3. Trevor

3

TREVOR

The weather is beautiful in Florida. My parents live in Orlando, and with the warm sunshine, I understand the appeal, but I’m a fan of having four seasons. They’re semi-retired from their careers as a patent attorney—Dad—and a chemical engineer—Mom. They’re both type A personalities, hence being only semi -retired.

Our bus pulls up in front of the hotel we’re at for the next few days. It’s a Clardmore. We usually stay at one of their properties whenever possible—they’re a shifter-owned company. The shifters that own them? Sophie’s family. It’s right next door to the Florida Storm Chasers’ arena. The Chasers aren’t a shifter hockey team. They’re part of the regular pro human hockey league. The PHL doesn’t have a team in Florida, so it was chosen as neutral ground—and because people want to come to Florida in January. In future years, the All-Star Game will be held in the arena of whatever team wins the Dickinson Cup the prior season. So, I’m betting next year’s game will be in Atlantic City, and I’m pretty sure only polar bear shifters like Bedard will hit the beach then.

Sophie and Randi are sitting on the opposite side of the bus, and they’re leaning over to peer at the hotel through my window.

“Did you know about this?” Randi asks Sophie.

Sophie shakes her head and looks at Randi like she’s crazy. “No, I have nothing to do with the hotels and I’m not consulted on Devil Birds travel plans.” With a grin, she adds, “At least we know the beds will be comfy.”

“True. And you can probably get me a free dessert or something at dinner.”

Sophie giggles. “Way to dream big, Miranda. I don’t know if Declan’s going to be able to afford you.”

“Who’s saying I won’t be keeping him in the style he’s accustomed to? I have a trust from my grandmother that’ll help make my future more comfortable.”

“Randi, you’ve already started spending that trust fund. And it’ll take some work before you’re comfortable,” I say with a wink. She’s trying to purchase a farm that’s for sale across the street from me.

“What are you doing?” Sophie asks.

“I can’t say anything yet because nothing is definite. As soon as I can discuss it, you’ll be one of the first to know. I promise.” Miranda’s gray eyes are earnest as she makes her vow. Her fingers are crossed, but I can tell by her expression it’s in hopefulness for whatever she has in the works. Miranda isn’t the deceitful type. Never has been.

We file into the hotel lobby, and I get my room assignment from Daphne. We’re all on the same floor, which is convenient from an organization standpoint, but makes it tricky to hook up with anyone. No one wants to be caught doing the walk of shame in yesterday’s clothes by your teammate’s granny.

The atmosphere at the hotel and in the arena is incredible. There are meet and greets with the players where fans get to have items signed and their pictures taken. The different teams have parties for their fans and there are fun skill challenges for the players.

A few hours later, we’re all suited up and about to start the skills competition. I love the jerseys—The Atlantic Conference were given gray jerseys, Central Conference has red, and Western Conference is white. The crowd erupts with cheers and even some boos as we skate around the ice. The stands are a rainbow of jerseys from all the different teams represented in the skills competitions. Even though we’re in Florida, the chill of the rink has folks bundled up in hoodies. I spot Sophie and Randi and skate over to the bench closest to them. I wave Sophie over, and she joins me at the glass.

Between raising my voice and lip reading, I’m able to talk to her. “I got jerseys for you and Randi. One is a spare of mine, and the other is one of Mac’s. They had already made up his jerseys before he was injured and still had them in the locker room. I asked if I could have them for his sister and girlfriend and they gave them to me. I don’t know if Randi wants to wear his. That’s why I picked one of each—you can decide how to divvy it up. Since you’re my dance partner for the show, it wouldn’t be weird if you wore my jersey.”

The smile she gives me takes my breath away, and it feels like when Ollie King from the Sasquatch runs into me.

“Thank you! Oh, Trevor, you’re so sweet!”

I use the blade of my stick to raise the jerseys over the glass and she catches them as they fall down. I do it quickly so we don’t get the crowd clamoring for freebies, and she scrambles back up to their seats. I’m keeping half an eye on them as I skate away, and Sophie is pulling my jersey on over her head. I like that she chose me over her brother.

The jerseys are huge on the girls. Sophie does something with a hair tie to bunch it up and make it cute. It would be even sexier if that was all she was wearing. Turning around and looking over her shoulder with a coy smile, so all I see is my last name and her smiling face. I don’t know why that turns me on. I’m never giving a woman my last name. My branch of the family tree is sprouting no limbs.

Speaking of my last name, I realize it was just announced, and the crowd is cheering while I’m staring at Sophie and fantasizing about things I’d like to do with her. Reluctantly, I tear my gaze away and acknowledge the cheers. I’m here as one of the best players in the league, and I should be focused on one thing alone. But the image of Sophie in my jersey and imagining her one day flashing me a come-hither smile over her shoulder has me half hard. Which is uncomfortable while wearing a cup.

“Look like you’ve been hitting the casino buffets there, Carter. Good luck hauling your fat carcass around the rink,” Kel Fessel, a coyote shifter forward for the Omaha Ogres, chirps at me.

The other contestants around us laugh. I give him a good-natured shin tap back.

“Don’t worry about me, Fessel. It’s a shame they don’t have a hot-dog-eating contest. At least then you’d have a chance to win something. Something to suggest for next year when the game’s in Atlantic City.”

One of the Colorado Cryptids players, a lion shifter, joins in.

“No one wants the Birds to win the Dickinson Cup, but a weekend in Atlantic City sounds fun.”

“Hey, don’t forget Vegas!” a fellow wolf shifter who plays for the Area 51 Aliens, says.

After a weekend in Vegas, chances are none of us would remember anything. We laugh then skate off in different directions to get things started.

My teammates perform well in their events. Stone’s sister, Bridget “Brick” Waller, wins the goalie competition by stopping the most goals in a row. My team captain, Burke Bedard, is the champion of the hardest slapshot event.

It’s my turn to skate, and I take some deep breaths to calm down. The adrenaline coursing through my veins can help me go faster—but it can also make me careless. It would be mortifying to lose an edge and wipe out in front of this crowd. I stand at the blue line until I get the signal to start. As I take my first strides and start to gather speed, I hear Randi and Sophie screaming for me, and it kicks me into a higher gear. It’s pure freedom, circling the rink along the boards. It’s the same feeling I have while running through the woods as my wolf. My blades dig into the ice, and the cadence of the swooshes soon matches the beat of my heart. I lean into the curves, staying as close to the cones marking the course as possible to shave every last millisecond off my time. In the end, I’m crowned the winner with the fastest time by more than a second.

After the race, I skate past Fessel, the runner-up, and say, “The all-you-can-eat lobster buffet we get really helps. All that butter keeps the joints lubricated, you know.”

I wink at Sophie as I skate by on my victory lap with my stick held high. Randi’s eyes widen and she glances between me and Sophie, a grin slowly spreading across her face. Whatever she’s thinking, she’s got the right idea. But Sophie and I don’t need a matchmaker. Though after seeing her with my name on her back, I wouldn’t say no to a hookup. And we can handle hooking up on our own. But that’s all it can be. A hookup, a fling.

I’m not made for relationships.

* * *

Normally we aren’t hanging out in the bar the night before a big game, but that’s what most of us are doing tonight. We’re at a high table, and I have my arm resting along the back of Randi’s stool. I’m sticking to soda water with lime tonight, but Sophie and Randi both have margaritas. If they’re drinking, there’s no way I am. I feel like it’s my responsibility to remain alert and keep them safe. I know I’m probably overreacting, and if it was just a Devil Birds party, I know I could let loose. But I don’t know these people, so I’m not risking it.

Randi’s telling us a story about working in New Zealand when she stops mid-sentence and sucks in a breath. I glance across the room and do a double-take. Mac’s striding through the bar, and he’s laser-focused on Randi. I hurriedly remove my arm from the back of her stool because I’m pretty sure Mac is ready to rip it off. Hard to hold a hockey stick with only one arm.

Suddenly, Mac’s at our table. Randi whispers his name, and they’re kissing like he’s just come back from war. When they finally break apart, Randi stands from her stool. Without a word to anyone, or even a glance, Mac plows like a speedboat through the crowd, pulling Randi in his wake.

Daphne yells out “Yes!” in the stunned silence, and then everyone laughs and starts chattering.

Sophie and I turn to each other, wide-eyed.

“Are you sharing a room with Randi?” I ask. Because if she is, she’s homeless now.

She shakes her head. “No, thank goodness. Walking in on them once was more than enough.”

We burst out laughing, and when I hear Sophie’s laugh is a mix of a chuckle and a wheeze, it only makes me laugh harder. She leans into my side, and I look down at her. She’s looking up at me, and our lips are inches apart. Her breath catches. I don’t know if I move, she moves, or we meet in the middle, but we’re kissing and it’s even better than New Year’s because now I know how soft her lips are and how sweet she tastes. I could kiss her all night long, but I remember we’re in a bar full of people we know from home and players from the other teams. Shit, we have to work together for the next two months.

Reluctantly, I pull back from the kiss. Blue eyes look up at me with a mixture of shock and lust. No doubt she sees the same in my hazel eyes. How can something that feels so good be such a bad idea?

“We shouldn’t do that,” she whispers.

I quirk up a corner of my mouth in a half-hearted grin. She’s right. I agree with her completely. And I hate that. “I know. But it’s fun.”

The smile she gives me is glorious, and it’s like I’ve been punched in the solar plexus.

Then the smile turns into a yawn, and an adorable flush creeps up her neck as she covers her mouth. “I’m sorry. I’m good with whisky, but fruity drinks like margaritas make me tipsy and sleepy.”

I smile. “Don’t apologize. I should turn in too. I know it’s not a game that affects the standings tomorrow, but I still want to win. Ready to go upstairs?”

Those words are meant innocently, but the second they pass my lips, my mind flashes to all the things we can do upstairs. Not gonna happen. First of all, she’s tipsy. I don’t mess with tipsy girls. Second, we need to work together, and I don’t think getting physical will make that any easier. Finally, I think I could like her. She can be prickly, and I don’t think it was all because of the tea. But I get her. We probably have a lot in common. Maybe. Who knows? Maybe I’m just projecting. Whatever’s going on, it would suck to torpedo things by rushing into something physical too quickly.

All the same, her blue eyes flash with an awareness that makes me think her mind is in the same place mine is. But, just like me, she’s going to ignore it. For now.

I get up and grab Sophie’s hand so we don’t get separated as we weave through the crowd. For no good reason, I keep a hold of it as we cross the lobby to the elevators, and I hold it as we reach our floor and walk down the hall. I finally, reluctantly, let go when we get to our doors. Our rooms are across the hall from each other, and Randi’s room is next to Sophie’s. The nice thing about Clardmore hotels is that they’re built with shifters in mind and have extra soundproofing in the rooms to be mindful of superior shifting hearing. Still, even if you don’t actually hear anything, knowing your best friend and brother are in the next room boinking is awkward as hell.

“If you want to bunk in here,” I say, “you can. No hanky-panky, just sleeping.”

She grimaces, looks toward Randi’s door, then swipes her key card and pushes open the door. With a jerk of her head, she invites me to follow her in. We stand there, facing each other with our heads cocked toward the common wall. We hear a faint cry of what I assume is ecstasy, and that’s enough for Sophie to grab her bag and head toward the door.

“Let’s go. We’re only sleeping,” she says as she yanks it open. Just as my sister and coach are walking by.

Mallory stops and looks at us and then down at Sophie’s bag, her eyes widening in surprise.

“Going somewhere?” she asks. Then she notices me behind Sophie. Shit.

Coach looks at me with raised eyebrows.

“Miranda and Declan are next door. I just…no.” Sophie shakes her head emphatically.

Mal’s nose scrunches in commiseration.

Now Coach is smirking at me. “You know your sister and I have the room next to yours, right?”

Fuck my life.

Mal backhands Coach in the stomach, and he melodramatically groans and bends over like she hit him with a shovel.

“No worries,” my sister says. “It’s Liam’s turn to wear the ball gag.”

Sophie lets out a bark of laughter, but I swear I throw up in my mouth a bit.

My sister wiggles a finger between me and Sophie.

“Is there something going on with you two?” she asks.

“No!” we exclaim in unison, making her and Coach laugh.

“I’m sleeping on the couch,” Sophie says.

Not what I was expecting to hear.

“You are?” I ask.

She looks at me like I’m insane.

“Aye, where else would I sleep? I’m not sharing a bed with you!”

For the first time, she’s sounding Scottish and reminding me of her brother. Yeah, think about her brother, a man bigger and stronger than I am. One I consider a close friend. I have no intention of anything happening, no matter how attractive I may find her. We can share a bed, and I can control myself. Unless…maybe she can’t control herself? A slow smile spreads across my face.

“Sleep well,” Coach says, tugging Mallory toward their door.

“See you in the morning!” Mallory says with a big grin on her face.

I open the door and step back so Sophie can enter first. It’s the same as her room—a king-size bed, a pull-out sofa bed, fridge, microwave, bathroom. It’s nice but nothing special. I pull the cushions off the sofa.

“What are you doing?” Sophie asks.

I’d think it’s obvious. “Making up the sofa bed?” I can’t control the hesitation at the end of my sentence.

She shakes her head.

“I just need a pillow and a blanket. I’ll be fine. I’ve slept on plenty of sofas,” she says.

I know she’s tiny, so she’ll fit much better on the sofa than I will, but I’m too much of a gentleman to automatically take the bed. “No,” I say, “You take the bed, and I’ll take the couch.”

She rolls her eyes. “You’re being ridiculous, Trevor. You have an important hockey game tomorrow. You need to get a good night’s sleep so you’re well-rested. I’m fine on the sofa. Stop arguing with me.” She gestures toward the bathroom. “Okay to use the bathroom to get changed, or do you want it first?”

I can tell by the stubborn set to her chin there’s no point in arguing. I sweep a hand toward the bathroom. “Go ahead. I’ll change out here.”

She stops short on her trek to the bathroom. The way her gaze flickers down my body and then to the bed, paired with her cheeks going red makes me think that the fact that I’m going to be sleeping in something other than jeans and a T-shirt is just occurring to her. If I was alone, I’d be sleeping naked. If I wasn’t alone, I’d be sleeping naked. But she’s here, so I’ll sleep in my boxer briefs. After a moment, she gives me a nod and goes into the bathroom. The click of the lock behind her sounds like a shotgun blast. I try not to take it personally. She doesn’t know me, and it’s most likely a habit. It’s ridiculous to be offended by a locked bathroom door. What did I want her to do? Leave it wide open while she takes a crap? Stop being a goober, Trev.

Goober. I chuckle. I picked that up from my nephews. My older brother, Ethan, being perfect as usual, has two wonderful sons, EJ and Matt. I love those boys. The only thing he ever failed at was marriage, and that wasn’t his fault. He would have stuck it out, but his ex-wife did them both a favor by recognizing they weren’t happy and weren’t going to be happy. She also loved the boys enough to realize their sons would be better off with Ethan having custody. I don’t know that I could be that unselfish. That’s part of the reason I’m never going to put myself in that position.

Speaking of positions, I grab a couple of pillows off my bed and get the bedding for the pull-out sofa from the closet. I don’t care that Sophie says she’ll be fine sleeping there. That can’t be as comfortable as having the space of a bed. The least I can do is make it cozy. I’m just spreading the blanket as she leaves the bathroom.

“Trevor, you didn’t have to do that. Thank you!”

I look up and my heart does the cha-cha dance I need to learn. She’s fricking adorable in her white shorts with hearts that match her hot-pink tank top. I’m trying so hard not to look at her breasts, but it’s difficult. They are high and firm. Not more than a handful, but that’s plenty, as far as I’m concerned. Her long blonde hair is in a loose braid. What gets me are the fuchsia plastic eyeglass frames perched on her nose.

“You wear glasses,” I say in wonder.

The rosy flush that floods her cheeks to match the frames is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.

“Yeah.” She pushes her glasses up her nose with her forefinger and looks down at the floor.

Crap, I didn’t mean to make her feel self-conscious.

“Hey,” I say softly, putting my finger under her chin to tip her face up to mine. “No looking down. Eyes up here.” Her gorgeous blue eyes lift to mine. I let the goofy smile I should hide spread across my lips. “You have no idea how stinking cute you are in glasses. Of course you’re beautiful. You must know that. But in glasses, you have that smexy thing happening that’s irresistible.”

Her nose crinkles and, oh my goodness, she has freckles on her nose. Her makeup hides them, and that’s probably a good thing because I’ve got the urge to kiss every single one of them. I never knew glasses and freckles were my kryptonite, but apparently, they are.

“Smexy?” she asks.

“Smart and sexy.”

“Oh.”

Her flush deepens, and I’m grateful I’m still in my jeans. The reaction I’m having down below would be way too obvious if I were only in my boxer briefs. How am I supposed to handle being so close to her all night and not being able to touch her? Inspiration strikes.

“Would it bother you if I took a shower?” I ask.

Now it’s her eyes widening. I wonder if she’s thinking about me wet and naked in the shower. The cold shower. I wonder if she’s aware she’s the reason I need to take it.

“No, do whatever you need to! This is your room. Thank you for making up the sofa for me. That’s so sweet.”

She shocks the hell out of me by climbing up on the sofa bed and holding onto my shoulder so she can lean over and give me a kiss on the cheek. It’s taking all of my willpower to not turn my head so our lips meet. Again.

I stand like a statue until I’m sure she’s steady and then step away.

Clearing my throat, I nod. “You’re welcome.” There I go again, being a goober.

I grab a clean pair of briefs and some gray sweatpants and head into the bathroom. I take my shower, and though I try to be a good man, I’m not a saint. I can’t help but think of Sophie as I grasp my hard cock and start rubbing it. No time for indulging in any elaborate fantasies or savoring the experience. I do what’s necessary to get the release I need, swallowing a groan of satisfaction as my cum washes down the drain. After doing a quick lather and rinse, I turn off the water and step out. Briskly drying myself, I listen for the TV or any other sound from the bedroom. Nothing. I pull on my black boxer briefs and gray sweatpants and crack open the door. Sophie’s under the covers on the sofa bed.

I pad over to the bed and make sure my alarm is set. Dropping my sweatpants, I slide under the blankets with a sigh. The Clardmore is pure class, and the billion thread count sheets they use are the softest thing I’ve ever felt against my skin. I need to find out the brand and get them for my bed at home. I roll to my side, close my eyes, and then I hear it. Tiny little snores that remind me of Cooper, the Bernese mountain dog puppy Coach got Mallory for Christmas. He’s an adorable bundle of black, brown, and white fluff that you can’t help but love. When he’s asleep in his crate, he lets out puppy snores, and that’s exactly what Sophie sounds like. If she let out the puppy farts Cooper’s becoming famous for, it would be easier to resist her, but no such luck. With a smile on my face, I close my eyes and drift off to sleep.