Page 55 of Fake Shot

Fuck.Why the hell wasn’t he upstairs in his apartment where he was supposed to be?

Chapter Twenty-One

COLT

Iwake up exhausted, having tossed and turned half the night. I’ve never had to think twice about sleeping with someone so obviously willing, and having to exercise this kind of restraint is killing me. But she’s Jameson’s sister. She’s off limits, and always has been. And Ipromisedhim I wouldn’t touch her—something that’s proving way harder than I expected.

As soon as I got upstairs last night and started undressing, I realized that I’d left my phone in my car. So I headed downstairs to get it, being as quiet as possible in case Jules was already in bed trying to fall asleep. On my way back in, I checked my messages to findanothertext from Gabriel, this time confirming the B&B reservation and telling me how much Mom and Dad are looking forward to meeting Jules.

With Game 7 on Friday night in Boston, there’s really no excuse for why we can’t drive up there on Saturday in timefor the party, spend the night, and come back on Sunday. Especially since, if we win the series, the next one will start in Boston, so I don’t even have travel plans as an excuse.

Plus, if I’m being honest with myself, I’m actually looking forward to a road trip with Jules. If I have to go back to my hometown and see my brother and sister-in-law for the first time in fifteen years, there is no one else I’d want by my side. Mostly because I’ll be so focused on her that it’ll be easy to ignore them, but also because she’s fiercely protective, and I feel like she’ll be the perfect buffer.

I feel safe with her. Not physically, because my body feels entirely out of my control every time she’s around. But emotionally, she’s one of the only people I can let my guard down around. I have a few close friends who I feel that way about, but she is the first woman who feels like she’s giving more than she’s taking. She’d go to bat for me, even while giving me sass about, if that’s what it came down to. Just like I’d do for her.

I was so lost in thought about spending the whole weekend with her that I almost didn’t notice the low moan coming from her bedroom door as I passed by, but the second time, the sound finally registered in my brain, and I fucking froze in that hallway. That low, slow groan of satisfaction turned hurried, coming out faster with a higher pitch, and I knewexactlywhat was happening on the other side of that door. I could picture it so clearly—the way her back would arch, her tits bouncing with each thrust, her lips parted and panting as she chased that orgasm.

It was enough to send all the blood in my body rushing toward my cock, and as if someone had injected it withconcrete, it expanded and hardened so fast it ached—for her touch, for those sounds she was making to be for me, for the feel of her skin against mine and the taste of her on my tongue. I ached for her with an intensity I’d never felt before, and the sound of her hissing out a lowYesssshad me turning and heading up the stairs before I blew my load in my pants right there outside her door.

I had barely shut the door to my apartment before I turned, one hand already in my pants as I rested the other against the front door, hearing her sounds in my head as I quickly jerked myself off to the visions I’d had in the hallways.

And now, even after finally getting some sleep, I still can’t get those images out of my head. I want to know what every inch of her body looks like. I want to know what her skin feels like sliding along mine. I want to taste her, to know what she sounds like when she comes on my tongue. I want to push inside her and see what her face looks like when I’m filling her completely—so full that there’s not a centimeter of her that’s not taken up by me.

But I can’t.I can’t doanyof those things, because despite my reputation and my past, one thing I will not do is go back on my word. Not when it was given to my best friend, who has stood beside me through some shit, who has made sure my career and my future weren’t affected every time I made a dumb, impulsive decision. He trusts me to take care of her, and I couldn’t do that to him just because I’m fantasizing about her.

I am not my brother.

It takes me longer than it should to pack up my shit forour pre-game skate, so I’m running late as I take the stairs two at a time on my way out. Jules said she had her therapy appointment this morning, so I’m hoping she’s tied up with that and I won’t run into her on my way out. I need to get her out of my thoughts, and getting on the ice is the only sure-fire way I know of to clear my head like that.

But when I come down the second flight of stairs, I catch sight of her on the far side of the kitchen. She’s bent over at the waist, taking something out of the under-counter microwave, and her short workout shorts are doing nothing to cover the bottom half of her ass cheeks, which has me wondering what type of underwear she’s wearing—which has my mind going to the exact place I don’t want it going.

She must hear me, because she straightens up and spins around, two hands clutching a steaming coffee mug. “Oh, hey,” she says, like she’s surprised it’s me. There’s a split second where I wonder if the sounds I heard last night were actually her in there with someone else, and that thought makes me even more ashamed of getting myself off to visions of her.

“Who else would be coming down the stairs in your house?” I ask.

She lets out a small laugh. “No one. I just ... sometimes I forget you live here too.”

I grab my baseball hat off the counter and slip it on my head backward. “I love being so forgettable.”

Her eyes crinkle in the corners as she looks at me, trying to assess my meaning. “Trust me ... you’re not forgettable.” She mutters something under her breath as she brings the coffee cup to her lips and takes a sip. Then she’s clenchingher teeth and lips together in pain, before swallowing and saying, “Shit, that was too hot.”

“Why were you heating your coffee in the microwave?” I ask. Everyone knows that things heat unevenly in a microwave. She’s lucky she didn’t burn her lips or tongue.

“I always reheat it. I never seem to be able to drink a cup before it gets cold.”

I set my bag on the floor next to me. “You should get one of those mugs that just keeps it at a constant temperature for you.”

“I didn’t know there were mugs that did that. I’ll have to look into it.” She nods at my bag. “Are you headed to the rink?”

“Yeah, pre-game skate. I’ll be back in the early afternoon, and I, uh ... I always take a nap before the game. I don’t know if you have any plans that would be loud?—”

“No.” She shakes her head. “I know that’s part of any hockey player’s routine on a game day. I’m actually going shopping with Morgan this afternoon—I need something to wear to the anniversary party this weekend—so I’ll stay out of your way.”

I want to tell her she’s never in my way, but in this case, it really is better if she’s out of the house. Maybe then I’ll be able to sleep without thinking about her? “You mean to tell me that within that expansive closet of yours, you don’t have anything you can wear to that party?”

“I don’t have anything Iwantto wear to the party, which is pretty much the same thing. What are you wearing?” she asks. “Just so I know how dressed up to get.”

“I’ll probably wear a tie. That’s about as much as I’ve thought about it. Everyone will get dressed up, but it’s like ‘small-town dressed up,’ not ‘big-city dressed up,’ you know?”

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