Chapter Thirteen

“Later, man.”

Nik got out of the elevator on his floor, and Brett shifted the strap of his bag on his shoulder, resettled the garment bag of suits over his arm, and hit the door close button. They’d finished up an intense fourteen-day road trip with a couple of wins, and while going 6-0 would have been ideal, 3-3 was better than it could have been. Now they had a couple of days to regroup before their next game, and Brett was looking forward to chilling out and getting his head on straight.

The elevator took him up two more floors, and he pulled the key he’d picked up from the doorman from his pocket, reading the number on the plastic keychain. His new place was at the end of the hallway, and he shoved the key in the lock with a deep breath.

Home sweet home, he thought, stepping through the door.

It was nice enough. Not exactly the same layout as Nik’s, but it had an open floor plan, a big wall of windows, and a decent view of the city.

He headed down the hallway to his left, opening doors as he went—storage closet, bathroom, laundry room.

He stopped there for a minute, hanging the garment bag on the hook on the back of the door and heaving his duffle bag on top of the dryer. Might as well throw in a load of laundry now, he decided, since the place was fully stocked. As he was tossing his stuff into the washer, his eyes lit on the scarlet lace buried at the bottom of his bag.

He barely flinched. Thoughts of Chelsea had been randomly sucker-punching him since their fight two weeks ago, so he was getting used to it.

He tossed in a laundry pod, bumped the door closed with his hip, and started up the washing machine. With a sigh, he grabbed his leather toiletry case in one hand, and the bra in the other and continued down the hall, peeking into the spare bedroom, and the office, before he uncovered the master suite at the end on the right-hand side.

The relocation company his brother-in-law had recommended had done a good job—king-size mattress, gray and black color scheme, and he wouldn’t have to chuck eighteen decorative pillows off his bed every night, which he appreciated. Brett walked over to the bedside table and yanked open the drawer. It was empty but for a box of condoms.

Huh. Suddenly he knew why the charge on his credit card had been so high. This company wasn’t kidding about taking care of everything. He dropped Chelsea’s bra inside and pushed it closed before heading into the bathroom.

The en suite was massive, boasting heated floors and a double sink. Brett set his toiletry case on the counter and snooped through the medicine cabinet. Like the bedside table, they’d taken care of the basics he might need, including Tylenol, Q-tips, deodorant, and a complete array of toothbrushes, toothpaste, floss and mouthwash. He walked farther in. The big shower was stocked with shampoo and soap, and some fluffy white towels tucked on the built-in shelf right across from it. Instead of ending, the bathroom opened into an enormous walk-in closet. Interesting layout.

Lainey had done him a solid and coordinated with the company that had moved him in to have a bunch of his clothes and stuff shipped out from Portland, so some low-paid overachiever had hung his clothes grouped by dressiness—suits on the right, jeans and T-shirts on the left—all organized from dark to light. It looked like a fucking magazine, he decided, shedding his suit and yanking on a pair of gray sweatpants and a white T-shirt. He grabbed his phone, Instagrammed a photo with the caption, “Fancy,” for posterity, since it probably wouldn’t stay looking this nice for long and tucked his phone into the waistband of his sweats.

His ball caps were lined up on several shelves on the back wall, also arranged by hue, and he grabbed one just to disturb the perfection, tugging it on backward before he headed back through the bathroom and bedroom to check out the rest of the place.

The kitchen was state of the art, gleaming dark wood and stainless-steel appliances, but most importantly, the fridge was full. He grabbed an apple, polishing it off while he stood over the sink, and was hunting for the garbage can—not in the cabinet beneath the sink, but tucked under the overhang at the far edge of the granite-topped island—when his phone buzzed against his hip.

Brett wiped his fingers on his sweatpants and grabbed his cell, ignoring the bump in his heartrate and the way his thoughts went straight to Chelsea.

Stupid, he told himself, as the screen revealed that it was actually his brother-in-law FaceTiming him.

“How’s it going, Rookie?”

Brett rolled his eyes at the jab and headed into the living room to test out the gray tweed couch.

When Cooper Mead had gotten traded from New York to the Portland Storm—the first season they’d played together—Brett’s whole team used to call him that, even though it was his second year in the league. It had been their way of keeping his ego in check, to let him know he wasn’t hot shit, like he thought he was. He used to hate it. To his surprise, he still kind of did. Because five years later, he knew he wasn’t invincible. And Coop wasn’t wrong to call him out.

“Ha. Ha. How long have you been waiting to use that one?”

Cooper grinned. “If you don’t start playing real hockey soon, I’ll be able to use it again when they ship you back to the minors.”

“Hey, we finished that road trip strong. And at least I’m still in the game, old man.”

His brother-in-law rolled his eyes. “If you consider bench-warming integral to a team’s success, then sure you are. At least I retired with grace at the top of my game.”

“Keep telling yourself that.” Brett flopped down on the couch, bouncing his weight on it a little. Not bad, he decided, grabbing one of the decorative pillows and wedging it between his head and the armrest.

“Is that Brett?”

His sister’s very pregnant belly appeared in the frame to Coop’s left for a moment, before she bent forward so her chin rested on her husband’s shoulder. Her black hair was pulled into a messy knot on top of her head, and her pretty face was glowing with impending motherhood.

“You’ve only been on this team for a few weeks. How have you already fucked it up? I told you before you left, don’t be yourself.”

Brett frowned at her. There were some things that not even growing a person inside you could change.

“At least I didn’t score on my own net,” he fired back, poking the old wound from her days on the American women’s Olympic team. It used to be the kind of thing that would get his balls ripped off, but since Cooper and Lainey had gotten together, she’d mellowed in all the best ways.

Lainey gave him the finger, but it was good-natured, and the familiar interaction loosened something in Brett’s chest. He hadn’t always had much in the way of family growing up, but these people—his half sister, his hockey mentor, his niece-or-nephew-to-be—they were the people who mattered most in his world.

Even when they were being total dicks.

“Did you guys just call to bust my balls? Because if so, I’m pretty sure the media already took care of that for you.”

“Hey,” Cooper said firmly, “what did I tell you about googling yourself?”

Brett sighed. “Don’t.”

“Exactly. You’re doing good. You just looked a little…distracted.”

Brett’s fingers flexed against his thigh, the phantom sensation of red lace brushing his fingertips.

“But hell, that happens,” Coop plowed on. “Trades are hard, and this is your first one. It’ll be better now that you’re starting a four-game homestand. That will ground you. And no one blames you for needing a little time to settle in.”

“Speaking of which, did all your stuff get there okay?” His sister shoved her head into the frame again.

“Yeah. Thanks for coordinating. Everything is eerily perfect. It’s like a robot lives here.”

“You owe me big time. I’m going to take it out in free babysitting once this little monster is released into the world,” she warned him, pointing at her belly.

The sudden knock drew his attention. “Hey, someone’s at the door. I gotta go. Keep me posted on the whole baby thing, yeah?”

Lainey rolled her eyes at him, and he did his best to keep his expression neutral, despite the twitch of his lips.

“No please, Brett. Be more dismissive about the miracle of life. Keep you posted on the whole baby thing? The thing where my ankles are swollen, and I have to pee a million times a day, and I can’t sleep because my insides are functioning as a hotel for an adorable parasite who spends the night kicking me in the ribs? That thing?”

“But on the upside, you get some time off work, right?”

“I hate you. Goodbye.”

“Hate you, too.”

Brett was still chuckling to himself—Lainey might have mellowed out, but he could still push her buttons—when the knock sounded again.

“Coming!”

He jogged the rest of the way. Maybe Nik wanted to grab some dinner or something. He could go for a—

Brett wasn’t prepared when he pulled open the door to find Chelsea standing there. His smile faded, but his heart kicked up.

“How did you find me?” Brett asked. He wasn’t sure how he felt about seeing her again. Well, that wasn’t quite true, he admitted to himself. He was sure he felt really damn good about seeing her again, which was kind of the problem.

He chalked the reaction up to the shadow of envy that sometimes invaded his chest after witnessing his sister and his hockey mentor together.

Damn he wanted that.

He’d tried hard to force it with Janelle. And look how that had turned out.

But he wouldn’t make that mistake again, he reminded himself forcefully, looking back at Chelsea.

Man, she was pretty.

“I have my ways,” she said coyly, then ruined the effect with a shrug. “And access to the team contact roster, in case I need to send the car service or whatever.”

“The doorman let you up?”

The question earned him a shake of her head. “I got Nik to buzz me through.”

“Oh.”

If you ignored the flare of jealousy, it just went away, right? It didn’t linger in your gut, gnawing at you until it hit a growth spurt and busted through your rib cage in an explosion of blood and gore and destruction?

Brett scratched his chest.

“I would have called you, but to be honest, I wasn’t sure you’d let me in. And I really needed to talk to you.”

His shoulders loosened at her revelation. Damn it. He did his best to shore up his fortifications, crossing his arms as a second line of defense. “So talk.”

Whatever. He didn’t care. Much.

“I had no idea who you were until the benefit. I swear it.”

She stood there, looking up at him with those pretty blue eyes, seeming like she meant what she said. And Brett believed her, even though he was trying hard not to.

“If I had I known who you were in the bar that night, I would have stayed far, far away. But I didn’t stay away.” Her eyes turned imploring, and she took a step forward. “And maybe I should have, but it’s too late to change what happened, and now I don’t want to stay away.”

Some part of him didn’t want to cave, didn’t want to make this easy for her—his pride, probably—but he’d always been shitty at not taking what he wanted. Delayed gratification had never been his strong suit. As though she could sense her imminent victory, she pressed her advantage, stepping past him, farther into his new place.

“I’m tired of letting other people’s opinions matter more than my own. I’ve decided I don’t care what anyone else thinks.”

“Of me?”

“Of you. Of me. Of us.”

Brett’s arms fell to his sides. Damn it to hell. He liked this girl. A lot. More than he meant to. More than he should.

Enough to push the door to his apartment shut.

She smiled at him then, at the confirmation that he wasn’t going to kick her out.

He’d pretty much known he wouldn’t since he’d opened the door to find her standing there, but apparently, she was just catching on now.

…

She was blowing this. He was going to kick her out any second now.

“I owe you a huge apology. And for the record, being with you is hardly slumming it.” She took a step forward on shaky knees. Close enough to reach out and touch him. He shoved his hands in his pockets, so she didn’t.

The first time she’d seen him, he’d been lethal in leather, the second time suave in a suit. Now he was dressed like a frat boy in a backward ball cap, a T-shirt, and sweatpants, and she still wanted him. In fact, she couldn’t decide which version of him she liked best.

The realization made her try again. If he kicked her out, it wouldn’t be because she hadn’t tried.

“You’re…not what I expected. I mean, you’re gorgeous, but I didn’t expect to actually like you.” Wait, that sounded mean. Or slutty. She wasn’t sure which. “What I’m trying to say is that you’re the best thing I’ve ever…” She swallowed down the truth. Too soon. Pull back. “The time we’ve spent together has been awesome. And…” Sexy? Should she say sexy? No, that was dumb. “Awesome.”

Shit. Also dumb.

Despite that, he didn’t smirk or make fun of her. Something shifted in his eyes, and the air around her got thin. She had to breathe harder to get enough oxygen.

“I like how I feel when I’m with you. So, if you don’t feel the same, then I guess…I mean, tell me now, but—”

His hands were out of his pockets and pulling her close before she had to try again, and she welcomed his mouth on hers, partly because it kept her from talking, but also because she’d missed him.

Missed kissing him, touching him. Being in his arms was this weird combination of freedom and safety that she’d started to crave without even realizing it. It made her act like someone completely different, but she’d never felt more herself.

Something in her chest unlocked, spewing relief and lust, and some other more confusing emotions she could worry about later. Right now, she just wanted the giddy high of his mouth on hers, and his skin under her questing fingers.

He pulled her backward down the hall, shedding clothes and bumping into walls in their attempts to walk and make out at the same time.

When they finally got to his bed, they were wearing nothing but their underwear. Scratch that. She reached up and tugged his cap off, revealing his dark tousled curls. Now they were wearing nothing but their underwear. She giggled as Brett picked her up and tossed her onto the bed before belly flopping onto the mattress beside her.

He turned his head, dropping kisses along her arm, and Chelsea’s muscles went rigid with need. She sat up.

“Turn over,” she ordered, and Brett obliged her, rolling onto his back.

Chelsea got onto her hands and knees over the top of him, bending her head to drop open-mouthed kisses to his lips, his jaw, his Adam’s apple.

“Jesus, I missed you,” he groaned as she nipped the crook of his neck before her tongue darted out to ease the sting.

“Okay, we need a condom, stat.” Brett made a move to sit up, but she placed her palm against his chest, holding him where he was.

“But I’m still playing,” she teased, dropping kisses against his collarbone, even as the rasp of his breath picked up. He wanted her. Badly. And it turned her on so much to know it.

“We’ll play later,” he promised, his voice tight with need. “Right now, I need to be inside you.” He swiped a thumb between her legs, pressing the soaked black silk of her underwear against the warm, wet heat of her. She bit her lip at the exquisite sensation, trying not to moan.

She wasn’t successful.

“Condom it is. I’ll get it,” she volunteered, deciding magnanimously that it was only fair that he got to call some of the shots of their makeup sex tonight. And it was important to be fair.

“That drawer, right there.”

She crawled off him, flattening herself onto her stomach so she could reach the handle and tug the drawer open. But when she would have grabbed the foil packet, something stayed her hand.

“You’re killing me here, you know that, right?” The mattress shifted behind her, and Brett’s fingers traced the curve of her ass. Although her body reacted—she shivered at the resulting goose bumps—she still couldn’t tear her attention away from her discovery.

“You kept it?” she asked softly, bypassing the condoms and grabbing the familiar red lace, holding it up. At the sight of her bra, Brett gave an embarrassed wince. He pushed himself up to a sitting position, his back against the headboard.

“Yeah. I kept it.”

Chelsea sat back on her heels, idly rubbing her thumb against the lacy cup. The realization their first night together had meant enough to him to take it, just like she’d wanted him to, made her heart clench. She liked knowing that he’d wanted a souvenir of the woman from the bar. That she’d been worth remembering.

“I know it’s stupid, but you were gone when I woke up, and I thought maybe it was some kind of clue to finding you again.”

He’d wanted to see her again. Something warm suffused her chest, but she covered the sappy emotions with a Cheshire grin. “So you’re saying that if we hadn’t run into each other at the gala the next night, you were going to go full Prince Charming and track me down by scouring all of Billings for the boobs that fit this bra?”

He grabbed her wrist, tugging her over to straddle his lap. His hands settled on her hips.

“Princing isn’t all fun and games like everyone thinks,” he told her, plucking the bra from her fingers and tossing it in the general direction of the drawer. “It’s very serious business.” His palms trekked upward, leaving a trail of goose bumps in their wake. “Come to think of it, I should probably do a thorough inspection of your boobs right now, make sure you’re really the woman I’ve been looking for, and you haven’t been pulling a fast one on me this whole time.”

He pulled her forward and nuzzled her right breast. The soft kisses brought her hands to his shoulders, and when he finally opened his mouth over her, she let her head fall back, savoring the sweet wet heat of his tongue.

“Ha. You just want a happy ending,” she accused breathlessly, sliding her hips forward so that she could press herself against his erection. His groan reverberated against her sensitive nipple before he pulled away.

“So badly,” he agreed. His left hand slid up to cup her breast, his thumb teasing its tip into a hard peak, sending heat coiling through her. “But I promise to give you multiple happy endings first.”

“Sounds like my kind of fairy tale.”

She laughed as he toppled them sideways, so they were horizontal across the width of the mattress as he stretched out over the top of her to grab a condom from the drawer.

“You’re doing it again,” he warned, rolling onto his side on the mattress so he could suit up.

“Doing what?” she asked. Chelsea ran her fingertips over his chest, amazed she got to touch him like this whenever she wanted.

“Being cute-sexy.”

She widened her eyes in sham horror. “Oh no!”

“You know I can’t resist you when you giggle.” Brett shifted back on top of her, and the press of his erection against her belly made her squirm as lust invaded her blood and loosened her limbs.

“Quick, save us.” Chelsea wrapped her arms around his neck. The pace of his breath picked up, mimicking hers. “Say something dirty.”

“I want to fuck you so slow and deep that you can feel my cock in the back of your throat.”

Her lips rounded into an “oh” of delight as he slid inside her. Her body adjusted to the size of him, relishing the pressure, and her fingernails scored his back, holding him close.

“Too dirty?” he asked, pressing his hips forward.

She shook her head, staring into his eyes as she drew her knees up. The slight shift in position brought him even deeper, and his grunt of pleasure made her blood race in her veins.

“Just right,” she assured him, feeling like the Goldilocks of dirty talk, and then he started to move with hard, purposeful thrusts that had her writhing beneath him, desperate for the pleasure his body promised with every stroke of his cock.

Her eyes fell closed as she concentrated on the delicious build of pressure at the apex of her thighs, the rasp of his breath against her neck as his big, powerful body drove into her, winding her up, pushing her closer to bliss.

“Hey, Chels?”

Her name on his lips stirred her from the drugging pleasure that had invaded her body, and she did her best to surface from the languid spell he’d cast over her. “Mmm-hmmm?”

The rock of his hips slowed, until he went still, deep inside her.

“Did you forget the bra, or did you leave it for me?”

Her eyes popped open in surprise and she looked up at him. Brett’s face was hard with passion, jaw tight, eyes dark and focused. She reached up to push a wayward curl from his forehead. “I left it for you.”

Then he took her mouth with the softest kiss, and his hips withdrew almost completely before plunging hard and deep. Chelsea’s body clenched sharply at the twin sensations, startling a gasp from her as she tumbled down the rabbit hole and into her first happy ending of the night.