Page 40 of Securing the Pucking Rebound

“I need you to put my number in it.”

I raise a brow in question.

“In case you need anything. There’s no point in you calling Bea when I’m right upstairs.”

He looks entirely too happy about the prospect of my needing him.

Unable to argue with him, and desperate to have Calvin Keller’s number in my cell, I look at my cell to unlock it before handing it back over.

“I don’t want any kind of booty calls,” I warn.

“Darlin’,” he muses. “I know where you live. Don’t you think I’d just turn up at your door?”

The thought of him standing on the other side of my door propositioning me has my thighs clenching together. The second I agreed, I have no doubt that he’d slam me against the wall and utterly consume me.

I’ve said no to him time and time again, but he’s never been serious.

What would I do if he really turned it on?

Could I really say no to him?

“There,” he says, after taking a selfie with my cell. “now you’re remember who I am in the morning,” he explains as he places my cell on my nightstand.

Tingles burst through me.

This isn’t real.

It can’t be.

It has to be the meds. Maybe I misread the dose and I’m hallucinating.

I didn’t really spend the night with Calvin taking care of me and carrying me to bed. It’s just my wicked imagination playing games with me.

“I’m gonna let you rest. But if you need anything, call me. Anytime. I’ll be here.”

He tucks a loose lock of my hair behind my ear before leaning forward and pressing a kiss to my forehead.

Heat surges through me as his soft lips connect with my skin.

“Goodnight, darlin’," he rasps. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

One second he’s there, and then the next, he’s gone, and only a minute later, I hear my front door close and lock.

With a sappy smile and his scent still filling my nose, I curl up on my side and drift off to sleep, filled with filthy dreams of a certain hockey player.

Despite sleeping on and off all day, I get more rest than I was expecting, and when I crack my eyes open, the early morning sun is beginning to creep around the edges of my curtains.

I groan and stretch my legs out as I try to swallow, but my mouth and throat are as dry as a desert.

Rolling over, I reach for my bottle of water and take a swig.

The pain gently pounding behind my temples makes itself known, and I reach for the last two pills in the packet and swallow them down.

My cell taunts me, but I don’t reach for it. Not yet.

Instead, I curl back up and wait for the pills to kick in.

It doesn’t take long for me to recognize the noise that’s coming from upstairs.