I take a shower at the hospital in the changing rooms before I leave, in case Conner is already there when I get home. But he’s not. When I park, my apartment is in darkness. There are lights aglow at the main house. Almost every single room is lit up and I can see the hideous Christmas tree Tenley put up in the window. It’s from the eighties or something and it’s fake in a way that is purposefully and painfully obvious even from here, a hundred yards away. The entire tree, needles, branches, and all is Pepto-Bismol pink. She thrifted all the ornaments, looking specifically for the ugliest ones she could find. At least that’s what Tate says when he complains about it every year.
There are also a few cars parked in front of Tate and Tenley's house but it's too dark to see if one of them might be Conner's. Maybe he's over there hanging with his cousins until I get home. Or maybe he's changed his mind and isn't coming. Maybe something happened with the waiver situation and he no longer needs me as a distraction. That thought brings a wave of both good and bad feelings. Of course, I want him picked up, but I don't want him to not need this. Us. Because I do. I mean, we've come this far, we should have actual sex once to finish this crazy, unplanned journey we've been taking.
I get out of my car, which started to make a strange grinding sound on the way home tonight. I'll have to deal with it sooner rather than later, but not right this minute, I think as I open the door. That's when I hear it. The crunch of boots on the snow behind me. I jump and spin, the keys lodged in between my glove-covered fingers like a bunch of jagged little knives.
There’s a dark shadow a foot away and it jumps at my sudden movement. “Whoa! It’s me! Conner. Please don’t brain me again.”
“Con! Don’t sneak up on a woman in the dark!” I hiss out in relief. “And I wasn’t going to throw my keys at you this time.”
“Good.”
“I was going to stab you with them instead,” I explain. “Because I couldn’t throw them. I need them to open the door and call the cops.”
“Oh. Well, that’s… disturbingly well thought out,” Conner remarks and finally moves close enough that I can almost make out his features.
“I’m a woman,” I remind him. “We think about these things every day because we have to. Also, I may have had to do it more than most. So it’s instinct.”
“Well, that’s not a fun fact at all,” Conner tells me and now he's right in front of me, so close I can smell his aftershave. It's warm and spicy and already so familiar and soothing. The scent makes my insides feel like I'm waking up from hibernation again. I guess that's what Conner does to me. Wakes up parts of me that stay dormant with everyone else. He tips his head up, and my eyes are in line with his Adam's apple thanks to our height difference. With the moonlight and the closeness, I can get a nice view of his thick, muscular neck and the way his smooth skin bulges at his artery a little. I want to kiss him there and feel his pulse under my lips. See if it starts racing at my touch, but I refrain. "You don't have a porch light."
“I don’t have a porch,” I reply. “It’s literally just a door on the side of a barn. Where did you come from? I don’t see your car.”
“I walked.”
“From your parents’ place?” I question, shocked. “That would take like…”
“One hour and four minutes,” he replies, and I see his broad shoulders lift and fall in a shrug. “I needed the exercise and the time alone and the fresh air.”
“The air is freezing.”
“You need a light out here. It’s far too dark without one,” Conner mutters, ignoring my weather forecast, and then tips his head down. I can feel his eyes on me more than I can see them because of the darkness.
“I appreciate this whole concerned fake boyfriend routine,” I tell him, hoping he sees the smile on my face. “But I’ve been managing just fine here.”
"I'm sure you have," he agrees and I feel his hands rub the sides of my arms through my thick coat. "You're even stronger than you are beautiful, and you're absolutely gorgeous. But I still want a light out here. I'm gonna tell Uncle J."
Well, I can’t argue with him because now I’m all flustered by that compliment. He doesn’t act like it’s meant to flatter me, that he just called me strong and beautiful, so that makes it even more confusing. And addicting. I haven’t had a boyfriend bomb me with compliments the way he does. “Any news yet on the hockey front?”
“Nope,” he says simply and rubs my arms again. “Can we go inside? I’m freezing my nuts off here and I was hoping I would need them later.”
I laugh and turn away to open the door.
We climb the stairs to the apartment and as soon as I open the door at the top, and we’re in my front hall peeling out of our winter wear, he pulls a package out of his puffy coat and hands it to me. It’s a brown box about the size of a shoe box. He smiles as he loops his scarf over the hook where he hung his jacket. “Merry belated Christmas.”
“I… you can’t give me a gift,” I stutter, holding the box out in front of me like it’s some kind of lethal weapon I’m terrified of. My eyes fly from it to his face. He looks amused. “I didn’t get you anything.”
"First of all, gifts don't have to be reciprocal," Conner tells me as he toes out of his boots and places them on the waterproof mat by the door. "Second of all, it's not so much a gift as a replacement for something I accidentally stole."
I walk to the kitchen, grab a knife, and carefully tear into the packaging. Inside is the bubble bath he used. The same pricey French brand. It's also got a bottle of body oil, cream, and a small soap all in the same scent. I blink at the contents in awe because I know how much just the bubble bath costs. The sets like this, with shipping, are a hundred bucks or more.
“You… I can’t… it’s too much.”
“It’s not,” he argues. “It’s also a really selfish gift because I love the smell of this junk and I may be hoping to take another bubble bath with it… and you.”
“Well, then.” I smile and place the box on the counter. “Thank you for being a selfish, presumptuous ass.”
He grins so big it’s contagious and I start to grin too. He steps into me again like he did outside, but with the lights on I can see every hard line and sloping curve of his gorgeous, sculpted face. I can see the heated look in his hazel eyes too. His hand reaches up and he brushes his knuckles against the edge of my jaw before his fingers thread into my hair at the back of my neck. They’re chilled and a shiver runs down my spine. “Do you want to take a bubble bath right now? To warm up?”
“That depends,” I say quietly. “Do you have any other boxes with you?”
He looks confused but only for a second and then he smiles. “Actually I do. In my coat pocket. A box of condoms, ribbed for your pleasure.”
“You don’t need help giving me pleasure,” I inform him. “But I appreciate the thoughtfulness.”
He grins at the compliment before crushing his mouth to mine in a toe-curling kiss that has my heart thundering by the time he pulls away. He slips his hand around to cup my cheek and his thumb presses against my lips. “You sure about this? And you’re doing it because you want to, not because you feel bad for the about-to-be ex-professional hockey player?”
He seriously thinks I would pity-fuck him? For real? My expression must reflect my shock and distaste at that idea because his normally cheeky expression grows somber. "I am not some puck bunny, Conner. I don't care if you're the star center or you drive the Zamboni."
“Huh…” His face grows quizzical and then that cheeky smile of his returns. “You just gave me a career plan. I can drive the Zamboni at the rink here when I don’t get picked up. I’ll apply in the morning.”
I know he’s joking so I wrap my arms tightly around his neck and answer him as flippantly as possible. “Cool. How about you thank me for the career advice with an orgasm?”
He doesn’t say another word, and neither do I because we’re locked together in a series of scorching kisses as we make our way to the bedroom. He makes a pit stop to pull the condoms out of his jacket pocket and then drops the box on the night table while we tug each other’s clothes off.
We end up on the bed, under the duvet, Conner’s big, hard body covering mine, hard edges pressing into me in all the right places. His length leaking against my abdomen. He doesn’t rush, though. He keeps kissing me long and slow, his hands moving languidly over my body, playing with my nipples, tickling my stomach, gripping my hips before moving further down and center.
He smirks against my lips. “You are more than ready, princess.”
“So don’t keep me waiting,” I whisper back and swallow down the urge to reprimand him about that stupid nickname he's adopted. It irks me in a way that I enjoy if that makes any sense. Oh, I'll keep telling him to stop using it, but I'll smile inwardly when he ignores me. Not sure what that's about. I don't usually play pointless flirting games like that. He kisses me again, his tongue sliding into my mouth as two of his fingers slide into me and his thumb circles my clit.
“I’m gonna draw this out,” he replies. “But don’t worry. You’re gonna like it.”
And then I feel his body slide down a little and his mouth is on my breasts. Conner licks and sucks and kisses his way across my body and I let him because it feels incredible. Not just the sensations of his wet mouth teasing my nipples or his fingers pushing and curling inside me, but the non-physical feeling is incredible… the feeling of being savored and worshipped. I haven’t felt like this with a man before. Not to this extent.
So when his big body slides even lower, pulling the duvet with him, leaving me exposed, and his hands hit my thighs and push them wider so he can settle between them, I tip my head back into the pillows, and all my inhibitions are evicted from my brain with the gentle pass of his tongue over my pussy. Conner Garrison has an incredibly talented mouth. In minutes I'm twisting the sheet in my hands and my back is arching off the mattress while I pant. I come apart on his tongue as he grips my thighs to hold me still.
Moments later, as I lie there boneless, I hear the tear of the condom wrapper and my eyes flutter open to see him kneeling between my legs rolling it over his thick shaft. When he’s done he leans over me, his hair hanging in his eyes as he stares down at me with heat blazing in his hazel eyes and positions himself at my entrance. “You want more?”
I manage a smile and reach up and push his hair back. “Bring your A-game, Garrison.”
He chuckles and then pushes into me. I reach up and cup the back of his neck, but he isn’t going to let me pull him down. Instead, he says, “Hold on,” and then pulls me up. The next thing I know, without ever breaking our connection, he’s back on his heels, and I’m straddling his lap, his cock firmly wedged deep inside me.
“Oh god…”
“Tell me about it.” He kisses my neck, sucking hard for a second. “You’re still spasming from that orgasm.”
“Sorry not sorry,” I whisper. “My legs aren’t going to work either.”
“Wrap them around my waist,” he commands and I do. Then he wraps an arm around my back, holding me tight, using his other hand as a prop behind him.
He lifts me a little, letting me drop back down on his dick. And then he does it again, and again, and we're in this perfect rhythm suddenly and I feel another orgasm building for release. It's there but it's just out of reach and I arch my back and he tips his head back and curses. Conner is close. He's within touching distance of his release and then, I catch the sight of us in the full-length mirror on the back of the closed door, which faces the side of the bed. Every muscle in Conner's naked body is flexed, his head tipped back, his back curved, his bicep bulging as it lifts me up, then down, over and over. My tits bounce, my skin is flushed, my hair is as wild as the look in his eye when I catch it in the mirror. He's watching us too, and he's loving it as much as I am. And that's when I come for a second time, harder than the first.
I moan out his name and maybe even black out for a moment because the next thing I know I'm on my back, Conner's body pressing me into the mattress as he cusses against my ear as he comes. After a few minutes, he reaches down, careful to hold the condom as he pulls out of me and pulls himself to his feet a little unsteadily. He huffs out a shaky breath as he pulls off the condom, ties it, and drops it into my wicker wastebasket next to the night table. I watch him with heavy eyes, the feeling finally returning to my limbs after that last orgasm.
“I’m going to the bathroom to run us a bath with your fancy bubbles,” he tells me. “Do not fall asleep.”
I nod. It’s all I can manage. I refuse to let my brain overanalyze what just happened. What we’re doing here, beyond the physical. I just want to enjoy it. It’s been a very long time since a man has made me feel this desirable and valued and I don’t want to steal my own joy away by analyzing this. So I don’t. And when Conner walks back into the bedroom, unabashedly naked, and holds out his hand to pull me up off the bed, I let him.
We both climb into the tub and I settle between his massive thighs, my back against his chest, and we soak in the luxuriously scented water, play with the bubbles, and then we wrap up in towels. We crawl back under the thick duvet on my bed, still naked, and I use his bicep as my pillow as we spoon and sleepily discuss maybe ordering food, but we both fall asleep before we can make a decision.
When I wake I don’t know if I’ve been out for minutes or hours. The room is pitch black and the other side of the bed is cold. I sit up. The door to my bedroom is cracked, and I know we’d closed it when we came in from the bath. “Conner?”
There's no response. My heart starts to slip, but I refuse to let it sink. He wouldn't just bolt in the dark of the night without a word. This isn't some dine-n-dash thing. We're…. friends. Fake boyfriend and girlfriend, which is more than friends, right? There should be a level of respect in that. I think.
He’s probably just in the bathroom and can’t hear me. I call his name again and pull back the duvet. I turn on the bedside light. My scrubs from the night before are lying on the floor, but his clothes are no longer tangled up with them. I grab my robe off the chair in the corner and put it on. I had no problem walking naked through the apartment with him earlier, but now, it doesn’t feel right. I step out into the hall as I cinch the belt on the robe. Everything is dark and still. I flip on the light and that’s when I see the piece of paper. It’s speared through the key hook where I hang my keys.
I walk over to it. It’s from the notepad I keep by the fridge for grocery lists and such. He’s got pretty standard male chicken scratch writing but I can read it easily.
Mac
Agent called at 2am. I was picked up. Holy shit! But I have to fly to Colorado to join my new team ASAP. I'll be back for the NYE party! Thanks for… everything.
Talk soon. Con
He just avoided his biggest fear, was given a pardon in the eleventh hour, and he didn’t bother to wake me up to celebrate it? And he’s going to play in Colorado?
I’m happy for him, technically, but yet my heart is still sinking, and I’m letting it now. I don’t know what I thought would happen after I indulged in this little physical fantasy with Conner, but I think I was holding out hope we’d maybe turn this into something regular. That’s not a possibility now. Because people who want to turn their casual sex into something more don’t bolt in the middle of the night with nothing more than a note. And how the hell would we pursue this with one of us living in Colorado? Long distance is tough when a relationship has a foundation of more than a quick lay and a barely rekindled friendship.
Girls like you don’t get the fairytale ending with the local town hero. The neglected and abused little girl I once was comes alive once again to whisper that negativity to me as I crawl back into bed. But I refuse to listen to that old ghost of who I once was.
It was fun, Mac, I tell myself as I pad my way back to the bedroom. But that’s all it was. He doesn’t owe you more. He didn’t promise more. It’s all good.
Only it doesn't feel good anymore. My post-hook-up haze has a sting of rejection attached to it now.