I wasn’t sure whether she knew her hand was on my thigh, but the heat of it went straight to my dick, making my jeans tight.
“Cian O’Leary?”
I mentally cursed as Blair sat back, a blonde woman filling the space between us.
Not a woman. A puck bunny.
Ok, so she was a woman, that wasn’t fair, but I really wanted…
“What?”
“Can I get a photo with you?”
“Oh, yeah. Sure.” I pushed back my chair to stand and instead ended up with a lap full of hockey fan. I shifted to make sure she didn’t land on my rapidly deflating problem, then put one hand on the table and the other on the back of the chair. Hands always in sight was a fundamental rule of fan photos. Always keep things chaste and stay beyond reproach.
She took a lifetime to get the ‘right’ photo, turning this way and that, checking each shot like it would be submitted for a Pulitzer.
“Okay, I think we got it,” I grumbled as she sank further into my lap, like she was making herself comfortable.
“It doesn’t have to end here,” she said, leaning in until we were chest to chest. “I can be very good for you.” In case I missed her intent, she licked her lips and slid a hand down my chest.
“I’m good.” I caught her wrist and used it to help her to stand.
Once free, I leaned around her body to get back to my conversation with the woman I actually wanted to talk to.
The chair beside me was empty.
Blair
The winningstreak lasted until game five of the season. We were in Washington, and even from the sidelines, the game was a bloodbath.
Washington’s left D man was a mucker who seemed to have it out for Cian, the two having to be pulled apart twice before the end of the first period and the distraction cost the team. I’d never seen Cian anything less than completely in control on the ice, but when he missed a shot late in the third period, he looked ready to explode as he chewed his mouthguard and took up position.
Of course, I’d accepted when he invited me out with the team afterward. His smile had been a little more forced than usual, unlike mine when he took my hand to guide me to the table the team had claimed close to the back.
And of course, I left as soon as the puck bunnies turned up and Cian’s focus shifted to better options.
He kept calling us friends, and a good friend didn’t cockblock their friend when they were staying out of town and needed comfort after a difficult loss. Maybe one of them could ice his bruises for him. Strip him out of that olive green shirt that so perfectly matched his eyes and make him forget with their mouths and…
Stop it.
I shook the thoughts of what Cian could be up to out of my head and refocused on the behind-the-scenes footage I was putting together to post on the team’s social page. I had a cute clip of Oscar and our equipment manager, Toby Miller, goofing off with a soccer ball, and another of our rookie, Riley, finding his locker full of rolls and rolls of stick tape.
I took a sip of the horrible instant coffee I’d made out of desperation and pulled up the next file when a knock at the door broke my concentration. The clock read one AM, and I wondered if someone had gotten their room number wrong. Maybe one of the players had locked themselves out of their room and no other staff member answered their door? Or shit had hit the fan and Dante wanted me to sit in while she ran damage control.
It was the last possibility that forced me out of my seat to see who my early-early morning visitor was.
A waft of alcohol hit me in the face as I opened the door to over six feet of unsteady man. His hair was disheveled like he—or someone else—had been running their fingers through it. His eyes were bloodshot, face soft in the way of the inebriated. T-shirt and jeans were in place, though the former was untucked and ruched up over one hip.
“Where are your shoes?” I asked. Formerly white socks peeped out below the denim cuffs of his pants, and the toes in them wiggled as he dropped his head with a frown.
“Huh.”
He scrunched his toes a few more times, but otherwise seemed content to stand at my door in the middle of the night with no explanation.
His huge body swayed slightly like he was caught in a windstorm, but couldn’t take shelter. I leaned out into the hallway, checking both ends in hopes one of his teammates were coming to retrieve their wayward brother. Other than the flickering exit sign down on the left, nothing moved.
What had happened since I left? Cian was always up for being social, but he rarely drank to excess, especially when we had an early flight and another game in two days’ time.
