5. Bree
Chapter 5
Bree
T he warmth of a decidedly male body and the soft rhythm of his breathing almost lull me back to sleep as fragments of what has to be a dream filter through my mind.
Dancing.
Drinking. Lots of drinking.
Making out at the bar.
And then leaving the bar without my friends.
Sex .
Great sex. All night sex.
What a great dream.
A male snore invades my sexy fantasy, ruining the moment, and I blink myself awake, depressed that the dream is already fading.
My eyes flutter open, and I’m greeted by the faint light of dawn seeping through the curtains, casting an early morning sunny glow on the unfamiliar room.
Umm… Where am I?
Now I’m wide awake, and peeking under the sheets to confirm… yup, I’m naked. I wiggle a bit. And a little sore in a few special places that haven’t been sore for some time.
Does that mean… I roll my head to the side and look… at the handsome man in my bed.
Or am I in his?
What the hell happened?
I blink a few more times and it all comes back in a flood of tequila shots and orgasms.
Shoot! Double shoot!
Panic ensues and with every intention of slipping away unnoticed, I carefully untangle myself from the sheets. Trying not to jostle him, I slowly move toward the edge of the bed.
He grumbles in his sleep, and I freeze.
Then he rolls to his side and throws his heavy but warm arm protectively around the middle of my stomach, curling his big body around mine and tucking me into his embrace.
Not good. Not bad, nice, actually . But not good.
Holding my breath, I count to ten, praying he doesn’t wake up. When I think I’m in the clear, I gently lift his arm and ease out from under it, finally rolling off the mattress to land on my hands and knees on the plush carpeting.
We appear to be in a hotel room. Crawling around the bed, I’m relieved to discover my clothes piled near the door next to his. My actions of last night are now bright and mostly clear in my head, along with a pounding headache, a souvenir of my reckless abandon from the night before. I reach my dress and underwear, and quietly standing, I quickly slip back into them. I spot my purse and shoes tossed aside. Snatching those up, I take a precious second to peek at my reflection in the mirrored closet door.
Oh my .
It’s bad. But I don’t have time to fix the mess that’s my face and hair. I have to hope I can slip out without anybody seeing me. Thankfully, in Las Vegas, only the locals tend to sleep regular hours. If my luck holds, I’ll be able to make my walk of shape without too much embarrassment.
I take a moment to look back at the man still nestled between the sheets. Even in slumber, his face is sculpted and serene, lips parted ever so slightly. My pulse quickens just remembering how those lips felt pressed against my skin, igniting sparks that set my nerves on fire. It’s been a long time since someone made me feel this way—alive and wanted.
I should go. Now. Before he wakes up this gets complicated. Yet, my feet betray me, rooted to the spot as I drink in the sight of him one last time. He’s beautiful like this, unguarded and vulnerable. A pang of something that feels dangerously close to regret twists in my chest. This wasn’t supposed to mean anything. It was a way to get over Mike. Yet, it feels like so much more. How is it even possible when I don’t even know his name?
Then, as if sensing my internal conflict, he stirs. The movement is slight but enough for the morning light to reveal his features more clearly.
My breath catches as a sense of familiarity overwhelms me—familiarity and knowledge. That jawline, the curve of his nose… I remember thinking about it last night, but the drinks blurred my thoughts, and I let it go. He shifts again, turning his face toward me, and it hits me like a slapshot to the face.
Oh crap.
“Mike’s teammate,” I whisper, horror creeping into the edges of my voice. How could I not have seen it before? The height, the build, the sheer physicality of him—it’s all there.
Memories flash before my eyes: Mike’s games, pictures of the team in the news, the team lined up on the ice, at Chloe’s brother’s place after a game one time early in the year last season, and this man—he lives with Mike. We’d never met; he hadn’t been home the very few times I’d been at the house. Mike preferred our nights out to be just us, so we didn’t hang out with the guys. But I did attend a few of the home games. And I remember him—Carter, I think. Carter Hayes.
Oh, h, e, double hockey sticks.
Panic sets in, cold and unwelcome. I can’t be here when he wakes up. I can’t deal with the questions, the implications, or the inevitable fallout. With one final lingering glance, I turn on my heel and rush for the door.
“Goodbye,” I whisper, not sure if I’m saying it to him or to the foolish hope that started to bloom inside me. Deep down, I wish it could have lasted longer than one night. Now, the metallic sound of the door clicking shut echoes down the hallway, signaling the end of something that never should have happened.
I make it down to the lobby without shaming myself in front of other guests. I hurry through the front doors into the morning heat and find a taxi waiting. I practically jump inside, give him my address, and then flop back in the seat. There’s a swirl of emotions rushing through me—sadness, anger at myself, regret, and memories of the passion, excitement, and desire that leeched from my pores.
At least I didn’t tell him my name.
“Never again,” I mutter to myself. The sting of betrayal from Mike’s infidelity still lingers, a bitter aftertaste that pushed me into the arms of a man who could be his shadow on the ice. A sports figure, just like him. I promised myself I’d avoid their kind, but last night’s chemistry... it felt different. Special, even. Now, there’s only the ache of walking away from what might have been—if only he were anyone else.
My phone buzzes in my purse, and I dig it out. It’s Kat.
KAT:
Home safe?
Almost.
Excuse me? What do u mean almost? Where ru?
Almost home.
It doesn’t take long to reach my home. I pay the driver and then I’m stepping into the sanctuary of my apartment building. The elevator ride feels like I’m ascending from a dream, one I’m desperate to remember and forget. After letting myself in, I just stand there, my shoes hanging from one hand and my purse from the other. I’m not quite sure what to do next.
A knock on my door startles me, and I jump, shriek, and spin around. Even though I have a good idea who it is.
Glancing through the peephole, I spot my best friend with two large cups in her hands from the Starbucks down the street. I open the door to let her in.
“Hey, you,” she greets me, her eyes bright despite the early hour. “Coffee?”
“Hi, Kat. You seem awfully cheerful this morning.” The smell of freshly brewed coffee welcomes me. She may be up early, but she looks like she just crawled from bed dressed in cozy-looking lounge pants and a white cotton band shirt, with her hair tousled and her eyes sparkling. At least she brought coffee. She only lives a block away, so this isn’t the first time she’s appeared still in her pajamas.
“God, yes.” I shut the door and relieve her of one cup, and then I walk further into my apartment to slump onto the couch, cradling the warm mug between my hands. Kat sits beside me, her presence comforting yet expectant.
“Should I go first or you?”
“You please.” I take a sip, sighing loudly.
“I met a great guy last night. His name is Finn. He plays for the High Rollers. We spent hours talking when he took me home.”
Normally I might be surprised that she hooked up with a hockey player, but considering the man I spent the night with, I simply give her a look. “Just talking?”
“Well, we did a little more than talk. But we didn’t do it .”
Good for her. She has more restraint than I do apparently.
“Now you. Spill,” she urges, and I do.
“Turns out, my Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome from last night is one of Mike’s teammates,” I confess, the words tasting like ash. “And I’m guessing Finn’s too.”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “Oh, Bree.”
“Right? Of all the guys in the city...” I shake my head, sipping the hot liquid, letting it scald the lump forming in my throat.
“Didn’t you know before...?” She trails off delicately. “I mean, I recognized Finn, so I assumed they were all players.”
“I should’ve guessed when they were all towering over everyone, or at the hotel when the concierge gave him that knowing nod. But no, it took until the morning light for me to connect the dots.”
“Back up. Hotel?”
“Yeah, I spent the night with him.’
“Alcohol’s one hell of a blindfold,” Kat says with a wry smile.
“That it is.” I force a laugh, though there’s a hollow ring to it.
“Look, Bree, you did nothing wrong,” she reassures me, placing a comforting hand on my knee. “You’re single, he’s single—it was just two people enjoying each other.”
“Enjoying without knowing,” I correct her bitterly. “Ignorance isn’t bliss; it’s just ignorance.” And who knows if he’s single? Being in a relationship sure didn’t stop Mike from playing with others.
“Stop being so hard on yourself. You were looking for fun, not a husband. And you got fun, right?”
“Sure, if fun includes a side of soul-crushing irony.” I set the cup down on my small coffee table with more force than necessary. Thank God for the lid.
“You can’t let Mike ruin your life, Bree. Not anymore,” she says softly, her voice laced with concern.
“Trust me, I don’t plan to.” Standing, I pace my apartment with a new resolve. “Starting now, I’m swearing off hockey players for good. No exceptions.”
“Good for you,” she nods. “Now, let’s get some pancakes in you. Hangover food heals all wounds, right?”
“Something like that,” I agree, following her into the kitchen, trying to leave behind the shadows of the night’s regrets—but knowing full well they’re etched in my memory, as indisputable as the ice beneath a pair skates.
“Seriously. It was just a rebound play,” Kat says, her voice heavy with the kind of levity I can’t muster right now.
I snort at the idea that anything in my life could be so simple. “Rebound or not, it’s like I’m cursed when it comes to men on ice.”
“Hey, don’t beat yourself up,” she chides. “Last night was about forgetting Mike and getting some well-deserved pleasure. Nothing more.”
“Easy for you to say,” I grumble getting milk and eggs from the fridge while Kat rummages through my cupboard for pancake mix. “You’re probably going back for seconds with Finn. Aren’t you?” She’s been glowing since she walked through my door, so I know there’s more to her one-night stand than just an evening of talking.
Kat’s eyes twinkle mischievously. “Can you blame me? The man knows his way around the rink—and I’m sure in the bedroom, too.”
“Be careful,” I warn, my tone more severe than intended. “You never know when the ice will crack beneath you.”
“Relax, I’m just having fun.” She winks at me. “And I promise, your secret’s safe with me. No one will know about your mystery man—not even Finn.”
“Thanks,” I mutter, though my heart isn’t in it. “Just make sure we don’t accidentally end up on a double date, okay?”
“Scout’s honor.” She raises three fingers in a mock salute.
I let out a half-hearted chuckle, but I’m a tangle of emotions inside. Part of me wants to scream because I know I’ve walked away from something—or someone—potentially life-changing. The other part is chastising myself for even considering a future with a guy who embodies everything I’ve sworn to avoid.
“Look at me, Bree,” Kat demands gently. “You met a hot hockey player. You had mind-blowing sex. Don’t turn it into a tragic love story.”
But it feels like one. I can’t shake it off as I sit at the kitchen table, sipping coffee that’s gone cold. I can’t forget him. Carter Hayes—tall, muscular, with piercing blue eyes—could have been more than a one-night stand if I’d met him in any other scenario. But he’s a hockey player, and that means he’s off-limits. My own rules.
“Why did it have to be him?” I whisper, the words barely audible.
“Because the universe has a sick sense of humor,” Kat replies. “But hey, you’ve got me, pancakes, and soon, no hangover. That’s a win in my book.”
“Right,” I say, forcing a smile that doesn’t reach my eyes. “A win.”
As Kat starts mixing our breakfast together, my thoughts race. I’d give anything to rewrite last night, meet Carter under different circumstances, and allow myself to feel without fear.
But wishes are for fairy tales. And my reality is that falling for a hockey player only leads to heartache.