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She practically crawls over it. I don’t notice the phone until she kisses me on the cheek and a flash goes off. I put a hand up to stop from being blinded. “Seriously?”
“Sorry! All my pictures from last time were dark. I wanted a better one.”
“I’m driving here! And it’s nice when you ask first.” I try not to be snappy, but the way she shrinks back tells me I’m unsuccessful. Why did I agree to this? I feel like Miller back in the day. This just looks bad.
“Do you want me to delete it?” Her eyes are all wide and sad looking.
Maybe I’m being paranoid. Nothing’s going to happen; I know that. “It’s fine. I just didn’t expect it.” I stop at the end of the street. “Where’m I goin’?”
“Oh, right! Duh!” She gives me directions to her place. It isn’t five minutes away; it’s fifteen according to my GPS, but she’s already in the vehicle.
She fiddles around on her phone for a minute, probably posting the picture she took. Once she’s done, she drops it on the seat and runs her hand over the dashboard.
“This is a nice truck. Is this the only thing you drive? Do you have a sports car, too? Lance has a lot of cars, doesn’t he?”
She couldn’t be more obvious if she wore a “bunny” sign around her neck. “I have an Audi. And yeah, Lance likes his cars.” He has a collection. I’m not sure how he makes things work with all the money he blows, but that’s not my issue to manage.
The girl whose name starts with M roots through her bag-purse and pulls out a shirt. I assume she’s going to put it on over her bikini. That’s not what happens. Instead she pulls the tie around her neck and the one at her back, and the material drops to her lap. I glance at her and then back at the road, holding the wheel tight. I knew driving this chick home was a bad idea.
“What’re you doing?”
“Getting changed. You don’t mind, do you? My bathing suit’s still a little damp, and I don’t like the way it feels.”
I try to keep my tone even. “Again, I’m driving. You can’t be naked in my car.”
“The windows are tinted. No one can see.” She pulls the shirt over her head. It’s almost see-through, but it’s better than looking at her nipples. My dick starts to get the wrong idea about what’s going to happen here and begins the process of inflating.
Next my passenger shimmies her bottoms off. Now there’s naked pussy in my truck. Directly on my seat. She roots around in her bag some more—looking for shorts, maybe. I have no idea. Not like it matters. Normally this scenario wouldn’t be a problem, but I’ve been texting Lily this week, and she’s been messaging me back. I’m seeing her next weekend, and based on the content of our texting, I’m almost positive she’s willing to get naked and have some fun. She’s already made it clear to me and a good portion of my clothing that she doesn’t like to share.
Now here’s the thing: I don’t get into serious relationships. Based on what I’ve seen happen with my teammates, and my own damn asshole father, all relationships do is cause bullshit.
I travel all the time, and my entire life I’ve watched long-distance relationships fail. I had a front-row seat to the shitshow that was my parents’ ruined marriage. My dad was a professional hockey player—decent enough to be farm team and play a couple pro seasons. But he couldn’t keep his dick in his pants when he was away from home.
Apparently I’m exactly like my dad where hockey is concerned, except I’m a better player. At twenty-four, I’m in my sixth season with the NHL. He managed three seasons, but never first line. Still, it’s been hammered into me that I’m just like Randy Senior. We have the same personality, the same face, the same skill set, the same style on the ice, the same everything. And I’ve spent enough time with him to know it’s true.
So that means one thing: there’s a good chance I’m going to screw someone over the way he screwed over my mom. It might not be intentional, but it’ll happen. So I don’t get involved. Usually I’ll hang out with the same girl for a while, rather than bunny hop. We have fun until it gets too involved and isn’t working anymore, and then we part ways and do our own thing.
Most of the time it works out okay. But some girls get invested way too fast. There’ve been a few bunnies along the way that wanted more from me, but I make it abundantly clear that’s not how things are going to roll. It’s not my fault they read more into it than they should. There was one who got a tattoo of my face on her tit—and that was after I cut ties. As soon as I see it happening, I bail. I don’t want to hurt feelings or break hearts; I just want awesome sex and some sleepovers.
