The Good Girl Exception (Hellcats Hockey #2)

Prologue

MAISIE

I understand now how people become addicted to adrenaline.

How easy it would be to become enslaved to the feeling, to chase the high, to follow the rush wherever it takes you, even if it’s through the dark, into a place that you’ve never been brave enough to wander before.

Cloaked in that darkness, surrounded by the low, sultry hum of music vibrating through the speakers, dark, stormy eyes traveling the length of my body have my heart racketing in my chest and my skin, which is slick with sweat from dancing in a mass of bodies, feeling as if it’s on fire.

Like there’s a current running through me, a live wire of electric energy that I’ve never experienced.

It’s not only because I’m doing something I’ve never done.

Of course, there’s a thrill in doing something that you probably shouldn’t but are anyway.

Dancing alone on a crowded dance floor of a bar for the very first time.

The reason that I feel more alive than I ever have in my life is the man, the dark, broody stranger sitting across the room, whose stare has remained on me the entire night.

Unabashedly watching me like I’m dancing for him.

And maybe I am.

Maybe I like the way it feels more than I should.

I slowly run my palms down my front, over my chest and along the bare skin of my stomach beneath the cropped fabric of my top, letting my hips sway in sync with the slow, sensual beat, while holding his eyes, which seem to flare when my fingers dance along the frayed ends of my blue jean shorts at the tops of my thighs.

I rake my teeth over my bottom lip, pulling it into my mouth as my eyes flutter shut, and I lose myself in the music.

Dancing for my handsome stranger.

Feeling the heat of his stare on my skin as if it’s caressing me, encouraging me, praising me.

Imagining what it would feel like if it were actually his hands touching me instead of my own, instead of his steady stare. His hands gripping my hips and pulling me tightly against his body.

I have no idea what I’m doing, not in the slightest clue, but I came here with a purpose, and something tells me that it’s already found me.

I push away the nerves fluttering in the pit of my stomach, the constant swirl of second thoughts in my head that make me question myself, and pretend I’m a girl who knows how to play whatever game we’re playing.

When I open my eyes, my pulse skitters when I watch him rise from the barstool with a mixture of anticipation and nerves because I know that he’s headed for me.

This is why I came to this bar tonight, alone. A bar that was nowhere near Orleans University because I didn’t want to run into anyone I knew.

I wanted to come here tonight because I didn’t want to be Maisie Delacroix. I wanted to be a nameless girl who can make decisions without having the weight of her last name bearing down on her.

I want to be the girl I am right now, at this very moment. Confident and unafraid. One who isn’t worried about the dangers of regrets or expectations.

Who’s free.

His gaze never falters, holding mine steadily as he makes his way toward me, every deliberate stride closer making my pulse pound even harder.

It thrums loudly in my ears over the sound of the music, a relentless whoosh that has my head swimming and even more so when he stops in front of me.

Across the bar, even in the darkness only lit by neon, I could see how handsome he was.

But now that he’s standing in front of me, I realize that he’s undoubtedly the most attractive man I’ve ever seen.

Not just the mess of dark, unruly hair or deep brown eyes that feel bottomless, nearly black as they burn into mine.

It’s not the sharp cheekbones or his sharp jaw that’s dusted with an overgrown shadow.

Or the canvas of tattoos that decorate his arms, making him even more of the mysterious, dark stranger I’ve conjured in my head.

That’s not what draws me in, like a magnet pulled toward its opposite.

It’s that he hasn’t spoken a single word, yet he’s said more than any other person in this bar. That somehow, it feels like there’s no one else but the two of us. It’s the raw, masculine energy he exudes.

It’s the way a steady throb settled between my thighs and has transformed into an ache just by being close to him.

Who am I right now? And how do I keep her forever?

The music changes around us, fading into another song that’s slow and sexy, one that has bass vibrating in the pit of my stomach and base of my spine.

Then, he reaches for me, his large hand curving around my waist as he slowly hauls me forward until I’m pressed against his front.

His scent wraps around me, and God, it’s… intoxicating.

Something warm, and spicy that makes my head feel light and the floor feel as if it’s moving beneath my feet. It makes my heart feel as if it’s beating out of rhythm.

A rush of heat floods me when I feel his rough, calloused hand along the exposed skin of my back, his thumb sweeping back and forth as we move together to the beat.

I haven’t had a drop of alcohol in my life, but this is what I would imagine it feels like.

Being drunk.

Loose and warm, and like I weigh nothing.

But it’s not alcohol. It’s him.

When I suck in a long, slow inhale to calm my stuttering heart—or maybe it’s to breathe him in—he flips me around. His hand splays over my stomach, the tips of his fingers dancing along the bare skin beneath my top.

Slowly, he drags me closer, erasing any distance between us until I feel every inch of his hard body flush with my back.

He’s so much taller and broader that I feel so small next to him.

He drags his nose along the length of my jaw, and a shiver travels down my spine at the innocent movement. One that shouldn’t feel as… intimate as it does right now.

My fingers tighten in the hair at his nape. I’ve never done this. Been this close to a guy… no, a man this way before, and even though I feel jittery with nerves, my desire heavily outweighs them.

There was that brief, very sloppy kiss at church camp when I was a freshman, and then there was a guy who was, of course, also part of our church who I flirted with every now and then, but he knew who my father was, and it was far more awkward than fun.

My experience is basically nonexistent, which is why I came here tonight.

Which is why I’m dancing with this man I don’t know, letting him touch me like I’ve never been touched before.

Because it feels good.

And because I want to feel this. I want to feel rough hands scraping along my skin and my heart racing wildly in my chest, to experience passion and something that steals my breath.

I want everything that I read about in my favorite books, romance that makes me dizzy with desire.

I want to stop being the girl who has to be perfect all the time. Who has to be proper and well-mannered and pristine.

It’s exhausting, and sometimes I feel like I’m never going to break free from the restricting box that I’ve been placed in by the people in my life.

I just want to be whoever the hell I want to be.

I turn back to face him, and this close, I can smell the fresh mint on his breath mixed with the faint, sweet scent of what I think is whiskey as it ghosts along my lips.

His eyes are beautiful. The darkest brown I’ve ever seen, but there’s a ring of a lighter color around them, flecks of something golden that I can see even in the dim light.

Eyes that are burning into me as he stares back.

We’re slowly swaying to a song that I’m paying little attention to. All I can feel is the sweep of his fingers along my back.

“Kiss me.” I swallow as the words tumble out of my mouth in a breathless whisper. “Please.”

I want to feel his lips on mine, to drown in this quiet intensity he possesses.

My new confidence falters slightly when he makes no move in response to my plea. I think that maybe I shouldn’t have all but begged this man to kiss me, and I’m nearly pulling away from him, but then I feel his fingers flex as they grip me harder and pull me even closer.

And then his mouth descends on mine, and he takes my lips in a kiss that has every nerve ending in my body coming alive.

It’s not soft or slow. It’s a claim.

His hands move from my hips to my face, where he holds me and kisses me until I can’t breathe.

His tongue runs over the seam of my lips, and the moment I part my lips, he swallows down the thirsty whimper, sliding his tongue along mine.

I didn’t know kissing could be like this.

That it could have me throbbing between my legs or have my nipples hard, pressing against the front of my sweat-soaked shirt.

I didn’t know it could be so consuming.

His palm traces the curve of my jaw as he slides it to my nape, tangling his fingers in the strands of my hair.

The little bite of pain as he tugs me closer, controlling the kiss with his grip, has me nearly panting against his mouth. Angling my head, he deepens the kiss, and I feel…

I feel him hard against my stomach.

Oh God.

I want that.

I want him to kiss me like he is right now while moving inside me, his fingers digging into my hips as he uses my body.

I realize that probably sounds slightly unhinged for a girl who’s a virgin, and since this is only the first real kiss of my life, but I’m so tired of having my virginity, my virtue, hanging over my head when all I truly want is to feel the passion, and the intimacy, and the all-consuming ecstasy that comes with sex.

Tearing my lips away, I blink up at him, gathering all of this brazen, reckless energy coursing through me as I say, “I… I want you. Let’s go… somewhere.”

His brow lifts, and I roll my lips together before dragging my tongue along my bottom lip.

God, I can still taste him here.

We’re still smashed together in the middle of the bar, his fingers tangled in my hair as he holds me a breath away from his lips.

He lowers his mouth to my ear, his breath caressing the shell of it, causing me to shiver. “You sure you know what you’re asking for?”

Holy shit.