Alex (Cold Fury Hockey, #1)(14)
My eyes fly open, seeking reality. I take in a water stain on the ceiling just above me and try to banish all fantasies of Alex Crossman from my mind. I mentally take a scrub brush and rub it hard over my brain, desperately trying to call back the image of Brandon, or Barney the Dinosaur, or sick starving children. Anything but Alex Crossman.
I tentatively close my eyes again, and that gorgeous face is still hovering over me front and center, causing my heartbeat to pick up its pace. I pop my eyes open again and stare at the water stain, worrying my lower lip with my teeth.
What in the hell?
Sitting up on my couch, I reach over to my coffee table and grab my cell phone. I send a quick text to Shelley. She’s still my best friend, and I’m not sure if it’s lame or not, but really my only good friend. I’m actually quite an introverted person and don’t do well in crowds, thus I was never the kind of woman who had a large core group of girlfriends. But four years as college roommates and my bond with Shelley was sealed. Even when she got married this past summer and moved to Pittsburgh, the bond couldn’t even be dinged. We talked, texted and Facebooked several times a day.
My fingers fly over the screen. Remind me again why Brandon wasn’t the love of my life?
I don’t wait long. It’s almost 10 P.M. but I know she’ll answer me.
Because he didn’t excite you enough. The most you did when he broke up with you was give a strong sigh and then you moved on.
Right, I think to myself. There wasn’t as deep a connection as I thought.
Still, Brandon and I had four years together. That’s a long time, and in those four years we made many, many wonderful memories. We were compatible in so many ways. It’s something I can’t neglect to consider, and maybe the second time would be the charm. Maybe we’ve both grown in ways that would add depth and excitement to the existing bonds we had.
Yes, I definitely should keep an open mind about this.
I text Shelley back. Thanks babe. Love u. Night.
Then I head to bed myself and hope to God that Alex Crossman isn’t going to star in my dreams. I don’t know if I can handle that type of excitement.
Chapter 5
Alex
It’s Sunday afternoon and here I am—once again serving at the beck and call of the Cold Fury. Tucking the birthday present under my arm, I start walking up the driveway to the modest, two-story brick house of our trainer, Leo Getts. It’s his youngest son’s birthday today, and the entire team has been invited.
I, however, was mandated to attend. I had an email Friday evening from Coach telling me if I failed to show, it would be a $5,000 fine. Now, this just made me want to stick my chin out and take the fine, because I don’t like being molded into shape. But the problem was, I really like Leo. He’s a wonderful trainer and has done an amazing job working me through some minor and major injuries. I decided I was coming to the party weeks ago when I first got the invitation because it was the least I could do for Leo.
So I asked Cassie to buy the kid a present from me a while back and wrap it, and in return I gave her a couple of orgasms. It was an even exchange.
Cassie wanted to go to the party with me, had even tried to talk me into it while I was f*cking her from behind, but I just f*cked her harder to make it more difficult for her to talk. No way was she coming to this party with me. That screamed too much like a date or a relationship, and I didn’t ever want her thinking that she was entitled to that from me.
Here’s the thing about Cassie. She’ll talk out of one side of her mouth, assuring me that she’s all about the sex. I can’t tell you how many times she’s assured me she doesn’t do relationships. This worked out well for me, because I sure as hell don’t do relationships either. Never have—probably never will. But then she’ll talk out of the other side, trying to subtly push her way into my life outside the bedroom. That’s the Cassie I don’t like very much.
When I met Cassie at a Cold Fury party last year, it took us only about twenty minutes after we were introduced to leave the party together, heading back to her apartment and f*cking like champions all night long.
In that respect, she was the perfect woman.
Except now, she’s changed. I see it in her eyes, I hear it in her words, I know it by her actions. She wants her claws in me permanently and she’s been coming on strong lately. It’s something I need to put a stop to so she doesn’t think this will ever go any further than orgasmic release.
Walking up to the house, I can hear the sounds of kids squealing and adults laughing from the backyard, so I don’t even bother with the front door, choosing instead to walk around the house.
As I come around the east side, I’m brought up short by a small orange ball flying at my head. Luckily, my reflexes are good and I’m able to duck in plenty of time.
“Shit—sorry, Crossman,” I hear and see my teammate Sergei Annikov standing there with an unapologetic grin on his face. He’s holding a small, plastic hockey stick, and I see a little boy of about five standing up against the brick exterior of the house. The kid is wearing a goalie mask, decked out with a goalie glove and stick.
Walking over a few feet, I pick up the lightweight plastic ball from the ground and toss it back to Sergei. “No problem.”
Sergei drops the ball to the grass and says, “Okay, Darius, keep your eye on the ball.”