Prologue - Miles
Parties were usually my safe space, or at least they used to be when I was a teenager. Ever since I moved to New York, though, it's been a bit of a challenge for me to enjoy these outings because I don't know anyone, and that just makes things uncomfortable. What am I supposed to do? Walk up to a group of people and ask them their favorite color or what their favorite food is, like we did on the first day of school?
This is real life, and there are no icebreakers; it’s our job to figure it out. That’s one thing they should teach in schools. Well, that and how to do your taxes because my dad is going to be annoyed by my phone calls this year.
I'm from a small town in the South—the kind of place where everyone knows everyone, and your mother knows even more people on a first-name basis than you could ever anticipate knowing in your lifetime.
I went to high school with the same kids I had known since I was in kindergarten and even followed a few of my high school hockey teammates to college in Nashville. So even then, I knew people and wasn’t completely on my own.
When I got drafted by the Cyclones, I realized I was moving to an entirely new state where I knew all of zero people. Well, unless you count the people I met over the phone or through Zoom. Besides them, I knew no one, and I don’t think it really sank in until my entire family piled into a car and drove off, leaving me in my apartment all by myself. There I was, all alone in a new city—New York City, at that—and I had to figure out how to meet new people and make new friends, all because it was more terrifying not to follow my dreams than it was to risk being alone.
Tonight, one week later, I’m at my first party with the team, and I wish I could say that it was getting easier to meet people. Although, when I first got here, I talked to one of my new teammates, a guy named Trevor, and he seemed friendly. I think this is his apartment, but I’m not sure. He introduced himself while grabbing a drink before heading off to play some beer pong, which is how I ended up in the back of the apartment. The music is somehow quieter here, but the room is louder because everyone’s cheering.
I lose Trevor quickly in the crowd but manage to find a spot along the wall that’s perfect for people-watching. Drinking my beer, I scan the room and observe, but I don’t really see anyone who looks approachable, so I just stay put.
At least until I see her .
The second I spot the pretty blonde with the bright smile, I know I have to talk to her.
The only issue is figuring out how to do that since she’s already talking to someone. I’m not one to just interject myself into conversations, especially if it’s to be a dick.
But the more I watch their interactions, the more obvious it becomes that she isn’t interested in talking to him. In fact, I’m starting to get the vibe that she’s here with a friend and just got stuck talking to this guy while her friend flirts with his.
That’s just my amateur opinion of the situation, though; I’m definitely not an expert.
So, am I surprised that when I find the perfect moment to interject myself into their conversation, she doesn’t kick me to the curb like some creep?
Yeah, I guess I am.
But I’m mentally fist-bumping myself that the pretty girl with the amazing smile and smoking-hot body is willing to let me put my hands on her while we dance.
Unless she wants to save room for Jesus. I remember those eighth-grade dances. You had to make sure there was enough space between you and your date. Parents and teachers were very adamant about that rule.
As I lead her onto the dance floor, her tiny hand in mine and fingers intertwined, the tension is charged. It feels like someone just poured gasoline all around us, and we’re standing in the middle of it, holding the match. One wrong move—or right move—and it’ll all go up in flames.
I think we both know it, based on the tentative way she turns toward me, a rosy blush covering her cheekbones, her hand still in mine as we slowly let them drop between us. The song playing is a catchy one I’ve heard on the radio, the type that makes you want to move your body while holding onto someone else.
Pulling her into me, I move my hands to her hips, cautiously at first, as she starts to sway to the music. My fingertips graze the tiny piece of skin showing between her shirt and jeans, and even that feels forbidden, which only makes it that much hotter.
It’s been a while since I’ve been with anyone, but before I moved up to the NHL, I was known to be a bit of a playboy. It wasn’t even my fault; talking to women at parties was simple since they were often fans of hockey, or more specifically fans of hockey players. One thing usually led to another, especially after I’d had an impressive game, and things often progressed into the bedroom.
I got a lot of shit for it in college, but I never listened to any of it. There’s nothing wrong with two grown-ass adults enjoying sex. Don’t get me wrong, monogamy sounds hot. Being with someone you truly care about, someone you love, while getting to explore each other's bodies?
It’s what I want.
Until I find that someone, I’m still going to enjoy a good fuck every now and then.
But this feels different. Like I’m in a trance, as if she’s put some sort of witchy spell on me, making her the only thing I can think about. I can hear the noise of people all around us, but all I can focus on is the way her fingers feel as they brush along my neck, the way her lips part slowly when I slide my fingertips down, my thumbs fitting snugly between her hips and her jeans as I hold her against my body.
Her movements get more confident as she spins in my arms and pushes herself back into me, molding her body against mine; my cock reacts immediately as all blood rushes from my head down to him. I’m no longer thinking about my actions or anything else. I’m reacting purely on instinct.
I couldn’t tell you how long we stayed on the dance floor or even how many songs we danced to because it feels like both a blink of an eye and a lifetime, all squeezed into one evening.
Somehow, without even talking to her, I feel like I’ve known her my entire life—okay, that’s a bit of a stretch, but I’m comfortable with her.
I think I’ve probably watched one too many Hallmark movies with my mom; I’m becoming a bit of a romantic.
“Want to go grab another drink?” I ask tentatively, noticing the moment she hesitates, but it only lasts a second.
“Yeah, let’s go together. I’m a bit picky about what I drink,” she says with a smile, her voice raspy and out of breath, evidence of the fun we just had on the dance floor.
Heading to the kitchen, we find the bar, and she sneakily pulls out a bottle of tequila she had hidden and passes it to me with a shrug.
“I don’t trust anyone with my drinks. I had my drink nearly spiked once, and I don’t exactly hope for a repeat. It makes me nervous,” she says, looking down at our cups as I pour us both a heavy helping of tequila.
“I understand that. Would you like to finish making yours, or would watching it be enough?” I ask, holding up the margarita mix that she handed me after the tequila. The girl came prepared; either that or she knows Trevor and has a stash. I should probably ask her, but I’m not exactly in the mood to bring up another guy while I’m enjoying hanging out with her.
“I’m okay just watching. Thanks for offering, though.”
The next few moments pass quickly as I grab the ice and finish making our drinks before we walk toward the patio. Opening the door, we step outside into the crisp fall air, which is a little chilly. Thankfully, that means we’re the only ones out here.
“Tell me about yourself. I don’t even know your name,” I say, embarrassed that we’ve spent this long together without me asking. “I’m Miles, by the way.”
She smiles, biting her lip before taking a sip of her drink. She looks like she’s weighing her options. “I’m Stella,” she finally says.
“Is that a fake name?” I joke.
“No, I considered saying my name was Cassidy, but you’ve been rather charming, so I figured I’d just be me tonight.”
“I’m honored,” I say, hoping I sound more confident than I actually am. I feel like I’m acting like I’m on the first date of my life. “So, Stella, what do you do when you’re not at a hockey party?”
“I bake,” she says, with a smile brighter than before, pure joy on her face as she says it like it’s the best thing in the world. And seeing her this happy, it feels pretty fucking incredible. “Right now, I just work at Central Perk, but tomorrow I’m interviewing at a new bakery…one that I would love to own one day.”
“Really? That’s incredible. You said your interview’s tomorrow?”
“Yup. The owner has a very specific taste in mind that he wants to create, and so far, no one has been able to execute it to his standards. He’s holding tryouts tomorrow and will be picking based on what we bring him.”
“What’s he looking for?”
“He says he loves croissants, specifically chocolate croissants because he loves them for dessert. He somehow wants me to marry a chocolate chip cookie and a chocolate croissant.”
“That’s an interesting combination.”
“Yeah, but I don’t understand how I’m supposed to take cookie dough and put it into a croissant. They’re two different things.”
“Actually, chocolate croissants are kind of the same thing. Plus, there’s frosting and butters you could use, too, right? But hey, don’t listen to me, I’m not good in the kitchen at all. I’m just good in the eating department.”
She smiles. “No, that’s a good idea. I’ll have to keep thinking about that one.”
A shiver runs through her as we stand there, her drink forgotten on the railing while she tries to warm up. Pulling her into me, I wrap my arms around her to shield her from the cold. Looking down at her, her hazel eyes meet mine, and I’m certain she wants the exact same thing I do.
Bringing my lips down to hers, I gently kiss her, slowly trying to savor this moment. But the instant my tongue touches her lips, her hand moves to my neck, holding me in place as she picks up the pace of our kiss. When I slide my tongue against hers and she moans, the vibrations run straight to my cock, and I nearly come on the spot.
We kiss like we’ve done this before, yet we’re both so curious that the pace keeps changing as we explore each other. Her sounds are so cute and so soft, and I’m just trying to find new ways to hear them. I move my hands to her ass, gripping tightly as I go to lift her—then I hear the door open behind us.
“Lockwood! Are you out here? Your brother is looking for you!” Trevor shouts from the door, and she freezes.
Pulling back, I look down at the girl I was just kissing, something I’d hoped to take further, but…she’s my teammate’s little sister?
Fuck .
Before I’m even able to weigh my options or determine if it’s worth leaning down for another kiss—consequences be damned—she’s on the move.
Smiling, she turns back to me. “Thanks for the inspiration,” she says before blowing me a quick air kiss, and then she’s gone.
The second she’s out of sight, the realization hits that I nearly just got caught doing something that would make me an outcast on the team. Already.
I can’t risk that. I’m hours away from my own family, and the last thing I need is for my “hockey family” to hate me. That would be unbearable. I don’t think I could handle it.
Not kissing her again was the right move.
Right?