Page 41 of Pucked In Vegas

"No… Don't go," he mumbles, his voice thick with sleep as his hand reaches for me. "Stay."

My heart clenches. Such simple words that make me want to crawl back into his arms and stay there forever.

"Just going to the bathroom," I whisper, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "I'll be right back."

He relaxes, sinking back into sleep, and I slip out of bed.

I move into the bathroom and close the door behind me.

The harsh fluorescent light makes me wince after the golden warmth of the bedroom. I move in front of the mirror, andfuck.

My reflection stares back at me. My hair looks like I've been through an electric storm, my lips are so swollen they could qualify for their own zip code, and my neck? Well, the evidence of last night's passion is written all over me like a billboard advertisement for "Had Amazing Sex: Ask Me How!"

I grip the edge of the sink, suddenly unsteady.

What am I doing?

This was supposed to be about annulment papers. I came up here last night to finish it all.

Instead, I've fallen deeper into whatever this is between us.

I splash cold water on my face, hoping it might wash away the confusion clouding my judgment. Water drips down my chin as I reach blindly for a towel.

My fingers brush against something on the counter and when I towel the water off my face, I look down to see a black toiletry bag, partially unzipped. Something dark blue catches my eye, fabric with what might be a logo, but I can't make it out clearly in the dim light.

My hand freezes mid-air.

It's familiar… but it could be anything.

It's sporty. Team gear from college, maybe. Or just athletic wear. But combined with everything else—the scars, his athletic build, his presence at the draft venue yesterday...

My stomach churns with suspicion I don't want to face.

"No," I whisper to my reflection, watching the color drain from my face.

I've been willfully blind because I wanted the fantasy. Wanted to believe Jackson was just some gorgeous stranger who made me feel alive, who saw me as just Cassie… not an extension of my father's legacy.

The fear isn't that he definitely is a hockey player. It's that I might be falling for someone who could destroy everything I've built. Someone who could drag me back into the world I escaped.

I can't take the risk. What if I'm right? What if he's exactly what I think he is? I've worked too hard to build a life outside hockey to gamble it all on a man who might be everything I've run from.

My father's face flashes in my mind. His knowing smirk if he discovers I've fallen for a hockey player.

But I don't even know for sure.

Maybe that's what terrifies me most. The fact that I'm about to destroy something beautiful based on suspicion and fear. Notfact.

"I won't take the chance," I whisper fiercely to my reflection. "I can't."

Part of me wants to storm back into that bedroom and demand answers.

But I know what will happen if I look into those sea-glass eyes again. I'll cave, just like I did last night. And where did that get me?

Right back in his bed, moaning his name and wishing for more.

I pat my face dry, my decision crystallizing with each second.

I need to end this. Now. While I still can.

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