Chapter Fourteen

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Hayes

I spend most of my day trying not to think about Rylan’s game tonight. It’s not something I’m proud to admit, but I’m afraid something will go wrong, that he’ll play like crap and decide sleeping with me is the dumbest thing he’s ever done, and he doesn’t want to do it anymore.

What if I somehow become a bad-luck charm? What if anytime he’s near me, I mess up his game and ruin his career and he never wants to talk to me again? This is a strange, confusing thing we’re doing, and it doesn’t mean anything, so it doesn’t matter if he doesn’t want to talk to me again. I just really don’t want to ruin his career.

I’m giving myself a whole lot of power in this scenario, and I blame Rylan for it. He’s got me believing in all this superstitious stuff, as though I really think I’m a four-leaf clover or a sign of the end of times.

Our conversation yesterday was interesting. I’m still trying to wrap my head around what he shared with me—his dad abandoning them, his parents’ struggle—and how I could feel his passion for hockey. I just thought we’d have sex and go our separate ways, and if we did talk, I didn’t expect the depth Rylan showed me. Which is really a me problem because okay, maybe I can be a little judgy, but it’s not something I’m proud of. I’ve never had something like this, so I’m not sure how to feel about it, and… “Ugh.” I bend forward and bang my forehead against my desk a couple of times.

Why am I still thinking about Rylan Pierce? Hooking up with a guy as hot as him is clearly a threat to normal thinking patterns. Now everything is about him.

Ana stops by to ask if I want to hang out tonight, but I politely decline. I don’t leave work at five like I should. If I go home, all I’ll do is turn on the game. Besides, working late isn’t unusual for me. My job seems to be taking up about ninety percent of my life, but running a chain of hotels all along the western part of the country involves a lot of moving parts. That’s another reason this thing with Rylan makes sense. It’s easy. I’ve never had easy sex in my life, and—damn it. I did it again.

Don’t think about Rylan, don’t think about Rylan, don’t think about Rylan.

My phone rings, and I nearly jump out of my chair, heart racing like my cell is trying to kill me. Maybe a bit of an overreaction, but it startled the crap out of me. I snatch it off the desk, fumble and drop it, then pick it up again. I’m not sure whom I thought it would be, but I let out a relieved breath when I see Mom on the screen. Talking to her will be a good distraction because thinking about the guy you’re sleeping with is just weird when you’re on the phone with your mom.

“This is Hayes.”

“I know who it is, silly. I called you.”

She has a point. I’m just used to answering my phone that way, and considering I’m a creature of habit, it doesn’t matter whom I’m talking to. “Hey, Mom. How are you doing?”

“Not too bad. We’re heading to London in a couple of days, so I thought I’d call and check in.” My parents still travel a lot. Dad runs the East Coast operations, and while he has people to take care of the Rockwells in Europe, they’ve always loved being there, so it’s somewhere they’ve always spent a lot of time.

For some reason, that makes me think about Rylan, the way he talked about his parents and his relationship with them, their closeness. It feels so different from the one I share with mine. We love each other, I’ve never hurt for anything, and they’ve always supported me, but…it’s not the same.

“Hayes?”

“Hmm?” I say, realizing I must have zoned out.

“Nothing. You just didn’t say anything after I mentioned London.”

“Oh, sorry. I just have a lot on my mind.”

“Is everything okay? It has nothing to do with Malcolm or that Jilted Exes stuff, does it?”

Because of course she had to mention that. It’s the absolute last thing I want to talk about.

Before I have a chance to reply, not that I want to, she continues, “You need to find more friends. You’ve always been so independent, but more than that, you keep yourself at arm’s length from everyone. I worry that this whole thing with Malcolm is making that even worse.”

I rub a hand over my face, annoyed. I don’t think she understands that there’s something about me that doesn’t make it easy to find friends. I’ve always been okay with that. It suits me well, but it’s not only me. People don’t really want to stick around with me, and I think that’s why I was foolish enough to believe the situation with Malcolm was different. Some of his negative behaviors toward me were easy to ignore because he was there .

“I’ve actually met some friends lately,” I lie. Kind of lie. Rylan is the guy I’m sleeping with, and Anthony and Donovan are fellow Jilted Exes whom I’m nervous about continuing to spend time with, but she doesn’t need to know that.

“Oh really? That’s wonderful news!” Mom replies, sounding much happier than I expected. Does she really see me as that much of a loner? Does it worry her that much? “Just…be careful. I don’t want you to get into another situation like with Malcolm.”

“Jesus, Mom. Do you want me to make friends or not? I don’t have them, and you say I need them. When I make them, you tell me to be careful, but two minutes ago you told me I keep people at arm’s length!” My pulse beats against my skin. I don’t want to get so frustrated, but it’s difficult. My right leg bounces, making it hard to sit, so I shove to my feet.

“You’re upset. I didn’t mean to upset you, Hayes. I just want what’s best for you.”

The thing is, I know she does. And I know I don’t always make it easy either. I sigh. “It’s fine. I’m just on edge today.”

“Is everything okay?”

Is everything okay? The only friends I have, I’ve just met in the last few weeks, and I don’t even know if I can consider them friends. I’m a bit of a mess, and I’m not sure if I’ve ever realized it until now. Fuck Malcolm and this whole journey he’s put me on.

But it’s not like I can say any of that to Mom, so I make up some BS excuse about work, talk to her for a few more minutes, and then end the call.

I’m surprised I haven’t worn a hole through the carpet with my pacing. I’m irritated, stressed, and…I will not turn on the hockey game. Will not.

I hurry back to my chair and log in to a site that streams the game. No one has to know I’m watching. Rylan will definitely never know. It’ll be my secret. Truthfully, I don’t even understand why I’m watching other than how I’ve been obsessing about him all day and then Mom’s call got me all up in my head. I want to feel…well, the way Rylan makes me feel. Wanted. Good. Even if it is just because we have amazing sex.

They’re playing in North Carolina, then Florida and Nashville. I ignore the fact that I know his schedule by heart.

It’s the third period, and of course the first thing I see is Rylan. He’s ramming some guy into the board thingies. They’re fighting over the puck, Rylan using his big, muscular body to manhandle the other player and… “What the fuck?” I look down at my dick, which is totally plumping up. Why in the hell do I think this is hot?

My gaze snaps to the computer again when I hear the announcer say that Rylan is getting put in the penalty box. I have no idea what he did since I was preoccupied with my cock, but as he skates over, I notice his lip is bleeding.

Well, this can’t be good, can it? Clearly our sex didn’t work, and now he’s never going to want to have it with me again while I spend my life with a hockey-player kink.

There’s a small chance I’m overreacting.

The camera pans the game, announcers talking about North Carolina going for a power-play goal, whatever the fuck that means. Our goalie blocks it, and there is absolutely no reason I should be calling him our anything, but all I want is for them to show Rylan again. Is he mad? Is he sitting there bleeding and thinking about how my cum ruined his game?

But then, the Rebels are still leading. That has to be a good sign.

He’s out of the game for what feels like five hours, and how the fuck long are hockey games? It’s not like I was paying attention to the one and only game I’ve ever been at.

Rylan has a huge smile on his face when he skates back onto the ice. North Carolina didn’t score while he was out, and Rylan jumps right back into the action.

“It looks like Pierce is playing a little extra special again tonight,” one of the announcers says.

“Something has lit a fire in him these last two games,” another adds, and then…wait…it’s me who is smiling because I’m the one who lit something inside him. At least, according to Rylan. And apparently, the penalty situation didn’t matter.

I don’t even try to pretend I’m not riveted on this dumb, annoying game until the final buzzer sounds and the Rebels are congratulating each other on their win. A strange giddiness flutters in my chest.

Are they going to talk to Rylan after the game? They usually do that, right? It’s not my finest moment, but I keep my ass in the chair until the after-game press conference starts and Rylan Pierce is coming to sit in front of a microphone. He’s wearing a Dominating Athletics T-shirt and holding the company’s water bottle, which he places just right so the name is showing. His hair is wet like he jumped into a quick shower before he came out.

“Another good game for you tonight, Pierce,” a reporter says.

His scruffy jawline catches my attention, and when he grins, I nearly melt. “Just good? I was thinking more along the line of phenomenal.”

The reporters laugh.

I roll my eyes, though a small part of me finds his confidence charming.

“Really, though, like always, it was a team effort. Mads was a monster in the net. Volkov’s shot was on point. Stevens and I were in sync. It’s a team sport, and we can’t win without each other.”

“Oh, don’t pretend you don’t think you’re King Hockey,” I tell Rylan through the computer.

“That’s true,” the reporter says, “but you have to admit, you’ve been playing like a man on a mission lately.”

“I’m always on a mission—the Stanley Cup,” Rylan replies.

Sports culture is so strange to me, but I do understand the urge to win, to be the best. It’s what my parents set out to do with the Rockwell, and I continue to fight for their vision for our brand.

“Have you been doing anything different lately?” another reporter asks him.

“I work hard. I’ve always worked hard, and I’ve always been the best, but I think I’ve found myself some good pucking luck.” He smirks and winks at the camera, and I almost swallow my tongue. My heart slams against my chest, and the corners of my lips pull up into a grin of my own. I tell myself to stop smiling because none of this means anything. And I don’t want it to mean anything, but for a reason I can’t explain, I feel like I’m the one who won the game tonight.

My face feeling hot, I shut down my computer and pack up my things. When I get into the elevator, my phone buzzes, and though I’d like to be able to ignore it, there’s no chance I can.

With quick hands I tug it out of my pocket, knowing whom it will be.

Rylan: Did you watch me play?

Me: No.

Rylan: Liar.

Me: Only the last period!

Shit. Why did I admit that?

Rylan: You’re so fucking cute.

Me: Stop saying that.

The elevator dings, and I get out.

Rylan: Why would I do that? It’s fun telling you how much I want you.

My cheeks heat. Ugh. What is it with this guy?

Me: I don’t believe you.

I can’t believe him.

Rylan: I know, cutie, but it’s true. I’m gonna spend the next six months showing you how fucking irresistible you truly are and that anyone who doesn’t see it is an idiot.

I stare at the screen, unsure how to even reply to that, while my stomach gets all fluttery.

Me: Anyway…good game. You’re heading to Florida?

Rylan: You looked up my schedule.

Me: Just so I could see when we’d have sex next.

Lie, lie, lie.

Rylan: Yep, Florida. That’s why I messaged. We’re heading to the airport now. But funny how you think we have to wait until I’m home to have some fun together. I’ll text you tomorrow.

I gulp. What is he…what the fuck is he talking about?

Me: Wait. What? Tell me what you mean!

But of course, he doesn’t answer.