Page 13 of The Groupie

Sitting up, I dislodge her from my side, and cold air immediately supplants the warmth of her body. God, this is torture. She stirs, but she’s still asleep, looking so sinfully sexy and angelic at the same time. It’s a fucking shame, but I have to wake her.

What do I say?

Shit. Who knows? This is why I don’t do overnight stays or repeats, let alone relationships. Especially not this time, not with Rylee. She has no idea who I am, and it might be awkward if she found out I lied. Fuck. Awkward? I feel like a shit bastard for lying. I told her I was a fucking banker.

But it’s not too late to avoid her discovering the lie. I was counting on this being a one-and-done event, and it still can be. Although the thought of not repeating last night’s explosive connection and supercharged sex is slightly depressing.

No, make that extremely depressing. But never mind that. I’m a big boy, and I’ll get over it, right?

Bracing myself for the awkward morning departure, I sit up and touch her shoulder. The spark instantly strikes me to the core, bringing back every electrifying moment of last night’s mind-blowing...activity.

She wakes while I dick around watching her. Her dark lashes flutter open, and her eyes flick back and forth. She looks disoriented. Pushing the hair from her face and running her hand through the wild mane, her eyes finally land on mine. She looks like an angel when she smiles at me.

I smile back. “Good morning.”

She moves in my direction, and I feel her heat, the scent of our sex wafting up from the covers. What the hell was I worried about? What awkward? I fist a hand in her hair and touch my lips to hers.

“Ouch, damn it.” She pulls back, bites her lip, and grimaces. And just like that, the promise of morning sex—not that I can afford the time—disappears. She turns her attention to her ankle, bending her leg and raising it to get a closer look.

“Shit. I forgot about your ankle. It still looks swollen. Is it sore?”

She nods, clearly in pain. The ice I’d put on it last night is lost in the covers and warm by now.

“I don’t remember it hurting last night.” She tosses me an accusing look.

“I’ll get you a fresh ice pack.”

She waves me off.

“I need to get out of here and get home.”

“Guess it’s not so good a morning.” No need to worry about Rylee wanting to linger or having stars in her eyes. But then, why should she have stars since I made sure she doesn’t know I’m a pro hockey player? Maybe because the sex was fucking amazing.

She rises and, fully naked, valiantly tries to saunter to the bathroom, but she collapses into a limp after one and a half steps. I get out of bed and go to her. She turns and looks at me with dismay, pointing at my thigh.

“Where’d you get those bruises? They’re massive.”

I look down. Shit. I took a check into the boards and a puck to the thigh in last night’s game. But that’s not something I can share with her. I shrug.

“I need to get to work myself,” I half murmur and wave her forward. “You can take this shower. I’ll use the guest bathroom.” A pang of regret hits me at her reluctance to turn away. I watch her chew her bottom lip like she’s deciding something. Stupidly, I’m hoping she’ll invite me to join her.

You don’t have time for this, and you don’t need complications. Keep it simple.

She turns away and limps to the bathroom before my good sense slips, and I invite myself. Fuck.

Before closing the door, she asks, “Why are you going to work this early? I thought bankers had easy hours.”

Fuck. “They do. We do. I have a project to work on.” I find my boxers on the floor and put them on before she comments on my more than casual interest in playing games with her despite my work obligations. I hate lying, and it’s obvious I suck at it. So why the hell did I tell her I was a banker, for fuck’s sake?

She shakes her head in dismissal and closes the door. I pick up my sweats and T-shirt and head for the guest bathroom.

By the time I emerge, she’s dressed and heading for the door.

“What about the ice? Let me get you an icepack for the road.” I try to hide my totally inappropriate disappointment that she was going to leave without saying goodbye. So what?

Dude, you’re never going to see her again, right?

“You really are a thoughtful guy under all that massive hotness.” She smiles, and the edge comes off her words, prodding my morning wood back to life. Then she reaches for the doorknob.

“No goodbye?” I stop her. Why the fuck I do that is a mystery since I want her to leave, don’t I? I’m not looking for drama.

She flashes a sassy smile and bodies up to me, wrapping her arms around my waist. “It was a swell night, big boy.” She stands on tiptoe, and I meet her halfway for a final kiss. And for a second, I allow myself to dive into her, to savor the softness of her lips, the sultry heat of her mouth, and the unforgettable seductive scent of her skin.

A small moan escapes her as she pulls away, ending the kiss. “There’s your goodbye. I’m out of here,” she says as if she wants me to argue, so I do.

“Why? You have an early start to work?” She doesn’t answer, and her dreamy smile disappears. It occurs to me that I don’t know what she does. I know nothing about this girl, and my curiosity surges like I swallowed that cat who got killed by curiosity and reincarnated in my psyche.

“What do you do?”