After a one-night stand flips a grumpy hockey goalie's bad luck, he pursues his team's new dental assistant to rebound his abysmal season.
Trapped in a small town, my life has been planned, controlled, and boring. After my sister and I failed to kee...
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After a month of stagnancy, I tossed off my blanket and planted my feet on the cool hardwoods. Brody attended his morning team workout, and Paige busied herself at the coffee machine, so I snuck into the hall bathroom and stripped off Jim's shirt.
Air exposure prickled my skin and tightened my nipples, but my heart clenched. Despite the soft cotton's sleep comforts, keeping it this long was insane. I needed to let go as much as stop carving a groove in Brody's sofa. Paige could justifiably mooch off him, but his one-bedroom condo shrunk more each day I remained.
The undershirt's white edge brushed my thighs. His unexpected tenderness, slipping it on when I was half-comatose and buzzing with big-O bliss, wasn't supposed to happen. Neither was the glide of his fingers smoothing hair off my forehead or tucking me under the sheets. We'd soaked them with the musk of sweat and sex, but the gesture was...sweet.
An asshole would be easier to forget.
Spreading my freedom wings from the ashes of my life's failures, our night was the perfect mix of delicious, reckless choices. Purge my bookworm fantasies before facing the shitty responsibilities of adulthood...I hadn't realized how much pent-up frustration I'd been carrying until unleashing it with Jim, and I'd thanked him by fleeing in a panic.
One night was the agreement. It was – well, not a mistake, but our night wasn't like the books described. The reasons I'd never indulged in a one-night stand before or since our incredible night were painful and obvious – I couldn't stop thinking about a man whose identity I didn't know.
"Enough already."
Jim's shirt hit my trash can with a flop. My weird attachment didn't matter. I'd never roll in those sheets again, and no matter how comforting his man stink shirt was, I had no claim on it.
My morning insulin prick read normal, and I hung my head under the shower stream. Since I'd cataloged a subscription pile of clit flick material under 'thank you, Jim,' part of me didn't want the reminders washed away.
Grasping his hand, I'd demanded our dance, but he tethered me in one secure hold. One song melted into two, during which continuous heat from his body set mine aflame. His strong direction led us through the steps, and one sinful rod of temptation knocking on my panties rendered me out of my senses.
With an involuntary spasm, my core clenched around nothing, mirroring its reaction a month ago when he rose from giving me the most toe-curling wakeup between my thighs – some things were like the books – and climbed over me. Tingles ghosted the imprint of his warm breath, kissing the curve of my ear.
"I need you again."
He'd wrapped the statement in impatience coupled with the perfect pressure gripping my neck. It wasn't painful or restricted my breathing, just secured me with no hesitation. His wicked fingers plunged in deep, curling and thrusting until I sparked like a live wire, then pushed my release onto my tongue.
