Chapter 13 Eve
THIRTEEN
EVE
The kiss won’t leave my head. It’s still on my mind from the moment I pulled Cole out of the hallway, on the ride home when we stopped for post-drinking chicken nuggets at the drive-thru, as I peeled my dress off and found an old oversized t-shirt from my days at Heston U.
Downing a glass of water—thinking of the kiss. Helping myself to a slice of bread—reliving every moment of his lips on mine.
I try to direct my thoughts in any other direction. Easier said than done, especially when it comes to Cole Kincaid.
And kissing.
Cole kissed me.
Even though it could hardly be classed as one. More of an obligatory, friendly peck because it’s midnight and it’s what’s done on New Year’s Eve. Right?
It probably didn’t mean anything to him.
Still, every millisecond plays on repeat. The way he put one hand against the wall by my head and grasped my chin. The way he smelled—the memory alone of his heady aftershave ignites a fresh wave of desire in my core.
Maybe I’m still a little drunk.
And turned on.
I wish he’d kissed me for real so I’d know for sure if it’s anything like I’ve imagined.
Raw passion. Pent up wildness breaking free. One that I could drown from. That could ruin me for anyone else. A kiss dreams are made of.
Oh, screw it. I need some self-care.
I go to the bottom drawer of my nightstand to pull out one of my trusty favorites from my collection of toys. It’s an insanely good vibrator with pulses of air that send me right over the edge to a knee-shaking orgasm when I use it on my clit.
Especially at times when my release feels like it could wander off on me in the middle of pleasuring myself, this thing is a total godsend.
I needed it with Shawn, or I’d never get off.
He hated that I liked to use a vibrator when we had sex.
Complained he could give me everything I needed, yet never was willing to put in the extra work it sometimes takes for me to finish.
He sure as hell never understood that toys aren’t his enemy or replacement.
I could be moments from coming and a single stray thought could distract me enough that—poof—the orgasm is gone, back to the starting line.
It wasn’t until I spoke with a therapist about my troubles during intimate moments both with partners and by myself that I learned there was nothing wrong with me at all.
Stripping off my underwear, I stretch across my bed with the vibrator and my phone. I’m debating between playing some of the spicy scenes I’ve bookmarked from my favorite romance audiobooks, or going for one of those erotic audios when a notification flashes at the top of my screen.
Love Struck: It’s a match! Open to find out if love has struck.
Too curious to leave the notification unread, I tap on it. Then freeze.
It’s another match with Cole. How the—?
This is fate. It has to be.
Actually, I don’t care what we call it. All I know is that my resolve is only so strong. Resisting him is impossible.
He messages me first.
MightyPuck: Funny seeing you here. I thought you were deleting the app?
CraftyCutie: No comment.
That was the plan. I was all for sticking to the plan, maybe picking another dating app to try.
Then Shawn unblocked my number a few days before Christmas to text me in the middle of the night trying to score a booty call. This time I blocked him, then re-downloaded the app to find someone to help me forget all about my ex.
I wasn’t thinking about rematching with Cole at the time, although I ignored every other person the app connected me with. What does this make it, six? Seven times? I don’t know, I’ve lost count over the last several weeks.
CraftyCutie: The real question is what are you doing online late at night looking at my profile?
MightyPuck: …no comment.
CraftyCutie: This is all because I put ‘hockey players are sexy’ in my profile. That has to be why we keep matching.
MightyPuck: I’m a hockey player.
My heart stops. It doesn’t simply skip a beat. I think the damn thing gives up then and there.
And honestly? I don’t blame it, because all I’m picturing now is Cole in his hockey gear with all that fierce, savage energy that gets me hot.
With my inhibitions lowered, hockey-related fantasies about him run rampant through my mind.
I don’t care if the locker room stinks in reality, if he wanted to fuck me there, I’d one hundred and ten percent be down for what would surely be one of the hottest experiences of my life.
I’d let him have me any way he wanted. With his jersey on, without it, with me wearing it and him gripping a tight fistful for leverage to drive into me harder and—
I fan myself, squeezing my thighs together against the insistent pulse of desire throbbing in my core.
CraftyCutie: You *were* a hockey player. Now you’re a coach. Which…okay, there are some hot coaches out there.
MightyPuck: Am I one of them?
CraftyCutie: [lips zipped emoji]
Cole goes quiet for a bit, then three dots appear and disappear while he types. The air in my lungs gusts out when it finally comes through. My head is still spinning just enough from the amount of champagne I drank.
MightyPuck: Are you mad I kissed you tonight?
CraftyCutie: No.
MightyPuck: Good.
CraftyCutie: Thanks for being my kiss at midnight.
MightyPuck: That’s not why I did it.
CraftyCutie: It’s not?
MightyPuck: I did it because I would’ve regretted not kissing you.
CraftyCutie: What do you mean?
MightyPuck: I wanted to kiss you all damn night. I still want to. I can’t stop thinking about it.
My eyes widen. I can’t believe it. He actually wanted to kiss me at the club? Still wants to?
I have to know for sure. All this time I’ve crushed on him believing my inconvenient feelings were one-sided. I never thought he looked twice at me as anything more than his best friend’s sister.
CraftyCutie: Wait. Sorry, drunk brain. Are you saying you’re into me?
MightyPuck: Yes. Thought I was being clear about that by kissing you.
CraftyCutie: Shut up! Omg this is blowing my mind.
We’re treading into dangerous territory.
If we’re confessing things to each other…
CraftyCutie: Can I tell you something?
MightyPuck: Anything.
CraftyCutie: I just…don’t want to be lonely this winter. That’s all. It’s why I made my profile to find someone to keep me warm through the winter and forget Shawn.
MightyPuck: I’m interested in helping you with that. If you let me.
I stare at his last response. It took a few moments after my admission for him to send it.
Could we really do this? It feels like I’m in a dream.
An idea strikes me. It’s absurd and toes the line, but as soon as the thought crosses my mind a whole new world of possibilities opens up.
CraftyCutie: I just thought of something.
MightyPuck: What?
CraftyCutie: Soooo, this might be crazy, but hear me out. What if we aren’t us?
MightyPuck: Meaning?
CraftyCutie: We pretend we’re someone else. You can be…Colin. You’re a hotshot player in the AHL looking for some fun. And I’ll be Evangeline, a rich, unbothered goddess of seduction who’s driving you wild.
He sends a few laughing emojis at the intricate backstories I weave for our characters.
MightyPuck: How would that work?
CraftyCutie: It’ll be like a game. Roleplaying and stuff. We’ll keep it secret and only message each other here.
I roll over to bury my face in the pillows to smother a giddy scream. This is insane, isn’t it? Sneaking around with him online might be even more torturous, like sitting at dinner while we message each other on the down low.
Or it could be exactly what I need.
My phone vibrates. I hold my breath to see what he says. He didn’t send a text in our chat.
Instead it’s a voice recording. I scrape my teeth over my lip and press play. Cole’s sultry voice washes over me.
“You want to pretend with me, Evie? Are you sure you can handle playing games?”
Not Cole, I attempt to remind myself. It doesn’t work, not when he calls me Evie. I close my eyes, picturing him tonight, his thick brown hair falling across his forehead, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up over his sculpted forearms.
Just for tonight…
Then we’ll be Evangeline and Colin instead of Eve and Cole. This will be our little secret. No one will find out, especially Dad and Benson.
I’m too nervous to respond with a voice clip. My fingers shake as I type out the rest of my proposition.
CraftyCutie: I can handle it. This is just physical. We can’t have feelings involved. It would be too messy.
MightyPuck: If that’s what you want.
CraftyCutie: So we keep it casual. Just for the winter, then we can stop.
MightyPuck: Deal.
CraftyCutie: You’d be okay with that?
MightyPuck: However you want to do this, let me be the guy when you need someone to make you feel good. Okay? Promise it’s me you’ll call.
CraftyCutie: Okay. I promise.
This is so crazy. My heart drums with hard, exhilarated beats.
I’m about to ask him what he wants to do when he sends another voice clip.
“This club is dark but I’ve had my eye on you for hours. Thinking about all the things I want to do with your mouth at midnight while you tease me with that hot as fuck dress that barely covers you. When the countdown starts, I lead you down the hallway.”
Is he—? My pussy throbs with need as I realize what he plans.
He’s recreating tonight. If we were strangers and there was nothing to complicate this pull between us.
I play along, adding to the idea with my own flair.
I text him how I would’ve spotted him early in the night, wanting to tempt him until he was powerless to resist my allure.
Excitement would race through me when he takes me into the shadows away from the crowd.
Anyone could find us, yet that makes this even more thrilling.
He chuckles in a new recording. “I wasn’t able to resist you from the moment I saw you, baby. I push your back to the wall to kiss you the way I’ve wanted to all night.”