Ten first dates, p.9
Ten First Dates, page 9
“You hungry?” I ask her as I stand up. “We could order room service.”
“It’s my room,” she points out. “Don’t go hog wild.”
Ah. We’re back to being sassy. I’ll fuck that out of her in round two. “I can give them my credit card, Jersey Girl.”
She bites her lower lip. Is she trying to keep from smiling?
I wink at her, and she groan-laughs. “All right. Let’s order something.”
I grab the menu for her, which at this hour is probably just burgers. Then I pad over to the minibar and grab two bottles of water.
“Do you know how much those are?” she squeaks.
“Two rules about drunken sex.” I open the cap on one and hand her the other. “First, everything gets charged to my card, so don’t worry about it. And two, it’s important to hydrate after every round so we don’t have headaches in the morning.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Harper
Hydrate after every round. He wasn’t kidding about using multiple condoms.
Holy crap.
After we place our order for food, he pulls on his dress pants. “So I can answer the door and not break any rules about intimidating hotel staff with my impressive dick.”
I giggle.
He doesn’t take offense to me laughing, because we both know he’s telling the truth. It is impressive. Both aesthetically—hello—and performance-wise.
He grabs his dress shirt and tosses it my way. “Put this on.”
“This won’t scandalize the room service delivery guy?”
“He’s not going to see you in that. That’s just for my benefit. I want your scent on that shirt tomorrow.”
Oh. I slide into it, savouring the luxury feel of it against my ordinary-girl skin.
He glances around. “Do you have any painkillers?”
“In my suitcase. Outside pocket.” He unzips it just as I remember what else is in there. “Wait!”
He grins wickedly as he lifts the clear plastic pouch that contains my bullet vibrator. “Hello, friend.”
“Put that back.” I blush. “We don’t need it.”
“But we might like it.” His eyes glint. Then he grabs the painkillers, sets them on the bedside table next to his bottle of water, and lounges on the bed again, his back against the headboard, his legs sprawled long and loose in front of him. He looks like a debauched prince, holding his illicit treasure.
Which is my vibrator.
“Kieran…”
He cups himself through his dress pants. “Mmm, yeah. Pretty good on the response time tonight, too.”
I push at his chest, and he tugs me close. Those glittering granite eyes dance with silent laughter as he brings my mouth to meet his.
“Never stop saying my name,” he murmurs before his tongue slides against mine.
His kiss feels dangerous, a temptation I cannot control, but there’s a ticking clock now. Food will arrive in half an hour, so there’s no real risk in crawling into his lap and making out with him. We’re both definitely tipsy, but it’s a good kind of inebriated. Like we’re all warm and fuzzy together.
When he turns on the vibrator and slides it under the hem of his shirt I’m wearing, I lift up just enough for him to find my clit with it.
“I want to feel you come apart again,” he whispers before licking his way down my neck.
It doesn’t take long. I shatter for him, then he tumbles me onto my back so he can lick between my legs. I make some noises about it being his turn, and he ignores them, which really feels too good to be true.
His game is good.
When he finally releases me, I roll up onto shaky legs and stumble to the minibar. If we’re doing this, let’s do it. “Want another drink?”
He searches my face, then nods. “Whatever you want.”
I toss him a collection of the little bottles and he picks two. Holds out one. I down it, ignoring the burn.
That’s better. I think I need to stay on the wild and free side of tipsy if a stranger is going to use my vibrator on me.
When the knock at the door comes, I scurry into the bathroom and he answers it bare-chested, grinning like he’s won the freaking Stanley Cup.
“It’s two-thirty,” I whisper against his back.
He’s just rolled away to dispose of condom number three. His shirt is lying on the floor, and we’re both naked again.
“I’ll set an alarm for six.” Then he sprawls out on his back, totally comfortable taking up two-thirds of my queen bed.
I’m far too comfortable with him in it, too.
I shake my head. “Time for you to go.”
He stills. “You’re serious?”
My heart twists. I want him to stay all night. I want to sleep next to him, and squeeze every last second I can out of the Kieran Marsh Experience.
But I cannot have him discovered in my room. The room service delivery was risky enough. That was a drunken mistake. I can’t have a coach track him down with his phone or something like that, which probably isn’t likely, but sets my sobering-up nerves on fire.
“We have one more condom,” he says, and the hope in his voice—nope. I can’t get attached to that.
But maybe he can read my reluctancy, or maybe I misread what I thought was something more cajoling, because he shrugs. “All right.” He catches my hand and holds my gaze as he kisses the inside of my wrist. “Thanks for a fun night, Jersey Girl.”
I shiver at the soft contact. “Thank you for talking your way into buying me a drink.”
He releases my hand and pulls on his boxers, then his pants. His socks and shoes are next, and with each piece of the polished pro player sliding back into place, the distance between what we just did and reality gets greater and greater.
By the time he’s buttoning up his shirt—that smells like me, and sex—I’m regretting that I didn’t get him to wear the jersey for a little bit.
He’ll carry a piece of me out of here tonight, and I’ll be left with memories so surreal they’ll only live on as impossible fantasies.
I pull on the jersey to see him to the door, my heart a lump in my throat.
We both lean into the closet at the same time. He stops, I stop, then I bend over again. He groans as the jersey rides up my thighs, baring the curve of my ass.
“Here,” I whisper as I hand him overcoat and toque.
He takes them, his fingers wrapping around mine. He takes them and holds on tight, to both me and the coat and hat.
“You’ll look me up.” It’s a statement. A command.
I won’t, though. If things were different…
“Thank you,” I repeat. It’s all I can say. “For tonight.”
“God damn it.” He reaches for me, then stops himself. Wrenches the door open and steps onto the threshold.
I stumble at the sudden loss of him in front of me and he catches me by the arms, pressing me gently against the doorframe. We both stop breathing. The safe cocoon of my room has been stripped away. At any second, someone could come down the hall and see him leaving the room of a half-naked woman wearing his jersey.
My heart pounds as he curves over me.
Drag him back inside, every part of me screams.
But I can’t, and I know it, so I plant my hand on his chest.
“Push me away,” he whispers. “Or don’t. Drag me closer, beautiful girl. Don’t let me go.”
I curl my fingers in his shirt instead. “That’s the tequila talking.”
“The tequila stopped talking hours ago.”
“Don’t say that.”
“Why?”
“Because I can’t be more than an anonymous girl in your jersey.”
He catches my hand and drags it up between us. Rubs his thumb over my ring finger. “Are you married?”
I gasp and yank my hand out of his grip. “No. And if you thought that—”
“I didn’t. I don’t. Just trying to figure out why you wouldn’t want a repeat.” It sounds just cocky enough for me to re-focus my energy. He’s a cocky player who assumes women want him endlessly. Will bend over backwards to sleep with him.
“There are lots of reasons. Too many to count. And—”
He cuts me off with his mouth, hard and intense. His tongue licks past my lips and I can’t pretend I don’t want one more all-consuming taste. I open for him, surrendering to the wild heat. He slows his plunder as our bodies fit together one final time, his tongue deep in my mouth now.
As if he knows we only have one more kiss, and he’s going to make it last as long as possible.
I cling to him, bare legs shaking as he works his trouser-clad thigh between them. He tilts my head to the side, angling just so as he swallows my first breathy moan.
We’re in the hallway. This is madness.
But it’s the middle of the night, and as he mouth fucks me, it really does feel like we’re the only two people in the world.
Like all my reasons might be real enough tomorrow, real enough once I get home, but right now? Right here, with his hands tight in my hair and my slick, swollen pussy riding against his dress pants once again?
All that matters right here and now is just how fucking real this kiss feels.
The rest of the night can fade away to fantasyland, but this searing embrace is going to imprint on me differently.
It’s dizzying. He makes my pulse roar in my ears, like the ocean, or a packed arena full of rabid fans.
And then in the distance, there’s a ding.
The elevator arriving on this floor. As quick as he cut me off before, to kiss me and make me some kind of liar, he breaks away. His mouth looks as swollen as mine feels. He brushes his tender lips against my forehead, then pushes me into the room, the door swinging shut between us.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Kieran
My first thought when I wake up is, not enough sleep. My second thought—as I’m halfway out of bed, because fuck, even though it wasn’t enough, I’ve overslept and someone’s pounding on the door—is that it was a mistake to leave Jersey Girl’s room.
She kicked you out.
Fair. True. But we were both tipsy. She wasn’t thinking straight. We should exchange numbers.
I wrench the door open and nod at Stanzi. “On my way down.”
“You look…” He tilts his head to the side. “Did you get laid last night? I didn’t see you at the party for long.”
I let the door close in his face without answering, and pack in record time. Triple check for my phone charger—I’m always leaving those plugged in—and then I’m out the door. My stomach growls at me. I need coffee and something to eat. As I wait for the elevator, I place a takeout Starbucks order on my phone.
Onto the elevator. Next text is to the travel coordinator.
Kieran: Just getting food. On my way.
That buys me five minutes while my egg bites are warmed up. I hit the button for Jersey Girl’s floor. Five minutes to charm her while we’re both sober.
I try to remember the most important parts of the night. How she tasted. What she said.
She’s a nurse from a small town. I hold that central in my brain. That’s important.
On her floor, the housekeeping staff are working on the rooms right off the elevators. I dodge around a maid’s cart, mentally running through the options of how to play this.
I knock on her door.
No answer. I strain to hear anything from the other side of it, but nothing.
I knock again, not prepared to give up.
“Did you forget something?” One of the hotel housekeepers is peering at me from a room two doors down. “Was that your room?”
“No.” I scrub my palm over my mouth. “A friend’s. Is she gone?”
“I cleaned that room ten minutes ago. Looks like you missed her.”
Damn it. “Thanks.”
I sprint back to the elevator, which doesn’t come fast enough, so I take the stairs. I see the team staff milling at the front doors and wave to them. Give me a minute.
The clerk on duty at the check-in desk is a young man. I catch him noticing that I’m with the team. Maybe he even recognizes me. I dunno. “Hey, man.”
“Good morning, sir. How can I help you?”
“I met someone last night in the bar. A guest who’s now checked out.” I give him her room number. “Can you help me with her contact information?”
He gives me a polite smile. “I’m sorry, sir, guest details are confidential.”
Confidential? I was inside her fucking body last night. I know what she sounds like when she laughs while my dick pulses against her fucking cervix. I can’t say that. Not to this guy, but Jersey Girl would find it funny. “Come on, bud.”
“Hotel policy.”
I ball my hand in a fist, then shove it in my pocket. He’s right.
Fuck.
Public place. “Thanks.” I give him a brusque nod, then head for the bus. Time for a plane ride. I’ll watch some game tape, have some laughs, and land in another city. Play a game. Go home to Phoenix, which will never be my home.
And in a year or so, I’ll be back.
Nope.
My return to Buffalo the following year is a letdown on every level. I’m not playing for Arizona, but my recent addition to the Columbus team isn’t going any better. I’ve hit a slump, complicated by a shoulder injury I need to baby.
But worst of all, Jersey Girl doesn’t show up. A fantasy I indulged regularly over the last year is extinguished.
The next day, I board our team plane, shove my headphones on, and find a sports psychology podcast to listen to. If only there were coaching mantras to get over the hottest sex of your life.
Columbus doesn’t make it into the playoffs. My season ends with an uptick in my personal stats, though, which makes me marginally more attractive in the off-season. I tell my agent I want to be on a contending team.
“That’s always a priority,” she says, her voice carrying an interesting edge to it. “But there’s another option on the table.”
“I’m not retiring.”
“No. That’s not— Jack Benton wants you on the new team.”
“Hamilton is interested in me?” The new expansion team will join the league in the fall. Benton—a Canadian billionaire who previously owned one of the two Vancouver teams—is sparing no expense in bringing another team to the greater Toronto area. Hamilton is situated halfway between Toronto and Buffalo, on the QEW highway, and the rivalry will be fierce.
It would be fucking fun to play for an exciting new team. My heart races at the thought.
On the other hand, expansion teams aren’t always contenders for the playoffs. But they can be.
Three months later, I skate onto home ice as a Hamilton Highlander for the first time. My third team in as many years, but I’m finally back on Canadian soil.
This feels right.
There’s a lot to like about Hamilton. It’s a short flight back to Winnipeg to visit my folks. The fans are rabid in the best way possible.
For the first time since I was traded away from Montreal, I’m feeling reasonably optimistic about my career again. Like maybe I’ll be able to dig deep this year and really do something. Rehabilitate my legacy and maybe eek into the lower ranks of the best players of all time.
I’m focused now, in a way I haven’t been since I left Montreal. I know this could be my last chance.
And the game starts well. There are going to be some hiccups in pulling a new team together, but we’re playing hard and we’re playing with heart.
I am finally living, breathing, and playing hockey the way I used to.
So of course, that’s when I see Jersey Girl.
I do a double take. Sure, I should be watching the ice. I will, in a second. I just need her to turn her head this way first.
She’s sitting a few rows behind our bench. Wearing my team colours.
And some asshole has his arm draped around her, his fingers pressing possessively into her upper arm.
Kieran and Harper’s steamy, off-limits romance continues in The Ex Captain, a brand-new first in series available on pre-order everywhere!
ALSO BY AINSLEY BOOTH
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Ainsley Booth is a three-time USA Today bestselling author of sizzling erotic romance (Prime Minister, Hate F*@k).
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STAY ALWAYS
KAYLEE RYAN
Kincaid Brothers #0.5
Orrin
From the moment she stepped back into town, I wanted her.
No matter where I am, if she’s around, she has all of my attention. The only problem is that she
doesn’t know it. She doesn’t know that I can feel her when she walks into a room or that I can
see her auburn hair when I close my eyes at night.
I think it’s time to do something about that.
Jade
From the moment I stepped back into town, I wanted him.
He’s always surrounded by a group of his brothers or his best friend, but that doesn’t stop me
from stealing glances. He doesn’t have a clue that I’m crushing on him like a teenager or that
sometimes I dream of him.
Maybe one day, I’ll do something about that.
Copyright © 2022 Kaylee Ryan
All Rights Reserved.
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, events, locations, businesses and plot are products of the author’s imagination and meant to be used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events throughout the story are purely coincidental. The author acknowledges trademark owners and trademarked status of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication and use of these trademarks are not authorized, sponsored or associated by or with the trademark owners.
