Despite Cian being the one who was hungover, I felt sickness curling in my gut. Of course he didn’t want to fuck me. He wanted a friend. One of the boys.
He kept talking, but my mind was so much louder. The past flashing through my mind in a slideshow of shame and humiliation. I wrapped my arms around my stomach, willing the contents to stay put as I tried to find a way to surface, at least long enough to kick him out.
He didn’t need to see me break.
“You need to go,” I blurted, interrupting whatever he’d been saying. He cocked his head, hands half raised as though he wanted to touch me, but wasn’t sure he would be welcome.
I sucked in a deep breath. Get him out, rebuild the walls. That was the plan.
“Our flight will be leaving soon, and I’m sure we don’t need your teammates to catch you leaving my room at this time of the morning. Go and pack your bags. We can talk about this later.”
His scowl was severe, but he couldn’t argue with anything I’d just said.
With a look that told me he expected me to keep my word, he slipped out the door without further argument.
Now I just needed to avoid him for the rest of my life so he couldn’t hurt me.
Easy.
Cian
Blair had successfully avoidedme for two weeks.
After games, she disappeared before I could invite her out. When we traveled, she kept Dante between us like a shield. And she didn’t answer the door to her hotel room when we were in Buffalo or Boston.
I’d messed up by turning up at her door drunk in Washington, but I didn’t cope well when confronted by my childhood bully. Dylan Childs was born to be a defenseman. He was big, and mean, and had made my life hell when we were in the Junior League. My shoulder still occasionally ached from where he dislocated it in a ‘friendly’ game. Our coach drove me to the hospital and left me in the hands of medical staff who reset the shoulder and firmly told me to rest it for two months—no more hockey for the season. I’d nodded my ten-year-old head and promised to behave, then called my parents who were out of town for the day at a dog show. “You can walk home, can’t you? It’s your shoulder, not your legs. We’ll see you at home. Ope, got to go. They’re about to call Zeus’s comp. Wish us luck!” I lied to the social worker and slipped out of the hospital without a backward glance. It wasn’t the first time Dylan hurt me, and it wasn’t the last time a dog was my parents’ priority. I learned to adapt. When I got my scholarship to Fox, I thought I’d never see him again. I blossomed at Fox, making captain before senior year, and finding my people in my teammates.
It wasn’t until my second year in professional hockey that I saw Dylan again. Despite the intervening years, no matter how many times I reminded myself that I was a fucking adult and didn’t have to fear anyone, let alone the shitty kid who made my life hell, I still experienced a regression to the boy who was just trying to love the one thing he was good at.
None of that was Blair’s fault, and I shouldn’t have brought it to her doorstep, but apparently, drunk Cian doesn’t give a shit about boundaries.
Maybe sober Cian didn’t, either, because here I was, two days into our five-day break before the Global Series, taking the stairs to Blair’s apartment two at a time.
I’d had time to think about what she said. The accusations she threw at me, and came to one glaring conclusion. We didn’t know each other outside of work.
That, I could fix.
So here I was, knocking on Blair’s door with the intention of taking her out for the day.
We could get to know each other outside of hockey, and I could casually drop into conversation that I wasn’t the kind of guy who hooked up with puck bunnies.
And I could absolutely keep my mind from straying to how good it felt to wake up beside her. How her breast fit my palm perfectly, and her ass felt like heaven against my umm… yeah.
“I’m sorry, work has been crazy. I haven’t had a chance to call you—Oh, it’s you.”
Her eyes were manga doll big behind her delicate gold-framed glasses, the toffee color glinting in the dim light of the hall. Her pajama pants hung low on her hips, a strip of soft skin visible below the hem of her T-shirt. I cast a quick look at my dick, mentally reminding it we weren’t going to be invited to share her bed again anytime soon.
“Who were you expecting?” I asked, refocusing on why I had come.
“I’ve been ignoring my mother for the last week. She sent a text this morning that she would stop by today.”
“So… how much do you want to keep avoiding her?” If this was my way in, I’d take it. We needed to keep building our relationship for the good of the club. Our social media manager couldn’t indefinitely avoid a player. At least, that’s what I told myself as I waited for her answer.
She narrowed her eyes at me, holding the door mostly closed while I stayed firmly on the corridor side of things.
“What do you have in mind?” she asked, her fingers flexing on the door as though she were considering slamming it in my face.
There were two ways I could play this.
