“No.” Bristol shook her head. “Worse than that, after three years of letting him make a public fool of me, I asked for more. Told him how much I loved him and that I wanted it to be just us going forward.” She scoffed. “I bet you can figure out how well that went over.”
My blood boiled. Here I was, sitting beside this beautiful young woman, praying she would give me another shot, and some dickwad back in Connecticut had cast her aside because he thought he could do better?
As a man who’d sampled her incredible pussy and had had the opportunity to worship her body, I was craving another hit. I’d enjoyed my share of women, but Bristol came in at the top. Beyond that, she was smart and funny and sassy. And her love of hockey was a major plus. She was the total package.
But she didn’t trust me because the little fucker who broke her heart also happened to lace up skates. She assumed that because I was a former player, I was as bad as her ex, that I was a womanizer.
Yes, I knew it looked bad that I was still a bachelor at thirty-five, and that I’d never had a serious relationship to this point in my life. But maybe I was just waiting for the right girl to blow into my life like a hurricane and knock me onto my ass.
There was no doubt in my mind that girl was Bristol.
She made me feel alive that night at Pipes in a way I never had before.
Fuck the age difference and that a relationship between us would be breaking some unwritten rule about fraternizing with the press. I had a feeling she needed someone to treat her like the queen she was, as much as I needed someone to ground me. We could be good for each other.
Before I could say anything more, the seatbelt light turned on, accompanied by the signature ding.
Bristol jolted in her seat, her eyes flying wide in panic. “What was that?” Her gaze darted around the cabin. She gave off an appearance like that of a spooked horse.
“Hey, it’s okay. They’re only making sure everyone has their seatbelts on because we’ll be landing soon.”
“We are?”
“Yep.” I nodded, pressing another kiss to her hand. “You made it.”
She huffed. “My feet aren’t on solid ground yet. Most accidents happen during takeoff and landing.”
I fought the urge to smile. “Well, at least if this is the end, I’m glad I get to spend it with you.”
“Lucky me,” she grumbled.
No, I was the lucky one. How she’d fallen right into my lap was something I would never question. All that mattered was that she had.
Bristol Cooper might just be the thing that could replace the giant hole that losing my playing career had left in my soul.
The second we touched down in Pittsburgh, I ushered Bristol off the plane before anyone else had a chance to disembark. Dr. Sanders, the team physician, followed us out when I motioned for him over my shoulder on my way up the aisle.
Thankfully, the weather was still nice in late September, and I didn’t mind the short walk past the team bus—parked at the bottom of the rollingstaircase—into the private airstrip lobby. The sliding glass doors opened, and one of the attendants behind the reception desk’s eyes widened at the blood coating Bristol’s throat.
“A first-aid kit would be appreciated,” I called to her, and she sprang into action as I eased Bristol into a cushioned chair.
“You’re making too big of a deal out of this,” Bristol protested.
“I’m really not,” I countered. To prove my point, I pulled my cell out of my pocket and turned on the camera feature before handing it to her. She got one look at the damage she’d done to her neck and winced, passing back the phone.
Dr. Sanders entered the lobby as the attendant placed a first-aid kit into my hands. “Injury or illness?” he asked.
I held up the kit, tilting my head toward Bristol. “Most definitely injury. Self-inflicted.”
Dr. Sanders’s eyes widened when he caught sight of the marks lining her delicate skin, remarking, “Seems you’ve done a number on yourself, Miss—“
“Cooper,” I supplied, earning a glare from the woman in question.
“Well . . .” Dr. Sanders pulled a pair of latex gloves from his satchel. “First things first. We need to get these cuts cleaned to prevent any risk of infection.”
Bristol sighed. “Do what you need to do. I’ve held up the team enough and don’t wish to cause further delay.”
As she allowed the doctor to tend to her wounds, the sliding glass doors opened, and the unmistakable sound of heels clicking on polished flooring reached my ears. Glancing up, I saw Alyssa rush into the lobby, carrying Bristol’s travel tote. She hurried to her friend’s side, sitting on the coffee table opposite Bristol’s chair.
