Chapter 3
THREE
JULIETTE
I wake up slowly.
The kind of slow where my eyes open before my brain engages. Where the room is unfamiliar for half a second, and my body feels heavy and warm and loose in a way it usually never does on workdays.
White ceiling. Bright morning light. The faint hum of traffic outside as the city wakes.
Last night, I’d listened to the front door close as if I was dozing off. But really, my entire body had been filled with tension before I’d eventually fallen asleep.
I’ve never had a man wordlessly walk out on me before.
No explanation. No real goodbye. No excuses as a letdown.
It felt awful. Really awful.
I stayed in bed for hours after, staring at nothing, replaying everything, feeling stupidly embarrassed—like I’d misunderstood the entire night. The last person I wanted to tell was my best friend, who absorbs all my problems as if they’re hers.
The crisp white sheets tangle around my lower half where his large body had once been, cool now because he isn’t there. I roll to the side and stare toward my bathroom, daylight glowing through the window.
My chest tightens.
I knew what last night was supposed to be—a one-night stand that wasn’t actually a one-night stand. That would include fucking, wouldn’t it? But we’d barely kissed; as if Aaron had been avoiding intimacy.
His dick was never outside of his pants.
Strange what my brain wants to fixate on.
I sigh, morosely glancing around my boring, pastel bedroom.
So tidy.
So pretty.
Jeez, I have lace on my freaking pillows.
I pick one up and toss it to the floor, disgusted with myself. No wonder he hadn’t wanted to have sex. We’re complete opposites! I am frills and ribbons, and he’s dark and simmering with a bitterness I may never know the cause of.
Why didn’t he stay?
Why didn’t he—
“Spread your legs…” he murmurs ruggedly, his sexy low voice causing my toes to curl before he even eases himself down my body and settles his face between my legs.
I can’t look away from the top of his head, can’t decide if I should bolt off the bed or beg him to put his mouth on me.
“You smell like bedtime stories and sugar cookies.”
So blunt. So matter-of-fact.
He isn’t trying to charm or impress me. Or even romance me as he—
“Oh my god…” I moan, fingers clutching the white eyelet bedspread, knees held apart by his broad shoulders.
I want to watch him but no longer have the strength to lift my head…
His tongue finds my clit, and he fucks me with his mouth. I moan again, hips jerking, fingers digging into his hair and taking hold. Pulling… Aaron groans into me and sucks… pressing his tongue deeper, teeth nipping in a rhythm that has my thighs trembling.
His fingers splay on my flesh.
“Your pussy is so wet,” he rumbles, and my entire body gets hotter still.
“Oh my god…”
I feel him smile.
“Goddamn right.”
His thumb presses against my clit; it goes round and round and round as he eats me out…
“You taste so fucking delicious.”
All I want is for him to touch my boobs. Take my bra off and—
On my bedside table, my phone begins vibrating, so I feel around for it and bring it to my face, squinting at the morning light.
“Shit.” Blaire.
Completely forgot to reply to her last night.
I answer. “Hey.”
“HEY?” she shrieks so loud I have to pull the phone away from my ear. “Oh my god. Hey? That’s all you have to say? Do you have any idea how long I’ve been calling you?”
Lots and lots. “I am so sorry. I was busy.”
“Busy?” She continues repeating the things I say. “Busy doing what? One second, you’re outside the bar telling me what a piece of shit your date is. The next, you’re hanging up on me. Were you kidnapped? Did you join a cult?” she demands. “We don’t know.”
I sigh. “I wasn’t kidnapped. It’s worse than that.”
“What could be worse than being kidnapped?”
Gee, I don’t know. Semi-hooking up with Aaron Bishop and having him sneak out afterward?
“Are you ready for this?” Pause. “’Cause I don’t think you’re ready for what I’m about to admit.”
She makes an impatient noise. “Say it before I lose my mind.”
“Last night when we were on the phone I ran into Aaron Bishop.”
Silence.
“Professional hockey player Aaron Bishop? That Aaron?”
“The one and only.”
“The one guy you’re obligated to fuck because he’s your Hall Pass Aaron Bishop?”
I wince. We might not even have boyfriends, but that didn’t stop me and Blair drunkenly fantasizing about who we’d ask our imaginary partners to let us sleep with. “Yes. Him.”
“You ran into him where?”
She is being so dramatic. And loud.
“Outside the bar where Preston and I had our date.” I ease myself off the bed, body aching from lack of sleep, padding across my bedroom to grab a hoodie and pulling it on before explaining. “It was an accident. I literally bumped into his massive chest.”
“Then what?” she demands.
“And then… we made chitchat. Went into another bar but didn’t stay long.” I pause. “He doesn’t talk much.”
“Yes, yes. And?” She is growing more impatient by the second, waiting for me to get to the good stuff. “You’re taking forever to spit this out—the next thing out of your mouth better be something like, ‘And then he invited me back to his place.’”
Close. “Or I invited him back to mine?”
“You? You did that?” She screeches. “Juliette, for all that is holy, please tell me something happened. Please tell me you let him lick you all over.”
“I wish he’d licked me all over…”
Suddenly, my phone begins ringing a second time. It’s her, but now she wants to video chat. Reluctantly, I accept the call as I walk into the kitchen.
“Continue—and don’t leave anything out.”
“Fine, but I have to get ready for work. I’m already going to be late.”
“Did you have sex or not?”
I consider this. “Does oral count as sex?”
Silence on the other end of the line. “Did you blow him?”
I laugh. “No.”
“Oh my god—did he go down on you? Please say yes.”
I smirk, pulling open the fridge and grabbing a protein shake to drink as breakfast. “Yes, he did.”
Blaire whispers, “Holy crap. Did you come?”
“I…” I clear my throat, embarrassed to say the words. “Yes. Um… after I came, he, um… left.”
Blaire stares at me through the phone, piece of toast halfway to her lips. “Wait. He left?”
“Yes. I came, he left.”
“That’s… okay. Uh. He didn’t want to fuck you or anything? He went down on you and bailed?”
I roll my eyes, doing my best not to be affected. It stings. The fact that he walked out stings. “He wasn’t into me, Blaire. I’m not sexy, and I’m not—”
“Don’t you dare self-deprecate. You are the sexiest little bookworm I’ve ever seen. I mean, hello. Look at that pajama set!”
I glance down my body, forgetting that I’m basically wearing lingerie. One of my vices is pretty underthings, a direct contradiction to my conservative wardrobe.
Demur on the outside.
Sassy underneath.
I love having a secret only I know.
“Anyway.” I go to my room and walk into my closet, pulling down a baby-blue cashmere sweater and pairing it with jeans. “I don’t think he knew who I was.”
Blaire stops crunching her toast and stares at me. “You’re lying.”
“No. He didn’t recognize me.” I’m sure of it. “Whatever. I’ll call you once I get to work; I have to fix my hair.”
I end the call on her protest. Dress. Tame my sex hair, pulling it into a slick back bun and finishing it off with a small, pearl barrette. Gold earrings. Gold necklace.
Satin ballet flats.
It’s thirty-five minutes later when I pull into the parking garage at the Ice Wolves corporate office, and my iced latte sloshes around the cup as I dash inside. My shoes are silent as I race across the sleek marble floors, a smile on my face as I walk through the department toward my new cubicle.
Movement in the hallway.
Voices that are deep. Male.
My heart stops pounding, I swear it. And because I can’t stand not knowing, I wheel my chair back several inches to gape out the doorway of my hamster enclosure.
Aaron.
Of course it’s him…
In crisp dress pants. Blue button-down. Suit jacket slung over one shoulder looking like he stepped out of a business meeting. He’s mid-conversation with Brian from legal, head tilted, mouth fixed into a serious line.
Stand up and say something, Juliette…
Don’t be a shrinking violet.
My palms press to the armrests preparing to stand. I draw in a breath, shove my chair back, and—
“Jules!”
Ugh!
No, dammit, no.
I turn slowly.
My brother stands in all his overconfident, handsome, six-foot-two glory: energy drink in hand, crooked badge, locked-and-loaded grin flashing with fake teeth.
“Holy shit, there you are,” Declan says. “I’ve been walking up and down this floor ; fucking dipshit looking for you.” His grin is big and giddy. “Look how cute you are in your little office. I should take a picture for Mom and Dad.”
“Please don’t.” I plop back into my chair. “What are you doing here?”
He takes a healthy chug of his drink, tossing the can into my trash as if he were tossing a basketball. “Meeting.”
Ahh. That must be what Aaron is doing here.
I rise on my haunches, trying to catch another glimpse at him, and my brother catches me, eyes trailing to his right as I make eye contact with Aaron above the top of my office.
His eyes are on Declan now, and if I had to put a name to the expression on his face it would be hostile.
Something passes over his face, dark as a storm cloud as his gaze lingers, eyes snapping from me to my brother, frown growing. Declan’s entire demeanor goes from cheerful and chatty to downright agitated.
“What?” I ask, fidgeting in my seat, hyper-aware of his intense gaze.
Declan watches me quietly. “Seriously, Juliette? Aaron Bishop?”
I feign ignorance. “I have no idea why you’re using his name in a sentence right now.”
He lets out a short, disbelieving laugh. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Pretend I’m an idiot, and I can’t read your face.”
My arms fold defensively, heat crawling up my neck. “I barely know him.”
“I saw your look.”
“So?”
“You sucked in a breath when you thought he was looking at you!” he hisses as my mouth opens to immediately deny it.
Snaps closed. I had sucked in a breath.
I am an amateur…
“Jesus Christ, Juliette.” He studies me another second, then exhales through his nose. “Has he been over here talking to you?”
I scoff again. “Why would he be over here talking to me?”
Because his mouth was on my… you know. Lady business?
My brother doesn’t respond; lets his eyes stay trained on the hallway where Aaron was standing, jaw working like he’s chewing gum. Gritting his teeth.
“Would it be a problem if he had been talking to me?” I continue, unfazed by his irritation. “Aren’t you and your teammates all friends?”
He hesitates before saying, “Yeah.” Drags a hand over his face. “Jules, listen. If that guy tries to talk to you—”
“Tries to talk to me about what?”
“Just—” He cuts himself off. Glances around like the cubicle walls might be listening. “Don’t engage, okay?”
My stomach flips.
“Engage with him about what?” I whisper conspiratorially. “Did he do something horrible that I should know about? Is he violent?”
Declan shakes his head slowly.
I study his face, searching for the brother who used to tell me everything. Who used to rant to me about bad grades but then trust me not to tell my parents he snuck out to party. Or got drunk when he was underage. Or dented the car after hitting the garage door.
We were so close, I moved to be near him once the Wolves drafted him.
“No. He hasn’t done anything horrible.” Another head shake. “But do me a favor and stay away from him, though?”
My stomach drops. “Not unless you tell me why.”
“I can’t.” His gaze drifts back down the hall. He checks his watch and pushes off the wall of my cubicle, giving it a tap. “I have to get going. Have to be on the ice in half an hour, and I’ll probably be late.”
Then he’s gone, his warning ringing in my ears. Do me a favor and stay away from him.
Too late for that.
Guilt floods the pit of my stomach but also: Why should I feel bad? I’m a grown woman. I make my own choices. What could Aaron have done to make Declan warn me off? Why is my brother acting shady?
Five minutes later, I have yet to log into the company network.
Ten minutes after that, I’ve done nothing but research the team’s appearance schedule.
Thirty minutes in, I’m out of my office and backtracking down the corridor, walking over the sleek marble floors toward the practice rink, folding my arms around my body when I open the ice center’s doors.
It’s loud.
Voices boom as if they’re in an echo chamber. Pucks cracking against boards. Skates carving the ice. Players grunting and talking over one another as the coaches shout out drills.
I hover near the entrance, doing my best to remain unnoticed.
I spot Declan immediately.
Then I see Aaron, looking delicious in pads and a practice jersey stretched taut across his shoulders, eyes homed in on him. He chooses that moment to chase an errant puck, slamming into the boards close to my brother. Hard.
As if he’s done it on purpose…
No sooner do I flatten myself against the wall to become invisible than Declan shoves him out of his personal space, and I watch as words are exchanged—not friendly ones—and Aaron says something that makes my brother stiffen, sticking his gloved hand in Declan’s face.
I wish I knew what they were saying.
Declan shoves him again, harder this time, glove to Aaron’s chest. Their foreheads nearly touch through helmet and visor, bodies tense and tight, one second from becoming a full-blown brawl.
My heart lodges in my throat.
Is this my fault?
A whistle blares.
Everyone stops.
“What is going on with those two?” I whisper, pressing my back against the cold, cinder block wall, my wide eyes glued to the scene on the ice. The spell is broken when a pair of dark brown eyes meet mine, startling me.
Coach is barking about getting their asses on the bench, but Aaron stands there, chest rising hard beneath those stupid, perfect, sexy pads.
Staring at me.