Chapter Twelve
Leo
Most of the guys—the ones who aren’t meeting their prearranged lays or sneaking off to a strip club—are hitting downtown Miami to pull an all-nighter until it’s time to board the plane in the morning to celebrate our win.
Easiest no of my life. I happen to like this hotel and its amenities. My favorites being silence, this rooftop hot tub, and fresh air.
And the view doesn’t hurt.
I set my beer on the edge of the hot tub and submerge myself in the water as Miami’s skyline glitters around me. My arms are stiff as I rest them on the edge.
When I was in my twenties, a night out held a lot more allure.
I was surrounded by sexy, eager women everywhere I went, new cities every week.
And when the team traveled in a pack? It’s no wonder athletes develop a God complex.
All I had to do was smile—hell, not even that.
Eye contact was often enough. I was drunk on a near limitless supply of choices, never left wanting for attention.
What an ass I was. I can barely remember any of their names. However, I’ll never forget the name of my wake-up call, Britt Daughtry-Collins.
Not a second time, I should say.
After a spirited, almost too intimate fuck in a hotel shower, we were getting dressed and chatting.
I asked for her name and number, suggested we see each other again if I was ever in Savannah and single again, since I liked to pretend I might wind up in a relationship in the future so it wouldn’t seem personal if the Grizzlies played there and I didn’t call. It was a clean and uncomplicated plan.
The stunned, hurt look on her face took precious seconds to register.
I’d forgotten that we’d already done it. All of it. The game of cat and mouse at a club with ear-splitting bass, the tilt of the head that says come here, the heated Uber ride back to the hotel, where we didn’t exchange a word before our clothes came off.
And then, the sex.
The change in her confidence when she realized I’d forgotten her was a punch in the gut like I’d never known. She rushed out the door, mumbling there won’t be a third time before it slammed shut behind her.
I did that to her. I made her feel small. How could I not remember? It wasn’t even quick, what we did. I had plenty of time to acquaint myself with her body in that shower, and yet nothing triggered a memory until it was too late.
I hated myself for it. Haven’t fucked a stranger since.
Growing up, my dad’s only advice to me on the topic was that sex should mean something and marriage should mean everything.
I’m constantly finding new ways not to live up to the standards he set on and off the ice.
My parents were high school sweethearts—she was an exchange student who stayed in his house—and still love each other, despite the odds.
And the odds were not great, because I’m sure there is and always has been as much temptation for hockey’s married golden boy Hugo McLaren as there is for the rest of us. But as far as I know, he’s never wavered.
“Beer by the pool?”
The hairs on my arm stand up at the voice. A little raspy, a lot familiar.
Sadie steps out of the shadows near the rooftop entrance. She’s in a Fury jacket that barely covers her body and no pants, leaving the most alluring, maddening legs I’ve ever seen on display.
She’s usually in leggings, dammit. Those are difficult enough to deal with. I don’t usually see this much skin.
“Oh. Hi.” Good one, Leo.
“I didn’t expect someone to be here.” She tucks her hair behind her ear. It’s down and wavy tonight. “Or…up here. Out here?”
“It’s open to guests,” I say, sharper than I intend. The idea of being alone with her in a hot tub puts me on edge.
Last night we danced around some serious conversations, but it was clear she doesn’t want me to touch any part of her personal life.
I can’t ask too-personal questions about whether she’s had drinks thrown at her in the past. I can’t come inside her house to keep her company even when she’s freaked out.
Can’t really get an answer if she’s seeing anyone, only a “there’s a Vivi in my house” with no other insights.
And she’s right to keep up those walls. That’s how it should be. She’s my coach, and her life is none of my business.
There’s only one problem. I can’t get her off my fucking mind.
I heard echoes of her coaching as I drove to the airport this morning, her laugh even when the plane was silent. Even more concerning, she popped into my head when my teammates were talking in the locker room before the game, nudging me to actually listen to what they had to say. To care.
She’s like a hyperactive conscience, burrowing her way into my psyche. And it’s making me better.
Where there were whispers before that I could ignore, something shifted last night. After leaving her house—her driveway, more accurately—I was in too much pain from my little window-ripping stunt to fight thoughts of her as I fell asleep. I let them comfort me, the thoughts of her.
When I close my eyes tonight, I’m afraid I’ll see hers.
I need to go back to only finding her hot. I can get that out of my system with a few shameful strokes of my fist in the shower.
“It’s past midnight,” she points out. She pulls a clip from her pocket and twists her thick hair up. “We have an early flight.”
My fingertips itch to trace the bare curve of her neck. “Yes, we do. That includes you, Coach.”
A ghost of a frown flits across her face, but she tucks it away. “You’re right. I should probably go to bed.”
The steam rising off the water curls in the air as she takes a step backward.
I sigh. “Stay.”
Why the fuck did I say that?
Fingers hesitating, she unzips her jacket. I expect to see a shirt underneath, as any normal person would, but she’s wearing nothing but a light pink bikini.
Is that a skimpy suit, or have I just gone a painfully long time without seeing a woman anything other than fully dressed?
Both.
She tosses the jacket on an empty patio chair and saunters forward. Her pale skin reflects the ambient blue glow of the pool.
I lift the beer I swiped from the room’s mini fridge to my lips, hoping a sip will distract me from her body. It’d help if I looked away.
I don’t.
Oblivious to the effect she’s having on me, she lifts a haughty brow and points at a sign on the wall.
No food or drink.
“Relax, Rivers. Don’t you ever break the rules?”
She falters slightly, a hiccup in her walk.
Maybe that was the wrong question to ask.
Maybe I need to not ask questions at all.
She worries her lip between her teeth. “I stole a pair of earrings from Claire’s once. When I was fourteen.”
“Who’s Claire?”
Her body comes into sharper focus as she steps into the water, one long leg and then the other disrupting the surface. “Never mind. The point is, I took them and then returned them two days later after the guilt ate me alive.”
“Of course you did. Little Miss Rule Follower.” It’s hard to look anywhere I’m supposed to. Her skin looks so smooth and soft, the curve of her hips so fucking bitable. I’m grateful when her body disappears beneath the water as she takes a seat.
But not all of it. Plenty is still visible, and that bathing suit top is flimsy.
Yeah, this is a bad idea.
I’m considering how to make my diplomatic exit when she floats closer. My body stiffens as warning sirens blare in my head. “What are you doing?”
She reaches past me and steals my beer, holding my gaze. “Breaking a rule.”
Blood rushes south. I’m like a goddamn teenager, hard from just a look.
“Who would’ve thought?” I push my back into the wall, trying to create distance between us, but it doesn’t make it feel any less crowded in here. “Coaches gone wild.”
I swear she smiles around the bottle, though her expression quickly devolves when the hoppy IPA hits her tongue. Lucky IPA.
“What’s your drink of choice? Obviously not beer.”
“You mean other than free?” Her lashes flutter as she looks down at the bottle, twisting it to read the label. “This isn’t bad. Just warm.”
I steal it back, my fingers brushing hers. My skin sparks to life. “My apologies to the duchess. I’ll serve it chilled next time.”
Her lips curl up as she fixes me with one of her too-observant glances. “Winning looks good on you.”
“It looks better on you.”
She goes still.
Way to go, idiot.
I drink for too long and set the bottle down. No sense in taking it back when I meant it, but I need to watch my damn mouth.
Her chest rises and falls as she looks to the skyline. “The guys are all out celebrating, I assume?”
“Yeah. Probably terrorizing the bottle service staff at The Indy as we speak.”
“You didn’t want to go?” She glides backward so she’s in the middle of the tub. With how I’m sitting, we’re eye level for a change.
It makes me feel like an exposed nerve, staring at her head-on like this. It also makes me want to reel her in. “Nah. Those days are pretty much over for me.”
“Except the terrorizing people part.”
I fight my amusement. “We all have our gifts.”
She slides a fallen lock of hair out of her face.
Even her hands are pretty—dainty, perfectly painted nails as usual, decorated in rings.
I wonder how those sleek metal bands would feel against my burning hot skin.
Whether she’d let me take them off with my teeth one at a time and leave them on the side of the tub so she can touch me unencumbered, slide her hand up and down my aching—
Christ. I’m going to lose my mind if I stay out here much longer.
“Do you miss it?” she asks.
“Going out?” I shrug. “Not really. Loud, obnoxious clubs with bad lighting set off my—” I catch myself just in time before headaches slips out. “I miss certain parts of it, I guess.”
“Which parts?”
I sigh. “As usual, you are full of questions.”
She returns my shrug. Hers is far more coy.