Chapter 7 Rina
Rina
My mother’s voice is a steady presence in my ear as I pace my apartment, half-listening while she rattles on about the latest grants she applied for.
“If I land the Guggenheim this time, I’ll be set for the year. No teaching load, just research. It would be absolute heaven.”
“That’s great, Mom.” I balance the phone against my shoulder as I sink onto the couch and tug a throw blanket around myself. She’s always been ambitious when it came to her career, and I can’t help but admire the drive that fuels her.
“And you?” she asks breezily. “Still busy babysitting hockey players?”
I roll my eyes even though she can’t see me do it. “I don’t babysit them. I manage the Railers’ brand. There’s a difference.”
“You could do the same thing for yourself, Rina.” Her tone turns crisp, professor mode sliding into place. “You should think about opening your own agency. You’ve got the brains and the talent. Why build someone else’s empire when you could build your own? One that would last?”
Her comments strike a nerve, the way they always do, pricking at the part of me that wonders if she’s right. Still, I brush them off with practiced ease. “Maybe someday, but for right now, I’m happy with my job. I enjoy it.”
She sighs. It’s a long and familiar exhale. The one that comes right before she delivers the lecture she’s polished over the decades. “As long as you’re happy. I just don’t want you to depend on anyone else to secure your future or your independence.”
Independence.
The single thought reverberates through me like a mantra.
It’s one she’s been drilling into me since my father walked out the door and started a shiny new family with his shiny new wife.
The reminder lands heavy just like it always does.
Kind of like a weight in the middle of my chest I can never quite set down.
Before I can answer, my phone buzzes with a text.
Big D: On my way up.
My stomach dips like I’ve missed a step on the stairs. “Uh, Mom, I’ve gotta go.”
“Already? We’ve barely talked.”
“I’ll call you tomorrow. Promise.” I hang up before she can push, and stare at the glowing screen.
I’ve decided that tonight’s the night. Whatever this is with Oliver Van Doren ends now.
It’s not even that big of a deal.
We’re not dating.
It’s more of a casual hookup situation.
No feelings or strings attached.
Except every time he touches me, another invisible thread knots itself tighter around my ribs, pressing into places I can’t ignore.
Although, I know better. I’m way too smart to fall for an athlete. Especially a professional one who has the hockey world at his feet.
Not to mention, women.
There are so many of them clamoring for his attention.
The thought pricks at me.
But it isn’t jealousy.
How could it be, when feelings aren’t supposed to be part of this?
And there’s no way in hell I’d ever allow myself to develop feelings for Oliver, or any man for that matter.
I was raised by a mother who taught me that men will, more often than not, walk away. And when they do, you better be strong enough to stand back up and carry on without them.
That lesson stuck.
It’s why I keep my distance. Especially from guys like Oliver. The kind who could make a woman forget all her rules.
So, knowing all this, why does the thought of cutting him loose feel like pressing on a bruise I shouldn’t still have?
A knock at the door jerks me from the thorny snarl of my thoughts as I push to my feet and square my shoulders. In a way, it feels like I’m preparing for battle. All I have to do is hold the line and stay strong.
My hand trembles as I reach for the knob.
The second I pull open the door, I find Oliver filling the frame with the kind of arresting handsomeness that undoes me every damn time.
My greedy gaze skims over the breadth of his chest and the hard lines of his shoulders before I force it back up to his face.
Focus, Rina.
Don’t get distracted.
A smirk curves his lips as he leans against the doorframe. “Aren’t you going to invite me in?”
I retreat a step and gesture stiffly toward the living room. “Sure. Come in.”
As soon as he strolls into my personal space, his presence swallows my tiny apartment whole. Normally, the place feels cozy, just big enough for me. With Oliver here, it shrinks to half its size until drawing in a breath feels like too much effort.
I trail after him, every nerve screaming.
Before I can get anything out, he pivots, his fingers clamping around my upper arms and hauling me against him. Not even a second later, his mouth crashes onto mine.
It’s hungry and demanding.
Almost as if he’s starving for the taste of me.
For one reckless moment, the speech I rehearsed evaporates and I sink into the caress, getting lost in his kiss.
In him.
It doesn’t take long for reality to slam back in, and I shove him away. “We need to talk.”
He drops onto the couch before tugging me onto his lap. His arm bands tight around my waist as his heat seeps into me until I want to squirm closer instead of away.
I hate how much I love the feel of his hands on me and his hard body beneath mine.
“About what, baby?” His voice is lazy, teasing. “What do we need to talk about?”
I stare at him, trying to get a grasp on my thoughts.
Why does he have to be so damn gorgeous?
That chiseled jawline and wicked mouth, the way his thighs spread wide beneath me like he’s already claimed the couch, the room, and me right along with it.
And his dick… Ugh.
I really hate how good it is.
How good he is with it.
The man’s talented.
And not just on the ice.
Every time I swear I’ll resist, then he touches me and I melt into a useless puddle.
I steel myself. “We—”
“Actually, what we really need to talk about is how you owe me.”
I blink, thrown off by the comment. “Excuse me?”
His grin widens, all cocky confidence. “Do I really need to remind you how I got you off earlier? I’ve been walking around all day with a raging hard-on. Looks like it’s your turn to return the favor.”
A startled laugh slips free. “Are you being serious?”
“As a heart attack.” His hand snakes up my thigh. “Fair’s fair.”
I arch a brow as heat pools in my belly. “And what exactly is it that you want?”
He shifts, rolling his hips until the hard press of him grinds against me, ripping any sense of composure from my body.
His tone turns dark and hungry. “Pretty sure you can figure that out all on your own, baby.”
Unable to resist, I arch closer, chasing more of what I swore I wouldn’t. Triumph flares in his eyes as his mouth ghosts over mine again, softer this time.
It’s more of a whisper that’s equal parts tease and threat.
My head is screaming at me to shove him away and end this before I tumble any deeper.
But my heart and traitorous body?
They only want one thing.
Oliver Van Doren.