Chapter 16
Cole
“Listen up,” Coach's voice booms through the locker room, cutting through the pre-game chatter. “This is what we've been working toward all pre-season. Tonight, we show Nashville what Renegades hockey looks like on home ice.”
The room explodes with energy, players banging sticks against lockers and stomping their feet.
I should be dialed in, completely focused, but my mind keeps drifting to Harper. I haven't seen her since this morning's rushed breakfast.
It's been like this all week. Ships passing in the night. She leaves before I'm awake, comes home after I'm already reviewing game footage. I miss her.
“Last season, we let our heads get too big and thought we had it in the bag,” Coach continues. “We missed the playoffs by three points. Three. That ends tonight.”
“Hell yeah!” Novak shouts from across the room.
“Let's fucking go!” Alex pounds his gloves together.
This is what I live for: when twenty guys become one unit with one goal. Except tonight, part of me is on Harper and whether she’ll make it tonight.
She mentioned something about coordinating with the children's hospital representatives who would be speaking at the charity event.
“Captain?” Coach's voice cuts through my thoughts. “Anything to add?”
Shit. Everyone in the locker room is looking at me, waiting. Logan elbows me in the ribs.
“Yeah,” I say, forcing myself to focus. “We've earned this. Let's show them what we're made of.”
It's not my best captain speech, but the guys respond anyway, voices rising in another wave of energy. I nod along, trying to match their intensity, but my heart isn't completely in it.
As we file toward the tunnel, Blake falls in step beside me. “Yo, Cap. You good? You seem off tonight.”
“I'm fine.”
“Bullshit. What's eating you?”
I can't exactly tell him that I'm distracted because I'm missing a woman I'm supposed to be keeping secret. “Just focused on the game.”
Blake gives me a look that says he doesn't buy it, but he drops it as we reach the tunnel entrance.
The crowd noise hits us as we enter the arena. Eighteen thousand Renegades fans are on their feet, navy and silver colors flashing everywhere.
I immediately scan the family section. It's a habit I've never had before, but tonight I picture Harper there, wearing my jersey, cheering for me.
She's not there, of course. But fuck, I want her there.
I scan the rest of the arena, but she’s not there either. A heaviness comes over my body.
The crowd explodes as we burst through the tunnel. The ritual takes over. Warm-up laps, practice shots, line drills. During the national anthem, I scan the crowd one more time. Nothing.
Then, just before the puck drops, I catch a glimpse of movement in the PR box. Harper. Intense relief floods through me.
She came. She's here.
The puck drops, and everything else fades away. Now I can focus on my game. Nashville comes hard in the first period, but we're ready for them. Alex makes a perfect pass to Hoffman, who sets up Ryan for a beautiful goal. The crowd goes wild.
We take the first period 1-0.
By the end of the second, we're up 3-1. I've got a goal and an assist, and the team is clicking like we haven't all season. Every time there's a break in play, my eyes drift to Harper.
Third period, Nashville makes a push, but we’re unstoppable. We win 4-2, and the arena erupts. Players are hugging, fans are screaming, and I’m grinning like a fool. We might actually make something of this season.
An hour later, I'm sitting in Gordy’s Pub with half the team, nursing a beer I don't want while listening to conversations I can't focus on. The guys are surrounded by wives and girlfriends. And I’m alone.
Harper should be here.
“Another round?” Ryan asks, already signaling the bartender.
“I'm good,” I say, checking my phone for the fifth time in ten minutes.
“Come on, Cap,” Novak says. “Lighten up. We just beat Nashville. You had a hell of a game.”
“Yeah, I'm just tired.”
Blake is telling some story that has his girlfriend laughing, and Theo is showing photos of his new baby to anyone who'll look. But I feel disconnected, like I'm watching from outside.
My phone buzzes with a text message.
Harper: Congratulations on the win! You were great out there.
I type back immediately: Where are you now?
The response comes quickly: Home. Just got out of a very long, very hot shower. Currently wearing nothing but my silk robe and trying to decide if I have the energy to put on clothes.
The image of Harper, fresh from the shower, barely covered, hits me in a shot of pure want.
Me: I'm coming home. Don't change a thing.
Harper: What about celebrating with your team?
Me: I'd rather celebrate with you.
I pocket my phone and stand up, grabbing my jacket.
“Where are you going, Cap?” Blake asks.
“Early night. Practice tomorrow.”
“Bullshit,” Novak says. “The night is young. Have another beer.”
“Really, I'm beat.” I throw some cash on the table. “You guys keep celebrating. You earned it.”
There's some good-natured grumbling, but they let me go.
The Uber ride home takes too long. Every red light seems to last forever. I text Harper that I'm fifteen minutes out, and she responds with a simple: I'll be waiting.
When I finally unlock the apartment door, the living room is dimly lit with candles flickering on the coffee table. Harper is curled up on the couch, and there's a bottle of champagne chilling in an ice bucket beside her.
She stands when she sees me, and my breath catches. The silk robe is deep green, the same color as her eyes, and it highlights her curvaceous body.
“There's my winning captain,” she says, walking over to me with a smile that makes me stupidly happy.
I drop my keys and jacket and pull her into my arms, crushing my mouth to hers.
“Congratulations,” she murmurs against my lips. “You were incredible tonight.”
My hands slide down to the belt of her robe, but she laughs and catches my wrists. “Champagne first,” she says, stepping back. “We're celebrating properly.”
“I'd rather celebrate you,” I say, trying to pull her back to me.
She gives me a look that's part stern, part playful. “Cole Maddox, you just won your season opener. We're toasting to that, whether you like it or not.” She moves to the ice bucket.
“I'm glad you made it to the game,” I say.
“I wouldn't have missed it.” She pops the cork. “Though I'm sorry I couldn't stay for the whole celebration.”
“I know.” She doesn’t need to explain further. We can’t be seen together. “This is better. This is perfect.”
She pours two glasses, the champagne fizzing gold in the candlelight. “To the season,” she says, raising her glass. “And to you, Captain.”
We clink glasses, and I take a sip, letting the bubbles hit my tongue. Then I pull her into my arms.
She laughs, the sound vibrating against my mouth. “You're impossible.”
“You love it.”
Instead of answering, I set my glass aside and tug at the belt of her robe. This time, she doesn't stop me. The silk falls open, revealing the smooth expanse of her skin, and my mouth goes dry.
“Beautiful,” I say, trailing my fingers along her collarbone.
I take another sip of champagne, holding it in my mouth as I lower my head to her breast. When I close my lips around her nipple, she gasps, her hands flying to my hair.
The champagne is cold against her heated skin, and the contrast makes her arch against me. I let the bubbles fizz against her as I suck gently, and the sounds she makes go straight to my cock.
The robe is open now, pooling at her elbows, and she is bare and perfect and mine.
I pull back and swallow the champagne, my breathing ragged. Her eyes are dark, pupils blown wide with desire. “Cole,” she whispers, her voice husky.
I don't answer with words, and instead I lay her down on the rug, then quickly undress, save for my boxer briefs. Then I reach for the bottle of champagne and kneel between her legs, spreading them apart.
Her breath hitches, a question forming in her eyes that I answer with a slow tilt of my wrist. The cold, golden liquid spills over her stomach, a rivulet tracing a path down the plane of her abdomen.
She jolts at the shock of it, a sharp inhale catching in her throat.
I follow the trail, watching it drip onto the inside of her thigh, and then, with another gentle pour, I let it flow directly over her core, soaking the dark curls, gleaming on her most sensitive skin.
Placing the champagne bottle on the floor, I grip her things and lower my head, inhaling deeply. The scent of her, mixed with the crisp champagne, is an intoxicating drug. I bury my face between her legs, my tongue flat against her, licking up every last drop.
“Oh God, Cole, oh my God,” Harper cries out.
I’m too busy licking every drop. The taste is insane. The champagne mixed with her taste is the perfect flavor.
I groan against her as I feast on her, lapping up the champagne and her arousal, my tongue circling her clit, delving inside her, claiming every part of her.
Harper’s thighs shake, and her hips move against my mouth. “Right there.”
I don’t let up. I drink her in until I’m dizzy with it, until the champagne is gone and there’s only the pure, slick taste of her desire. I feel her start to tense, her muscles coiling, her cries becoming higher, more desperate.
But I want to be inside her when she comes.
Harper wraps her legs around me as I carry her the few steps to the couch and lay her down on the cushions. Following her down, I cover her body with mine, leaving enough space to pull down my briefs.
Harper’s face is flushed, her lips swollen, and her body laid bare for me. “Look at me,” I command, my voice rough.
Her eyes, glazed with desire, find mine.
I push into her in one smooth, deep thrust. She cries out, arching her back, then digs her nails into my shoulders.
She is so wet, so ready, so unbelievably tight around me.
Then I start to move. Tonight, I don’t want to be gentle. I’m possessive, and I take her hard. The couch creaks beneath us, accompanied by our ragged breaths and the sounds of our bodies joining.
She meets me thrust for thrust, her hips rising to meet mine, her legs locked around my back, pulling me deeper.
“I missed you,” I groan, the words torn from me.
“Me too,” she says with a breathy moan.
I slide a hand between us, and when I find her clit, I rub tight, fast circles. It doesn’t take long before her moans turn to whimpers.
She sounds so fucking sweet when she’s like this.
Her inner muscles clench around me, at the same time as a white hot detonation sears through me. I pour myself into her, my body shuddering with the force of it.
Moments later, I collapse on top of her, spent, the smell of sex and champagne and her perfume filling the air.
Then she starts to wriggle. “I love it when you’re on top of me like this, but damn, Cole, you’re heavy.”
With a laugh, I slide off her to the remaining space on the couch.
Her hands come up, stroking my damp hair, my back. I finally find the strength to lift my head and look at her. She’s smiling, a soft, sated, beautiful smile.
“Tell me about the game,” she says in a hoarse voice.
Laughter bursts out of me. “That's your idea of pillow talk?”