Playing for Keeps(5)

 

Becca’s brows shoot up and she makes a face of surprise. “Umm …how is that possible?”

 

“This morning we woke up beside each other, and he didn’t even remember last night. I don’t know what he thinks happened.” I take a deep breath, holding it in my lungs. I release the breath slowly, my heart aching. “He took my v-card, Becca, and he doesn’t even know it.”

 

Becca moves closer on the couch and pulls me in for another hug. “Oh, sweetie. Fuck him. What an asshole.”

 

Silent tears spill down my cheeks as I let her hug me. She knows my entire history with Justin. Our friendship growing up. My secret longing. She’s had a front row seat to it all for years now.

 

When I pull myself together, she hands me a box of tissues.

 

“It’s not all his fault, Becca. I was there too. I may have even initiated it. The sex, I mean.” I hang my head in shame because I most definitely did initiate it.

 

“Here’s the thing, Elise. People treat you the way you let them.”

 

I roll my eyes. “Sheesh, that sounds like a line out of a self-help book.”

 

She shrugs. “If the shoe fits, babe.”

 

Becca isn’t normally the type to dish out such tough love, which tells me that I really made a colossal mistake hooking up with Justin last night. He’s a friend, sure. But he’s also a manwhore times a hundred and isn’t exactly known for his thoughtful respect or careful consideration of the opposite sex. I guess I hoped I would be the exception to that rule. Stupid, I know.

 

“Well it’s never happening again, so it doesn’t matter.”

 

It does matter. It matters more than anything, but I can’t let Becca be right. The concerned expression on her face is more than I can take right now. I’m not only nursing a massive hangover, but a broken heart too.

 

“Are you okay?” she asks.

 

“I will be.” I have to be. It’s not like I have a choice. He lives with my brother. Even if I make avoiding him an Olympic sport—I’m still bound to run into the guy.

 

She squeezes my shoulder. Then she grins. “Well... was he at least good in the sack?”

 

I laugh for the first time all day. “Oh my God, Becca!”

 

She chuckles, smiling at me. “What? I just want to know if the rumors are true.”

 

I know exactly which rumors she’s referring to. That his dick is huge. That he’s a giver in bed. That his stamina rivals that of the Energizer Bunny. They are all true. All except for one. From whispered conversations I’d overheard at various events over the years, I thought he didn’t like kissing. That one was proven false since we spent a long time making out on his bed. And I can say with certainty that the man is a damn good kisser. Passionate, but not sloppy.

 

“I don’t want to think about it,” I croak out finally.

 

Becca nods. “It’s probably better that way. You need to move on. How can he not even remember or realize that he took your virginity? Asshole,” she says firmly.

 

She’s right. He’s never going to be the man I need. This morning cemented what I’d secretly already known. “I know. You’re right.”

 

“Today, tears,” she says, patting my back. “Tomorrow, we plot his murder and take over the world.”

 

I sniff loudly and nod in agreement. I still feel gutted, but at least I have Becca to make me smile.

 

 

 

 

 

5

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Smell of Regret

 

 

Justin

 

 

 

It’s been three days since we won the championship game, and I think half the team is still hungover. Myself included.

 

I skate past Owen and he gives me a one-finger salute.

 

“This fucking blows, dude,” he groans, huffing after me.

 

I force a smile and nod at him. He wouldn’t be skating beside me, casually shooting the shit if he knew what I did to his baby sister Saturday night. My stomach tightens and I swallow down a wave of remorse, then push myself harder. My lungs burn and my thigh muscles ache with the effort, but the cut of my skates against the ice is the only thing keeping me grounded at the moment.

 

It’s a team skate, and the official start to the off-season. Later, we’ll listen to coach’s expectations of us, mostly related to public conduct and social media, and then Grant, our captain, will give a talk too. Finally, we’ll do locker cleanout, which will only take twenty minutes or so, and then we’ll be free for a couple of weeks until the rigors of training camp start.

 

My agent has lined up several public appearances for me in the next couple of days, and I’m going to shoot a commercial next week. I know I should feel grateful and excited for the time off, but considering all I want to do is play hockey, I’m really not looking forward to the downtime.

 

Plus, more downtime means more time to think. And thinking about my night with Elise is the last thing I can let myself do.

 

I can barely look at Owen without feeling sick to my stomach over what I did. Waves of nausea hit me—out of fear he’ll find out, or over regret over what happened, I’m not sure.

 

It doesn’t matter that that night was the best night of my life. It doesn’t matter that in the morning, I wanted to hold her, wanted to kiss her, talk with her, ask what she was thinking, how she was feeling. Because the second I opened my eyes, I saw the regret written all over her face. From head to toe, she looked so uncomfortable. I let her believe I didn’t remember any of it. What else could I do? And when she’d practically bolted out of my room, I’d grabbed my phone to see a text from a girl I hooked up with a couple of months before while on the road in Tennessee saying she was pregnant. It cemented everything. I wouldn’t infect Elise with my bullshit.

 

Even if I had been willing to come clean to Owen and risk my friendship, I knew Elise deserved someone better. Not a dirtbag like me who got some girl in another state pregnant. I fuck up everything I touch, and I won’t do that to her.

 

I slow my pace and let a couple of the guys sail past me, trying to catch my breath, when I turn and get broadsided by Asher shoulder-checking me into the plexiglass.

 

“We’re three days into the off-season. Already gone soft, Brady?” Asher calls over his shoulder as he skates away.

 

Fucker.

 

“Fuck you too!” I call out as he whizzes past.

 

“Play nice, boys,” Grant says, looking between us.

 

The truth is, I’ve never done well in the off-season. Not even back in high school—though I refused to think about the reasons why that might be—like my parents’ nasty divorce that stretched on for far too long.

 

Both of them wanting to hang onto me like I was some prize. Fighting over full custody had nothing to do with how much they loved me, and everything to do with the little hockey prodigy I was that would have the potential to earn millions one day. Which I do, in spite of all their drama.

 

I catch up to Asher, who’s retelling the story about his shenanigans in the hot tub for the third time. Since I’ve heard the story multiple times already, I know which parts to laugh at, which is good because I’m so unfocused, I can’t concentrate for shit. I don’t think anyone on the team can tell something’s bothering me, and that’s exactly the way I want it. I can’t have people asking what’s wrong. Who knows what the fuck is liable to come out of my mouth.

 

But I’m so distracted by thoughts of Elise, I can barely focus.

 

The memory of her in my bed, kneeling in front of me as she reached one hand out and rubbed my hard length through my jeans. Her lips on the sensitive skin at the base of my throat. Her breath sending goosebumps down the back of my neck.

 

The hungry sound she made when I touched between her legs. God, she’d been so wet for me. It had been so easy between us. Felt so fucking right.

 

And I’d been enthralled with her. With every tiny whimper, with every stuttered breath as my lips moved over her chest, taking one perfect nipple in my mouth.

 

Then I’d laid her down on the pillow and knelt between her thighs… pushing into the tightest heat I’d ever felt … my balls ache at the memory. Nothing had ever felt better. Yeah I’d been drunk, but I couldn’t blame the alcohol. I knew exactly what I was doing. And besides, I’d been more drunk on her, on the pheromones, on the idea of being inside her than I had been on the alcohol I’d consumed.

 

But the look of hurt on her face the next morning was unmistakable. The way her lips trembled as she met my eyes. The way her hands curled into tense fists at her sides, and her mad rush to get away from me …that’s what fucking killed me. She got us coffee and food, and put on an Oscar-worthy performance of pretending the night before meant nothing. I didn’t know what else to do besides follow her lead. I couldn’t run the risk of making her feel more awkward around me than she already did.

 

And then later that day when I changed my sheets and found a few coin-sized spots of blood on the bedding... a fresh wave of confusion and emotion, and finally realization had gutted me all over again. I swallow down my anger, nostrils flaring even now. I still can’t believe I let it get that far between us. That I took something from her that wasn’t mine to take. I feel like complete scum right now.