Chapter 18
eighteen
. . .
Nick
After a long, grueling game, all I want is my bed.
I don’t get to crash, though. Our flight from Nashville to Atlanta is relatively quick, less than two hours.
But by the time we load in, take off and land, then hit the buses to the hotel, grab our room assignments, and finally make it to the elevators, I’m spent.
We’ve got two full days in Atlanta, including our league-mandated day off. I’m looking forward to sleeping in, maybe taking a walk through a park, eating some delicious food.
The Grizzlies reserved the entire ninth floor of this hotel. Each player and member of the staff gets their own room—except for Larsson, who rooms with his wife, and McKittrick and Amelia, who get to share because of their declared relationship.
I swipe into my room, but the scent of orange blossoms has me pausing.
Bex stands at the door across the hall from mine, trying and failing to get her room key to work.
Even after a long day at the arena, an entire game, a flight, and now a middle-of-the-night bedtime, her perfume is as electrifying as ever.
Most of the guys change out of their suits into casual clothes for the flights, but she’s still in her work uniform of a blouse and pencil skirt—though she changed her heels for flat shoes.
Her red hair is tied up in a ponytail, the waves falling down her back nearly to her ribcage.
I want to pull out the tie, let those waves cascade over her shoulders, and run my hands through the strands. Wrap the length around my fist as I—
“Need help?” I ask, my voice rough like sandpaper. It must be the late hour; nobody sounds good at four o’clock in the morning.
“I’ve got it,” she mutters, not looking at me. She presses her key against the sensor, but it buzzes red instead of clicking open. She blows out a disgruntled sigh. “Fuck.”
Leaving my bag, I cross the hall in three steps, then pluck the key from between her fingers.
Bex’s mouth drops open in a surprised O. Her dark red lipstick is perfectly applied, and it’s doing dangerous things to my heart rate.
Without the help of her heels, she’s about half a foot shorter than me. And up close, her perfume is even more intoxicating.
My eyes are on her face, but she’s staring at the door. Okay, fine. If that’s how she wants to play it. One quick flick of my wrist later, the door sensor turns green and clicks open. I turn the handle and push open the heavy door.
“Have a good night, Bex.”
She scowls as she marches past me, dragging her suitcase over my foot. “Fuck off.”
Smiling to myself, I lope back to my room, swiping in and closing the door behind me. I barely have time to strip out of my clothes before I crash into bed and pass the fuck out.
I wake up sometime later to loud, obnoxious knocking. Still half asleep, I stumble out of bed and to the door, wrenching it open.
“What?”
Bex stands on the other side, her hand raised as if she wants to knock again. Her hand twitches, almost rapping on my bare chest, before she yanks her arm down. Her rich brown eyes widen as she stares at me, horrified. What did I do now?
Blearily, I rub at my eyes. “What’s going on?” I modulate my tone to be a bit nicer.
She’s wearing casual clothes today, and I can’t decide whether I like it, or if I prefer her in the business-casual getups she wears to the arena.
Not that it’s my choice, or that it even matters.
She looks gorgeous no matter what she wears.
Now, her leggings and team T-shirt cling to her delicious curves, her long hair in a braid over her shoulder.
Her makeup is natural—except for that signature red lipstick.
My cock loves that color on her lips. The early interruption hasn’t affected my morning wood, and dressed only in my boxer briefs, she can probably tell, but I can’t make myself be ashamed for my body’s reaction to her.
“It’s five o’clock,” she says, matter of fact.
I blink. Twice. “I’m confused.”
“You missed team breakfast and lunch. Coach Turner sent me to make sure you weren’t dead.”
Patting my arms and my chest, I confirm that yes, I’m still alive, and no, not having an out-of-body experience.
“I’m not dead.”
“Yet,” she mutters.
Is that a threat or disappointment?
“Look, I’m fine. Just sleeping.”
Her fire-engine-red lips dip into a frown. “Whatever. Report in to Coach and tell him you’re good.”
“You got it.” I mock-salute her, and my cock does the same, twitching.
Bex’s rich brown eyes trail hungrily over my body, fixing on my abs and then lower. They widen when she sees the rigid outline of my dick in my underwear, no doubt clocking the wet spot blooming on the fabric. She opens her mouth, but no sound comes out.
“I’m going back to bed.” Do not invite her to join me. I like my cock attached to my body, thanks.
When she doesn’t respond, I politely shut the door in her face, then crawl back beneath the covers. The weight of the blankets is simultaneously too light and stifling, and the pillow is lumpier than it was ten minutes ago.
It’s no use. I’m awake. And I really don’t want to be.
My morning erection hasn’t waned, not in the slightest. Being up close and personal with my dream girl, after abruptly ending dream world, makes me think maybe they can combine. That maybe I can actually have her.
The toiletry bag where I keep my lube is too far away, and this bed too comfortable, for me to fetch it.
I shimmy out of my boxer briefs and then spit in my hand, using the saliva as lubricant as I give myself a strong tug.
My mind drifts to the same memory it always does: an Ohio summer afternoon, a hotel room, and heaven personified in my bed.
Volatile. That’s what Elsy said. Yes, my girl is volatile as fuck, but I can’t deny it’s part of what draws me to her like a moth to a flame. Sue me, I like ’em a little crazy. And she’s just the right type of crazy for me.
But now that I reflect… yes, she has been a little up and down lately. Her face is pale beneath her makeup, and her eyes are tired. Her scowls whenever we cross paths haven’t changed. But there’s definitely something going on.
I said my piece. I voiced my concerns. If she wants help, I’m here. Until then… I don’t know what I’ll do, exactly, but I’ll keep making it clear I’m not going anywhere.
Whether she likes it or not.
I sink back into the memories. Her scent on my sheets, her taste on my lips. Oh, what I would give to taste her again, to drive my cock into her sweet cunt, to drown myself in her kisses. To not have her hate me.
Fuck, I’d give anything. I’d walk away from hockey if it meant a chance for us to be together.
When I come, it’s with her name on my lips—the same as it has been almost every day since we met.
When the sweat has cooled on my skin and I’ve caught my breath, I force myself out of bed and into the shower. My stomach rumbles. Sleeping for twelve hours straight, plus the travel beforehand, means I haven’t eaten in way too long.
Dressed in a team T-shirt and jeans, I pull up a list of local restaurants on my phone as I walk to the elevator. I bookmark one that looks promising, then flick through the second’s menu to compare. I’m not sure what I’m in the mood for, as long as it’s edible and plentiful.
A few of my teammates lounge on the sofas in the hotel lobby, and I’m about to head toward them when a splash of copper flashes in my peripheral vision.
Bex.
She’s seated at the hotel bar, enthralled by her tablet. A sweaty glass of dark soda sits on a cocktail napkin in front of her, and she idly stirs the straw as she reads.
I watch for a few moments, and then her eyes widen and turn glassy with unshed tears. She swallows—hard—before lifting a spare napkin to her eyes, dabbing at the corners.
Fuck. I hate the idea of Bex crying.
Maybe that’s why I do it. I slide onto the barstool beside her. The bartender makes eye contact, and I nod, but don’t interrupt the drink she’s pouring. A few moments later, she approaches with a menu.
“What can I get you?”
“A beer, whatever’s on tap.” Do I need alcohol on an empty stomach? No. Am I doing it anyway? If it means I get to spend more time with her, of course. “And cheese fries, please.”
Bex’s head snaps up, and she glares at me. “What are you doing?”
“Drinking?” I pretend like I have no clue what she’s talking about, but the fire in her eyes stokes the one deep in my belly, and even though I just came not that long ago, I would be game for another round. With her.
“They don’t have those here,” she snaps.
“Did you ask?”