All the Way (Hot Jocks #2)(10)

“I won’t. I promise.”

He nods. “Good. Now go on and get out of here, but don’t forget about what I said.”

I rise to my feet. “I won’t.”

And I can’t. I’m living the dream I’ve chased since I was a kid. This is my career, one that pays damn well, and all I have to do is keep my head in the game. But with Becca’s little proposition ringing through my skull, that’s going to be easier said than done.

I want to help her. I also want to not completely fuck things up.

For both of us.





4




* * *





Big-Girl Panties





Becca



I’m trying to forget about my disastrous conversation with Owen.

God, the way he looked at me. Like I was damaged goods. Like he felt sorry for me.

All I want to do is forget, but since I’ve decided to break up with alcohol for the time being after I molested Owen in his bedroom that night, my brain is fully sober and replaying the entire conversation we had on my couch in vivid Technicolor nonstop.

Good times.

I could really use a drink—or three—right about now. Instead, I’m perched on a bar stool next to Elise, watching the team celebrate their victory. They won their game against Montreal earlier this week, three to two, and everyone’s in a happy mood. Well, mostly everyone. I’m totally faking.

Only amping up my frustration? There’s some overly touchy blond puck bunny draped across Owen’s lap, and based on the expression on his face, he doesn’t hate it. He’s dressed casually in dark jeans and a long-sleeved black T-shirt, and the dark stubble on his jawline tells me he hasn’t shaved in a few days. He looks good, better than good, and it’s pissing me off.

I didn’t like this about myself. Didn’t want to admit that I needed help from someone with a Y chromosome but shit, I kinda did. Because living like a monk, with no one’s company to sweeten my bed, well, it could make a girl lonely. After I saw what Elise and Justin had, how sweet and loving he was with her, I started to get Big Stupid Ideas that I should be dating too.

I might be damaged, but I’m sure as hell not dead. And maybe it’s taken me all this time to realize I deserve to feel good again, goddammit, but I do deserve it.

If I didn’t push for this with Owen, it would be like letting that asshole who touched me win, and I’m damn sure not going to do that. I’m tired of hiding out in my apartment, tired of pretending to be fine. I want to be better than fine, and that includes having some really good sex. One look at Owen, and I know the sex would be incredible. There’s zero doubt about that in my mind.

But he still hasn’t given me his answer about helping me, and now it seems pretty obvious what that answer will be, considering we haven’t spoken in days. Deciding I can’t sit here and watch the peep show I’m sure is about to unfold, I hop off my bar stool.

“Where are you going?” Elise asks, a crinkle forming between her brows.

“I’ll be back in a few,” I say, my eyes already fixed on my target.

The rookie backup goalie is sitting by himself at the end of the bar. He’s cute, incredibly tall and well built, and has a sleeve of tattoos on his left arm. It’s kind of hot. I’ve never paid him any attention before, but now seems as good a time as any for a friendly chat.

“It’s Morgan, right?” I ask, stopping beside him.

“Yeah. Becca, isn’t it?” he asks, his gaze sweeping over me.

I work in the office at the arena as the assistant to the team owner, so most of the guys know who I am. I’m always the first one in the building and usually the last one to leave, so I pretty much know everyone involved with this franchise.

“Can I sit down?” I gesture at the empty stool beside him.

Morgan grins and pulls out the stool. “Of course you can. Can I get you something to drink?”

I’m just about to refuse when a hulking shadow stops beside us. It’s Owen, and he looks pissed off. His deep blue-gray eyes are filled with turmoil as they move between Morgan and me.

“Becca, can I have a word with you?”

I can feel his hot gaze drilling into me as I turn and face Morgan again. “Sorry, I’m busy right now.”

Morgan’s eyes widen slightly. He and Owen work closely together, and it’s obvious the last thing he’d want to do is piss Owen off.

“Morgan, get lost,” Owen growls out, and faster than I thought possible for a six-foot-four dude to move, Morgan has hopped up from his seat and sidestepped around us.

Rather than occupy the empty seat like I expect him to, Owen remains standing. “We need to talk.”

I turn to face him again and see the vein in his throat pulsing. “I know we do. You still haven’t given me an answer, and seeing as how you were busy getting lap dances from that girl at the bar, I figured I’d make it easy on you and find someone else to help me. Honestly, no harm, no foul.”

He inhales, his nostrils flaring as he does.

I straighten my posture, on a roll now. “Don’t worry about me, Owen. I’m not your problem anymore.”

“Please, Becca. We need to talk. Can we go someplace private?” His voice is lower this time, more even.