Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 107667 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107667 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
I watch as it hits the glass, coming back to Adler, who slides it back to Moon, who shoots with all his glory. His stick snaps, but that’s not what I watch. I watch the puck ricochet off the goalie’s shoulder pad and land right in front of me. I react before I even realize I’m moving, wristing the puck into the back of the net over the shoulder it just hit. The goalie’s shoulders fall as I throw my hands up instinctively, and the red light shines.
Goal.
My third, a hat trick.
Out of nowhere, I’m thrown back into that hotel room. Her clothes all over the floor, her ransacked suitcase, and that damn orange dildo, sliding in and out of that mouthwatering pussy. The way my heart slammed in my chest as I found her on my bed. The deep red of her cheeks as that orange ribbon fell into her eyes. Her thighs… Oh, those glorious thighs against my fingers. The taste of her when she came on my mouth. The sounds she made, more fulfilling than the ones in this arena. How she felt when I sank into her and wanted nothing more than to get lost in her. The ache of walking away, her taste on my lips.
Her.
Tennessee.
The guys wrap their arms around me, hugging me in celebration as a few hats fly onto the ice. None of them matters, though. The only one that does is the UT cowboy hat back at my house.
Fuck me.
Because just like I knew she would, Tennessee ruined any future hat tricks for me.
I lie with my arm behind my head against my pillows, my fingers sprawled across my stomach. I wear only a pair of boxers as I watch her move around the room to gather her things. Samantha. The girl I found at the bar to spend the night with. She’s tall, almost my height, with long black hair and dark-brown eyes. Long, thin legs, no ass, and no tummy. Not my usual type, but she did the job. She pulls her shirt over her head and looks back at me as she rubs her ass. The marks where my hands and teeth played, and it brings me no joy whatsoever.
“My ass still hurts,” she accuses, shaking her head. “I like it,” she says, sashaying to me, crawling over me, and straddling me. I move one hand up and over the spot, rubbing my thumb along it. If I’m honest, I wish she’d just leave. “I love that I have your mark on me.” I force a grin and kiss her when she drops her lips to my mouth. “When will you be back this way?”
“I think November.”
“Okay. So, hit me up?”
“We’ll see. I usually come in earlier so I can see my sister.”
“Great. Sounds good. Don’t be a stranger,” she says, kissing me again, and I feel almost like I’m on autopilot. As she crawls off me, I wipe my mouth free of her taste and watch as she grabs her purse. Before I’d even gotten her in the elevator to come up, I’d told her she had to be gone by eight that morning. With a glance at the time on my phone, I’m surprised she doesn’t try to linger. “Bye, D.”
I swallow. “Bye.”
When I hear the door click, I close my eyes as I cuddle deeper into the pillows. That did absolutely nothing for me. My phone burns in my hand, and even though I know I shouldn’t, I check our text thread. As I’ve been doing for weeks. Or better yet, my one-sided conversation with her.
Me: Hey, I landed, and I wanted you to know I haven’t stopped thinking about you.
Me: I can still taste you.
Me: When do you start your new job?
Me: Just check in?
Me: I think you just declined my call.
Me: Are you ghosting me?
Me: I’ve never been ghosted. I’m usually the ghost.
Me: Well…fuck.
Me: I mean, shit. I guess, have a good fucking life, Tennessee.
I sent that final one last night, before Samantha came up to my room. I scroll through the texts and hit the picture, gazing at her sweet, round face. Those unique, intoxicating eyes and that smile that has the power to bring me to my knees. I go to the first photo where we’re kissing, and I swear I can still feel her lips on mine. I sigh as I close my eyes, and I allow the ache in my chest to grow.
I’m not sure what happened. I don’t know what changed from our hours in that hotel room to when I walked away. I know she felt what I felt, I know she enjoyed herself, and I know…God, I know she thinks of me. She has to. How can she not? I was incredible—and fuck, she was even better. I can’t accept that it was a one-time thing. Nothing is a one-time thing. There is always some contact until everything fizzles out and dies, but this wouldn’t have.