Mister Hockey

by Lia Riley

  “Fuck.” He hooked a hand around the back of his neck. “I’m blowing this hard.” His eyes opened wider. “Shit, that came out wrong. I meant to say . . .”

  “I get it, I’m teasing.” She giggled. “And thank you. Being told you are a sexual goddess isn’t exactly a hardship. And imagine, if that was my first time, how good I can get.”

  “I want to own you.”

  “Can you afford me?” As their lips touched, electricity jumped down her spine. She wasn’t talking about money, but commitment. If he wanted her for more than a fling, it was going to come at a price.

  The cost of her heart.

  Soft jazz music drifted from the open door and he was hard again, his shaft rigid against her thigh.

  He swallowed a growl. “Let’s get out and grab a condom. I want to have my way with you.”

  “We’re good. I’m on the pill.” She slid down, opening her thighs so that his tip rested at her entrance. Pinpricks tingled over her arms.

  “You sure?” His lips skated over her shoulder as he pressed in, not enough to enter, but to show he meant business.

  “You heard me.” She traced a nail down his chest, digging ever so slightly into his rock-hard pectoral muscle. “And if you don’t quit being a gentleman, then I do declare that I’m going to stop being a lady.”

  “Lean closer.”

  She bit her lip, intrigued by the mystery, only to have him suck in the lobe of her ear, a part of her so sensitive that she cried out.

  “Better. That leveled the playing field some,” he rasped. “So for the last time, you want me? All of me? Raw and in you?”

  “That’s a little like asking if I want Easter, Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas and the Fourth of July all at once.” The idea of having him, bare-skinned and inside her, was so intimate that she nearly moaned out loud.

  “All right then.” He gripped her hips. “Careful what you wish for.”

  Jesus. His brain stuttered while his vision went dark around the edges. He’d been inside Breezy before, lots of times now, and knew how fucking good it was in there. How tight. How hot. But this was different, and it wasn’t just the fact that he was bare. This was next-level connection. He disappeared inside her inch by slow inch, losing his goddamn mind while at the exact same time finding a whole new part of himself that he didn’t know existed. Deeper he went. And deeper still. With Breezy, there was always more to be discovered. Nothing was enough. He wanted in. Deeper and deeper. Until, God. Jesus, fuck. He was as far as he could get.

  And he was in. All in. On every fucking thing where this woman was concerned.

  This wasn’t the time, when he was buried to the hilt, to tell her he was falling for her. She’d think it was the sex talking. But the truth was that he felt his heart in his throat, and it was authentic and not a line, or some sort of sex-drenched garble. It was pure. And—

  “You gonna keep staring or get to it and fuck me?”

  She had a filthy mouth and he loved that too.

  “God, Jed.” Her throat was rosy and her lips parted, reaching beneath, her fingers brushed his sac with featherlight strokes.

  “You feel gorgeous, dirty girl.” That was an easier truth to get out than any midfuck L word. “I love being inside you.”

  She smiled ever so slightly at that, then clenched him harder, milking his shaft, threatening to send him over the edge far earlier than he intended.

  “Your pussy is so tight. I’m filling it the fuck up.” He drove into her like the world was ending, like this was the last time he’d ever be inside her. Ravishing. Dominating. Water splashed onto the tile. One of the candles flicked out.

  And all the while he stared directly into her beautiful face. He could barely blink, let alone look away. Swear to God, he had a window into her very soul.

  Everything he gave she took and returned tenfold. The air was thick with steam and a charged electric energy. Water splashed onto the tile. Her whimpers were soft, punctuated by short sharp gasps. He’d never wanted anything so bad in his whole goddamn life.

  “Breezy.” He growled her name, a two-syllable command. “Breezy, you come now.” And she fell apart on cue, the silky heat of orgasm rippling over the length of his cock. Because she finished, he was there too. With a possessive moan, she gripped his ass, holding him down as he lost himself in a single intense rush.

  After, they didn’t speak, they didn’t move a single muscle, just held each other quiet in the water.

  At last he stirred, but even then they didn’t speak. He wasn’t sure what to say. Because this felt so big and life-changing that words didn’t seem up for the task. They drained the water from the tub and toweled off wordlessly. Breezy picked up the bottle of wine and took a long pull right from the bottle.

  “Sorry.” She dabbed her mouth. “I really needed that.”

  “Me too.” It was time. He had to tell her what was going on with him. What he’d been putting off. “So, we got to talk.”

  That got her undivided attention. She lowered the bottle, dabbing her bottom lip. “What’s going on?”

  “I went to the doctor today. Neurologist. I’ve been having intermittent blurry vision since taking a big hit in game seven and . . .”

  There. He’d done it. Poured out the shit he’d been holding in. Also mentioned Travis, what had happened to him with football and his recent transfer to a long-term care facility.

  “My symptoms have gotten better,” he said in conclusion. “But the idea of another season? The risk doesn’t seem worth it. Not when I look at my brother and everything he’s lost.”

  “You have so much talent.” She wrapped him in a hug. “You’ll figure out the right path.”

  “You’d like me even without the C on my jersey?” He kept a light, joking tone, but a part of him was dead serious.

  “I’d like you in a paper bag, Jed West.” And when she kissed him, he knew she meant it.

  Chapter Sixteen

  For the next forty-eight hours, Breezy and Jed cocooned away from the world. They made love at his place, ordered takeout and finally drove to her cottage so she could change clothes before having an eighties movie marathon under a giant blanket fort in her living room.

  Breezy had trolled her shelves, considering a few books for Jed, titles ranging from John Steinbeck to Stephen King, but dismissed them all out of hand. “None of these are right,” she said, finishing up a late lunch of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. “I feel like you need something more—”

  A loud knock sounded on the front door.

  They exchanged puzzled glances.

  “I’m not expecting anyone.” Breezy furrowed her brow. “What are the odds that is a magically delivered pizza?” Grabbing a pink fuzzy bathrobe she’d ditched under the coffee table, she knotted the ties together, making sure the neck was pulled closed. No point flashing her mystery caller.

  “While you figure that out, I’m going to go make us more coffee.” He crawled out and padded to the kitchen.

  “Sounds good. I really need one of those No Soliciting signs.”

  The short, balding guy on her front step wasn’t carrying a pizza. She’d never seen him before in her life.

  Maybe his car had broken down?

  “You Breezy Angel?” he asked, whipping out a handkerchief to dab it on his balding head. It was hot out here today. The gap between storms had left the air thick and uncharacteristically humid.

  “Murphy Hallman, from the Associated Press. I have a few questions.”

  Her hand flew to the neck of her bathrobe. Good, no escaped boobs. “Is this about the library branch merger because I don’t have any comments. Well actually I do, but nothing fit to print.”

  “Library merger?” The reporter frowned. “No, I’m here about Jed West. Can you make any comments on reports that he plans to retire from the game due to a head injury?”

  “Jed? West?” Her voice came out high and tight. How did this reporter know she knew him?

  “Shut the doo
r.” Jed’s icy command came from the hall, freezing her whole body.

  “Wait a second.” The reporter swiveled his head. “Is he in there?” He raised his voice. “Westy, can you give a comment on—”

  Jed emerged from the hall, grim-faced, and slammed the front door in the reporter’s face.

  “What the fuck is going on?” He stared ahead, unseeing.

  She wasn’t sure if the question was directed at her, or himself, or the guy on the opposite side. He glanced down to her. “How did he know I was here?”

  She shrugged. “I was wondering the same thing.”

  It took her a second to realize that he was making a careful study of her face.

  “I’m serious,” she said, bristling. “It’s not like I’m posting status updates about you on Facebook. If you don’t believe me you’re welcome to take a look. I think my last post was some random Buzzfeed article on the 100 Books to Read On A Desert Island.”

  “It’s okay, I believe you.” He peered through her curtains. “But he’s not leaving. I got to make a few calls. My agent. Coach.”

  The illusion of a cocoon faded. He went into her room and she heard him speaking in low, measured tones. She sank onto her couch and turned on her phone, stomach fluttery with nerves. Nerves that stomped around her insides like elephants once the notifications exploded on her screen. At least a dozen were from Neve, in varying stages of alarm. She had thirty-nine messages on Facebook. What the hell? Her barely used Twitter account had two hundred and three mentions.

  A car pulled up. Then another. Doors slamming. By the time Jed returned to the living room four people were milling at the edge of her front yard. A news camera was being set up. Across the street, neighbors stood, slack jawed, on their front porches, probably wondering if she was a serial killer.

  Some introduction to the neighborhood.

  “Yeah, of course I checked online,” Jed said into his phone. “This is all over the goddamn internet. No, I’ll be fine. You don’t need to come down here. Okay. I see your point. Audra said the same thing, but fuck.” He made a fist and punched his leg. “I wanted to control this, Coach. My decision. My rules. My timeline.” He went silent, nodding at whoever was talking. “Sounds good, see you soon.”

  He hung up and didn’t move. A small muscle twitching in his jaw was the only sign that anything was amiss.

  “Was that Tor?” She knew Jed was close to the Hellions head coach but hadn’t met him yet. “Is he—”

  “Breezy.” His voice was soft, but his eyes were dark. “You have a calendar of me in a box in the corner of your room. Care to explain?”

  She wasn’t afraid, per se. But good lord, he was intimidating. If this is how it felt to go up against him on the ice, she was surprised people didn’t flee, skating as fast as they could in the opposite direction.

  The bottom dropped out of her stomach.

  While she was holed up at Jed’s place, Daisy had stopped by and dropped off the box she’d forgotten at her old library desk. Of course, there had been the Jed West calendar. Not to mention her beloved coffee cup.

  “Um.” The truth pressed on all sides, smashing her like a shit sandwich. “Yes.”

  “You had a calendar and coffee cup of me?”

  “All from before I knew you.” Her words fell over themselves. “Just a little joke. At work, they knew I was a hockey fan and so for Christmas presents that is the kind of thing I got . . .”

  “You’re a hockey fan.” A muscle she’d never seen before ticked right where his lower jaw hinged to the upper one.

  “I mean, like I said before, my whole family is—”

  “You conveniently left yourself out of that equation,” he said tonelessly.

  She swallowed hard, because he wasn’t wrong, but she didn’t have the first clue how to make her omission less creepy. “I don’t know what to do,” she whispered.

  “You look confused.” His eyes glittered. A muscle ticked in his jaw. “I get it. I’m confused too. Confused why the fuck there is also a life-size cardboard cutout of me in your closet, Breezy. And a poster. And a bunch of other stuff with my face stamped on it.”

  Oh God. He found her hidden trove of Westy paraphernalia. He must think she was like Blackbeard or something.

  “I can explain.” Her heart beat so hard that her vision was pulsing. “I can explain everything.”

  “Nah, don’t bother.” He held up a hand. “I was in your room, talking to my agent, and then my coach, about the fact that someone leaked the fact that I’m considering retirement. That I have a head injury and that it’s caused problems. But the thing that I’m blindingly aware of is that the only person that I talked about this with was you.”

  “Wait . . .” Her brain tried to grasp what he was saying. “You think that I . . .” She licked her dry lips and tried again. “You think that I went to the press?”

  As if on cue, her front door banged open and Neve burst in, her normally sleek ponytail gathered into an unruly messy bun. “Why aren’t you answering your phone? I swear to God, I leave town to cover a few measly basketball games and everything goes to hell in a handbasket. What are you doing, Westy? First, my mom fills me that it’s my little sister, then an hour ago all Twitter was in on the gig. Now, there’s a shit storm brewing online with your name in the eye of.” Her brow crinkled. “Is it true that you’re retiring? Or is this one of those tempest-in-a-teapot rumors?”

  “Don’t know.” Jed stared straight ahead. His phone rang again.

  “You want to answer that?” Neve quizzed.

  Jed shook his head. “It’s my publicist again. I don’t want to talk to her.”

  Breezy bit the inside of her cheek. He wasn’t even looking at her. The fact he knew about her fandom hidden in her closet was bad, but worse was not being entirely sure what disaster was about to come crashing down on their heads. Her tummy picked up on seismic shifts below the surface. The only question was how bad the earthquake was going to be, how much damage would occur.

  “Ha.” His unexpected laugh came out a sharp bark. “I got to say, I’m impressed.” He gave a slow mocking clap. “You two should take this show on the road. The Angel Sisters, Live in Vegas.”

  “Say what?” Neve gave him one of her “shut up and speak sense” glares.

  Breezy sank into a chair, her fingers grasping the armrests as if that could somehow prevent her from plummeting into the Earth’s core. “You think I ratted you out, don’t you?” She licked her lips, her heart beating so hard that it physically hurt. Her stomach protested. Threatened to be sick. “You think that I told your secrets to Neve.”

  “Not at first.” Jed was granite. He’d turned to stone. His eyes were slits. No emotion registered on his face. No sign he was there at all. “But after what I found in your room. Tell me, how the hell am I supposed to believe anything from you? Was this all a lie? Something to brag about to your girlfriends? I mean, Christ, Breezy, what’s the matter with you?”

  “Hang on.” Neve swiveled her head between them, like a spectator watching a tennis match. “I’m trying to play catch-up here, but you think my sister leaked me a tip? About what? The retirement? The head injury?”

  “Everything.” His tone was clipped. Flat. Final. His head didn’t move even as his gaze swung to lock with hers.

  “Stop, please, listen.” Breezy’s throat tightened. Words took effort to form. Her tongue was sluggish and clumsy. “I should have told you that I was your biggest fan. I mean, like . . . the biggest. But I was afraid it would freak you out, that you would think that I was interested in what this was for all the wrong reasons.” Her voice cracked and it took her a moment to regain composure. “That I was wanting to be with you because who you represented, not who you actually were. But it wasn’t like that. It was never like that.”

  “Hey, when all is said and done, I’m a simple guy. My world is black and white. And here’s what I see. A woman who keeps pictures of me at her work, and hidden in her goddamn closet. A woman who
sleeps with me. Gets me talking. Has me sharing private stuff that I don’t tell anyone else in the world. Then she loses her job. Needs money. And check it out, she is sitting on one hell of a story scoop, one that she could cash in on.” He gave a mocking pump of the fist as if opening an imaginary cash register.

  “You asshole.” Breezy’s world went red. There was a crack. When she blinked again, she was on her feet, her palm stinging, anger radiating off her like heat on a pavement.

  “Fuck.” Jed clasped his jaw. “You slapped me.”

  “And if you say another word about my sister, I swear to the old gods and the new that your ass will be on the ground.” Neve stepped to her sister’s side, linking her arm. “That head injury you’re apparently so worried about will feel like a tickle by the time I’m finished.”

  The doorbell rang again. And again. And again.

  This place was like Grand Central Station.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.” Neve groaned as a tall, blond man finally threw open the door, stood staring at them with impassive Scandinavian features.

  Tor Gunnar.

  Hellions coach.

  A popular meme circulated around the hockey fan sites entitled The Many Faces of Tor Gunnar.

  Happy: Stoic Face

  Sad: Same stoic face

  Hungry: Same stoic face

  In Love: Same stoic face

  Apparently they could add a new listing. Star Captain Announcing Surprise Retirement: Same Stoic Face.

  “Quite a day.” Tor’s gray eyes were the color of steel at dusk.

  “Thanks for getting over here,” Jed said speaking fast. “I’m on my own.”

  “It’s true then?” Tor closed the door behind him, wholesale ignoring Breezy and Neve. “Not another online rumor going wild.”

  “I’m considering retiring from the game. Yeah. Shit. More than considering.” Jed dug his hands into his back pockets. “This is a hell of a way to break the news. I’m sorry, man. I only just decided. But—”

  “Someone spilled the beans. But the source isn’t in this room,” Neve piped up.