I kept my response simple. “I saw an opportunity on the line change, so I took it. Jaxon and I have played together for a long time, and I knew if I got the puck, he’d find a way to get open.”
“Any word on a contract extension?”
I took a breath through gritted teeth. “That’s up to the front office. If they want me back after this season, they’ll let me know.”
“The aging core of the Comets struggled to keep up with the young, fresh legs of the Aviators tonight.”
The vultures are circling.
I retorted, “I didn’t hear a question in there.”
“Sorry. Do you think the Comets can compete at a high enough level to not only reach the playoffs but make a run at the championship this year?”
“It’s early December. If we start looking at the playoffs now, we will lose sight of what’s directly in front of us, and right now, that’s playing the San Diego Surf on Saturday night.”
They were either out of questions or could sense my agitation because they left my stall to interview another player.
Good riddance.
Hitting the showers, I let the heat soothe my aching muscles. This game was wearing on me, and I knew the clock was ticking. The press bringing it up constantly didn’t help matters.
Tomorrow’s maintenance day was exactly what the doctor ordered. I needed a mental break as well as a physical one.
After a good night’s rest, followed by an afternoon massage and protein-packed dinner, I had my feet up on the coffee table, watching out-of-town hockey games. Even if the Comets got the day off, other teams were in action around the league. Watching their games was research.
As a defenseman, I kept my mind sharp, watching the play of others and analyzing their choices. It was therapeutic, in a way, to pick apart their game. There were situations where a player would make a move that had me rewinding to get a better look, and others where I instantly knew what I would do differently to defend.
The first period ended, and I stood to stretch my legs and grab a glass of water from the kitchen. Opening the fridge, I heard a knock on the door.
Who could that be?
It was 8 PM. The front desk hadn’t called up a visitor, and I wasn’t expecting any deliveries. There were only a handful of people who could bypass the security—Jaxon and Benji.
Jaxon was definitely spending the evening at home with his family. Knowing Benji, he was dressed and ready for a night out and wanted a wingman.
I wasn’t in the mood. The day off was the perfect reset, and I didn’t need to mess that up by going to the club. Merely thinking about the flashing lights and pounding bass had a headache threatening behind my eyes.
Not bothering to check the peephole, I threw open the door, uttering, “Not interested.”
“Well, that’s a shame.” The voice that responded was far too feminine to be Benji’s.
My eyes were downcast, so I only saw a pair of bare feet. Shifting my gaze upward, those feet gave way to perfectly toned bare calves, and my eyes widened as I reached bare thighs. The hem of something blue was barely long enough to obscure my view of what lay between the legs of the brazen vixen who dared to tempt me.
Blood rushed to my groin when I realized that that something blue was a jersey. And not just any jersey—my Comets jersey. Noting the number forty-two on the upper arms, I bit back a groan. With no blood left in my brain, it didn’t register that no woman I’d been with knew where I lived.
Brown hair flowed over perky breasts pushed forward to tempt me. Even under the loose-fitting jersey, I could tell she was well-endowed, and my hands flexed, itching to test their weight.
Rosebud lips were curved in a seductive smile, but when I reached blue eyes, reality sank in, and I recognized the woman I’d been devouring with my eyes.
I’m dreaming. Wake up, Cal!
Propping a hand on her hip, Hannah purred, “Well, aren’t you going to invite me in?”
This isn’t a dream. Holy shit.
Without thinking, I grabbed her arm, pulling her inside my apartment and slamming the door. Taking a few deep breaths, willing my dick to calm the fuck down, I turned around to face her.
“What the fuck, Hannah?”
