Teddy chuckles, and gets up to follow him. God, they are idiots.
I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself so I don’t have to castrate my brother or his friends when I feel Justin’s calming hand press between my shoulder blades, rubbing gently. It calms me almost instantly. “You okay, babe?” His chiseled features are drawn into a tight line, and his expression is unreadable.
I smile, trying to reassure him. “Fine. I’m sure everything’s fine. It’s just sometimes my brother is such a jackass.”
“There’s no denying that.” He leans closer, nuzzling his face into my neck. “I have to agree with you on that…but I may think he’s an idiot for different reasons than you. If it’s any consolation, though, I love you.”
“I know you do. And can I just say I’m so glad your manwhore days are behind you?”
He chuckles then, his lips grazing my jawline again. “I am too, sweetheart. I am too.” He kisses me once softly on the lips and then meets my eyes. “I’ve got everything I need right here.”
It might sound cheesy, but he’s right. We have each other, and it feels like everything I could ever want or need with this gorgeous, thoughtful man. I guess the rest of the guys will just have to figure that out on their own. I only hope it’s sooner rather than later for Owen’s sake.
I hope you enjoyed Justin and Elise’s story … up next is Becca and Owen and I can’t wait to share what happens next! Let’s just say the story starts with a BANG! If you’re ready for more hot hockey players, check out ALL THE WAY, details below.
1
Drunken Confessions
Owen
“Come on, that’s it. Nice and easy. One step at a time.”
With my hands on her hips, I guide Becca slowly down the hallway toward my bedroom and away from our friends still partying hard, including my sister, Elise, and my best friend, Justin, who have recently become an item.
“But I’m not even tired,” Becca says, a huge yawn interrupting her in the middle of that statement. “I could keep going for hours.”
I chuckle. “Right. Humor me, then.”
Our group of friends had gone out for some drinks to celebrate after we obliterated our opponents in tonight’s hockey game, and then several of us ended up back here at my place to continue the celebration.
It’s almost two in the morning, and like any good friend would do, I’m helping a very drunk Becca to my room where she can sleep it off, since there’s no way I’m putting her in an Uber with a stranger, not in this state or at this time of night. That’s definitely not happening.
“Take my bed. I can sleep on the couch in the media room,” I say after steering her into my room.
I close the door behind us, shutting out the noise of the party. Most people have gone home by now, but there are still a couple of guys hanging out in the living room.
“You mean you’re actually going to take a break from sleeping around tonight?” she murmurs, her voice playful and a little surprised.
“I don’t sleep around that much.”
Okay, yeah, I do, but still, I don’t know why she’s calling me on it. Becca and I have been friends for years, and she’s never commented on my overly enthusiastic sex life. Just like I don’t comment on hers, or the lack of it. Which is exactly the way I prefer it. I’ve never let myself think about Becca as anything but a friend.
While she sits on the edge of my bed to remove her boots and socks, I hunt around in my dresser for a clean T-shirt she can wear to sleep in. When I turn to hand it to her, she’s halfway through undressing, her pants unbuttoned as she tries to shove them down her hips, awkwardly and with a lot of grunting.
I toss the T-shirt on the bed beside her and turn my back to give her some privacy.
She seems unconcerned right now about putting on a free show, but I know in the morning she’ll be horrified to learn she did that. Becca is normally so modest and composed. I don’t remember the last time I saw her get drunk like this.
“I’m safe now. You can look.”
When I turn, she’s standing across from me dressed in a soft gray T-shirt with my team’s logo that engulfs her five-foot-four frame, hitting her below the knees. She looks so small, I can’t help but grin at her.
“You good now?”
“Yup. But don’t lie to me, Owen.” She takes a step closer and jabs her finger at my chest. “I know you better than you think.”
I smirk at her. “Oh yeah? And what is it that you think you know?”
I’m suddenly a little worried about what she might say next.
My sexual appetite isn’t exactly a secret. Ever since making it to the pros, I’ve indulged probably a little more than was necessary, but I have no qualms about this. I’m young and single, living my best life after years of hard work and dedication to my sport.
I’m having fun, and no one gets hurt by false promises of more than one night. And I’m sure as hell not ready to settle down. But now with Becca looking at me like I’m a puzzle she wants to solve, I find myself feeling a little uneasy.
She purses her lips, thinking. “Honestly? I kind of wish I could be like you.”
She wishes she could sleep around? That’s news to me. Not to mention, any guy in his right mind would be perfectly happy to introduce her to the business end of his dick.
I’m transported back to our chat last week when we met for coffee. Listening to Becca complain about her dating life, I thought it was nothing more than a little dry spell, but now I’m starting to think maybe there’s a lot more to it than that.
“Um, why?” I manage next.
“I wish I could have a more relaxed attitude like you have about sex. You just seem to enjoy yourself and have a good time and not overthink it, I guess. That’s all.”
I shift my weight, realizing how close we’re standing. “Yeah, that’s true. I enjoy it for what it is.”
Something doesn’t add up. Becca is a good girl. She’s not the kind of girl who does casual hookups—she’s the kind of girl you settle down with once you’ve sowed your wild oats and are ready for monogamy.
She reaches up, patting my chest, whispering and giggling at the same time. “You know, there are rumors that you have a really big dick. I’ve been on message boards and seen girls talk about him—I mean it.”
I almost swallow my tongue. Drunk Becca is freaking hilarious and has absolutely no filter. What exactly does one say to that? “Thank you” feels inappropriate. And I’m certainly not going to disagree with her, so I opt to stay quiet.
“Okay, then.” I clap my hands together once. “Enough with the bedtime stories. It’s time for you to sleep off the booze.”
She drops onto my bed, sighing dramatically, and as she does, the T-shirt I gave her rides up her thighs, giving me a clear view of her panties beneath.
They’re light blue. Cotton. Basic. And still sexy as hell.
I swallow and take a deep breath. “Becca, close your legs.”
She sits cross-legged and looks up at me. “Hmm?”
“I can see your panties.” I make a point of looking down at her lap and swallow. “Please close your legs.”
She seems unconcerned about this, probably because she’s so comfortable with me. And it’s not like they’re even sexy panties, but my body doesn’t care.
Becca is gorgeous, poised, sweet, and smart. Just because we’ve always stayed firmly in the friend zone doesn’t mean I don’t notice how attractive she is. You’d have to be blind not to.
I should tuck her in and leave. I definitely shouldn’t be standing here ogling her like she’s on tonight’s menu. She’s a good friend to my younger sister, Elise, and she’s a good friend to me, one of the only females I’m close friends with. She works at the arena, and I cannot, will not fuck anything up by objectifying her.
“You’ll be comfortable in here, right?” I hear myself asking.
She nods and smiles. “Thank you, Owen. What would I do without you?”
I suck in a harsh breath between my teeth. “Becca. Your legs.”
“I mean, here I am all broken, and you’re being so sweet to me.”
“You’re not broken.” My voice has a hard edge to it, and I clear my throat, trying again in a softer tone. “Why would you say that?”
I know her history, and it’s awful. It makes my blood boil just thinking about it.
Becca survived a brutal attack her freshman year at college, and the upperclassman who tried to rape her only got a slap on the wrist. It was some bullshit technicality that the judge latched onto. The deed hadn’t been completed before the fuckface was pulled off of Becca by a bystander, who I wish I could thank. Still, the attack left a lasting impression on Becca. I didn’t know her then, but I do know she’s been through years of counseling to deal with it, and still carries the emotional scars. How could you not?