Chapter 6

CHAPTER SIX

Riggs

If I said I took my time with my post-game routine, I'd be lying.

I sped through the media—which, thankfully, didn't take long because they'd learned a while ago that I'm not the guy for a good sound bite.

Knox is the one. Followed by Lake.

Even Leo or Bear are bound to come up with better one-liners.

I just spout off about skating harder and moving our feet and blocking shots.

Something I did a lot of tonight, considering the bruises that are blooming to life on my body.

Ignoring them, I yank on my sweats, pull my hoodie over my head, and shove my wallet and phone in my pocket.

And right on cue, my cell buzzes.

I know it's my dad, know it's going to piss me off and make me wish shit was different in equal measure.

Not going there right now.

Mostly because I didn't miss the look Ella tossed my way after the buzzer went in the third period—our eyes connecting across the rink, the burst of heat, of energy, of her colliding with my chest, latching onto my heart, squeezing tight.

I hadn't heard the crowd cheering our victory over the Eagles.

Hadn't really felt the slaps on my back from my teammates, congratulating me for my final blocked shot—one that had prevented the tying goal, so we didn't have to go into overtime.

I wanted the win.

But selfishly, I wanted— want —the fuck more.

So, I ignore the texts I know will trigger me, shove on my jacket, grab my backpack, and grunt goodbye to the guys.

Luckily, that's not enough to trigger anyone's curiosity—though I don't miss that Knox is watching me expectantly. I'll have to deal with him, and likely do it soon, but tonight…

Tonight, I'm fucking doing this.

I want it. She does too. Her brother's not going to corner me and slice me to ribbons with the equipment manager's extra steel.

He wants me to do it?—

Well, not to fuck his sister.

But…to have what Nova and Lake have.

And…

Maybe I can have that, have something that's unique to Ella and me but just as meaningful?—

But I have to do it Ella's way.

Because Ella…well, she's not Nova.

And as much as she wants to pretend she's open to new experiences and free and loose and easygoing…

She's not. She keeps the world, keeps those around her at a careful distance.

So, I have to play this smart. I have to play it my way.

I have to play for keeps.

Which is why I gave her the code to my front door.

Why I all but dared her to show up naked in my bed.

I'm going to claim her, going to make her mine, and I'm going to do it in a way that she can't resist, can't use to keep any distance between us.

Ella Adler might think that she has all the answers figured out…

But I'm going to keep her guessing.

And pleasured.

Limp from so many orgasms she can't even begin to think about leaving.

Forever.

My cell buzzes a few more times on the drive back to my place.

It's more centrally located to town than Lake's isolated cabin-that's-really-a-mansion, and on far less property. I have to manage it—have to shovel and weed and mow the tiny strip of grass that's more alpine weeds than actual grass.

I work hard.

I don't want to deal with acres of land, don't want to drive twenty minutes to get to a grocery store.

I want to get into my car, hit the road for fifteen minutes, pull into the heated—and thus, ice-free—driveway, and park in the garage.

With my woman waiting up in my bedroom.

My mouth hitches up when I hit the bottom of my stairs, see the light on in my bedroom, casting a fan of brightness on the carpet. Relief hits heavy and heady, mixing with pleasure, with need, with the memory of her fingers on my thigh, the sure way she'd cupped my dick.

Remembering that kiss, and the way she tasted, the soft pillows of her breasts pressing into my arm.

I'm going to see her naked, going to taste every inch of her, going to hear her moan out my name.

I'm going to give her so much pleasure that she's not going to think about leaving me.

Not fucking ever.

My dick twitches, and my heart is pounding, but I push through those thoughts, shove them down, focus. This a game I need to play to win.

I walk into the bedroom and the sight of her?—

"Fuck," I growl softly.

It's everything I've dreamed of. More .

She's everything I've dreamed of.

Lush and curvy…and not wearing underwear.

I don't miss the flash of glistening pink when she spreads her legs, don't miss the flush that spreads over the tops of her breasts, drifting down toward the hardened tips of her nipples that I need to get my mouth on.

I don't miss…the bruise on her thigh.

Lightly trailing my fingers over it, I ask, "What happened?"

She looks down, frowns, as though she can't remember. "With Nova," she finally says. "She and Steve and I were having mules a few nights ago."

"You need to be careful," I murmur, leaning in to kiss the abused spot. "Need to take care of yourself."

Or let me do it.

But I don't say that, mostly because I'm inhaling the scent of her—flowers and woman and slick, hot desire. I flick out my tongue, tasting her, committing the earthy flavor of her to memory. I drag my tongue over her hip, along the indent of her waist, up her rib cage, brushing the side of her breast, trailing it in and up her throat, to her mouth, and?—

Freezing.

The scent of alcohol is strong, burning into my senses.

I pull back, enough to see her eyes, to see the faint dullness clinging to the blue depths.

Fuck.

Her mouth curves up. "Teasing?" she asks coyly, wrapping a leg around my hip. "I figured after you told me that my panties were optional, you'd jump me and fuck me senseless." That sexy little smile grows. "Don't worry," she stage whispers, "I like being fucked within an inch of my life."

Orgasms. Driving her crazy. Addicting her to me.

That was the plan.

But she's drunk. Again .

She needs to drink to be here with me.

I can't just have Ella, can't have what Nova and Lake do.

She needs to hide, to dull her thoughts, to…down liquid courage to be with me.

Because I'm not enough.

I grind my teeth together, push that down, and shove myself off the bed.

Her brows draw into a deep vee. "Wh?—?"

But I'm already moving into my closet, yanking out a pair of sweats and a hoodie, bringing them back to the bed.

"Riggs," she says softly.

"You're drunk," I manage to grind out.

"I'm not," she protests. "I just had a couple of cocktails at the arena and?—"

"Don't bullshit me," I mutter. "I've seen it enough. I know the look in your eyes." I pull the hoodie over her head, yank up the sweats, covering the body I want almost more than my next breath. I search the room for her socks, her boots, see them tossed into the corner and retrieve them, shove them onto her feet. Her coat's crumpled at the edge of the bed and I snag it.

"Riggs," she says again.

I drag it onto her arms, straighten it over her torso, zip it up.

"Let's go," I mutter, taking her hand, pulling her up from the mattress, keeping her close as I guide her downstairs.

I'm not going to let her fall.

But I can't do this.

Not… like this.

Grinding my teeth together, disappointment and shame and frustration warring in my stomach, I draw her to my car.

I drive her home.

I make sure she gets safely inside.

And then I go back to my house…

And I open the text messages from my dad.