Iwake up naked.
That’s nothing new. I usually wear a pair of boxer briefs when I sleep, but it’s not unheard of for me to let it all hang loose when I crash into bed, especially if I’ve spent the night drinking.
But there’s a weighted blanket on my back, and that is strange.
I don’t own a weighted blanket.
The bright light streaming in through a crack in the shade makes it hard to focus, but I will my eyes to zero in on my surroundings so I can figure out where the fuck I am. It’s not my room at the Holy House of Hockey.
I spot used packets of LiquidEnergy and two empty water glasses on the nightstand. At least I wasn’t so drunk I forgot to hydrate.
I also see a little plastic charging case, but it isn’t mine.
And it’s not for earpods.
It’s for hearing aids.
I turn over gently to find that the weighted blanket onmy back is actually the woman who’s been starring in my filthy daydreams for the past two years.
She’s wearing my boxer briefs and a lacy bra that’s trying its damnedest to contain her full tits and losing the fight.
She’s sleeping peacefully.
But when she wakes up, all hell is gonna break loose.
So, call me a bastard if you want to, but I take a minute to soak it all in—the feel of Fallon’s skin next to mine, the sweet smell of her peachy lotion, the way her lips curve into a soft smile.
I’ve never slept so damn well in my life. This mattress is soft and pillowy, but I think the real reason for my restful slumber is the beautiful woman curled up next to me.
I’m racking my brain, reaching for the puzzle pieces that will tell me how the hell I ended up in Fallon’s bed last night.
Let’s be clear: I’m not complaining, but I’m curious as hell. And I’m wondering if Fallon remembers not only how we got here, but what we did once we got here. I need to wake her up so we can have that conversation, but I also need to take a piss, so carefully lift her arm, untangle our legs, and tumble out of bed as quietly as possible.
The need to pee is so urgent that I don’t even bother looking at my phone or checking the time. All that can wait. After I take care of business and wash my hands, I brush my teeth and run my fingers through my hair. And no, I’m not stalling. It’s called hygiene.
I’m trying to remember if I saw a coffee pot anywhere in the room, but I have the feeling that coffee was nowhere on my mind when we stumbled in here last night. And just like that, a flash of memory hits.
Fallon and I are laughing as she fumbles with the key card. I tell her that since I’m the athlete, I’m guaranteed tobe more coordinated so she should trust me with the daunting task of unlocking the door. She hands the key over, but I’m staring so intently at her mouth that I let it fall through my fingers. She makes a joke about my athletic prowess, so when she bends down to pick up the plastic key card, I smack her ass.
Just as quickly as the memory started, it fades. I try to chase it into my mind, but there’s no use. My brain has stopped playing the footage—the very hot footage—that I need to see. Dammit.
Maybe if I calm down and focus, the images will come back. Taking a seat at the edge of the tub, I close my eyes and massage my temples in the hopes that if I clear my mind, more memories will surface. I’m a pretty chill guy by nature, but waking up naked in Fallon’s room has me a little rattled. Sitting up straight, I breathe in for four, hold for four, and breathe out for four. Centering myself works to get me in a good headspace for hockey games, so maybe it will work for this, too.
Suddenly, every ounce of calm I’ve managed to muster is shattered in an instant when someone tries to bang the damn hotel room door down. At first, I can’t tell if they’re trying to get into this room or just freaking the fuck out and banging on every door in the hall, so I step outside the bathroom to see what’s going on.
The banging persists, but that’s no longer my biggest concern. I see Fallon sitting up in bed, her eyes wide when she spots me. Whoever’s trying to get our attention is practically shaking the walls, so no wonder she’s freaked out. I reach across the bed and grab her hearing aids before handing them to her. As she slips them on and uses her phone to adjust the settings, she chances a glance at herself and then at me. When she looks in my direction, there’s a question in her eyes and it’s probably the sameone that’s running through my brain:Did we have sex last night?
I have no clue, so I shrug.
“Holy shitballs, Jablonski, open this fucking door!”
It’s Mickey. I should have known. And that means JT is either with him or about ten feet behind.
Mickey and JT are trying to bang down the door. Should I see what they want?I ask Fallon, signing the words without speaking because it’s just the two of us. For the next ten seconds anyway.
She nods.If you don’t, people are going to start complaining. Just give me a second, okay?
I pull on the jeans I wore last night, but Fallon’s still searching for her clothes, so I toss my t-shirt at her. When she slips it over her head, I try my hardest not to think about how hot she looks, how her curves stretch the material in the best fucking way, and that the only thing hotter than Fallon in my t-shirt and boxers would be Fallon in my jersey.
