Overnight Sensation(10)
“Oh.” She really is drunk. “That’s nothing.” She was damned entertaining.
“It’s not nothing. Not at all. You made me laugh and told me to be daring.”
“I was only trying to get you naked,” I admit.
She sighs against my pillow. “But that’s nice, too. Nobody ever does that, either.”
I squeeze her hand in mine, wondering how that’s possible. She’s not the only one who feels a little disoriented, either. I’m not usually a cuddler. I don’t usually snuggle up to my hookups, because I don’t want to send the wrong impression. But it’s unexpectedly pleasant to feel Heidi’s smooth skin against mine.
I’ll never be anyone’s boyfriend again. That’s by choice. But I’d forgotten what this was like—holding someone who needs me. Years ago I used to sneak through my high school girlfriend’s window so I could hold her all night just like this.
And now I’m both horny and wistful. What a strange night. I feel stirred up inside, but I lie still, unwilling to disturb the sleepy princess beside me. My eyes drift closed, and I find myself wondering what it would be like to have someone in my bed every night like this.
It’s not like me to have these thoughts. While my body runs hot, my heart is pretty cold. But something about Heidi warms me all the way to the center. She’s willing to tell me her flaws. And she’s unafraid to say she doesn’t have all the answers.
And I sure as hell don’t, either.
On that happy thought, I fall asleep.
4
Jason
When my alarm goes off the next morning at six, I’m not alone.
Unfortunately, the other person in my room is not the hot blonde woman with long, silky legs that tortured me last night. Instead, my roommate Silas is standing at the foot of the bed, nudging me with his knee.
“Aren’t you getting up?” he asks, drinking deeply from the Delilah Spark Fanclub mug that my teammates bought him for his birthday. It was meant as a gag gift, but Silas drinks from it every morning.
“Yeah, I’m coming. Jesus.” It wasn’t a great night’s sleep, unfortunately. Too much tossing and turning against Heidi’s body. Too many horny dreams.
“The bus leaves in thirty minutes,” Silas reminds me.
“You know what?” I squint up at him. “Let’s just drive out there. Fuck the bus.”
“In your new car?” he asks brightly. “I’m so there!”
“Sure, I’ll drive you—so long as there’s more of that coffee.” I lift my head and look toward the bathroom. “Did you see Heidi anywhere around here?”
“Jesus, did you actually fuck her?” Silas’s eyes pop wide.
“Of course not. Didn’t you see how sloppy she got?” I should’ve known she couldn’t hold her liquor.
“Good thing.” He shakes his head. “Banging the commissioner’s daughter is not a great career move.”
I play that sentence back in my head, and it still doesn’t make sense. “Wait—whose daughter?”
The question catches Silas in the middle of a sip of coffee, and he has to gulp it down to avoid choking. “Seriously? You don’t know who Heidi is? And her nickname didn’t clue you in?”
“Hot Pepper.” The truth hits me like a punch to the gut. “As in... Tobias Pepper?”
Silas laughs. “What rock have you been living under?”
“A big one, I guess.” Jesus. My mood plunges. What a terrible mistake I almost made. “Did you hear her leave this morning?” It’s just after six, and there’s no sign of her.
“Nope, and I’ve been up for a half hour already making coffee.”
Hmm. “Pour me some? I’ll be your best friend.”
“You already are.” Silas heads out of the room.
I sit up and shift my feet to the floor. I check in with all of my muscles, half of which are stiff. But that’s how it always is during the season.
My phone is on the bedside table so I grab it and scroll through my contacts. I’m pretty sure I have Heidi’s number; last spring she was in charge of transportation for one of our road trips. And—bingo. I shoot off a text. Morning, sunshine. I hope you’re feeling better today. It’s a nice, friendly little message. And that’s the only kind I’m going to send this girl.
I almost fucked the commissioner’s daughter. Who knew?
“Are you packed already?” Silas calls from our kitchen. “We could leave in thirty.”
“Yeah, already done,” I grunt. My garment bag is hanging on the back of the closet door, and my golf clubs are standing in the corner. I even remembered my bathing suit.
In spite of the five-star accommodations, this boondoggle on Long Island isn’t my favorite preseason ritual. Who wants to wear a tuxedo and mingle with rich fans after a long day of hockey? Not me. Tomorrow, at least, I get to play a round of golf on one of the best courses in the nation.
But even the golf won’t be relaxing. It’s a charity event, so I have to make small talk with rich preppies while we play. Last year our foursome included a guy named Maximillian Rothchester Barrington III. That was his real name. But—and this is where it gets weird—preppies have strange nicknames. This guy was called Bink.