One Night with Hockey's Number Nineteen

Chapter 1

One

Sawyer

The best orgasm of my life is still humming through my veins when reality slaps me in the face.

Of course it does.

Lainey sighs softly, her dark curls tumbling forward over her face. “Thank you,” she whispers. “You don’t know how much I needed that.”

“The pleasure was all mine, Lanes,” I murmur, stroking my hand lightly up and down her spine.

“No,” she says, her gentle laugh wrapping fingers around my heart and squeezing, “I think it was mine.”

Then again, my heart’s been involved with Lainey—and her adorable kiddo, Ollie—from the first time I met them.

Add in that pretty smile, those gorgeous curves, the curls I’ve dreamed about spilling over my pillow (but are just as beautiful spilling over her pillow), the floral scent of her shampoo…

Yeah, I’ve wanted this from the beginning. I was just waiting for her to want me too.

Of course, that’s the moment she sighs heavily and pushes up on one elbow, her gaze coming to mine, something in those deep brown eyes that has my stomach twisting. “As fun as this was,” she murmurs. “You should probably go.”

I flinch, but she’s already turning away, reaching for the shirt I peeled off her only thirty minutes before. “Right, of course. I’m sure Ollie will be home soon.”

She tugs on her blouse, turns back toward me, and sighs again. “He will be. But…”

“What, Pages?”

Her brows drag together but she doesn’t comment on the nickname. “Speaking of Ollie,” she murmurs, “this can’t happen again.”

“This being the running into each other and having drinks?” I ask as I tug up my jeans. “I promise to buy you dinner first next time.”

Her cheeks go pink and she nibbles at her bottom lip. “I’d like that. No, I mean, I like spending time with you, Sawyer. You’re fun and you make me feel good, but this can’t happen again—or the part that ends with us naked in bed can’t happen, anyway.”

I open my mouth, but she’s still talking.

“I know you’re probably not thinking about promises and…” She waves a hand at the bed. “Repeats.” She picks up her underwear, tugs them up the luscious thighs I just had the best time of my fucking life between, and says, “I know I’m not something special to you—”

My stomach twists.

“—but I don’t really do this.” A breath. “No, it’s not that I don’t really do this. It’s that I never do this,” she finishes.

“Lainey—”

“I know you, um, like the ladies,” she says quickly. “I’ve heard the guys talk about it, so don’t worry about hurting my feelings. I get this was a one-time thing.”

My throat burns with bile.

Because she has absolutely no idea what my personal life is like.

No idea.

She pulls up her pants. “So yeah…I just…this can’t happen again. I have Ollie to think about and I don’t want to make things weird for us with our friends.”

Woodenly, I grab my tee and tug it over my head. “No, I get that.”

“I knew you would.” She smiles at me. “And if circumstances were different, I’d definitely be open to a repeat. I just…”

I step into my shoes, turn to her. “Like I said, Lanes. I totally get it.” My smile feels odd, stilted. Fake. But I keep it in place. “We won’t make things weird.”

“We won’t?”

“God no.” I laugh, watch as she relaxes. “Smitty brings enough weirdness to the fam without us having to worry about our contributions.”

She trails me as I walk toward the door, says, “Exactly. I mean, did you hear his tangent about geese tonight?”

“I did. And his tangent about beady black eyes.”

“It’s absurd.”

“And yet, the man is also scared of wombats,” I say as I head downstairs, snagging my jacket from the floor of the hallway.

Thirty minutes ago, she was stripping me naked.

Now, she’s seeing me to the door.

“I’ll be here tomorrow to help with the move-in.”

“What? You don’t like my current decorating aesthetic?” She sweeps an arm around the almost empty house—and with the exception of her bed we just broke in and a few boxes of clothes, bags of groceries, it is empty—her smile so fucking beautiful it hurts.

“I’m thinking you’ll like a few more pieces of furniture.”

“Maybe.” She squeezes my hand. “I’d say you don’t have to help, but I’m starting to get that you and the rest of the Grizzlies mostly just ignore my protests and do it anyway.”

“That’s true enough,” I say on a chuckle.

We pause a few feet from the front door, quiet falling between us.

I should go, should make this easy.

It’s just…every cell in my body is screaming at me, begging me to do something, to say something to make sure this night doesn’t end here.

Doesn’t end like this.

“You know,” I say softly. “We could always—”

Her phone rings.

I bend, snag her purse from the floor where she dropped it earlier (probably because she was too focused on giving me the best kiss of my life) and pass it to her.

“Thanks,” she murmurs, digging inside the handbag.

“Anytime. I just wanted—”

She pulls her phone out, glances at the screen. Then looks up at me. “Sorry, Sawyer, but I need to get this.”

“Of course.” Ignoring the twisting in my stomach, I hitch my thumb over my shoulder. “I’ll get out of your hair.”

“Thanks.” A distracted smile as she picks up the call, lifts her cell to her ear. “Hello? Oh, hey, baby. Are you all right?” A pause as I pull the front door open. “You want to come home? Of course, that’s okay. I’ll see you soon.”

I step outside, pause then call her name when she hangs up.

“Yeah?” she says, still preoccupied.

“Lock up, Pages, okay?”

She seems to shake herself. “Right.” A smile. “Of course. Thanks, Sawyer.”

More bile. More of my insides twisting. More…knowledge that tonight ending like this is probably for the best.

Because it’s friendly and drama-free.

Because we can go back to our regularly scheduled programming.

Because one night—even if it was the best night of my life—was all I could ever have.

I close the door, hear the click of the lock being engaged, and force my feet to carry myself off the porch, down the steps, along the path to the sidewalk.

Only then do I pause, look down at my hands.

My father’s ring glints in the moonlight.

Anger—no rage—tears through me and I wrench it off my finger, launch it into the shadows at the house.

Why did he have to die?

Why did he have to leave such a fucking mess behind?

Why—?

I stare at the spot where the ring should be and…

The rage fades and guilt slinks into its place.

Why did I do that?

“Fuck,” I whisper.

Then I do the only thing I can—

I get the fuck out of there.