Page 23 of These Wicked Hearts

He laughs, laying his head on my shoulder. “Why’s that?”

“You’ve made him obsolete.”

“Well . . .” His finger runs down my chest. “I’d say I don’t mind playing with toys.” And it hangs there without him saying it. But this was one night. “Looks like you’re going to have to learn to love him again.”

I laugh absently, but it’s there in my mind to ask him.

Stay.

Give me your number.

See, this is the issue I have with sex. I’m not good at one-night stands. I crave sex, but I need affection more. I need more than a simple one-night fling, and Gage is possibly the most closed-off person I’ve ever met.

“I’ll learn.” I swallow tightly.

His fingers scratch through my chest hair, and I want to ask what he’s thinking about, but before I can open my mouth, he sighs. “I guess I should get going.”

Everything inside me just sinks.

Yet he’s right. One night. “Oh, yeah.” He looks at me. His eyes are so pretty. Right now they look like they’re shining. Only a few shades lighter than the dark brown of his eyebrows and sides of his head. “You’re very pretty.” It tumbles out of my mouth.

His red lips quirk and he slaps the side of my face lightly. “Not so bad yourself.” He leans over, dropping a kiss to my lips, then he’s up and pulling his clothes on. I want to ask for his number, what apartment he lives in, can I see him again? “Well, this has been an interesting night.”

It’s so awkward, I hate it.

“It was great.”

Gage pulls his shirt on then looks over at me, something warring in his mind before he walks over and drops another kiss onto my forehead then my lips. “Thank you, Atlas.”

I pull back. “For what?”

Instead of answering me he gives me a sad smile. “Have a good night.”

And then he’s gone.

I lie there for a few moments until the sweat starts to irritate me, then I stand, stripping my bed before heading to the shower to wash him from my skin. It feels like what happened was a dream. That just happened, though, right?

I walk over to my door, making sure he locked it on his way out.

I feel odd. Not bad, but not good either. Not good compared to how I just felt and what he just did to me. I walk to the couch, dropping down and grabbing the remote, and I turn on the sports center and find the Otters game. I start it over and sink back against my couch, watching my friends play.

Oli is vicious, and I will say I’m not looking forward to playing against him. I know he’ll show me the same amount of mercy I’ll be showing him. Absolutely none. Andre is starting tonight, and every time Oli passes him, I can imagine him whispering something sweet, or most likely something filthy knowing them.

Oli and Andre used to hate each other. Or at least Oli says he did, but I’m not so sure. When Andre got traded to the Otters last season, it was obvious where my friend’s attention was. He can say he hated him, but that was pure obsession.

A soft ache fills my gut.

I turn off the TV, my knee bouncing. I should sleep. I have practice early in the morning. Instead, I just sit on this couch and think about Gage and how I’ll never see him again most likely. My stupid rules. I only have myself to blame.

My body is spent. Instead of getting up to put fresh sheets on my bed, I lie here thinking about . . . well, everything. The move, my friends, and what just happened. I almost think about her, but thankfully my exhaustion shuts that down before the images start to sink in.

Instead, I close my eyes, and the only thing I see is blue hair and sharp brown eyes.

FIVE

Atlas

“Left, left!”