Tomboy (The Hartigans #3)(41)

“Who said monogamy is what I wanted?” she asked, righteous indignation fueling her march back and forth across Zach’s room. “Maybe I just wanted to get laid so well that I had multiple screaming orgasms that left me in a dick coma and happy. And you know what?” She spun around and looked at Zach still lounging in bed, the sheets tangled around his calves and his cock hard in his hand. “I got just that, and I’m about to get it again, not because I want him to put a ring on it, but because I like fucking him. It feels phenomenal.”

Her breaths came in hard pants as she tried to slow her heart before it jumped out of her chest, which was not a medical possibility, but it totally felt like it could happen at any moment.

“How did we end up in this conversation?” Finn asked, sounding completely grossed out.

Despite being about to reach through the phone and knock him upside the head a minute before, she laughed. “You started it.”

“A fact I’ll regret for the rest of my life,” he said. “And I thought Mom’s TMI was too much.”

“Thanks again for covering for me,” she said and meant it. Her temper always had sparked up and gone out fast. “Talk to you later?”

“Yeah, go ahead with”—he paused, making a gagging sound—“whatever.”

She hit the end call button and strode over to the bed and the man in it who looked delicious enough to lick, which she had every intention of doing.

“I realize technically it’s the day.” She stopped at the edge of the bed, her gaze going over him, memorizing the moment because it was not one that happened to a woman like her very often outside of the movies. “However, since both of us just woke up, I think the rule book gives us a little wiggle room for our one night only.”

His arm shot out so fast, she barely had a second to let it register before he wrapped it around her waist and pulled her down onto the bed with him, managing to roll them both so she was on her back.

He settled over her, bracing himself on his forearms, but letting his hips drop so he pressed against her core. “I’ve never been one for the rules, anyway.”

“Your penalty minutes stats would agree,” she said, tracing her fingertips down his back to the hard globes of his ass.

“Such a ballbuster.”

Grinning up at him, she squeezed his butt, pulling him even closer to her so she could grind against him. “Always.”

And before she could say anything else, he lowered his mouth to hers and round number six hundred and eighty-six commenced.

…

Zach hated wearing a suit just to get on the plane to fly to Vancouver. Coach, however, thought different. He figured it did something for team cohesion. All it did for Zach was make him feel even more tense than usual—just the kind of mindset he wanted when about to face down a team on a six-game winning streak.

As the rest of his teammates filtered down the center aisle, joking and talking shit with one another, he put his best keep-walking vibe on and pulled out his phone. He was opening the text app before he even had a chance to think about it.

Zach: On the plane.

So fucking smooth, you’re like hot butter on a bagel, you doofus.

Regret hit immediately. The last he’d seen Fallon, she was sashaying to her car, her steps a little wobbly after that last time he’d had her pressed up against the wall by his front door. They may have spent the night together, but talking beyond right there, harder, and yes please hadn’t happened. And now he was texting her with his location? Not a “had fun last night” or “let’s do it again” or just “wyd”? No. He’d gone full awkward nerd.

His phone vibrated.

LL: In the hospital staff break room.

His pulse picked up, and he hunched over his phone. Well, about as much as he could, considering that even on the team plane the seats were cramped.

Zach: We’ll be in Vancouver tonight.

Her response came half a second after Stuckey, obviously impervious to Zach’s don’t-sit-by-me vibe, flopped down next to him. Zach made sure to angle his phone screen away from his younger defensive partner before reading Fallon’s message.

LL: Have a good flight.

Zach wasn’t smiling. He was grimacing in a weird way. At least that’s what he told himself when Stuckey, wearing his usual no-cares-in-the-world grin, elbowed him in the arm.

“What’s up, man? You got another muffin lady?” Stuckey asked, taking up too much room with shoulders that made Zach’s seem narrow.

Triple shit. He did not like anything that might allude to the slightest weakness being out there. “Who told you about that?”

“Man, Fitzsimmons has no chill.” Stuckey shrugged and started scrolling through his phone. “He was ready to tell the front office, wanted them to sue for endangerment or something.”

“Everything turned out fine.” He ground out the words. Defensive asshole? Him? Fuck, yeah.

“Thanks to your lucky nurse.”

As if he hadn’t just dropped a little bomb in Zach’s lap, Stuckey took the earbuds hanging around his neck and popped them into his ears.

Tension strung him tight enough to make his traps burn; not even rolling his shoulders or neck did much to ease the sudden ache. He reached over and yanked out Stuckey’s buds. “What do you know about her?”