Chapter 28
MURPHY
By the time his skates hit the ice for the game that night, Murphy’s mind was buzzing.
Even if he had just told them, it wasn’t too much, it was.
And it wasn’t just the internet. It was Hillary. It was the spotlight. It was everything.
So he did the only thing he knew how to do. He let it all bleed out on the ice.
Warm-ups felt good, his body loose and dialed in. Every stride came easy, every pass clicked off his stick like muscle memory. By the time the puck dropped, he was flying.
He backchecked hard, muscled his way into corners, and threaded a pass between two defenders that set Cash up for a one-timer.
In the second, he crashed the net and buried one himself, grinning as the red light flared.
The guys on the bench banged their sticks, and even Taylor gave him a rare clap on the shoulder when he came off the ice.
By the final buzzer, sweat dripped into his eyes, but adrenaline kept him buzzing.
Even Niko—grumpy, perpetually unimpressed Niko—skated over and gave him a slap on the back. “Good game,” he muttered in that thick accent, like it physically hurt him to say it.
Murphy grinned, tugging off his helmet. If he had Niko’s approval, he must have done something right.
Back in the tunnel, the guys filed toward the locker room, laughter echoing off the walls. Cash fell into step beside him, smirking like he’d been waiting all night.
“Keep it up, loverboy,” Cash said, jabbing him in the ribs with an elbow. “Whatever you’re doing, it’s working.”
Murphy rolled his eyes, fighting back a smile.
The music was pounding by the time he got back to the room. Conner had taken over the aux cord, blasting something fast and loud, and half the guys were dancing like idiots in the middle of the floor. Helmets clattered, towels snapped, and laughter echoed.
Murphy laughed too, because how could you not? The energy was infectious.
Sven sidled up beside him, hair still damp, tugging on a hoodie. “You heading out with us tonight? A couple of the guys are hitting West Side Pub.”
Murphy shook his head, tucking his gear back into his bag. “Nah.”
“Come on,” Sven pressed. “We’ll get a table.”
Murphy zipped the bag shut and slung it over his shoulder. “Not tonight.”
Sven gave him a look, one brow cocked, but didn’t push.
Murphy just smiled, keeping it to himself. Because the truth was simple, he had somewhere much better to be.
He went through the motions, a shower, clothes, quick goodbyes. But the whole time, anticipation thrummed in his veins. By the time he slid behind the wheel of his car, it was all he could do not to speed.
The city lights thinned as he drove, trading neon signs and brick apartments for quiet streets lined with snow-dusted trees. At the edge of town, he turned down a narrow road that led to a small bungalow. Quaint. Charming. Exactly the kind of place that felt like her.
He sat in his car, working up the courage to go to the door.
He hadn’t been here in months. She was not expecting him, but maybe that was for the best. It would give her less time to practice her response.
He knew they belonged together, and deep down she knew it too, but she just wouldn’t let herself.
She had seemed different at her parents’ house. He understood her more. Yet, as he looked at her house, there was a part of him that still worried he was getting it wrong. Maybe she would turn him away . . . but many she would let him in.
After a game like that, luck seemed to be on his side tonight. He was going to talk to her.
Murphy killed the engine, grabbed his bag, and stepped out into the cold. His heart thumped hard as he climbed the front steps and lifted his hand.
Three quick knocks.
The door opened, and there she was.
Hillary.
"Hey, Rookie, good game."
"Hey, Boss, you gonna let me in or let me freeze?" he asked, unsure of the answer.
She stepped back and held the door open. Murphy entered, slid off his shoes, and put his bag down before he wrapped his arms around Hillary and pulled her in for a kiss.
He lifted his overnight bag. “I have something for you.”
Her brow arched. “You just assume I’m letting you stay?”
“I’m hopeful,” he said with a grin as he reached into his bag and pulled out a jersey.
With an arched eyebrow, she took it from him and held it out. It was a Magic jersey, his Magic jersey to be exact.
"I know you can't wear it to the game and all that, but I don't know... I just wanted you to have it."
She gazed at him with a face he couldn’t quite read. Her lips parted like she wanted to argue, but she didn’t.
She turned and walked into her kitchen as he followed behind her. Uncorking a bottle of wine, she looked to him to see if he wanted any, but he was already getting down two glasses.
His nerves eased. He hadn’t been certain if she would even let him in. This was going better than he had thought.
"You looked good out there tonight.”
He took a sip of the wine, trying to feel as classy as Hilary always looked. "The team had a good night."
"Don't you even just admit how good you are?" Hillary asked with a small smile.
"I'm good. I know it."
"You know what I mean. You are a rising hockey star, and you still act like a normal guy who can play hockey."
"I am a normal guy who can play hockey."
"Your social media would say different."
He wasn't really sure where all this was coming from. Hillary didn't seem like the type to buy into all the hype.
"I'm sure the internet will forget all about me soon. They move on quickly. And I mean . . . it's kind of your fault," he said with a playful cocked brow.
"My fault?" she said in her serious voice, pulling back to look at him.
"Yeah, your fault," he said, pulling her back in. "You put all this front and center," he said as he rolled his hips into her, pressing her into the counter.
She laughed and pushed him away. "There's the cocky hockey player hidden in each and every one of you."
"There has to be to make it in the league," he said as he crowded her against the counter and kissed her.
The next thing he knew, her hands were fisted in a claiming kiss. He let her take control; he would do anything for her.
She broke the kiss and lay her head on his chest. He took a deep breath as his shoulders loosened and he held her, letting the stress of the day fall away.
He wished it could always be like this. His hands explored the luscious curves of her body.
Everything about this woman drove him insane.
His hand explored lower still until he gripped her soft, round ass.
Hillary laughed and shoved at his chest, but he only caught her hand and pressed it back against him, holding her still. The grin faded from his face, replaced by something steadier, more serious.
“Murphy—” she started.
He kissed her again. Not the playful, cocky kiss of a young guy who’d just scored a goal, but slower. Reverent. Like she was something rare.
Her breath caught.
Without breaking the kiss, he lifted her easily, setting her on the counter. His palms spread warm against her thighs as he stepped between them, deepening the kiss until she melted into him.
Hillary took the lead first, her hands sure, her body guiding him like she wanted to remind him who was in charge. But then he shifted her gently beneath him, kissing her slower, deeper, until she relaxed into it.
Murphy wasn’t in a hurry. He worshiped her, his mouth trailing paths across her skin, his hands mapping curves he already knew by heart. Every sigh she gave him felt like a gift.
He fell to his knees and pulled at the waistband of her leggings.
"What are you doing?"
"Oh, you know what I'm doing," he said as she shifted her hips.
"Fuck," he groaned as he licked his lips.
Her perfect pink pussy was glistening before him.
He could look at it forever, but right now, he was going to do more than look at it.
He pressed a kiss to each of her inner thighs.
Taking his time, he traced the seam of her wet core. He was not going to rush this.
Slowly, he pressed the finger in as he pressed another kiss to her thigh. Then her hand fisted in his hair, and she guided his face right where she wanted it.
"Such a greedy girl," he said, looking up at her.
She gazed down at him, powerful yet soft. "Come one Rookie, show me my favorite skill."
"Yes, Boss," he said before he licked his tongue up the seam of her center before flicking it over her clit.
Then he got to work, doing what he did best, driving her to the edge and keeping her there until she let go. He licked and sucked as she ground against his face. When he could tell she was close to the edge, he slowed. Her hand twisted in his hair, pulling him closer.
"Don’t you dare stop. Murphy, please," she pleaded.
He loved it when she begged, but he wouldn't make her do it for long. He plunged his fingers into her, and he sucked her clit. Her head hit the cabinet behind her as she cried out. Her soft thighs squeezed his head.
"Fuck, Rookie. How did you get so good at that?" she asked, gazing down at him.
"You inspire greatness," he said as he stood and claimed her mouth before helping her down.
She straightened her leggings and made her way down the hallway. He paused, momentarily mesmerized by the sway of her hips. Then she looked over her shoulder and nodded towards the bedroom.
By the time he got there, she was already in her bathroom with her door closed. He looked around the room. Over the summer, he’d seen the inside of this bedroom multiple times, and had a good time every single one of them. But that seemed like a lifetime ago right now.
After their time at her grandmother's funeral, all the mysterious pieces had fallen into place.
Seeing where someone is from can help to know who they are.
Seeing how in charge she was there, it was no surprise she needed to be in control in her own life.
But he was discovering she liked it when he took control, just for brief moments, but she did like it.
As he waited for her, he stopped to look at all the framed photos that covered her dresser.
There were no family photos, except for Sydney, of course, which tracked.
There was a picture of her and Sasha from the gala last year, the night that had changed everything, he thought as he smiled at the framed picture.
The bedroom door opened, and he turned to see her, but nothing could have prepared him for what he saw. There was Hillary, standing in the dim light of the bedside lamp in nothing but his jersey.
"Fuck," was the only word to escape his mouth.
"What do you think?" she asked as she ran her hands over her curves and did a small turn for him.
Before she could even complete the turn, he was there, kissing her and guiding her to the bed. He was going to lay her out and devour her again, but instead she pushed him down on the bed and kneeled before him, undoing the button of his pants.
A slow grin covered his face as he shifted his hips, and she pulled down his pants and tossed them to the side. She looked up at him as he gathered her hair.
"You are perfect," he said as she lowered her mouth and licked his dick before taking him into her mouth.
His brow scrunched as he watched her work.
Then she popped off, looked at him, and smiled.
He would never grow tired of the smiles on this serious woman's face.
But as she got back to work, all thoughts left his mind.
She wrapped one hand around his cock and pumped him while she licked his head. It felt better than anything he could imagine. That was until her hand fell away and she sucked him all the way into her mouth.
"Fuck, baby, I'm going to come," he groaned.
This only caused her to suck harder and take him in deeper. With a groan, he let go and lost himself to the feel of her mouth on him.
When he was done, she sat back on her ankles and wiped her mouth.
"You are the hottest woman I've ever seen," he said with hearts in his eyes.
He pulled her to her feet and took in the sight of her in his jersey. He would give anything to have her in his jersey at his games. That wasn't their story. Hillary would be there, and she would look professional and devastatingly beautiful. But here he had her like this, and it was everything.
He spun her, taking in every dip and swell of her beautiful body covered in his name. His claim staked, he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her onto the bed. She squealed before she giggled and fuck, it was perfect.