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Sighing, I pull the plug, allowing the bubbly water to drain. Shaking my head, I stand and dry off, before heading into my bedroom with a towel wrapped around me.
I shouldn’t have watched the game earlier this evening. Hayden played exceptionally well and looked even better, especially when he took off his helmet over on the bench midway through the third period to adjust a strap.
He was all hot and sweaty…in a very sexy kind of way.
That’s what put these crazy ideas in my head in the first place. I had a thought about how that probably is the way he looks when he’s on top of someone, pounding away.
And here’s that thought again.
Oh, my…
Ugh, stop.
But I can’t.
I’m just too worked up.
So I give in.
I’ll think of him only this once to get him out of my system.
Dropping the towel, I slip on Hayden’s hoodie, which still totally smells like him.
I then do the unthinkable—I lie down on my bed and touch myself as I think about engaging in the dirtiest things with the man I love to hate.
On the way to the autograph signing on Sunday afternoon, I am beyond happy that Hayden and I agreed when the event was set up to just meet at the mall.
After last night, I’d die of embarrassment if I had to sit next to him in a car.
Getting through this event is going to be rough enough.
I finally came to my senses—after three mind-blowing orgasms, by the way—and vowed to never get off ever again while thinking about Hayden and all the hot things we could do together to release our pent-up anger toward each other.
I even hid his hoodie in the back of my closet so I won’t be tempted to put it on again.
Yeah, leaving it draped over the back of a chair near the bed was not a good idea. I was even going to bring it today to give it back to him, but I was worried that, after last night, it’d smell more like a fresh-out-of-the-shower me than him.
He might figure it out then—that though I hate him, I lust over him and did some dirty things in his hoodie.
We can never let him learn that annoying little fact.
The man is smug and arrogant enough as it is.
If he knew he starred in my fantasies, even once…
Oh, God.
I shudder.
He can never know that.
By the time I reach the mall, I’m downright mad—at myself, and at Hayden, generally for just existing.
I slam my car door shut, button the jacket part of my black business suit, then tromp into the mall. I head straight to the sporting goods store where the signing is being held, my heels clicking loudly on the glossy mall floor.
I pass a long line of fans, and an employee lets me into the store, ushering me to the back, where a table is set up for Hayden to sign the autographs.
I check my phone and see we have about fifteen minutes until the doors open and we let the fans in.
