Rush: The Season (Austin Arrows Book 1)(64)

“This isn’t hockey,” she says with a snort.

“No, it’s not.”

I pull my fingers from the tight clasp of her *, then lift them to my mouth, slowly licking her juices from them. Her eyes widen and her breath hitches.

“What were you saying?” she rasps.

“Don’t assume the score,” I tell her, my voice low, “until the final buzzer sounds.”





23

Ellie

I’m woken by the scent of my favorite food wafting into my bedroom.

Mmm, bacon.

When it comes to bacon, I’m like one of those dogs on the dog treat commercials, salivating uncontrollably. I’m not ashamed to admit it, either.

It takes me a minute to convince my eyes to open, remembering quite vividly what happened last night. Yes, I had a few too many tequila shots—which, for the record, I’m convinced were created by the devil himself—but I’m not sure there is enough liquor in the world to keep the memory of last night from invading my brain.

Kingston made me come.

With his fingers.

I squeeze my thighs together as my body experiences the aftereffects from what was quite possibly the most incredible orgasm I’ve ever had.

I’m not sure whether that’s as good as it sounds. It actually seems rather pathetic. At thirty-four, I’ve had plenty of orgasms in my life, so for one intoxicated encounter with Kingston’s fingers to be in the spotlight…

Yep. Pathetic.

The sound of voices drifts down the hall, and I realize Kingston is in the kitchen with Bianca. Knowing I will never win a mother-of-the-year award if I stay in bed on a school day, I force my legs over the edge of the mattress and sit up.

Fully expecting my head to start pounding, I sit for a moment, but the pain never comes. Then I recall Kingston tossing me a T-shirt from my dresser, giving me a couple of aspirin, along with something to drink—a concoction he said would ensure I didn’t have a hangover—before he insisted that I get some sleep.

After the orgasm.

The question is, did the medicine do the trick? Or was it whatever he’d mixed for me to drink? Or … (I seriously doubt this, but I may never know) was it the orgasm?

Rolling my eyes, I laugh-snort, then push to my feet.

“It couldn’t have been that good,” I mumble to myself. “Tequila is the devil, and everyone knows the devil likes to f*ck with your head.”

I make a quick pit stop in the bathroom to pee, pull on a pair of pajama shorts, then take the time to comb my hair and brush my teeth while I’m in there, before joining my daughter and the goalie god in the kitchen.

Kingston.

Not the goalie god.

“Morning, Mommy,” Bianca greets, holding a piece of bacon between her fingers as she leans on her elbow. “Kingston came over to make breakfast.”

I look up at Kingston, our gazes colliding. I’m fairly certain he didn’t go home last night, but for the life of me, I’m not positive. After he medicated me with an orgasm, I passed out cold, my body sated.

Whether he stayed or not, he had the decency not to let Bianca know, for which I’m grateful.

“Morning,” he greets, that deep rumble once again stirring things up in my belly.

“Hey.” Pushing a lock of hair behind my ear, I turn my attention to Bianca, pretending it isn’t incredibly awkward for Kingston to be cooking breakfast in my kitchen. I glance at the clock on the wall. “Why are you ready so early?”

I plant my ass on the barstool next to Bianca and watch her eat. I notice the pink hair is now gone and in its place, a purple strand. I flick it with my finger and Bianca grins at me.

“Gabby’s mom is picking me up. We have to present our science fair project idea to my teacher this morning, remember?” she says around a mouthful of bacon.

When I don’t answer—because honestly I’m trying to remember—Bianca cocks her head and frowns. “She’ll also be picking us up today so we can go to her house to work on it.”

Sometimes it is hard to believe my little girl is so grown up. Seems like it was yesterday when Bianca was a toddler running around the house screaming at the top of her lungs. And good Lord did that girl have a good set of lungs on her.

“And then this weekend I’m gonna spend the night with her so we can finish the project.”

Right. This weekend. Four days from now.

I don’t look at Kingston, managing to mumble a thank you when he pushes a plate of eggs and bacon in front of me. Why don’t my eggs and bacon ever look like something that should be on the cover of a magazine? And how in the world does a hockey player manage to accomplish that feat?

“What’re y’all gonna do today?” Bianca asks, seemingly oblivious to the tension that is sucking the oxygen from the room.

“I need to work on the bathroom,” I blurt before Kingston has a chance to speak. “And I have to be at the bar by four. I’ve got a delivery.”

“Yes, Mom,” Bianca huffs. “You have got to do something with that bathroom. It’s a pain to always have to go upstairs to pee.”

The half bathroom has been out of commission for a while, and rather than take the time to fix it, I’ve been putting it off. It’s easier to make Bianca go to her own bathroom and for me to use mine, but I have to admit, it is a little weird when guests come over.