Page 66 of Securing the Pucking Rebound

“Are you trying to tell me I should bring her flowers?”

He shrugs. “I dunno. You know her better than me.”

“Shit,” I hiss. “But it’s not a date.”

He laughs again. “Are you sure about that?” he asks before pushing from the trainer’s table and walking toward the door. “We good here?”

“Yeah. Are we okay to keep this between us?”

“You got it. You know where to find me if you need any more advice. I’m good for it; I snagged Hailee, after all.”

“And you’re not even slightly smug about it,” I deadpan as he disappears from sight.

The arena is just fucking wrong with everyone on the road. Everything is too quiet. Too eerie. There’s no banter, no whistles, no laughter or groans of pain in the weight room. Okay, that’s a lie. I’m making enough noise to scratch that one off as Darcy puts me through my paces.

“You know, you could be in Florida right now,” I tell him as I rack the weight and let my arms drop to my sides.

“Yep. I could be lying in the sun, hiding behind my shades, watching all the eye candy. But no. I’m here with your sweaty ass.”

“Hey, I’ve got a great ass,” I point out.

“You’re a hockey player; of course you’ve got a great ass,” he teases.

“Thank you.”

Our banter continues as he puts me through my paces, just like he does every day, checking my mobility and improvement before getting me onto his table and letting his fingers do the torturing.

When I leave the arena later that evening, the sun is setting, making the leaves that are still clinging to the trees glow even brighter shades of red and orange. Fall used to be my favorite season, but then that summer happened, and lazy, humid summer evenings stole the top spot for me. Every single summer after her visit, I’d head out to our spot and stargaze, pretending she was lying next to me.

I’m so fucking tempted to take her out to a stargazing spot I found when I first moved to LA after the game tonight. But I know if I do, everything will start unraveling. And as much as I want her to know who I really am; at the same time, I’m terrified for her to find out.

I’ve been lying to her since the first moment I saw her in that club earlier in the year. She’s going to be pissed, I know that. I just hope she’ll understand my reasons. Hell, I’m not even sure I understand my reasons. But I’m not ready to confess, yet. The time isn’t right. But every time I’m with her, I’m getting closer to it needing to happen.

Panic grips me, making each breath harder to drag in as I wait for my rideshare to appear before me. I can’t fucking wait to drive again. Waiting for others to taxi me around is getting old fast.

The second I walk into my apartment, I try to see it through different eyes. Through her eyes.

The only time she’s come up here was to shout at me in the middle of the night. She didn’t so much as step over the threshold. What would she think if she were to come up here? Would she see a bachelor pad, or a home she’d happily hang out in?

It’s not like hers. I don’t have photos of family and friends or little trinkets. It’s functional. The only part of my entire apartment that shows any real sign of life is the magnets on my fridge.

I’ve never before considered what a woman would think about the way I live in my home, but suddenly, I have the desire to go out and get some cushions and a blanket for the couch. Maybe even some candles to complete the look. I can see us snuggled up together, having movie nights up here instead of her apartment. I picture us standing at the windows on a clear night, trying to catch a glimpse of the stars. It doesn’t happen very often with the light pollution, but every now and then, one is bright enough to shine through. I see her in my huge tub, nestled between my thighs, both of us covered in bubbles, and of course, as clear as day, I can see her in my bed, wrapped up in my sheets, her hair messy and her cheeks flushed.

“Fuck.” I groan as I stalk through my apartment and into my bedroom. I showered at the arena, but I don’t want to risk still stinking of sweat, so I shed my clothes and step under the hot torrent of water.

Tipping my head into the stream, I can’t help but obsess over that final fantasy. Sienna Wentworth in my bed. She’s the only woman I’ve ever met who has a place in it. The only woman I’ve ever wanted to fall asleep holding and wake up the next morning with her still there in my arms.

Fuck. I’ve got a problem.

And the image in my head isn’t the only one, because I’m now hard as fuck.

I groan as I wrap my fingers around my shaft and squeeze gently, punishing myself before I begin stroking. My head is firmly on her as I work myself over, bringing myself to a fast but unsatisfying release.

My hand isn’t doing it for me these days. Sure, it takes the edge off, but that’s about it.

Usually, I’d have my choice of women to help scratch my itch. But while they might all still be out there, the thought of getting up close and personal with any of them, no matter how hot they are, just doesn’t appeal. There’s only one woman my body wants, and I don’t think it’s going to give up on her anytime soon.

When I get out of the shower, I find my cell lit up on my bed, and I’d be lying if I said my dick didn’t jerk behind the towel wrapped around my waist at the sight of her name.