Page 75 of What if It's Us

“Oh,” I croak, my voice somewhere between a frog and a haunted Victorian child. “Good morning, Billy.”

Even in this heated, steamy bathroom, with his cheeks a full-on blush color, he gives me an expression that says he isn’t entirely sure if I’m going to laugh or throw something at him.

My body perhaps?

What’s one more time after last night?

Finally, a playful smile spreads across his cheeks as he rubs a towel over his head like he’s just conquered Everest and not just survived multiple consecutive rounds of unreasonably athletic sex.

“You’re awake.”

I nod, yawning. “Yeah. I couldn’t tell if you were singing or ordering a pizza from uptown.”

“Listen, I’m not saying Iamthe best post-coital shower performer on the west coast,” he chuckles softly with a lift of his shoulder, “but I’ve yet to be challenged.” His eyes rake over my body covered in his t-shirt. The way he’s looking at me makes me wonder if he’s thinking about whether or not we should go for round…six? Seven? Hell, I’ve lost count.

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

“Fine. Although, I’d be lying if I said the world isn’t spinning…” I lift my fingers to show him the small space between my thumb and pointer finger. “Just a teeny tiny bit.”

He grins and turns toward me, tossing his toothbrush into his toiletry bag. “A little hungover? From last night?”

“Mm,” I mumble. “Something like that. Or maybe you just fucked me so hard you knocked the whole damn world off its axis.”

He tips his head back in laughter and it makes me smile to see him so carefree. “That’s definitely it, Mar.” He follows me into the room and picks up my bra from the lampshade…yep, the lampshade, and dangles it like a trophy. “Do you want this back or should I donate it to modern art?”

I swat at him, miss entirely, and fall back onto the mattress. “Oh, he sings and he tells jokes ladies and gentlemen,” I announce to nobody. “But he looks a lot like a golden retriever who knows what he did.”

“You’re welcome, by the way,” he says before leaning down and kissing my forehead. “Are you hungry? I could call down for room service or I think I’ve got some Pop Tarts in my bag from the plane.”

I snort a laugh. “Oh good. Nothing says sex-a-thon hangover cure like a toasted pastry.”

“You mean a toastable but sadly untoasted pastry.” His smile is crooked, boyish, almost nervous. “Should I order us some coffee? Or just…” He slides his hand through his wet hair. “Pack my bag and get out of here so you can be alone?”

“Ledge, this is your room,” I remind him, grinning.

Glancing at him as he stands in front of me, I spot a faint bruise on his collarbone and a few scratches on his biceps that I may or may not have left in the heat of the moment last night. Part of me feels bad for leaving marks but then I remember his instructions to literally fuck his face and milk his cock and suddenly I don’t feel so bad. I also notice the way his hair does that cute sticking-up thing in the back that happens especially when he rips his hockey helmet off. He is so cute and I don’t know what I did to deserve the pleasure I experienced at his hands last night.

“You’ll be reminded of me as I drip out of you.”

Yep. I’ll remember him alright.

I’ll remember every single inch.

“Coffee,” I say finally, smiling up at him. “Let’s start with coffee. I need to do the walk of shame back to my room to find fresh clothes, but do you think we can find some cold brew in this hotel?”

He exhales like I’ve just spared his life and something in my chest tickles.

Did he think I was mad about something?

Am I making him nervous?

“Cool. Yeah.” He nods. “Cold brew. I can do cold brew. I’ll call down to the café in the lobby. I think there’s a Rise and Grind around the corner. We could stop there before we have to be on the bus to the arena. Give me two minutes to grab some clothes.”

As he turns toward his bag his towel slips a little. I try not to look but…

I fail.

I sipmy delicious Rise and Grind cold brew special as Layken, Ella, and Corrigan suck down their smoothies. Thank God we’re not forcing down the terrible vending machine coffee that was offered to us when we got here. I’d like to think a professional hockey team can spring for better coffee.

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