Chapter 7
Seven
Daemon
I wake up alone on the rug in the middle of my living room.
The first thing I register is that the fireplace has been turned off. When I reach over to where Gianna should be, I find her spot on the carpet cool to the touch, meaning she’s been gone for a while.
Gianna snuck out without saying goodbye.
The thought hits me harder than it should considering I did the same thing to her the night we met.
I sit up and run a hand through my hair, trying to ignore the hollow feeling in my chest. Of course she left. That's what people do after sex like that. They leave before it gets complicated.
I should be relieved that she left before we had to have an awkward conversation. Except I'm not relieved. I'm disappointed, and that pisses me off.
Reaching across the living room floor, I grab my boxer briefs from where they landed after I took them off.
The living room is a disaster with clothes and items we knocked over scattered everywhere.
I catch sight of the clock on the wall as I turn toward the kitchen and note that it’s three in the morning.
I'm halfway to the kitchen, already planning how I'm going to spend the rest of my day pretending I don't care that she's gone, when I hear humming.
I immediately freeze and listen for the sound again.
Then, I hear it. The soft, slightly off key humming is coming from my kitchen. It's cheerful and completely at odds with how I've felt since I woke up a few minutes ago.
I round the corner and come to a dead stop.
Gianna is standing at my counter wearing nothing but the t-shirt I wore to the bar last night. It's huge on her, the hem landing at the middle of her thighs. Her hair is a long mess of tangled and wild curls.
She has the refrigerator open as she pulls out cheese and grapes and what looks like the leftover pizza I ordered two days ago.
She hasn't noticed me yet, so I lean against the door frame and admire the view. She's too busy humming and arranging food on a plate, looking completely comfortable in my space like she belongs here.
Something in my chest tightens, and I can't silently spectate anymore.
“You're still here,” I say.
Gianna gasps, spinning around with wide eyes and a hand to her chest. When she sees me, her face breaks into that smile that I've grown to enjoy. The one that screams mischief and trouble.
“You're awake.” She holds up the plate she was just preparing. “I put together some snacks for us. Well, I assembled snacks I found in your kitchen. I'm not much of a cook, but I figured we burned enough calories that we earned some carbs. I hope that's okay.”
I lean back against the doorframe, trying to process this. “I thought you left.”
“Why would I leave?” She sets the plate down and hops up onto the counter, her bare legs swinging. “We weren't finished yet. Unless you don't want me to stay.”
“Gianna…” my words trail off, unsure of what to say. Do I want her to leave? No. Do I think she should stay with me? Also, no.
“Plus, you have really good cheese. Like, really fancy cheese. I didn't know hockey players ate fancy cheeses like these.” She pops a grape in her mouth. “Come eat with me.”
I should tell her to leave. I should put distance between us before this gets any messier than it already is. After the things I said in the moment while we were fucking, she must be incredibly confused.
Instead, I walk over and stand between her legs, my hands settling on her thighs.
“You're wearing my shirt,” I whisper, more to myself than to her.
“You're very observant,” she teases. “It's more comfortable than my dress, and it smells like you.”
“You can't just… We can't…” I stop, attempting to gather my thoughts before I continue. “You can't just make yourself at home here.”
“Why not?” She tilts her head, studying me. “You brought me here. You fucked me in front of your fireplace. You told me you've wanted me for months. I think that earns me snack privileges.”
She has a point, but she also has no idea what I'm actually trying to say. I suck at this, and this is why Sage is the only woman I've dated in damn near a decade.
Then it hits me. Ten years ago, Gianna was twelve. She was in middle school, and I was already a decade into my NHL career. Fuck, I really am a dirty old man.
I sigh and rake a hand through my hair. “This can't be a thing, Gianna.”
“A thing?” She raises an eyebrow. “What kind of thing? What are you talking about?”
“This can't be any kind of relationship. Whatever you're thinking this is, it can't be that.”
She picks up a piece of cheese, examining it like it's the most interesting thing in the world, intentionally avoiding making eye contact with me. “Why can't it be a thing? Why can't we be something?”
“Because you're twenty-two.”
“Actually, I'm twenty-two and a half.”
“That doesn't help your case.” I step back, needing to put space between us to think clearly. “You're in college. You're about to graduate and start your life. I'm-”
“Thirty-eight,” she finishes. “I’m aware of how old you are. I can do math.”
“Exactly. I'm sixteen years older than you. I'm in the last season of my career. I'm also-”
“Hot as fuck and really good in bed?” She slides off the counter, moving closer to me. There's a look of determination in her eyes. “Because those are some of the things I'm noticing.”
“Gianna.” I exhale, catching her wrists when she reaches for me. “I'm being serious.”
“So am I.” She looks up at me, and for the first time since I woke up, I see something other than playfulness in her eyes. Something real. “You think I don't know what I want? You think because I'm twenty-two I don't know my own mind? That I can't make my own decisions?”
“I think you're young and impulsive and-”
“And what? Stupid? Naive?” There's a bite in her words when she cuts me off again. “I'm graduating magna cum laude in a month. I've been taking care of myself since I was eighteen. I know exactly what I'm doing.”
“Do you?” I challenge her. “Because from where I'm standing, you're a college student who parties too much and uses my credit card to get home from bars at three in the morning several times a week.”
“I used your credit card because you gave it to me,” she shoots back at me.
“Also, I was hoping that every time I used it, you would be checking.
That every time you saw a new charge, you'd be thinking about me.
Don't act like you don't care, Daemon. If you didn't, you wouldn't have left it for me in the first place.”
She's right. Fuck, I know she's right.
“That doesn't mean this is a good idea. That doesn't mean we should be together,” I say, but my conviction is wavering.
“Why not?” She steps closer, her hands sliding up my bare chest. “Give me one good reason why we shouldn't see if this can be something real.”
“I just gave you several.”
“Those aren't reasons. They are just excuses to keep you from getting hurt.” Her fingers trace the tattoo on my ribs. “You're scared.”
“I'm not scared,” I huff, but there's no bite behind it.
When her eyes meet mine again, she really looks at me, and I feel vulnerable under her scrutiny.
“You're scared because you like me more than you expected to.
You're scared because this already feels real and right.
You're scared because for the first time in however many years, you want something that isn't hockey.”
My jaw clenches, and my heart thunders in my chest. “You don't know what you're talking about.”
“I don't?” She rises up on her toes, her lips brushing my jaw.
“Then prove me wrong, Daemon. Tell me you don't want me.
Tell me that what happened in your living room was just sex, and you don't want to do it again.
Tell me you don't think about me. Tell me that you don't crave me the way I crave you.”
That's exactly what I should do. I should tell her all of those things are true and send her home. I should forget this ever happened.
Instead, I grab her face and slam my lips to hers.
She makes a small sound of surprise, then she melts against me as her arms wrap around my neck. The kiss is different from every other one we've shared. It's slower, deeper, less frantic but somehow more intense. This kiss is both of us finally acknowledging that this is more than just physical.
When I pull back, she's breathing hard, and her lips are swollen.
“That's what I thought,” she whispers.
“Every time you used my card, it made me happy that I knew you made it home safe,” I confess, no longer seeing the point in hiding the truth from her.
“I knew you cared,” she whispers. “When you brought it up at the bar, there was just something about the way you said it. I can't explain it, but I could feel it.”
For a few seconds, all I can do is stare at her, taking in every detail of the woman in front of me.
From the mess of curls falling around her face to the slight flush in her cheeks.
Those big, earthy eyes that see right through all my bullshit.
How her golden, bronze skin looks in the dimly lit kitchen.
The way my shirt hides all the curves and valleys of her body.
I should be the responsible one and stop this before it goes too far. Before my fascination with her turns into a love that I'll never let go of.
But when she looks at me the way she is right now, like I'm something worth keeping, all the excuses for why I shouldn't want her fade into nothing.
“Bedroom,” I say roughly. “Right fucking now.”
“So bossy,” she snarks, but she's already moving, pulling me down the hall.
My bedroom is dark, the only light from the moon shining through the window. I flip on the lamp on the nightstand, needing to see her this time.
She stands at the foot of my bed, still wearing my shirt. While she looks good in my clothes, what's underneath the fabric is infinitely more beautiful.
“Take it off,” I tell her, nodding to the shirt.