Page 82 of Stick With Me
Ha, I can’t help but feel a little smug about that. I’m sure it grates on him that the breakup messed with his game more than he expected.
“Hannah isn’t to be blamed for my less-than-stellar goal score. There’s a lot going on behind the scenes, but I know it’ll smooth itself out soon. Fans can rest assured I’ll have my good luck charm back in my corner.” He winks at the camera.
No, he most definitely will not… I hope.
When we’re all in the same place.His cocky tone echoes in my mind unhelpfully. I stop hard enough to send ice shavings flying and bend over, resting my hands on my knees to catch my breath.
I need to get my head in the game, but uncertainty throbs in my head like a relentless headache. Every time I hit the ice, I wonder if it’ll be my last—my last morning skate, my last practice, my last game with the Saints. I’m questioning if I’ve done enough, if I really belong here, if I still have time to prove I do.
And it’s not just the game. Off the ice, my thoughts gnaw at me, too. What would happen if I had to leave Chicago? Hannah just got settled here; her life is finally coming together. We’re just coming together. How would we work if I’m shipped off to another city? It’s not like we haven’t been apart before, but this feels different. For the first time in a long while, it feels like I have something to lose, and that makes the unknown all the more terrifying.
The interview was just the cherry on top of my already spiraling-thought sundae.
I knew Knolls’ recent silence was too good to be true. He’s clearly becoming desperate in his pursuit, though what he’s after is still a mystery to me. Does he want Hannah back? Is he just trying to stir up trouble for me? Does he simply crave attention?
I’ve accepted that they have history, but that’s all it is: history. I’m Hannah’s future.
Fuck, I just want to get home to her.
We head home with yet another loss under our belts, but I’m too worn out to care. After barely sleeping last night, pushing myself too hard at morning skate, and playing tonight’s game like it was my last, I’m running on empty. The moment I drop into the leather seat on the team plane and close my eyes, exhaustion takes over, and I’m out.
When I wake to the rumbling of the plane descending into Chicago, every muscle is stiff and uncomfortable. I’m still in my post-game suit, now wrinkled from the flight, but at least I saved myself hours of sitting around and ruminating. As soon as my phone reconnects, I shoot Hannah a quick text.
Me:
Just touched down in Chicago. I’ll be home in an hour.
She doesn’t respond, but it’s late, so I’m not surprised. She’s probably fast asleep by now. Would she welcome me into her bed? All I want is to lie beside her, to hold her, and to reassure myself that everything is all right.
My assumption was wrong. As I enter the house, trying to make as little noise as possible, I’m startled to find Hannah pacing the foyer. Her arms are crossed tightly over her chest, and when her eyes meet mine, they hold a mix of relief and tension.
Without a word, I open my arms to her. She rushes forward, burying herself against me, and melts. For a brief moment, everything else fades away. The anxiety, the frustration, and the uncertainty all dissolve the moment I’m near her. Everything is right in the world.
“Ryan, what he said isnottrue. I haven’t been in contact with him. I haven’t talked to him since All-Star Weekend. I don’t know why he said those things.” Her voice is shaky, and I hate it.
I didn’t think she even saw the interview or considered how she might react to his insinuation of them getting back together. Before she can say anything more, I cut her off by bringing my lips to hers. It’s meant to be a gentle kiss, but once we connect, it turns into something hot and needy. I pull back just enough to speak against her lips. “Shhh, it’s okay, baby. I know.”
As soon as I get the words out, she eagerly brings her lips back to mine.
“Let’s go upstairs,” I manage to get out between kisses.
She shakes her head. “I need you. Now,” she pants.
That does me in. I’m helpless to deny her anything she wants. A groan escapes my throat as I spin, pressing her against the front door. Her leg hitches over my hip as I grind my body against hers, the heat between us unbearable in the best way.
A breathy whimper escapes her as she pushes my suit jacket from my shoulders, and I help her shrug it off. The foyer is filled with nothing but our heavy breaths and the rustle of fabric. My lips trail down her throat, tasting her skin as I let my teeth graze her, her sharp intake of breath spurring me on.
My hand travels up her leg, my fingers brushing over nothing but smooth skin until I reach the thin band at her hips. She’s wearing only panties under one of my black T-shirts. The thought of her sleeping in my clothes tightens my chest. I groan into her neck, my control slipping even further.
Her movements are frantic and jerky as she reaches for my belt buckle. My cock aches, straining against the fabric, and the moment she frees me from my boxer briefs and strokes me lightly, I mutter a curse.
I lift her higher, bringing her lips back to mine in a kiss that’s all desperation and need. I lick over her plush bottom lip, seeking entrance, and when she grants it, I stroke my tongue across hers. My free hand slides beneath her T-shirt, cupping her breast and teasing her nipple. A needy sound escapes as she grinds against me, the heat of her soaking through the fabric of her panties and my shirt.
I slide my hand down her body, slipping between her thighs. My fingers press against her clit through the soaked fabric, circling but never applying the pressure I know she wants. “You’re so wet, baby.”
“I need you inside me, now.” Her tone is filled with both frustration and want.
“Are you sure?”
