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I swore I wouldn’t get caught up in her for a million reasons. She’s Oakley’s best friend. I’m leaving in a few weeks. I have the weight of an entire hockey organization on my shoulders, and my focus needs to be on preparing right now, physically and mentally. If something happens between Madison and me, it’ll get complicated real fast. And I don’t do complicated, not with women.
But then she was standing so close, and she smelled so good. She was angry and passionate.
My resolve was instantly gone when I looked into her light-blue eyes and saw her gripping her tits defiantly. I wanted to replace her hands with mine. I’m not sure how I resisted doing just that.
I couldn’t focus on anything other than the flush across her cheeks as she was telling me off. And suddenly, the decision to keep her at arm’s length felt like the worst choice in the world. I needed to shut her up. And once my eyes dropped to her mouth and I saw the sheen of lip gloss coating the plump tissue, I couldn’t go another second without tasting her mouth. So, I erased a line that I had drawn, and I went on a mission to discover what flavor was coating her lips.
Strawberry.
If that wasn’t my favorite flavor before, it might be now.
I destroyed every friendship barrier I’d ever erected between Mads and me, shattering them all in the span of several seconds.
And now, I have no idea where to go from here.
Because as soon as I stopped kissing her, I already wanted to do it again.
I’m known for being steadfast and controlled on and off the ice. I lost restraint with Madison, which is out of character for me. I continued that trend when we went back to McMann and Sims’s place, and I drank half a bottle of whiskey, which is why my head is pounding this morning and my mouth feels like a cotton swab. I slept it off on their couch, but in truth, I did more tossing and turning than sleeping.
I groan as I roll off the couch and stumble to the bathroom on the first floor. My neck has a crick in it from the awkward position I slept in, and my lips are dry and cracking. After using the facilities, I wash my hands and splash cold water on my face. My eyes are rimmed in red, and the layer of stubble across my jaw is quickly thickening into a beard.
The rest of the house seems quiet as I walk into the kitchen, but I’m surprised when I see one of the bunnies Sims brought home last night with her head stuck in the refrigerator. She’s wearing a T-shirt that barely covers her ass and seemingly nothing else. The material is quickly creeping higher as she bends lower, promising a show I’m not in the mood to see.
The floor creaks as I walk over to the cupboard, and she straightens.
“Ollie,” she purrs.
The cold air from the refrigerator is making her nipples hard and prominent through the thin cotton material. Her hair is mussed, and her lips are swollen. Dark liner is smeared beneath her hazel eyes.
“Hey,” I say distractedly as I remove a cup from the cabinet.
I have no idea what her name is, though I’ve seen her around a few times. I might have even spoken to her at some point last night. But I was obviously distracted by a mane of blonde hair and a familiar pair of long, tanned legs that belong to another woman. One I have no business looking at or touching. One I never should’ve kissed.
The bunny watches as I fill the cup with water from the tap and drink the entire thing before repeating the process. Her back is arched when I lower the drink, pushing her double-Ds out even more. Her eyes are hooded, and she has a predatory look in her eyes, which is ironic since she also looks like she was just railed by my former teammate. Or maybe both of them. I have no interest in their sloppy seconds even though she appears open to whatever I might want right now. And she’s hot. But I can’t focus on anything beyond the images of Madison pressed against my body and her hips filling my hands. Or the taste of her on my lips that not even the whiskey could erase.
The coffee percolates behind us.
“Do you know where the creamer is?” she asks.
I shake my head once. “Nope.” I take a step away when she takes a step forward. “You’ll have to ask Sims or McMann. I’m leaving.”
Her full lips drop into a frown, but I’ve already turned my back. I collect my keys and phone from the living room and shut the front door behind me.
It’s close to noon by the time I drive across town, and I feel like I haven’t slept at all. I’m sitting in the Bronco with the air-conditioning turned on high, fighting off the waves of nausea threatening to upend my stomach. I skipped my workout for the day, which is unheard of to anyone who knows me. The shades on my eyes are doing little to block the incessant glare from the sun. I scan the space, but don’t see Madison’s car parked in the apartment lot. My thoughts go straight back to the douchey singer she was making eyes at last night. And my hands clench on the steering wheel as I consider that she might not have returned home.
I grab my cell from the console and pull up her name before I can stop myself.
Me: Are you home?
I stare at the screen for a full minute, thinking she might not answer, before the dots appear.
Mads: Working lunch at the bar. Why?
Me: Just checking on you.
Mads: Since when?
Okay … I deserve that. I’ve been MIA for the past few days.
