn’t made any promises or plans for the future. Just one night of tangled sheets and ragged moans that ended with one last sleepy smile at his sleeping form and exposed torso before I slipped out the door.
No regrets.
Except maybe that I didn’t stay for round number four and orgasm number seven.
The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur of unpacking.
I built my little office area, decorated with pink and white fairy lights and a cozy chair.
Set up my bedroom just the way I liked it, with shades of soft pinks, gray accents and minimal clutter, outside my full to bursting closet.
To complete my day of adulting, I even made a grocery run, determined to stock the fridge for the week.
By evening, I was exhausted and half-wild with hunger, so I cracked open the bottle of tequila I’d snagged while shopping and poured a healthy dose into a brand-new shot glass before I sank into the sofa with a sigh.
“I’m not thinking about him,” I said aloud to the empty room even as his slow, sexy smile flashed in my mind. “I’m totally thinking about him.” I smiled and let my thoughts wander to all the things about him that were so damn appealing.
About that easy confidence. The way he’d teased me as if he knew just how far over the line he could cross and have me begging for more. The way his big, strong hands had traced the lines of my body like he’d written the map.
And those kisses?
Killer.
Intoxicating.
I took another sip, humming low in my throat. What were the odds I’d actually see him again? I didn’t have a number, a last name, not even a damn social media handle. Just memories of a mouth that made me forget my name and a house I could probably find again if I really tried.
I wouldn’t. Obviously .
Probably.
Maybe.
Tomorrow marked the real new beginning of my fresh start.
A new job for a new team, but the same reliable and competent Sonya.
I was good at my job, something I’d let myself forget over the past few months, but old Sonya was back.
She was professional and polished, she was sassy and social media savvy.
She was determined to kick ass at this new job.
Even if it was hockey.
She would let herself be distracted by mysterious, devastatingly hot cowboys with a laugh that made her knees weak.
Not hockey players.
Tonight wasn’t for thinking about hockey. It was for tequila and thinking about Nick no-last-name and all the ways he’d made my body sing.
And maybe, just maybe, hoping he’d play that song again soon.
Really soon.