Page 2 of Match Penalty

I press call.

The line doesn't even ring before it goes straight to voicemail.

The sinking feeling worsens.

I hit redial.

Still voicemail. Panic begins to heat under my skin, but I try to shake it off. This isn't the time to jump to conclusions. Maybe he forgot to plug in his phone last night. After all, his hands were a little preoccupied... with me.

But my stomach doesn't buy it.

I sit on the edge of the bed, with only a pair of panties on, pulling the silk sheet up and around my chest, feeling more naked now than I've ever felt in my life. More exposed than all those times I felt his eyes on me across a crowded room, more vulnerable than when I finally let him kiss me last night.

I would have pulled on a t-shirt last night—I usually can't sleep without something on, but his request made my whole body flutter. "No clothes Cammy, please? I want to be able to feel your bare skin against mine," he whispered against my neck.

I guess there were a lot of things he said, and yet, he's not here.

I grab my dress off the floor. It's crumpled, the fabric wrinkled from where he'd tugged it off last night, his voice a low growl as he spoke French into my ear. I squeeze my eyes shut against the memory.

I take a steadying breath and head toward the door. I crack it open, peering into the hallway. The mansion is already alive with movement. Across the hall, a woman in a cocktail dress, just as wrinkled as mine, steps out of another guest room, fluffing her hair as she turns to the player inside.

"You'll call me, right?" she asks hopefully.

"Yeah, totally," he says, but the bored tone of his voice tells me that he won't.

The woman doesn't seem to notice as she struts down the hallway in last night's heels.

I glance back at my phone, clutched tightly in my hand. As I'm about to step into the hallway, it dings.

The headline flashes on my screen like a gut punch:STAR GOALIE JON PAUL DUMONT GETS DUI AFTER PLAYOFF CELEBRATION.

My chest tightens as I tap the notification, skimming the story quickly in disbelief.

"JP Dumont, star goalie for the Blue Devils and son of Hockey Legend Jon Paul Dumont Sr., was in a car accident early this morning. Reports say Dumont was driving under the influence with an unnamed female passenger. The couple left a post-game win celebration shortly before the crash in his Ferrari. Dumont hit a guardrail and was later taken into custody by the sheriff's department, while his female passenger was taken to the hospital for non-life-threatening injuries."

The couple.

The room spins as the implications hit me. The "unnamed female passenger" wasn't me.

A door creaks open, and footsteps echo down the hall. I glance up and freeze as two players step out of a room. One of them has his phone in hand, shaking his head with a laugh.

"JP was busy. Two girls in one night—epic," one player snickers.

The other player elbows him, grinning. "Yeah, and I think one of them is still in the guest room."

My throat tightens.

Another player's wife walks past, phone pressed to her ear. "Did you see who he left with? That blonde attorney that's been hanging around the team all season—Angelica Ludwig. Looks like she finally landed herself a player."

I step back into the room closing the door to just a crack and then realize I'm forgetting something. I look around for my bright green hair band. The one that JP had taken out of my hair when things started getting heated last night. He wanted to see my hair down and then slid the hairband over his wrist.

It was the last thing I saw before I fell asleep—my bright green hair band stretched over his tanned wrist as he held me. How stupid it feels now, thinking it meant something.

I hear more voices in the hall. "If Angelica was really all that smart, she should have gone for one of the other single players instead. JP takes after his old man. She wouldn't get more than just one dirty fuck," one of them snickers.

"His dad's that retired all-time hockey hall of famer from Montréal, right?" another asks.

"Yep," a deep voice chimes in. "His dad was a hockey hall-of-famer and a player on and off the ice. That apple doesn't fall far from that tree, if you know what I mean."

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