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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I hated leaving her. My room was a single, but my absence would raise as many questions as Seabass and Pickles watching porn across the hall and Bugsy and Liza fucking next door when I'd left.
Didn't mean I needed to leave right away. She curled into me, covered in goosebumps and breathing evenly. I slipped my undershirt onto her. She flopped limp, groaning and tucking back into me before I laid her head down.
Shuddering, she released a frustrated groan. Panic surged through me, and I froze. She murmured something, then slacked into her bed. The rise and dip of her chest with each breath was calming, but the crease in her forehead meant she was more uncomfortable than satisfied. Why?
"I do fucking care," I whispered and smoothed her hair off her forehead. Despite being a little tangled, I played with the ends of her hair, wanting other things I couldn't have. Things that went beyond taking credit for how thoroughly fucked she looked.
Attachment led to abandonment. Eventually, she'd realize she was better off leaving too.
"You should." I glared at her, innocence covering her peaceful face.
Her lips opened for even breaths, turned up at the corners like a secretive smile. As if she knew the hold she had over me, making me feel things I didn't want, like enjoying the softness of her skin on my fingers.
Thankfully, her eyes remained closed. I couldn't take those sapphire flames trying to burn through my soul.
Instead of staying, I kissed her forehead. She was burning hot, so I wiped her face and neck with a wet washcloth. Trashing the condom and redressing, I returned to the cold silence of my room.
If leaving was the right thing, why did I feel like absolute shit? I paced before calling a breakfast order for her room number. "Charge every item on the menu to my room. No, my card." I gave him the number.
"Every item?" the concierge confirmed. "Yes, Sir. Have a good night."
Eating with her would've been better, but Coach arranged a team breakfast every day on this four-game trip. After today in Phoenix, we flew to St. Louis, and while my lucky charm would be present, I wasn't as happy about that as I should be.
Her talk of feelings – caring feelings – had gutted me, and guilt refilled the hole. I paced again, the room's walls closing in tighter.
As a person, I didn't like to repeat myself or prove my worth. I wasn't the front-runner guy who attended charity events and parties or engaged with the media. Instead, I stopped pucks while other guys basked in the accolades and attention.
Yet, the entire season now sat on my shoulders. Not Mac, the captain, or Bugsy, who was in the worst scoring drought of his career. And she understood.
I knew I was a selfish, detached prick, but it was part of me I couldn't turn off. I also couldn't ignore the reminder that a selfish, detached prick didn't deserve her feelings. She was too open and gave them away too easily.
