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CHAPTER ONE
“It’s soooo early.”
“Babe,” Blake Wright drawled unapologetically. “I told you last night. I’ve got a bunch of errands to run this morning before practice.”
Mindy gave him what he assumed was supposed to be a cute pouty face, but it fell short. Probably because her blouse was wrinkled, her blonde hair was frizzy on one side of her head, plastered flat to the other, and last night’s mascara was smeared around her eyes, making her look like a raccoon.
They’d engaged in one hell of a celebration dance, he thought with pride. Mindy had even enlivened things, entertaining him with what she called her private party trick. The woman could actually tie herself up in bed.
Last night, he’d thought it was funny because he was high on life and the win. This morning, as he recalled her special skill, he wasn’t sure if he was impressed or horrified…because number one, why? And number two…
No, no number two.
Just why?
He gave her a quick kiss, one that she attempted to prolong by wrapping her arms around his neck, but Blake pried them off, trying not to let it annoy him.
They always had a good time in the sack, but the last few times Mindy had stayed over, he’d found her dragging out the morning-after goodbyes. The two of them weren’t in a relationship because he’d made it very clear, right from the beginning, that he wasn’t looking for a girlfriend. Mindy, one of the Baltimore Stingrays’ most loyal puck bunnies, had assured him she was cool with the occasional “victory” hookup.
“Let’s go back to bed,” she purred.
He shook his head. “No can do.”
“I’ll make it worth your while,” she added, drawing a long hot-pink fingernail down the center of his chest. He hadn’t bothered to put on a shirt before walking her to the door, just tugging on a pair of lounge pants instead.
“Mindy,” he said, hoping she heard the tone of warning in his voice. Back at the beginning, she’d been the perfect hookup—hot sex, followed by a sound sleep and quick goodbye in the morning, then Blake didn’t see her again until the next time the Stingrays won.
Before Mindy could persist—and he could tell she was going to—he was saved by a new voice.
“Looks like the Rays won last night.”
Blake grinned, looking up just as his neighbor, Dr. Erika Nelson, hit the top stair to their shared floor. He and Erika lived across the hall from each other in a luxury apartment building near Charm City, in Southeast Baltimore. While they lived on the fourth floor, and there was an elevator, Erika insisted on using the stairs more often than not.
She was obviously returning from her morning jog, her chestnut-brown hair pulled back in a ponytail, her skin shimmering with a slight sheen of sweat.
“You didn’t watch the game?” he asked in surprise. One of the first things he’d done after Erika moved in was convert her not only to hockey but to the Stingrays specifically. She was now one of their team’s biggest fans.
Erika grimaced. “Worked the late shift in the ER. I’ll have to catch the highlights on TV at some point today.”
He crossed his arms as he leaned against the doorframe. “Spoiler alert. We kicked Carolina’s ass.”
“Poor Carolina,” Erika joked. “What did she ever do to you?”
Mindy’s brows furrowed. “He means the hockey team.”
Erika bit her lip—probably to keep herself from laughing—then said, “Oh, right. Of course. How silly of me.” She unzipped a pocket in her jacket, digging around for her apartment key.
“Hopping night in the ER?” he asked.
Erika blew out a tired sigh. “Always.”
“Anything interesting?” Blake had become a bit obsessed with hearing Erika’s work stories. As an ER doctor at Hopkins, God knew the woman had treated some interesting—and hilarious—cases.
Like the woman who’d broken her foot putting on skinny jeans by jumping up and down, or the couple who’d lost a condom during sex that Erika had to fish out of the mortified woman, or the guy who’d hooked his own eyelid while practicing casting in his living room.
“Nope. Last night was a potpourri of the classics—chest pain, skin infections, and dehydration from the flu. I did have to put ten stitches in a kid’s forehead after he fell off his bunkbed. The kid was fine, but the poor dad was not okay with the blood. He vomited all over himself while driving his son to the hospital. The smell was ungodly. Apparently, they’d had jambalaya for dinner.”
Blake laughed, but Mindy made a face and started to gag.
