50. Weston

On the ride home, Renee is still smiling. “So I’ve been curious about something,” I begin.

“No, I won’t marry you,” she teases.

I roll my eyes, even though the mere mention of those words makes my heart do a weird double-clutch.

“In your dreams. I was gonna ask, what’s your plan for when Sutton gets back from Paris?”

The smile vanishes from her face. “My plan? I don’t know. I don’t have one except for finding a place of my own, I guess.”

“You want to move? Why not stay there? Our building is one of the best in L.A. We have security and a doorman.”

I’m scowling now. If she lives across town, how the fuck am I supposed to protect her from Jackass and whoever else might come for her? Sutton’s apartment is close to mine. It is convenient to our arrangement. I don’t want to lose that.

“I know, but…”

I wait a couple seconds for her to get to the end of the sentence. When it doesn’t seem to be coming, I push all the crazy down inside of me, clear my throat, and focus on the road out the window. “You don’t want to live with Sutton?”

They’re best friends. And while, thanks to Hunter, I’m painfully aware that living with one’s best friend isn’t always an optimal situation, I also don’t want Renee out there in the wilds of Los Angeles. There are sharks out there. I would know.

“I could, but I want to stand on my own two feet.” She scoffs and shakes her head at herself. “Easy to say while I’m soaking up the free ambiance at her place, right? I mean, I just want to do something on my own.”

I get it. I really do.

But I don’t like it.

Fortunately, Sutton isn’t back yet and so this is a non-issue for the time being. We drive the rest of the way back to the building in the quiet night air, neither one of us saying anything.

But I can’t stop thinking about her moving. If she does go, I’ll miss all the elevator rides where I cop a feel and steal a kiss. I’ll miss the morning time, when she brings her coffee to the roof and sits with me before work. I’ll miss the smell of her in the hallway, like a tease saying she was just there.

When I pull into the garage and shut the car off, Renee leans her head back against the seat and looks over at me. “Thank you for tonight. I had a good time.”

“Well, if you’re still in the mood, we could keep the good times going…”

She giggles and bites her lip. “Rain check. I have an early morning.”

“Sure. Yeah. Me, too.”

I really do. Morning skate will be tough tomorrow, coming off a rest day. But I still want more of her. I want to devour her here and now, again and again. The post-sex testosterone or whatever you call it makes me want to wrap myself around her. And every time we’re together, that feeling gets more intense.

I need to nip all of this shit before it turns into something that spins clear out of my control.

She tilts her chin up and smiles at me. It’s one of those wanting smiles, the kind that means I could walk her into my place, strip her naked, and fuck her on every smooth surface and some that aren’t so smooth in the entire apartment if I pressed the issue.

But that shit is dangerous.

The season is just starting. I need to stay focused, not put all my energy into a woman. This is my year; I can feel it. I can’t afford to miss my chance.

So instead of fulfilling any of my never-ending fantasies, I walk her to her door and give her a quick, cool kiss. Quick and cool, that is, until she curls her fingers around the back of my neck and massages there. That touch sends me to orbit and I lose any fucking control I might’ve had. It’s worse when she opens her mouth and lets my tongue slip past her lips.

I push her back against the wall and kiss her harder. She gives as good as she gets, grinding her hips against mine and sighing softly into my open mouth.

It’s almost like she wants more. Like she didn’t literally just get laid at the arena.

Finally, when I think I’m about to walk her into her place and strip her down for a few more rounds of sweaty romps, I force myself to pull back. My breaths are hard and almost painful and my dick is trying to play peek-a-boo out the top of my waistband, but I’m walking away.

“Goodnight, Princess.”

I turn and head to my own place. I’m so close to a captain’s C on my jersey that I can taste it. Distractions won’t get me anywhere and she’s more than a fucking distraction—she’s a flashing red light atop the crimson flagpole of a giant red flag.

The problem really isn’t with her. It’s me. Always me. I want more. Nothing is good enough. The captaincy won’t be. The Cup won’t be.

Maybe she could be.

Because as crazy as it sounds—and I know it sounds fucking ludicrous—part of me imagines waking up every morning with a naked Renee tangled in the sheets at my side and being happy. Satisfied. Contended, the kind of contended where you couldn’t possibly imagine a single thing better than what’s right in front of you.

I want the on-ice things I’ve been aiming at for so long. All the trophies and accolades and my name in the rafters.

But I need Renee.

That’s fucking trouble.