Must Love Dogs...and Hockey

by Kelly Jamieson

  Cookie slides into the seat across the aisle from me. “You okay?”

  I give him a look, then slide my gaze back to the window. Outside, there’s lots of activity. The equipment guys are loading up the luggage compartment and various arena staff are running around.

  “Talk later,” Cookie says.

  I nod half-heartedly.

  It takes a while for everyone to show up since there were a lot of media interviews scheduled for guys like Bergie, our captain, and Nate, Murph, and Gunner, who played outstandingly, even though we lost. I can only imagine the tirade Coach went on when they interviewed him.

  With a reasonable man as coach, he’d watch the video of what happened and see it as the fluke it was, then shake his head, say “shit happens” and maybe even apologize to me. But I know that won’t happen.

  Then we’re on the road to the airport. I avoid Coach while we go through the expedited customs process we have in place and board the plane, taking a seat at the back of the aircraft. Everyone seems to know to leave me alone. I guess I’m giving off a strong say-one-word-to-me-and-you-die vibe.

  I haven’t even checked my phone, so I pull it out and see Lilly’s texts with pictures of Otis. These barely bring a smile to my face. I messaged her earlier today to make sure she was staying at my place tonight. Now I’m questioning if that’s a good idea. I’m in a fucking savage mood.

  The flight’s about an hour and a half. With my duffel bag in tow, I go straight to my car—we leave them at the private terminal when we travel—and head home. I drive down the ramp into the parking garage beneath my building and take the elevator to my floor. I feel like a zombie, shut down and operating on autopilot.

  Until I walk into my apartment.

  I’m greeted by an ecstatic Otis throwing himself at me. And when I look up after giving him some love, I see Lilly standing in the door of my bedroom at the end of the short hall. She’s leaning against the doorframe, arms folded, a smile on her face as she watches us. I take in her attire—holy crap.

  She’s wearing a nightshirt, the old-fashioned kind that buttons up the front, but only a few buttons are fastened. It hits the top of her thighs, but in the opening caused by her cocked hip I can glimpse a tiny pair of peach-colored panties that match the peach floral print of the shirt. Her long legs are bare, down to her polished toes.

  Tension melts out of my muscles, only to be replaced with a new kind of tension as all my blood flows to my southern region. I slowly stand, Otis still bouncing around, and shed my overcoat, letting it fall to the floor. I walk toward her. “I’m so glad you’re here,” I say simply.

  Her face changes, softening, her eyes warming. She pushes away from the doorframe and takes a step toward me, opening her arms and I walk into them. I wrap her up in a tight hug, burying my face in her hair, and we stand like that for I don’t know how long.

  Chapter 15

  Lilly

  I hold on to Easton, my arms around his waist. He’s so big and hard, so strong, yet I feel his suffering. I don’t know what happened after the game, and I’ve been hoping he’s okay, but now I know…he’s not.

  If this is because of his coach, I am going to go to the arena or wherever they are tomorrow, find a hockey stick, and smack that asshole in the face.

  I feel Easton’s harsh breathing against my hair, feel the vibrations of his body as he fights to control his emotions. His pain is an ache in my belly.

  After a while, I draw back. I tip my head back to look at his face. “It’s okay,” I say, even though I don’t know that it is. “Come to bed.”

  I lead him into his bedroom. I was already in bed, but I wasn’t asleep, I was reading. The lamp next to the bed shines softly, and I take hold of the knot of his tie and gently tug. I slide the silk fabric out from under his collar and toss it onto the chair, then start working the buttons of his dress shirt open. While I do that, he removes his suit jacket and toes off his shoes.

  It’s a slow undressing, tugging his shirt out from his pants and pushing it back off his shoulders, kissing his tattoo as I undo his leather belt and then the button and fly. The suit trousers drop to the floor and he steps out of them, bending and lifting each foot to shuck his socks. My gaze is drawn to a big purple mark on his left hip. A soft sound of dismay falls from my lips as I so gently touch my fingertips to it. “Are you hurt?”

  “It’s just a bruise.”

  I run my hands over his hips in his formfitting black boxer briefs, squeezing the square, masculine bones of his pelvis, then sliding around back to cup his muscular butt.

  A low groan escapes his mouth as I grip those firm glutes, and he slides his hands into my hair, thumbs on my jaw, and tilts my head so he can kiss me. Our mouths meet in a fiery impact, opening, tongues sliding, devouring. I tilt my hips and press against him, thrilling at the feel of his erection against my lower belly.

  “Lilly.” He groans and drags his mouth over my jaw. “I’m a mess.”

  “We’re all a mess.”

  “I want to be with you. But I don’t want to drag you down with me.”

  “You’re not. I can handle it.” I pull back to peer into his eyes. “Maybe I can lift you up.”

  His eyes fall closed, his jaw tight, and I hook my fingers into his briefs and drag them down.

  His beautiful body is naked, and now he undresses me, not that there’s much to take off. His hot eyes watch his fingers as he works open the small buttons on my nightshirt, parting it to reveal my breasts. “This is hot,” he breathes, sliding it off my shoulders. “So pretty. And these…” He touches my lace-edged panties. “Want them off you.”

  When I’m naked too, I move to the bed. He follows me and comes down over me, fitting himself between my legs. His mouth covers mine, his tongue licks inside, and we kiss deeply, over and over, until my body is burning for him, my pussy aching and squeezing, hungry to be filled.

  He slips a hand between us and drags his fingers through my slit. “Wet,” he murmurs.

  “Yes.”

  After he grabs a condom and puts it on, he slowly enters me, propped above me on one strong arm, his biceps bulging, his eyes fastened on me. I hold his gaze steadily, drowning in the warmth of his eyes, stripped bare by the intensity. The pressure of his cock filling me steals my breath and I bend my legs back to accept him.

  Once he’s deeply seated, he bends his arm to lower himself to kiss me again, his hand tenderly cupping my face. His mouth brushes gentle kisses over my cheek and jaw and neck as his hips move slowly, sliding in and out of me with delicious friction. I curl my hand around his biceps and hold on, flames licking over my flesh. It’s simple, slow, missionary, but intimate and enthralling as he moves in and out, rocking his hips against me. I lose myself in the sensuality of it, the feel of his body against mine, inside mine, the scent of the shampoo he used after the game, the sound of his low groans. I hook my heels over the backs of his thighs, his knees spread wide.

  Then he pushes up again to stare down at me, watching me. He caresses my leg from ankle to knee, pulling it higher, moving faster. Deeper. He touches his forehead to mine and our ragged breaths mingle. Tension curls inside me, squeezing, building, and when he lowers himself on top of me again, the pressure on my clit is just what I need and I let myself go, let myself fly, pure bliss taking me soaring.

  “Fuck yeah,” he rasps in my ear. “Squeeze me with your pussy…that’s so fucking good, Lill, I fucking love it. You make me feel so good.”

  “I love it too,” I gasp, and then it’s his turn. He groans and growls as he pumps into me, his strokes drawing out my orgasm almost painfully. His body tautens, stills, pulses inside me, and then he collapses onto me, his weight a sweet, reassuring pressure. He shifts to the side, burying his face in the side of my neck, and I open my mouth on his shoulder in a long, sweet kiss.

  We both fall dead asleep after th
at, usual for me, but Easton must have been exhausted, I suspect both physically and mentally. When Otis makes some soft whining noises in the morning, I quickly slip out of bed to take him outside and let Easton sleep more.

  Still early on Sunday morning, traffic noise from 9A is light. I see only one other person walking their dog on the grassy area across from the apartment building, then I return inside. I cross the gleaming stone floor of the lobby toward the elevator.

  “Morning, Ms. Evans,” Javier greets me.

  “Good morning.” I flash him a smile and prepare to pick up Otis.

  “How’s Otis doing in the elevators?” Javier asks.

  “Oh, he’s getting better.” I lift him with my hand beneath his back paws. “Whatever happened to him sure traumatized him.”

  “It was traumatic,” Javier says. “We all thought he was gonna die.”

  I pause. “It happened here?”

  He nods. “Yes. This woman he was with got into the elevator and the doors closed before Otis got on. He was about to be strangled! But Mr. Millar saved him. It was pretty close. I don’t know how he managed to get the leash off.”

  I blink at Javier. “Oh. Wow. I didn’t know that.” Mr. Millar didn’t tell me those details.

  “I think Otis was nervous about elevators to begin with,” Javier continues. “Which was why he didn’t get into the elevator with her. But now he worships Mr. Millar.” He frowns. “Still don’t know what happened to that woman. She just took off and abandoned the dog, and she wasn’t even the owner.”

  “Well, he has a good home now,” I say absently, still absorbing this new information. “Have a good day, Javier.”

  “You too, Ms. Evans.”

  I carry Otis into the elevator. “Nobody told me about that,” I say to him. “I knew you were traumatized somehow. I didn’t know Easton saved your life.” I kiss him between his eyes. “He’s a hero, Otis. But you already knew that.”

  Easton’s still asleep, sprawled on his stomach in his huge bed. I study him for a moment, my heart tender and aching. He’s so relaxed, unlike his usual wired self. I love seeing his face peaceful, his mouth in softer lines. He saved Otis’s life, a dog he didn’t even know, and he’s never told me he did that. He’s a good man and he shouldn’t have to be going through what he is.

  I close the door softly and head to the kitchen. I picked up a few things yesterday, knowing I’d be staying here last night, so I can make breakfast for us. I’m not the best cook in the world, but I make fantastic pancakes. Pancakes got me through a lot of heartache; maybe they’ll help Easton.

  * * *

  —

  I’m getting to love these lazy Sundays hanging out in Easton’s apartment. I love the view of the river out the big windows and today, with icy flakes of snow swirling in the air, it feels cozy and warm. We eat pancakes and bacon. Go back to bed. Watch TV. Play with Otis. I ask him why he didn’t tell me how he rescued Otis.

  He blows it off with a shrug. “I just did what I had to do.”

  I lean over to kiss him, both of us sitting on the floor. “It sounds pretty heroic to me.”

  “Oh yeah, that’s me. Big hero.” He rolls his eyes, but despite the self-deprecating words I sense that he’s pleased by my remark.

  In the afternoon we bundle up and take Otis for a walk, strolling the paths at Riverside Park along the edge of the river.

  He tells me about what happened after the game last night. Watching the game on TV, I didn’t realize what had occurred, but slow-motion replays showed Easton’s skate lace getting caught on his teammate’s skate. They all said it was a crazy freak thing, but it cost them a goal.

  “He threw a clipboard at you?” We’re sitting on a bench, and my spine straightens with outrage. “What the hell?”

  Easton grimaces and rubs his stubbled jaw. “He missed.”

  “That is not the point! Jesus! I can’t believe a grown man can get away with acting like that!”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “That’s assault, Easton!” I stare at him. “You have to do something about it.”

  “Ha. Like what? Call the cops?”

  I bite my lip. “I know hockey’s a physical sport and fighting is part of it, but that is not okay.”

  “You have to be tough to play hockey.”

  I shake my head. “Seriously? Stuff like that in the locker room is normal in hockey? That’s fucked up.”

  “It’s not normal,” he admits. “But we have to be team players. Nobody wants to stick out by making a big thing of it. So we deal with it.”

  I narrow my eyes at him. “I don’t know. It sounds like abuse to me.”

  I see his frustration. He’s pissed at his coach but thinks he has to put up with that. I don’t know hockey culture, but it doesn’t sound right to me.

  “When he sees the tape, he’s going to realize that it wasn’t something Jammer and I did wrong. It’ll be fine.”

  I don’t think he’s as sure of that as he makes out, but I let it go.

  We stop at a little dumpling place and pick up our dinner to go, carrying it back to Easton’s place to eat edamame, pork dumplings, and lo mein. And then later, Easton and Otis walk me home.

  “You don’t have to come with me,” I tell him. “I’ve been walking around this neighborhood for years on my own.”

  “I know. But Otis loves walks.”

  The snow that was falling earlier didn’t stay on the ground, although there are a few places where the sidewalks are dusted white.

  “Next week is Thanksgiving,” I say as we walk. “Do you have plans?”

  “Uh, sort of. We only have one day off, Thanksgiving. Home game Wednesday night and then we’re in Boston Friday. So Gunner and Layla are doing a Thanksgiving potluck for anyone who wants to join them.”

  “Oh, that’s good.”

  “What about you?”

  My mom invited me to go to Syracuse for Thanksgiving, but I looked at Easton’s schedule. I already knew he had an away game on Friday, and he’d need me to look after Otis, so I told her I can’t make it. I feel guilty about that because she’s on her own. So I asked her to come here. She thinks she probably won’t get time off work, though. “My mom might come here. She hasn’t let me know yet.”

  “You can come to Gunner’s with me if you want.”

  “Really? They wouldn’t mind?”

  “Hell, no. They know you. We just have to bring food.”

  I laugh. “I can do that. I’ll confirm once I know my mom’s plans.” Carlin’s going home for the full four days so I’ll be alone in the apartment if Mom doesn’t come.

  At my door, he gives me a squeeze. “Did I tell you how happy I was that you were in my bed last night?”

  “You told me.”

  “Thanks for being there. You always…make me feel better.”

  “Is that a euphemism for orgasms?”

  He chuckles. “No. Although those are great. It’s just…you.” He strokes hair away from my face.

  Our eyes meet. I know what he’s saying because I feel the same. It’s…him. Something about him and me, together, that makes me happy and satisfied. I’m glad I make him happy too. A warm connection stretches out between us. Then he smiles, smooches my lips, and says good night.

  I shut and lock the door and turn to face Carlin.

  “Wow,” she says. “What’s happening with you two?”

  I glide over to the couch and sit at the opposite end from her. “I don’t know.”

  “It seems good.”

  “It feels good. But…” I wrinkle my nose.

  “But what?”

  I sigh. “Neither of us wanted a relationship, but I’m getting to know him better, and I really, really like him.”

  “You thought he was a cocky jerk.”

  “Ha ha
. Yeah, well, he can be, but I think that’s just to hide the fact that he’s…” I stop. I almost said he’s afraid. But I don’t feel right telling Carlin that. And truthfully, I’m not sure what he’s afraid of. “He’s got issues with the team.”

  “Oh.”

  “It’s just that…I’m scared. If I like him too much, and then he lets me down like every other man in my life the last few years, I think I could be…really, really hurt.” I look down at my hands. “But I also feel really…excited. Like this could be something so good.”

  “For what it’s worth, I like him too. The times I’ve met him. So, just take it slow.”

  “Yeah.” I nod. “I’m getting ahead of myself. Just take it slow. Got it.”

  Easton has home games Monday and Wednesday this week, which means I’ll see Otis but not necessarily Easton. My mom isn’t coming for Thanksgiving, so I’ll be alone, which kind of sucks, but Easton did invite me to Colton and Layla’s dinner. I let him know that Mom’s not coming, and he sends me a text message asking if I’ll stay at his place again Wednesday night. Then we can spend Thursday together, which sounds good to me.

  Easton

  I wasn’t called into Coach’s office for a meeting Monday. But Tuesday morning, I’m set up in the video room and told to watch tape for hours and hours. This is my punishment for what happened the other night. Even though what happened was nobody’s fault.

  I go to Coach’s office to foolishly try to talk some sense into him. He’s not having it.

  “Whose fault was it, then?” He leans back in his chair after I tell him it wasn’t my fault. “Jamal’s fault?”

  “No!” I am not throwing my teammate under the bus, for Chrissake. “It was nobody’s fault! It was a freak accident.”

  “How about the way you reacted?” Coach says. “You do not talk back to me. I expect respect in the dressing room.”

  I swallow. There’s so much more I want to say. But I don’t. “Yes, sir.”