Page 4 of Shootout
I heard a noise, like the click of a door, and opened my eyes. Movement out of the corner of my eye caught my attention. I whirled around and screamed when I saw a shadowy figure standing in the doorway of the shower room. The intruder moved into the intense light. Banks Slater stood there with a towel slung over his shoulder and nothing else covering his body. His mouth dropped open in surprise. He didn’t move, just stared.
I shut off the water. Dripping wet, I looked for my towel, realizing it hung on a hook behind him.
Fuck.
~~Banks~~
All I wanted tonight was to be left alone to wallow in my self-pity. A month ago, I’d been traded to a team whose players despised me. They blamed me for that hit I put on their star forward during the second round of the playoffs last season. It’d been a clean hit, even though many in the hockey world called it dirty. My part in a bench-clearing brawl in that same game didn’t help either, especially when another topliner of theirs got suspended.
I’d never imagined myself in this situation. Loyalty in professional sports was a myth I’d bought into. I’d assumed as good as I was, I’d always have control over my future.
Not so.
Tomorrow I’d practice with my new team and tolerate the glares. Tonight had been all about skating for the pure joy of it, getting back to my roots, reminding myself why I did this. I’d reinvigorate my love for the game and clear my mind of my worries, ready to start fresh tomorrow.
Only I hadn’t counted on someone else being in here this late at night.
I may pretend to be a dick, but I’m not really a dick. I’m also not into self-examination, so I can’t explain why I turn to dickism in moments of stress, discomfort, or insecurity.
I’m a twin. Growing up, I was the naughty troublemaker, and Braden was the perfect, good twin. I never planned for things to turn out that way; they just did. In a family with five kids, we were always vying for our parents’ attention. Braden earned their praise by doing everything right, while I attracted trouble even when I didn’t mean to. Negative attention was better than no attention, and I got plenty of negative attention.
Once I was left alone, I skated for less than five minutes, but my heart wasn’t in it. The entire disruption by that figure skater ruined my mood. Figure skater? Shit, she might’ve been wearing the right skates for figure skating, but her wicked slap shot had come close to defeating me. She knew how to play hockey, and not just recreationally. The woman had moves and skated better than many of the guys I knew.
Who the hell was she?
I pondered the answer to this question as I headed to the Sockeyes locker room, only to find a sign on the shower room stating it was closed for cleaning. No problem. The guest locker room would do the job just fine. Grabbing my street clothes and shoes, I reversed direction to the end of the hallway where the guest locker room door was. Pushing it open, I entered and laid my stuff on a bench.
I chuckled to myself as I stripped out of my clothes and grabbed a clean towel from a stack. Slinging it over my shoulder, I headed for the showers, relishing the thought of hot water running down my sweaty skin and purging my earlier frustrations. That woman, whoever the fuck she was, had annoyed the hell out of me and, even more disturbing, intrigued me. She was actually kind of attractive. Geneva had known who she was. She’d called her Jessie.
Deep down lurked my inner nice guy, buried under my bluster and hardheadedness. I felt a twinge of guilt for being such a jerk to her, but she shouldn’t have been skating in the pro rink. I didn’t know who the fuck had given her access; maybe that was a common practice with this team.
Smug with self-righteous indignation, I pushed open the door into the shower area. I’d taken a few steps before the sound of running water stopped me in my tracks. I wasn’t alone.
Standing under a showerhead stood Jessie. She had her back to me, and I froze, unable to move. That bad-boy part of me couldn’t stop itself from appreciating her curves and that incredible ass. I’d never seen such a fine ass on a woman before, but she had it going on in spades. My horndog self emerged with enthusiasm, and my dick, which had zero conscience or modesty, rose to the occasion, literally.
The door swung shut behind me with a resounding thud. Jessie spun around. The shock on her face brought out my wicked bad boy. She gasped and let out an ear-splitting scream. That was enough to kick my self-preservation instincts into action. I scrambled backward, slipping on the wet tile and slamming into the door. A second later, I was sprawled on the floor with my towel underneath me.
I lay on the floor, paralyzed by indecision. My inclination was to get to my feet and apologize profusely while backing out the door, even though that wouldn’t be in keeping with my asshole rep. I scrambled to stand and ungracefully landed on my ass once again.
Jessie was yelling at me, but none of her words made sense in my discombobulated state. She stepped toward me, having to reach over my body to grab her towel.
The horndog in me couldn’t take his eyes off her delectable body, while the decent guy buried inside was mortified. My gaze traveled upward as she stood a few feet from me, unable to get out the door since I was blocking it.
She fumbled with the towel in an attempt to cover herself. The frontal view rivaled the rear view, and that was saying a hell of a lot. My gaze slid up that body, unable to unsee what I was seeing, including her incredible rack, narrow waist, and her shapely, muscular thighs. Fuck, but she was exquisite. I’d been dating model types for so long I’d forgotten how delicious a real woman’s body was. This one kept herself in extremely good shape, as an athlete would.
I briefly wondered who the hell she was.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” she spat at me, and I slowly lifted my gaze to her face. She hugged herself in an attempt at modesty I found endearing.
I sat up, afraid to attempt standing and possibly suffering more humiliation in the process. She grabbed for the door, planning to push me out of the way, but the slippery floor won once again. She went one way, and her towel went the other. She landed on top of me with a screech of surprise. Our naked bodies intertwined as she struggled to free herself. But the unforgiving floor countered her every move.
“Is everything okay in here?” Geneva peered in the doorway. Her eyes grew wide, and she backed up, stammering as she did so. “Oh, I’m so sorry. So sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt anything.”
“You aren’t. This asshole—” Before Jessie could finish her sentence, Geneva had literally run out the door. The message was clear. She thought she’d interrupted a fucking session in the guest locker room showers.
Jessie cussed like a hockey player, calling me all sorts of colorful names, a few I’d never heard before. I’d give her points for creativity. “Let me go, you fucking asshole.”
“I’m not holding on to you,” I said in my defense. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. Let me help you up.” A stupid thing to say since I hadn’t had success standing on my own. Her wet chest slid across mine, and I gulped. Damn, but I wasn’t sure I ever wanted to get up. She felt incredible, and my fingers itched to grab a handful of her ass and pull her closer.
