Overnight Sensation(36)

She doesn’t move. Instead, her eyes go a little soft, and she sighs dreamily.

Holy shit. That’s probably how she looks right after she’s been well-fu—

Argh! “Out you go,” I snap, turning to face my dresser.

“Sorry,” she whispers and then sprints on out of my room, closing the door behind her.

But the damage is already done. My body feels tight and ready for sex. And the room smells lightly of citrus and honey. Hell, my bed probably smells like her.

I stomp around the room, getting dressed, hanging up my suit and unpacking. I’m tired, my hockey game is in the shitter, and I need pizza, beer, and sexual release.

But only the pizza and beer are forthcoming, damn it.

When I finally venture into the kitchen, Silas is there with Heidi. He’s happily munching his favorite snack—avocado slices topped with fresh salsa. “Heidi shopped for everybody who lives in the Million Dollar Dorm!” he says. “It’s really nice to come home to groceries.”

“Oh, cool.” I’d given her a list, too. “That’s great. Thanks for that.”

“My pleasure,” she says with a smile.

I step up to the cabinet and open it, looking for some chips. Hmm. “Where are you hiding the Doritos?”

“Oh,” she says. “You got those instead.” She points.

I grab the bag off the shelf. But these chips are green. “These are made of…kale?”

“Yes,” she says. “They’re delicious. And for dip you got this.” She opens the fridge and pulls out a tub of organic hummus instead of the onion dip I like.

This is a freaking disaster. “But that’s not the same! Are you telling me you changed the orders of six players to whatever you think is best?”

“No way.” She tosses that silky hair and purses those kissable lips. “Just yours. Nobody else asked me to buy anything with yellow dye number five in it.”

Silas laughs, that fucker. I tear open the bag with a scowl. And then I have a truly horrible thought. “But what about my sandwich? Did you get—”

“Whole-wheat sandwich bread, creamy peanut butter, and strawberry jam?” she asks.

“It has to be strawberry,” I thunder, sounding like a lunatic. Some things cannot be fucked with. Like fate.

Heidi walks over to another cabinet and opens the door, revealing a loaf of bread, and jar of peanut butter. And a jar of Bonne Maman strawberry jam. “I’m not crazy enough to take on your superstitions,” she says.

“Thank you.” I exhale in a mighty gust. “Did you save the receipt?” I’ll need to pay her back.

“What do you take me for?” she yelps. “Tonight you’ll get a fully itemized invoice. And—by the way—I’m only billing you for the groceries. You two don’t pay for labor. Don’t tell anyone, though. I need to keep my market price on an upward trajectory.”

“Got it,” Silas says with a smirk. “Thanks.”

“No—you can charge me,” I argue. I get why she did that—we’re letting her stay here for free. But I don’t want to owe her anything. And the faster she earns the money, the faster she can stop torturing me with her tiny pajamas and that tight little body that I want to—

Yeah. No.

I’m so frustrated right now. So frustrated that I grab the kale chips and rip open the bag. Then I shove one in my mouth.

It’s not awful.

Hmm.

“Let me know when it’s time to order pizza,” she says. “I’ll text your friends for their orders and then put everything in my spreadsheet.”

“Don’t forget the beer!” Silas says cheerfully.

“I won’t!” Heidi walks out of the kitchen, her ass swaying just enough to torture me.

I shove a handful of kale chips in my mouth so I won’t say or do anything I’ll regret.





14





Jason


The following week is a shit show. Practice is awful. My stats suck. Every coach in the organization has spent serious time trying to help me. I know that’s supposed to be a good thing. But there’s only so much advice a guy can absorb in a day.

It’s only October, and this is already the longest hockey season of my life.

To make matters worse, Heidi is still prancing around my apartment and prancing through my dreams. It’s torture. I’m full of pent-up frustration, and I can’t exorcise it the way I want to—by pushing her down into the sofa cushions and having my filthy way with her.

Friday night it’s the same damn thing. We lose our home game to Buffalo, of all teams. And then when the team retreats to the Tavern afterward to lick our wounds, Heidi is there, too, looking luscious in a tight-fitting sweater.

“Hi Pete!” she greets the gray-haired bartender.

“Hello, miss.” He gives her a big smile.

“I’d like a shot of tequila with a whiskey chaser,” she says.

Pete rolls his eyes. “You’re underage. We’ve been over this. Besides—nobody orders that. We have to work on your smack talk.”

“What do I order if I want to make a statement?” she asks, pulling out a barstool and plunking her cute butt onto it.

“A buttery nipple,” Pete suggests.