29. Nelly

Chapter 29

Nelly

“ H onestly, Rosie, I don’t think I could have asked for a better night,” I said down the phone line, leaning back in the reclining patio chair as the crickets and frogs roared to life in the dead of night around me. Seb sat on the other side of the closed sliding glass door in his pajama bottoms and nothing else, honed muscles on display, as he sipped at the hot chocolate with peanut butter and whipped cream that I’d made for him and watched a rerun of Survivor .

It had only been a week, but it had easily been one of the most relieving and satisfying weeks of my life — even if he’d barely touched me since I’d moved back in. It was time for the playoffs, and his mind was focused. I was fine with that. He needed it.

“We had sex, like, three times. And I lost count of how many times I came,” I chuckled, beating back the heat in my cheeks. “But that first time… God, it was intense. In a good way. I don’t think I’ve ever been fucked like that. And staying the night with him after…”

“So you’re telling me you had the night of your life all because your ex got married?” she laughed, the sound tinny as if her connection was spotty. “I mean, I didn’t think I’d say this, but I guess I’m glad Morris got hitched. I need a night like that.”

“Yeah, I… I really recommend it,” I said.

Inside, Seb turned his head, his eyes locking on mine through the glass. His features softened instantly, his head leaning back onto the plush cushion of the sofa, his lips tugging up at the edges. Hi , he mouthed.

Hi , I shot back, my thumb dragging on my lower lip. I wanted to go back in, wanted to snuggle up to him and watch with him, but I had all the time in the world for that.

“I really like him, Rose,” I said, my voice smaller than it had been as I watched him turn almost reluctantly back to the television. “Is that crazy?”

“You mean for more reasons other than just the simple fact that he’s signing your checks?” she chuckled. “I don’t know, Nell. Maybe. You’ve not exactly got a history of picking the best men, and I still don’t know if I forgive him for what he said to you after that game. But I think if you’ve gone back to him after that, you must have had a good reason. And that’s fair.”

“We talked it out. He apologized profusely. He’d been apologizing the whole time, I just hadn’t realized that’s what he was trying to do,” I explained. “I think I got a little too in-my-head about it and couldn’t see past that. I stopped him from apologizing that night and so he tried every other way he could think of, but I wasn’t looking for the apologies, y’know? And he didn’t realize that I wanted him to do it with words anyway.”

“Ahh, a classic miscommunication,” she hummed. “So, I guess I don’t need to keep looking for a new full-time gig for you? ”

“Yeah. I can’t really imagine working for anyone else anymore. And maybe shift the short-term ones I had going to someone else if you can.”

“Let me look at the schedule, but yeah, I can almost certainly do that.” I could almost hear the little smile on her face. “Still can’t believe you’re sleeping with him. Wildly unprofessional.”

“Oh, shut up,” I laughed. “Besides, it’s not like we’ve done much since that night. He’s been so focused on playoffs that he’s been spending almost all of his time at the rink, and when he’s home, he’s either thinking about hockey or numbing his body aches with Survivor . We’re not exactly two rabbits.”

“Aww, is someone getting sexually frustrated?”

“No,” I lied.

Her answering cackle made my cheeks heat again. “Well, you know, I’ve heard that athletes have a, uh… particular fetish . Maybe you could try that.”

I watched as Seb stretched his shoulder, rolling it and kneading the flesh with his hand, his muscles flexing and softening. It almost had me clenching my thighs, and it was barely anything compared to how he was when he was purposely trying to turn me on, and certainly less than those fucking stretches he did on the ice before a game that made me contemplate running down there and dragging him off to the locker rooms.

Maybe I was sexually frustrated.

“Tell me.”