Prologue - Drew
That Same Night
The bathroom door clicks shut, and I lock it behind me, turning to see this mystery girl already pulling off those things women wear under dresses. That fast, she has them past her hips, making me regret not just reaching behind me to turn the brass knob.
"Right to it, huh?" I ask, the stretchy material now in a heap at her ankles, her strappy heels already off.
"What? Oh, no." Her voice is breathless, and though it might be from the effort it seems to have taken to roll the elastic down her thighs, I'd like to think it's because of me.
"These things were driving me crazy. Honestly, they would have come off either way.
" She pulls her foot from each of the holes and tosses the tan ball of fabric right into the trashcan.
Huffing out a laugh, my gaze falls down her tight and curvy body pretty fucking obviously.
Holy shit. I don't know who this girl is or where the hell she came from, but she's fucking stunning.
More of her skin is showing than not, her dress held up by only her chest, and she fills it out flawlessly—a perfect mix of classy and sexy.
But as much as I love it on, I'd much prefer it on the goddamn floor.
After the week I've had, this gala was literally the last thing I wanted to do. I've spent the past forty-eight hours dealing with the aftermath of the random drug test I failed, and it took everything in me to even get out of bed, let alone face the entire athletic community of Golden City.
I had been having a rough… month, and when I started dropping the ball on the ice, I outsourced—self-medicated.
My sounding board has been gone for a while, so I looked for support where I knew I shouldn't.
Then I got caught. And now? Well, now, I don't know where it all leads.
Except for tonight. Tonight, I'm taking back control.
I'm leaving this fishbowl I'm swimming in, and I'm seeking relief in the stranger that I can't keep my eyes off of.
All of a sudden, the girl reaches behind her. She unzips her dress with the slip of her hand, and peels it off, letting it fall to the gray-tiled floor. All the while, her eyes are fixed on mine until I can't stop them from dropping to her matching black set.
"Your move, Anderson," she says, leaning back to place her palms on the sink.
The white porcelain is stark in contrast to her tan hands around it and the dark lace now on display.
She has random tattoos stickered all over her skin.
Some phrases here, a word or two there, some pictures I can't quite make out because I'm trying to take her all in. So fucking sexy.
Blowing through my lips, I stride toward her slowly. "You might regret that."
She tilts her head and narrows her eyes. "Eh, I don't think so. But it's already been a long night, so if you don't mind..." She tilts her chin as if to gesture me over, and I comply without question, darting to her.
I first spotted her when she walked in alone, my gaze fixed on the exit from the moment the speeches ended as I waited for my chance to leave.
Instead, I caught sight of the rest of my night, all legs and confidence in her little red number.
It's ballsy to show up at these things by yourself.
There are a lot of people with power, and some plain old rich assholes, to just float in casually unconnected to one.
When she went straight for the kid, the fact that I had never seen her before made a little more sense.
She must be related to Coach's old lady.
That would explain the way her toned body made my dick twitch like Monte's girl's does—respectfully, of course.
But as I really read her, analyzed her movements like I would an opponent's, something else reeled me in.
It was how her eyes never once lingered on anyone. A few dozen pros all gathered together and a puck bunny would foam at the mouth. But this fucking goddess beelined it for Cooper, then went straight to the bar, her independence evident, bravado clear.
Sort of like it is right now.
"You okay with this?" I ask, tracing her collarbone with the tip of my finger. Goosebumps spread up her neck, her lips parting as I follow them north.
"You're asking now that I'm half-naked in front of you?"
A lazy smile spreads across my lips. "Well, when I asked if you wanted to get out of here, I didn't exactly mean the lobby bathroom." Though that didn't stop me from following her into the single stall like a goddamn puppy.
She turns her lips in and winks at me. "It's fine," she says, reaching for my coat. "I have to get back in there after, and there's apparently something I'm missing about doing it against the sink." My brow creases as she undoes my button. "Not like that, it's—just forget it. Come here."
She pulls me by my jacket, slipping her hands underneath the flaps at my shoulders. I let it fall to my elbows before I take it off and hang it on the hook that sits on the back of the door.
"So, you know me," I say, turning back to her. It's more of a statement than a question considering she called me by name, but there's no missing the despair in my voice.
Looking back and forth between my eyes, she studies me for a moment, unflinching.
No judgement.
No assumptions.
"Know you?" She shakes her head. "I understand who you are, but I wouldn't say I know you."
My lungs fill with air for the first time in two days.
Everyone has had even more to say about who I am in the last forty-eight hours.
I'm sulking, going through a crisis, a disappointment, or my personal favorite—a total buzzkill.
They're mad that for the next few months I'll be riding the bench instead of performing for them.
They don't care about me. They don't even know me.
And this total stranger might be the first to see that.
"What's your name?" I ask hesitantly, sliding my palms past her cheeks.
"Kiss me," is all she says in response.
Inching closer, our lips barely touch. "Tell me, baby."
With that last word, her mouth presses to mine.
I consider objecting, pulling away and insisting that I learn the name of the one person who hasn't mentioned my biggest regret. But when her tongue grazes my lips, asking for permission, my whole body melts into her. I open and allow her in, and holy fuck, this might be the best kiss of my life.
It's not even the way she tastes—although her mouth could easily be a delicacy—or the way she runs her teeth gently across my bottom lip, somehow knowing exactly what I like.
It's how our mouths fall instantly into a rhythm like they're already familiar with one another.
Like they were meant for each other. Like every other kiss either of us has ever had was just practice for this one.
The girl with no name drags her fingertips down the length of my back, and I arch into her, realizing I'm still wearing my clothes.
Normally, I'd be naked in less time than it takes for a woman to ask how many points I scored in my last game.
But this girl has me humming without an inch of my skin exposed.
Slipping my hands between us, I keep our embrace as I find my top button. In response, Mystery Girl places her palms over my knuckles and pulls back breathlessly. "No time."
She drags our hands, still wrapped together, to the waist of my pants, letting out a soft whimper as her fingers brush against my hard cock below it. "Just these," she whispers, her face still so close to mine that our heavy breathing mixes together.
I can't help the smirk that forms between us despite the fact that my dick thinks this is anything but funny.
Most women either want the full treatment or are pissed if I do decide we're making this quick.
They want the full show—the guy they've imagined.
But here, I don't think I could be anyone else even if I tried.
Luckily, she doesn't seem to care. And for once in this situation, I'm not calling the shots.
"You're bad, aren't you, Mystery Girl?"
She purses her lips, and I swear I catch a roll of her eyes despite how close our faces are. "Not bad," she says. "Well… maybe." She snickers, then wraps her hand around mine and brings it between her legs. "But right now I'm just more ready than anything."
She guides my first two fingers under the black lace, right between her legs, and holy shit.
She. Is. Drenched.
"Fuck," I groan, sliding them up and down her center. "You are ready, baby."
"So, what are you going to do about it?"
With no hesitation, I shove both fingers inside her, her pussy already slick enough to dive right in.
She moans as she lets her head fall backward, tightening her grip on the sink.
Pressing my body to hers with my cock throbbing against the pants I still haven't taken off, I bring our cheeks together and speak softly in her ear. "You like that, Mystery Girl?"
I inhale, my breaths coming in quick bursts like it's the end of a game and I've played every minute. When I do, the perfect smell of citrus intertwines with the air, and suddenly fruit is fucking erotic.
"Yes," she exhales, and my thumb moves in response, finding her clit and beginning slow circles.
"Tell me what you want."
"Keep going," she answers definitively. "Faster. More."
This girl knows what she likes, and she's on a hunt to get it. Normally, girls think it's a novelty just to be with me—something they don't really care about experiencing because it's the accomplishment they're more concerned with. But not her. And I'm willing to give her whatever she wants.
"Play with me," she says breathlessly as I kiss and nip at her neck.
I pull back to ask how I could possibly do that more, only to see she's pulled the cup of her bra down and out of place. "You're fucking perfect," I say without thinking.