Page 71 of Must Love Dogs… and Hockey

Cookie slides into the seat across the aisle from me. “You okay?”

I give him a look, then slide my gaze back to the window. Outside, there’s lots of activity. The equipment guys are loading up the luggage compartment and various arena staff are running around.

“Talk later,” Cookie says.

I nod half-heartedly.

It takes a while for everyone to show up since there were a lot of media interviews scheduled for guys like Bergie, our captain, and Nate, Murph, and Gunner, who played outstandingly, even though we lost. I can only imagine the tirade Coach went on when they interviewed him.

With a reasonable man as coach, he’d watch the video of what happened and see it as the fluke it was, then shake his head, say “shit happens” and maybe even apologize to me. But I know that won’t happen.

Then we’re on the road to the airport. I avoid Coach while we go through the expedited customs process we have in place and board the plane, taking a seat at the back of the aircraft. Everyone seems to know to leave me alone. I guess I’m giving off a strong say-one-word-to-me-and-you-die vibe.

I haven’t even checked my phone, so I pull it out and see Lilly’s texts with pictures of Otis. These barely bring a smile to my face. I messaged her earlier today to make sure she was staying at my place tonight. Now I’m questioning if that’s a good idea. I’m in a fucking savage mood.

The flight’s about an hour and a half. With my duffel bag in tow, I go straight to my car—we leave them at the private terminal when we travel—and head home. I drive down the ramp into the parking garage beneath my building and take the elevator to my floor. I feel like a zombie, shut down and operating on autopilot.

Until I walk into my apartment.

I’m greeted by an ecstatic Otis throwing himself at me. And when I look up after giving him some love, I see Lilly standing in the door of my bedroom at the end of the short hall. She’s leaning against the doorframe, arms folded, a smile on her face as she watches us. I take in her attire—holy crap.

She’s wearing a nightshirt, the old-fashioned kind that buttons up the front, but only a few buttons are fastened. It hits the top of her thighs, but in the opening caused by her cocked hip I can glimpse a tiny pair of peach-colored panties that match the peach floral print of the shirt. Her long legs are bare, down to her polished toes.

Tension melts out of my muscles, only to be replaced with a new kind of tension as all my blood flows to my southern region. I slowly stand, Otis still bouncing around, and shed my overcoat, letting it fall to the floor. I walk toward her. “I’m so glad you’re here,” I say simply.

Her face changes, softening, her eyes warming. She pushes away from the doorframe and takes a step toward me, opening her arms and I walk into them. I wrap her up in a tight hug, burying my face in her hair, and we stand like that for I don’t know how long.

Chapter 15

Lilly

I hold on to Easton, my arms around his waist. He’s so big and hard, so strong, yet I feel his suffering. I don’t know what happened after the game, and I’ve been hoping he’s okay, but now I know…he’s not.

If this is because of his coach, I am going to go to the arena or wherever they are tomorrow, find a hockey stick, and smack that asshole in the face.

I feel Easton’s harsh breathing against my hair, feel the vibrations of his body as he fights to control his emotions. His pain is an ache in my belly.

After a while, I draw back. I tip my head back to look at his face. “It’s okay,” I say, even though I don’t know that it is. “Come to bed.”

I lead him into his bedroom. I was already in bed, but I wasn’t asleep, I was reading. The lamp next to the bed shines softly, and I take hold of the knot of his tie and gently tug. I slide the silk fabric out from under his collar and toss it onto the chair, then start working the buttons of his dress shirt open. While I do that, he removes his suit jacket and toes off his shoes.

It’s a slow undressing, tugging his shirt out from his pants and pushing it back off his shoulders, kissing his tattoo as I undo his leather belt and then the button and fly. The suit trousers drop to the floor and he steps out of them, bending and lifting each foot to shuck his socks. My gaze is drawn to a big purple mark on his left hip. A soft sound of dismay falls from my lips as I so gently touch my fingertips to it. “Are you hurt?”

“It’s just a bruise.”

I run my hands over his hips in his formfitting black boxer briefs, squeezing the square, masculine bones of his pelvis, then sliding around back to cup his muscular butt.

A low groan escapes his mouth as I grip those firm glutes, and he slides his hands into my hair, thumbs on my jaw, and tilts my head so he can kiss me. Our mouths meet in a fiery impact, opening, tongues sliding, devouring. I tilt my hips and press against him, thrilling at the feel of his erection against my lower belly.

“Lilly.” He groans and drags his mouth over my jaw. “I’m a mess.”

“We’re all a mess.”

“I want to be with you. But I don’t want to drag you down with me.”

“You’re not. I can handle it.” I pull back to peer into his eyes. “Maybe I can lift you up.”

His eyes fall closed, his jaw tight, and I hook my fingers into his briefs and drag them down.

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