Knocked Up By Number Ninety (Grizzlies Hockey #3)

Chapter 1

One

Harper

“Oh, God!”

I don’t do this.

Don’t do one-night stands—as in not ever.

But, oh God, am I glad I’m partaking for the first time today.

This man—Leo—is gorgeous and sweet and it’s clear that he loves eating pussy.

Or mine, at least.

The moment we made it to my bedroom, I was stripped naked and tossed onto the mattress, my legs pushed wide by broad, broad shoulders.

That beard, ho, mama.

Creating just the right amount of friction to make me insane, and paired with his tongue and lips, fingers and teeth…

“Yes!” I cry out, head dropping back, hips grinding against his mouth, pleasure exploding through me in such an intense rush I actually go lightheaded. He groans against my flesh and that deep vibration sends my pleasure into overdrive.

It consumes me, wave after wave after wave.

Yeah, bringing this man home was the best decision ever.

When he flirted with me at the baby shower I was catering, I just thought he was one of those guys—a playboy looking for an easy lay.

But when he stepped in between one of the attendees, a really sweet woman named Faye, and Faye’s boyfriend’s psycho ex, I softened a bit toward him. He didn’t do some crazy alpha bro shit.

He just stood with Faye, helped corral the ex, and then helped reset the vibe of the party right back to what it should have been—a freaking celebration.

So yeah, I melted a little in that moment and the aftermath.

Then more so when he stayed to help clean up even though I insisted I was fine, that I had it, that I did this most every day of the week.

A good guy.

Like the other good guys who were there that day.

I used to think they didn’t exist.

Or maybe that they didn’t exist for me.

But Leo is different.

He helped me load up my van. He even came with me back to my kitchen and didn’t blink at jumping in to help me wash the truly obscene amount of dishes we unloaded.

And he did all that while making me laugh.

So, when he offered to buy me dinner, I didn’t dream of saying no.

Hell, even though I was exhausted, I would have invited him right back to my apartment the moment the stainless-steel sink basin was empty, but the offer of fast food burgers and crispy fries dunked in ketchup after the long hours of the last few days was too tempting to resist.

We ate.

He was charming and asked me questions and actually listened to the answers.

And I got to know him too—

Leo Richardson. Twenty-nine years old. A forward for the San Jose Grizzlies.

And a master at oral sex.

I gasp when he nips the inside of my thigh, my head flying up, my gaze connecting with his. “Pay attention,” he orders roughly, his brown eyes blazing as they pin me in place.

“Kind of hard to do when you’re blowing my mind, handsome,” I tease.

His smile—sweet baby Jesus—his smile. It has me halfway to another orgasm with just that flash of straight white teeth.

Two of which are fake, he told me as we shared a chocolate milkshake.

I don’t know which two, though.

And, as he drags his tongue up through my slick folds, teases my still sensitive clit, I don’t think I really care.

“Leo,” I gasp.

“Mmm,” he says against my flesh. “I like the way you say my name. Let’s see how it sounds when you’re coming.”

“I—”

But I don’t get to protest that I won’t be able to come again, that I’m more than happy with the one orgasm.

The man buries his face between my legs and…

Succeeds.

Oh, how he succeeds.

Then he’s slowly kissing his way up my body, hands trailing languidly over my skin. He kisses me, our tongues tangling, and suddenly I’m aching, empty.

I need this man inside me.

“Now,” I order softly.

That wolfish smile again, but he doesn’t protest as he strips off his clothes and comes back over the top of me. There’s a crinkle and a pause as he rolls on the condom, something that has me writhing in impatience.

But then he’s pushing inside and—

“Leo,” I hiss as he stretches me wide.

“You can take it,” he murmurs, slowly pressing deep.

It aches so good, but he’s right.

I can take him—all of him.

And it’s positively delicious.

And somehow it gets even better when he starts moving, drawing back, stroking in. Slow and steady and inexorable. Until I’m used to him. Until I’m meeting his thrusts. Until he grips my thigh in one big, warm hand and does something absolutely sinful with his hips.

I gasp and feel it.

The impossible.

The legendary.

I’m going to come on this man’s giant cock, and it’s going to be glorious.

“Fuck,” he growls. “You feel good, Harp.”

“You,” I pant, “do too—” Then I gasp again.

Because it’s right there and it’s stealing my words and—

“Oh, my God,” I whisper.

My orgasm burns through me and it’s enough to send Leo over the edge, his strokes going wild as he pounds into me, his mouth taking mine, swallowing down my moans, giving me back rasping groans that vibrate up through his chest as he comes right along with me.

On and on it flows, filling every single one of my cells with bliss.

I collapse back against the mattress, am barely aware of Leo’s heavy weight pressing into me.

I am aware when he gets up, and part of me braces. This is when he leaves, when the day ends and he got what he wanted and he goes home, never to be heard from again.

But after the toilet flushes and the sink turns on and off (yay for good hygiene), Leo doesn’t head for his pile of clothes.

Instead, he climbs into my bed and gathers me in his arms, holding me close.

And just as I slip off to dreamland, I hear, “I can’t wait to see you again.”

I open my mouth to tell him the same, but sleep is already pulling me under.

That’s okay, though.

Because I do it with Leo’s arms around me…and knowing that he’s different from the others.

That this time will be different.

I know it.

I wake up to an empty bed.

But even though I’m alone, I’m smiling.

Because over those greasy burgers and crispy fries and delicious milkshakes, Leo mentioned having practice this morning.

That explains the empty bed.

And then there’s the whole…

I can’t wait to see you again.

So, feeling deliciously sated and maybe a dash sore (though it was definitely worth it), I keep smiling as I stretch and lounge and eventually drag myself out of bed to head into work—not because I have a lot to do, but because what I do is work.

As in, my life is all work and no play.

Except, maybe, when it comes to sexy hockey players.

Grinning, I finish some menu planning, put in my order for an event this weekend, and generally get caught up on all the loose ends that fall to the wayside when I get really busy.

When the bell goes at the front of my store, I hurry through the swinging door and my cheeks almost hurt with how wide my smile goes.

“Leo,” I say, rounding the counter and hurrying toward him, my arms lifting…

Then dropping.

Along with my heart.

Because he steps back.

“I, um, hi,” I finish quietly.

“Hey,” he replies.

And…cue silence.

“Right,” I say when it’s gone on for so long I can’t stand it. “I’m basically done here. Did you…want to grab something to eat?”

I can’t wait to see you again.

“No.”

His tone has my heart sinking further, but I lean into the delusion, to the hope, to the possibility I held so tightly to all day.

“Oh, did you just want to go, uh, back to my place? I can cook us something.”

Something cold flashes across his eyes before he says, “No,” again.

I flinch, shift away from him, that tiny bud of hope I’ve been nurturing since yesterday withering in an instant—green to brown and dry to ash in a millisecond.

“Look,” he says, and his tone gentles, softens, sounds so much like the Leo I met yesterday I can almost pretend—almost—that he’s the man I thought he was.

But he’s not.

Clearly.

“Last night was great, but it was just that.” His jaw tightens, like the words hurt to say. “Just a night.”

He keeps talking, saying all the things I’ve heard many times over.

It’s not you, it’s me.

I’m too busy for a relationship.

I’m not looking for anything serious.

And all I can think is how happy I felt when he’d said…

I can’t wait to see you again.

Men.

They always do this—promise something…and then they walk away like it means nothing.

“Well,” I say, shoring up my spine, “it was cool of you to come by and tell me all that.” I force a smile that probably looks horrific, but I don’t give him much of a chance to see it before I’m turning for the kitchen. “I’ll let you get on with your day so I can finish up with mine.”

He catches my arm. “Harper…”

I deliberately shake him off. “Actually, let me walk you out so I can lock the door behind you.” Not looking at him, I hurry toward the entrance, push open the plate glass panel.

I hear his footsteps moving closer and closer, but I keep my gaze on the floor.

The specks in the industrial tiles are really interesting, am I right?

He pauses. “Harp—”

“Goodbye, Leo,” I say and wait what feels like an eternity.

But eventually he does as men always do.

He leaves with nary a goodbye.

I close the door, flick the lock.

Then I hurry back into the kitchen, hating the tears that escape to slide down my cheeks the moment I’m safely out of sight.

I knew better.

I fucking knew.

Grabbing my planner, I find some work to do, something long and tedious that will take my mind off the shards jabbing at my heart. Something that takes enough focus so I don’t have the mental space to think about Leo, about my idiocy.

Something that is so exhausting I’ll fall asleep the moment my head hits my pillow…and won’t dream of warm arms holding me close.

“No more men,” I whisper, pulling out my mixer.

Ever.