Amelia
FIFTY-TWO
I check every hockey site in existence for an update on Grant.
I refresh social media pages hoping for new information. I pace around my hotel room in a pair of sweatpants, a knot in my stomach until my phone finally lights up with an incoming call. Grant’s name scrolls across the screen, and I nearly tumble over the couch to answer.
“Hello?” I say, my voice shaking around the word.
“Lia,” he says, and my eyes well with tears.
“Where are you? Are you okay?”
“I’m home. Had to get a bunch of tests done. It’s not fun when people poke and prod you.”
He groans from the other end of the line. “Besides being sore and wondering what the hell everyone is freaking out about, I’m fine.”
“I’m coming over,” I say, grabbing my purse before I can consider the repercussions of what I’m about to do. “I want to check on you. I want to see you.”
“The concussion tests were negative, and my spine is in great shape. The doctors gave me a clean bill of health.” Grant pauses. “Do you really want to see me?”
“More than I want anything else in the world.”
“You’re welcome at my place whenever you want.” His voice melts to a gentle murmur. “Come on over, Lia.”
Thirty-five minutes later, my Uber pulls up in front of Grant’s building. My body is hot with anticipation on the elevator ride to his floor. I’m standing on the edge of a cliff with a steep drop, but I can’t bring myself to back away.
Not when I’ve come this far.
I knock and shift on my feet until he opens the door.
When he does, I throw my arms around his neck.
He puts his hands on my back, his large palms splayed out and running up my spine.
For the first time in hours, I take a deep breath.
My exhale is the biggest sigh of relief, and I offer up my silent gratitude to the universe for making sure he’s safe.
“You’re okay,” I whisper into the soft fabric of his shirt. “You’re really okay.”
“Hey.” Grant’s nose bumps my ear, his body going from ridged to relaxed. “Why the tears, Lia?”
“I was worried about you. Do you have any new symptoms? Are you nauseous? Can you remember what day it is?”
“I’d never disappear on you.” He tugs me into his apartment and shuts the door.
The deadbolt clicks in place, and I pull away to steal a glance at him.
“No new symptoms, and it’s Friday.” He puts a palm on my waist, holding me there.
“Which means you had your interview today, and I want to know how it went.”
“You were carted off the ice on a spinal board, Grant.” I touch his cheek, right where a pink mark sits. “We don’t need to talk about me right now.”
“We always need to talk about you.” Grant takes my hand, intertwining our fingers.
He leads me down the hall, and when we reach the door to his bedroom, he opens it.
The lighting is low, the curtains are drawn.
He sits on the mattress and pulls me with him.
Our knees touch. He’s pressed right against me, still holding my hand as he says, “Sorry. Is it okay that we’re in here? We can go to the living room if you—”
“This is perfect.”
“The interview. I want to hear all about it. Don’t leave anything out.”
“I started with a tour of the arena,” I say.
“I’ve never seen a facility like it—it reminded me of a college football stadium.
There was a cafeteria for the players and a weight room bigger than most league locker rooms. After, I met with Darcy, the owner of the Sea Crabs.
She’s a powerhouse. Her vision for the team is so clear, and she offered me a job right then and there. ”
“Holy shit.” Grant squeezes my hand tight. “Are you serious? Lia. That’s a big fucking deal.”
“I’m still trying to process it, to be honest. The salary is unbelievable. Her five-year plan is perfectly laid out. I haven’t had a chance to look over everything in detail, but I had a strong feeling of clarity when I was with her. She believes in me, and it made me proud.”
“If you took the job, you’d be in Baltimore.” Grant lights up and drops his hand to my thigh. Casual, and without a second thought. God. It feels so right. “We could hang out every week.”
“Please.” I laugh. “You’d get sick of me so fast.”
“Is that what you think?” He leans close, and I smell the traces of soap. I see the flush on his skin from his shower and the drop of water that rolls down the line of his throat. “I could never get sick of you.”
His eyes meet mine. He strokes his thumb along my thigh, from my knee to my hip, and I stop breathing. I wait for the alarms to sound. For my brain to register this is Grant touching me, to tell me we should stop, but the warning bells never ring.
All I hear is a faint finally. The soft whisper of you’ve been waiting for this for so long and the acceptance of just try. You can’t fight it anymore.
And, fuck. I don’t want to fight it. I want to give in. I want the answer to the question I’ve been imagining for far too long: What would it be like to kiss Grant Everett?
“I’d never get sick of you either. You’re my favorite person in the world.”
“Amelia.” His voice is hushed, disbelieving when I put my hand on his knee. “What are you doing?”
“I know what I said. What I used to want or not want.” I scoot closer.
In an act of boldness fueled by desire and patient agony, I straddle him, a leg slung over either side of his hips.
His hands run up my thighs, a tremble to his touch as he lets out a deep sigh when I bring my mouth to his neck.
“But seeing you hurt… wondering if you were okay—” I stop for a breath, and my fantasies run free.
This. Him. Us, together. “I don’t want to pretend anymore. ”
“Fuck,” Grant whispers, moving his palm to the small of my back.
He spreads his fingers out, fanning over my spine.
“I’ve wanted you from the minute I first saw you.
Every second I’ve known you, I’ve had to restrain myself from telling you how I feel.
From grabbing you and kissing you like I wanted to.
” Inch by inch his fingers dance up to the plane between my shoulders, stopping only when he cups the back of my neck.
I’ve stopped breathing as desperation fogs my brain.
“Do you know how goddamn hard it is to look at you and know you only see me as a friend when I want so much more?”
“I’m not looking at you like a friend right now.”
I give in to temptation, lowering myself until the fabric of his athletic shorts meets the seam of my sweatpants. He whimpers, and white-hot pleasure rips through me when he lifts his hips. He’s hard, so hard, the length of his cock straining against his shorts.
I’ve barely even touched him, haven’t even kissed him, and he’s this worked up.
“You’ve always been so much more than a friend to me.” Grant wraps a handful of my hair around his wrist and tugs. I gasp, the tendons of my neck elongating when he brushes his nose against my throat. “Are you positive this is what you want?”
There’s an ache to his voice, years of pent-up longing rising to the surface when he looks at me. With his pupils blown wide and mouth slightly parted, I know this is the moment, the singular instance that will change the trajectory of my life.
Being honest, giving him the answer he wants to hear—that I want to give him—has consequences.
The league would be in an uproar if someone found out, and for as much as I’ve been fighting the urge to say fuck-it, I still have a reputation to uphold.
A future with a job I love, but maybe, maybe there’s a way we can keep this a secret.
Something only the two of us know about, because I can’t keep living like this.
I can’t keep fighting my feelings, not when he’s looking at me like I’m the brightest star in the sky and I’m not sure I’m worthy of it.
“Yes,” I say. His grip tightens, like he’s afraid I’m going to change my mind and run when all I want to do is stay. “I want you, Grant.”
“Fucking finally,” he says, then he crashes his mouth against mine.
For as kind and wonderful as Grant has been up to this point, the kiss is anything but. He’s rough, greedy, his tongue warm as it swipes against my lips and asks for more. I hand over control, parting my mouth and sinking into the exquisite delight running up my spine.
I can’t believe I’m doing this with him.
I can’t believe how long I’ve wanted to do this with him.
In one quick motion, he changes our positions. My back lands on the mattress, my hair scatters across the sheets as he holds himself above me. There’s hunger in his eyes, restraint in the slow and steady way he slips his fingers under my shirt.
“I have to tell you something.” Grant pulls on my shirt, exposing my stomach as he drags the cotton up under my breasts. He brings his fist to his mouth, biting his knuckles as he sits back on his heels. “Before we do anything else.”
“I’m on birth control,” I say. “Negative on all tests. It’s been a while, but—”
“It’s not about that.” He strokes along the line of my ribs, counting each one with a featherlight touch that makes me arch my back. “It, ah, has more to do with me.”
I push up on my elbows. My heart hammers as I run through the worst-case scenarios.
He has a girlfriend.
This was all an elaborate prank.
He wants me, but he doesn’t want me like this.
“Okay.” I swallow. “You can tell me. You can tell me anything.”
“I don’t know why I’m afraid to say it.” Grant’s laugh is strained. He moves his hand higher until his thumb outlines my bra. “I’m familiar with most of this.” He lifts his chin. “But not everything.”
“I’m not following.”
“I’m a virgin,” he says, and I blink.
“A virgin,” I repeat. “But you’re…” I gesture to his sculpted shoulders and messy hair. The hook of a grin, even now. “There’s a lot of good stuff going on here.”
“I appreciate that.”
“Can you be more specific? On the definition of your virginity?”
“If you want the clinical definition, I’ve never, um, fucked someone. But I’ve done everything else.” His eyes spark again. “And I’ve had no complaints in those areas.”
“Has the opportunity of sex never presented itself?”
“It has. But in college I was balancing a difficult major with hockey, and soon the NHL called. Then I met this beautiful woman one night in Denver and…” He trails off.
Meets my gaze. “I wasn’t very attracted to anyone else.
I didn’t want to touch anyone else. Didn’t look at anyone else. None of them interested me.”
“You—” I wet my lips. “That was years ago.”
“Some stupid, feeble part of me always hoped I’d find a way to have you like this. And now that I do?” He crawls up my body, hands on either side of my head. He lowers his mouth, inches away from mine. “I want you in ways I’ve only dreamed about.”
He’s been waiting for you since he first met you, and you want him just as much as he wants you.
I want him more than I’ve ever wanted anything else, and for someone who’s careful and responsible and so far from reckless, tonight I want to indulge.
And I want it to be with him.
“Show me,” I whisper, and I swear the noise he lets out is a deep groan, the sound of a man who’s been holding back for years. “I want you to touch me.”
“Are you sure?” He reaches up, brushing the hair out of my face then moving his fingers down to my throat. His touch lingers there, and when I nod, he rests his head in the crook of my neck. “Fuck, Lia.”
I run my nails down his arms, scratching his skin and marking him as mine. I’m going to be the first one to have him like this, and possessiveness rolls through me.
“Do you need me to tell you what to do?” My hand drops lower, resting on the curve of his ass. All muscle, nothing but brute force from years of training and sculpting his body. I give him a soft push forward to bring our bodies closer. “I remember you taking direction very well.”
“Yes. No.” His voice is barely more than a rasp. He kisses me again, just as rough as the last time when he bites my bottom lip and pulls on it with his teeth. It draws a startled gasp out of me, a burst of desire flaring to life. “Take off your clothes.”
I scoot back until I’m against the pillows. I toy with the drawstring on my sweatpants, power surging through me when he touches the front of his athletic shorts and gives himself a rough stroke.
“Say please,” I tell him, lowering the pants to show off the waistband of my underwear.
“Please. Fuck. Please, Lia. Can I—let me see you. Let me touch you.”
“That was very good.” I tug my sweatpants all the way down my thighs and kick them off my feet. “Come and have me, Grant.”