Chapter 8
eight
. . .
Bex
three years ago
“You’re fucking incredible,” Nick murmurs, before he meets my lips with his.
My heart aches. How is it that this guy I met two hours ago already knows all the right buttons to push? This is only supposed to be one time. It was never supposed to be more.
And already, I know I’d get addicted to this: his words, his praise, his cock splitting me wide and full, his touch reverent.
“I… I… oh, fuck.” I shudder as he rubs at my clit, his touch steady and sure.
It doesn’t take long for me to fall apart, and he follows soon after, fucking up into me wildly. He grabs hold of my ass as he thrusts, directing me how he needs.
A burst of heat warms me from the inside out as he releases into me inside the condom, his cock jerking. I’m sweaty and out of breath, my hair all over the place, and Nick brushes a few strands out of my face to kiss me.
Slowly, he lowers back onto the bed, taking me with him. I lift off him and he ties off the condom, dropping it on the nightstand, before he hauls me close and wraps his arms around me.
My face rests on his fuzzy chest, his heart pounding in an unsteady rhythm beneath my cheek. His hand splays on my back, stroking up and down my spine.
I like this.
I like him.
The rush of emotions is almost as sudden as the orgasm, only in reverse. All my doubts and self-hatred coalesce into a ball in the pit of my stomach and I have to squeeze my eyes shut so they won’t leak tears.
This can’t happen again.
With great reluctance, I roll away from him. My panties and bra are on the floor, and as I get them on, he shifts in the bed, tucking his hand behind his head. It highlights how fucking broad he is. How pretty.
Fuck.
“You want to hang out some more?” Nick nods to the other two condoms. “You don’t have to rush out.”
“I’ve got to get going. My flight leaves in a few hours.”
His brow furrows. “You’re leaving?”
“Yeah. Got to get home. Back to real life.” Turning away, I pull on my pants. His gaze is like a target on my back.
“Babe…”
That’s what he calls me. Babe. I wonder if he even knows my name. Or if he’ll forget all about today the second I walk out this door. “I’ve got to go,” I tell him, sliding back into my shirt.
Nick scratches through his beard. “Maybe I’ll see you around sometime. Can I take you out when I hit your city?”
I tilt my head. “Why?”
“What do you mean?”
“We already slept together. I thought you’d want to move on already.”
His laugh is hollow, his eyes dark and haunted. “Damn. Is that what you think of me?”
I shrug. “That would imply I think about you.”
Nick scoffs. “So am I just a piece of meat to you? A walking dildo?”
“Please.” The word is quiet, pained. I’m just happy my voice isn’t shaking.
“Please what?” He rolls his eyes.
Stalking toward him, I stand at the edge of the bed and glare down at him.
Guys like him don’t go for women like me. I’ve seen it time and time again with my brother and his friends and teammates. Strong, successful athletes in the prime of their career want skinny, beautiful women who look great on their arms and do whatever they want in bed.
They don’t have interest in someone who looks like me, someone who has physical issues with sex and even more difficulty with emotional attachment, and who has a career that will eclipse their own.
Because I will. He may play hockey and be on billboards, he may earn millions of dollars for skating on ice and slapping a puck, but I am making real, actual contributions to medical science. I am making a difference in the world.
Is he?
“Look, I’m not a puck bunny. I’ve been in and out of the arena since I was a kid, and it’s not the life for me. I’m going to go back to Boston, finish my fucking PhD, and get on with my life.”
His face twists. “Nice. Real nice, babe.”
“Don’t call me babe.” I scoff. “Do you even know my name?”
Nick reaches down and grabs his briefs off the floor. “See you around, Bex.”
I shake my head. “No, you won’t.”