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Not me though.
Nope.
Not even a little.
“Mmm, Ben.”
My heart fucking stops, and I turn my head toward that sleepy, sexy purr so fast, I end up with a tweaked neck.
“Lara,” I answer, my feigned indifference stripped bare in a blink. But all I get back is another soft sigh against my side as she cuddles closer, drawing her knee back to where it was before… And then an inch higher.
Fuck. Me.
I blink down at where she’s tucked against me. And then turn my attention to her ceiling and spend the next three hours staring at it.
* * *
I throw my SUV into Park and kill the engine behind a brick-worker-style house painted yellow with a yard that’s surrounded by a high chain-link fence.
As part of the Chicago Slayers hockey team, every player is contractually required to do a certain number of volunteer and publicity gigs a year. It raises money and brings attention to some pretty awesome causes, and most of the time I feel damn good about having the opportunity to be involved.
But today? I’m so screwed up over the night spent with Lara, I don’t know how I’m going to focus on the promo. Which isn’t fair to the guys running this place, the PR team… hell, it’s not fair to me. I need to get my head straight.
I’m early, so I take a minute to find my calm.
I close my eyes and start practicing my breathing, try to focus on the in and?—
Knock, knock.
I turn to where the last guy I expected to see this morning is grinning in through my passenger-side window.
“Static?” I cough as my teammate waits for me to unlock and then slides into the seat, apparently intent on hanging out until our start time. He rubs his hands like it’s arctic temps out when midway through October it’s not even as cold as our rink.
“Thought Kellog’s supposed to be here.”
“Something came up and he needed to trade out. I was free.” He shrugs, then gives me a once-over. “You look like shit.”
I’m not falling for this again, the too-easy-to-talk-to trap with the prodigal buddy returned. That morning in the gym was a fluke. It was.
Except ten minutes later, he’s got his index finger pressed against his chin. “So, if I’m hearing you right, Lara makes you want something more than the transitory bunny action you’ve been living off for… ehh, as long as I’ve known you, anyway. But you still know better than to want it from her, yeah?”
Hmm. That seems like a big statement.
When I don’t answer, he shrugs. “So why not just consider giving something, or someone other than Lara, a shot. Start small. Like stop picking up dates in parking lots and?—”
“That is not a regular thing.”
He raises a heavy brow because he knows it’s not a never thing either. At least before the nutastrophe.
I huff. “Take all the women I’ve hooked up with, and it’s a very small percentage. Very.”
He rubs a hand over his mouth. Fucker’s trying not to laugh. Dick.
“Would you feel better if I substituted hotel bar?”
Obviously. “Yes, I would. Thank you.”
“Fine. Stop picking up dates at the hotel bar, and hell, just be open to the possibility of there being more than one night with the next woman you meet. Maybe you’re ready to try commitment on for size.”
