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The last thing on the chat thread was her voice last night, and I replay it. Her voice comes out soft, and the minute I hear it, my cock gets hard. “Well, I don’t know what you would be doing right now, but in about five seconds, I’ll be doing that to myself. Have a great night, Stone.” Fuck, even hearing it the morning after I’m ready to stroke my cock. But before I jump into the shower, I send her a message.
Stone: Just wanted to say good morning, gorgeous, and let you know I’m already looking forward to talking to you later.
I send her the message and toss my phone to the side before I slide out of bed. I turn the shower on to get warm before I step in. My cock is already in my hand, her face in my head, and her voice in my ears. It takes me less than three minutes before I moan out her name. Last time it took me less than this morning. She drives me to the point where I feel like I’m a kid again.
I step out of the shower, grab a pair of boxers, and slip on shorts. I feel just a little more human today than I did yesterday, that’s for sure. It’s a game day, which means we have a practice at ten, so I’m heading over to the gym before practice. I toss my covers over and grab my phone, looking down to see if she messaged me back. I’m not surprised she hasn’t since it’s six thirty in the morning.
I walk through the almost-dark house, the sun trying to come out, but it’s fighting the clouds. I walk out of the mudroom door to the backyard and over to the pool house I converted into a home gym. I press the code to get into the black doors. As soon as I step inside, I hit the lights and television before jumping on the bike. I go through my game day workout, sticking to light weights and the bike. Two hours later, I walk back into the house to make myself a protein shake before heading to the rink, where I have breakfast.
The phone beeps as soon as I take a sip of my protein shake, showing me Ryleigh has left me a message. I really need her to give me her fucking number.
You are mighty sure of yourself in the morning. I’ll be sure not to answer any calls today. Thanks for the heads-up.
Instead of answering her message, I decide to call her instead. Putting the phone on speaker as I walk through the house, I head to my bedroom to grab myself a T-shirt before I head out. It rings four times and then tells me the call has ended.
Ryleigh: The old Ryleigh can’t come to the phone right now. Why? ’Cause she’s dead. Goodbye.
Stone: You can’t use T Swift as your answering machine.
Ryleigh: Did you not read above??? Also, I did not take you for a Swifty.
Stone: If you give me a chance, I have more in me that can blow your mind.
Ryleigh: I can blow my own mind, thank you very much. Don’t you have like skates to put on or like someone to go beat up?
Stone: I’m headed to practice now. We have a game tonight, then I’m flying into your city.
Ryleigh: I’ll alert the presses and tell them to keep their wives and children inside.
I don’t think I’ve ever had a woman make me laugh as much as she does.
Stone: I have a game on Friday. Would you like to come and cheer me on?
Ryleigh: I can’t, I have to watch the paint dry in my apartment. Maybe next time.
Stone: I’m staying a couple of extra days. Would you like to go out with me?
Ryleigh: No.
I shake my head, making a plan for myself as I get into my truck and head to the rink. I arrive at the same time as a couple of the guys and make a beeline for the kitchen. I stock up on eggs and bacon before we skate. Since it’s a game day, everyone takes it easy on the ice, and I take another shower before going home. I pack my away bag before taking a nap. Another thing I do on game day is take a two-hour nap.
Dressing in a blue suit and grabbing my bag, I make my way over to the rink, my head focused on the game. It’s game time. I have one goal and one goal only, winning the game. We end up winning in the last minutes of the game. Everyone showers and rushes to get ready to head to the plane. The bus is waiting for us, and three hours after we finish our game, we touch down in Chicago.
It's cold as balls when we arrive, the wind blowing through all of us. I set my alarm for nine o’clock even though I’ll probably be up before then. Crashing as soon as I close my eyes, shockingly enough, I sleep until the alarm wakes me up. I open my eyes to the dark hotel room before shutting off the alarm.
I have to be at practice at one, so I have four hours to set my plan in motion. I slide on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt before I slip a blue knit turtleneck on top. I snag my boots before I grab the jacket and beanie. I grab the stuff from my luggage, then walk out the door. The whole floor is for us, and no one is up so far. Getting into the elevator, I open the Uber app and type in the address I’m going to. By the time I get to the lobby, he’s outside.
I expect the wind to hit me right away, but it’s not that bad today. The sun is actually out, and it feels warm. I take off the hat and tuck it in my pocket when I get in the car. The driver starts small talk, but I’m so nervous all I can do is look out the window until we get to the brown building. “Thank you,” I say, shutting the door and looking at the glass doors, wondering if I’ll even be able to get to her.
I pull open the door, heading to the lobby. The man looks up from the desk in the middle of the area. “Can I help you?”
“I’m here to deliver something to Ryleigh Beckett on the seventh floor.” I hold up the white bag in my hand with tissue paper sticking out.
“I need your ID,” he says. I reach in my back pocket, taking out my black Louis Vuitton wallet. Pulling out my Nashville license, I hand it to him, and he turns to the side, scanning it before handing it back to me. “Sign in on that.” He points at the clipboard. “Then empty your pockets.” He points at the white circle bin. “And go through that.” He gestures to the metal detector. I nod at him, taking my phone, hat, and wallet out of my pockets and putting them into the white bin before someone else comes over to me, pointing at the bag in my hand. My pulse starts to pick up even though I have nothing to hide. The thought I could be strip-searched never even crossed my mind. I’m just a guy who wants to ask a girl out. She better fucking say yes.
“Need to look in the bag,” he states, and I hand him the gift bag. My heart palpitates as if I’m actually carrying stuff I shouldn’t be even though it’s just a fucking shirt. He moves the tissue paper around and squishes the bag before passing it to the guy waiting on the other side of the metal detector. I walk through it, saying a silent prayer that it doesn’t somehow beep for whatever reason. My palms are fucking sweaty as I wait for the guy to give me the go-ahead. It takes maybe five seconds, which feels like a million years, and he points to the right. “Elevators are that way.”
“Thank you.” I grab my stuff in a rush, not even bothering to tuck my hat back in my pocket. Instead, I wait until I’m in the elevator before I start putting my wallet back in my pants and then my hat away. My phone is in my hand, with my finger tapping the back of it. I step out on the seventh floor and look at the girl sitting behind a brown desk. “Hi, I’m looking for Ryleigh Beckett.”
