Chapter 9
SIERRA
LAST CHRISTMAS
“Shit. It’s really coming down,” Jenny calls from across the bar where she’s wiping down tables by the door.
I cross to the nearest window and peer out, drying my hands on a towel. Huge flakes of snow cover the street outside. A couple of cars are parked under the streetlights, but there’s no sign of their owners. If this weather continues, they might be stuck there.
“Go home,” I decide.
“You don’t need to close up alone,” she protests.
“I’ve got this. You must have something to do for the holidays.”
She sighs, her shoulders relaxing. “Wrapping for days, actually. Including something for this new guy I’m seeing.”
I laugh as I go back behind the bar. “Sounds exciting.”
“It is. It’s new, and this is our first holiday together. But I guess that’s how you make traditions, right? You don’t know they’re traditions until later.” She goes to the back to collect her coat and purse, then heads for the door. “Sierra, are you—”
“Positive! We’re closed. I’m nearly done. Have a good night. And Merry Christmas.”
With a wave, she leaves.
Mariah Carey comes on, and I switch the playlist from holiday tunes to more bluesy tracks.
Most people are ready for the holiday. I have my shopping done. I’ll swap gifts with some friends and family. There’s no one I’m seeing.
Not that I’m lonely. I’m too busy for that.
I head to the back to grab more whisky, thinking of Ryan flirting with me. Letting myself enjoy the attention from someone I was attracted to felt good.
Then he kissed me.
One second, we were barely touching.
The next, he was surrounding me.
The move stole my breath. He was warm and so damn giving.
I wanted all of it. All of him.
My fingers fisted in his shirt, my feet clumsy as I tripped backward, him following easily.
“Sierra.” His mouth started at my ear. A groan that traveled to my jaw, my throat, my collarbone.
“Yes.”
It was supposed to be an answer to him saying my name.
It was an answer to something else.
Yes, you feel so good.
Yes, this is a terrible idea.
Yes, keep fucking going.
When we knocked the jar of cherries off the shelf, the glass banging on the floor and nearly shattering brought me back to reality.
Ryan tried to stick around, but I shoved him out the door faster than you could say “holiday hookup.”
When I made it back out to the bar, I managed to avoid him for the better part of an hour until one time I looked up and he was gone.
It was over. A thrilling, if embarrassing, slipup that I will absolutely replay one night with my hand between my thighs when I’m horny and have zero shame.
Now, I’m tired. Maybe I’m coming down with something. I press a hand to my forehead. Not hot. Need to sleep more.
I finish wiping down the tables Jenny didn’t get to, my hips swaying to the music. Then I return to the bar, taking my time.
I play around with a few cocktails. There’s nothing I need to be home for. I take out the cherries, wanting to make something that’s not so basic and cliché.
A few moments later, I have it. I take a sip. It’s good but not quite right.
It needs a name.
Fifteen minutes later, I’ve made three new drinks. They’re lined up in front of me, and I lean on the bar as I taste one after another.
Better.
Another sip of each to be sure.
A sound outside makes me jump. I didn’t lock the door.
I trip a little as I round the bar. I guess I’ve had a couple of drinks, which sneaks up on you when you’re taste-testing.
A man is on the other side of the door. I screech before recognizing his face and pulling the door open.
“Ryan?!”
His frame fills the doorway, snow covering his dark, curly hair. Shadows fall across his face. I step back to let him in, and he follows, stomping the snow off his shoes.
“I thought you left with those women.” I reach past him to pull the door closed, locking it.
He’s big and warm, and I’m suddenly aware of his presence and what almost went down in the back room.
He shakes his head. “I could’ve given them a cardboard cutout of me and they wouldn’t have known the difference.”
I laugh and head back to the bar. “What can I do for you?”
“Just wanted to let you know you might have a hard time getting out of here, see if you need a ride.”
His thoughtfulness is touching, but I’m not about to believe he left and then came all the way back to check on me.
I go back to the bar. “Is this you avoiding Christmas shopping?”
“Not at 3 a.m.”
“Online,” I offer.
“I guess.”
“You don’t need to buy for anyone special?”
“Do the guys count? Jay is a present snob and gets annoyed if you don’t find him something great.”
I laugh as he takes a seat on the stool where he was before, but now it’s only the two of us. Ryan shrugs out of his coat.
My gaze lands on the bar. “Well, I don’t need a rescue, but I could use an opinion.” I slide a glass over to him.
He takes it, his gaze on mine as he sips. “That’s incredible.”
“Yeah?” I flush with pride.
“Why isn’t it on the menu?”
“My dad wants to keep things traditional. Focus on the team.”
“Fuck the team. Kidding,” he goes on at my look. “But maybe you can honor the team and still do your own thing.”
I reach under the bar for the good whisky and pull it out. His brows shoot up.
“Damn. Merry Christmas is right.” He chuckles.
I pour us each one on the rocks and slide his over. We click glasses and sip, eyeing each other over the rims.
“So, you got tired of cherry girl,” I say.
“Knotting a cherry stem isn’t that impressive a bar trick. I can do it too.”
I choke on my next sip of whisky. “You, Ryan, can knot a cherry stem with your tongue?”
“Mhmm. Hours on the road traveling, you gotta kill time somehow.”
Hearing a pro athlete cop to that skill surprises and delights me.
Before I can invite him, he circles the bar and comes in beside me, crouching next to me to see what I have beneath the bar. “Nice collection. I’m from Kentucky. I know my bourbon.”
“Of course you do.”
“I always wanted to be a bartender.”
I spread my hands. “Be my guest.”
There are no seats, so I hop up on the bar.
I go fishing for a cherry, trying the stem thing for myself while he works.
“This is hard,” I complain.
He holds out a hand, and I pass him one. He pops it in his mouth and, a moment later, puts the stem—tied—in his hand.
“No way.”
He holds out a drink.
“For me?”
“Yeah. You’ve been making them all night.”
I take a sip. “That’s actually good.”
I’m watching the way the low lights play over his face. I take another delicious sip, almost moaning before I swallow.
I shift to one side, planting my palm on the wood bar as I cock my head. My skirt’s riding up, but I don’t bother fixing it. The alcohol is buzzing in my veins, and I’m not sure when the walls I put up started to fall, but I’m more relaxed than I’ve been all night.
I take another cherry but drop it. He catches it in front of me, my knees bumping his chest when he straightens.
“Good tongue. Good hands. Anything else you’re good at?” I ask lightly as I take the cherry, biting off the fruit and dropping the stem on the bar.
I don’t even mean it like that. Or hell, maybe I do.
Because when Ryan’s eyes glint, it lights something up in me.
“You want to find out?” His voice is playful and a little rough, as if the idea of me finding out exactly how good he is turns him on.
Heat floods me.
How long has it been since I’ve hooked up with someone?
This year has been crazy with the team’s success. I’ve worked a wild number of hours. The idea of one wild night with the hottest rookie in basketball is a tempting fantasy.
Except it could get complicated.
It won’t, I insist. It’s only physical.
Ryan sways toward me, or maybe it only feels that way.
We both look down. My hand’s fisted in the front of his sweater, and I have no damn clue how that happened. Somehow my knees have slipped farther apart, my skirt halfway up my thighs now.
My next inhale is shallow, the air rough in my throat.
The music changes to a sultry track.
I’ve flirted with the idea of hooking up with players. Even done it a couple of times. But one time, I let myself get in too deep, and it burned me.
Now, I have a rule: no hooking up with someone as central to my business as a member of the Kodiaks’ starting five.
This bar is the team, and while sex is only sex, it’s a bad fucking idea to imagine it with him.
“It’s a bad idea,” I murmur.
“Probably,” he agrees.
I inch closer to the edge of the bar. Ryan’s hand finds my knee, and the lightest pressure of his thumb just inside has my body lighting up.
“But it is Christmas,” I add under my breath.
“Mistletoe and all.” His nose bumps mine as he nods.
Heat crackles between us. I want him so badly I can taste him.
It’s only one night. That vow has me teetering on the edge.
“All right, Rookie. Show me what you’ve got.”
Triumph flares in his dark eyes.
His hand travels up my leg. I’m sliding closer to the edge, his other hand on my hip. The one up my leg finds the top of my tights with stars on them. He yanks them down.
My fingers splay over his sweater, and I wish I could feel his skin underneath, the hard ridges and smooth muscles.
But he takes my hand and places it on the bar next to me, nudging me backward.
His fingers find the edge of my thong, then slip beneath, and he groans.
His thumb strokes right where I need him most.
My head falls back, my spine arching. I can’t even play it cool because he’s playing with me as though it’s the only thing he’s ever wanted to do.
I realize the curtains are open.
“No one’s out there,” he says, reading my mind.
“How the hell do you know?”
“You can’t get a car down this street. I had to park three blocks away and walk.”
I should be doing something with that information, but I can’t because the ache he’s creating and solving all at once is more important than thinking.
Maybe more than breathing.
“Fuck, you’re tight,” he says with total satisfaction.
He presses another finger inside, changing up the rhythm to a slow drag that destroys me.
My body pulls tight. I can’t lie back here. I shift off my elbows, my hands finding his shoulders.
He lowers his face, lips parted. He’s breathing heavily too. “Sierra…”
I don’t kiss him. Instead, I bury my face in his sweater and grip him harder as my body tightens.
He doesn’t say anything, but his thumb presses harder, rubbing little circles right above where he’s slowly pumping in and out of me. My nails find his neck, digging in hard. His breath is shaky, but he doesn’t resist.
When I come, it’s more like shattering. The tension I’ve been carrying for way too long feels as if it all releases at once, like a star detonating into space. Pleasure rushes through every nerve. Tremors rack my body before dissipating into the air around us.
Ryan withdraws, and I realize I’m still clutching him.
His eyes flash, and his hands go for his belt. I can’t tell if I’m helping or slowing him down, but we get his zipper down.
Ryan fishes in his wallet for a condom, and the sound of the foil crinkling when he locates one is pure relief. I take the package wordlessly and tear into it, setting the condom on his hard cock before rolling it down.
And shit, he’s big, though I’m not about to make his ego swell by saying the words.
I encourage him between my thighs, the press of him where his fingers just left feeling too sensitive. But there’s no time to slow down because he’s sinking inside me. The stretch, the burn, the slide sends every nerve in me crackling with heat.
This is definitely the most fun I’ve had on this bar.
Whatever exhaustion I was feeling an hour ago feels light-years away. There’s only this desire, this need, this pleasure.
He rocks his hips against me. “Fuck,” he groans against my neck. “You feel so damned good.”
I shift on my elbows to meet him.
The drag of our bodies, the heat, is addictive. In a few short strokes, his breath is shallow, my heart hammering.
“Oh, shit. I can’t wait…”
His grunt is low and guttural, coupled with the feel of him clenching. One of my hands digs into his arm, the other sliding between us. I’m still on edge from the last time, so I get myself there, my fingers digging into his muscles as I ride it out.
My head falls back against the bar, my eyes closing. I weigh a thousand pounds, and it’s glorious.
The music has stopped. I’m not sure when or what the last song was.
At some point, Ryan’s murmur comes from over me. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” I laugh, stretching both arms overhead. My fingers brush glassware as my eyes blink open.
The sight is a good one—Ryan silhouetted by the lights over the bar. His hair is spiky from my fingers, his million-dollar smile on full display.
“For how fast that was,” he admits. “I’m not usually… but you were…”
I chuckle. “That’s the best compliment I’ve gotten all night.”