35. Hayden

CHAPTER 35

HAYDEN

Ten minutes later, we climb into bed, not looking at each other. My heart beats harder in my chest as she settles under the duvet beside me, sinking into the pillow and adjusting to get comfortable. When I glance over at her, my pulse does a weird leap.

It feels weirdly familiar and comfortable, climbing into bed with Darcy like this. Like we've done it a thousand times.

"Aren't you going to be too hot?" she asks, looking at my t-shirt and gym shorts.

I'm going to boil from the inside out, but I can't climb into bed beside her in just my boxers like I usually wear to sleep. "I'll be fine."

One of her eyebrows lifts. "Hayden. I know you sleep in just boxers. It's okay."

I hesitate. "Are you sure?"

She nods. "Mhm. Promise. I'll keep my hands to myself."

I chuckle, pulling my shirt over my head and tossing it onto the nearby chair.

Her eyes trail down my torso with interest before she looks away fast.

Was she… checking me out? Pride expands in my chest. I ya nk my shorts off, and her eyes cut back to me, to my tight boxers, before she looks at the ceiling.

"You better not snore," I tell her.

She grins and kicks me with her cold feet.

"Your feet," I hiss, moving away. "They're like ice."

"Sorry." She wiggles her toes against my calf.

I jerk my leg away, laughing. "That's it. You're sleeping in the hall."

She laughs again, and I grin, moving onto my side to study her.

"It's like having a sleepover," she says, gaze moving over my face.

"I wouldn't know. I don't have sleepovers with women."

Her brows slide together in a puzzled expression. "I meant a sleepover, like when you were a kid, but now I have more questions." The corners of her lips tip up as she studies me. "Really? You've never slept in the same bed as a woman?"

I shake my head. "I mean, the other night, after Kit called you?—"

"Right." She swallows, biting her lip. "But that was…"

"Different."

"Yeah." She nods. "Different."

A long beat of silence. "Sleepovers lead to breakfast together," I admit, "and that leads to people getting attached."

We have breakfast together all the time, my brain reminds me. She makes me coffee every morning when I'm in town. It's the best part of my day, sitting in the kitchen with her while she looks all sleepy and cute, talking about our plans for the day.

She hums, watching me. "So maybe it's you who snores."

I huff a laugh. "Whatever. Don't blame me when the windows start shaking because you're sawing logs."

Her smile stretches wide, and I thank that dumb bird for flying into her window and making this situation happen.

"I'm going to turn the light out," I tell her, and she nods. I reach over my shoulder and click the lamp off, darkening the room. Even with the blinds closed, a soft glow from the city lights outside sneaks through.

I listen to the sound of our breathing, but my mind wanders back to the bar tonight. How she looked so terrified at the idea of the team using her hockey models. A memory resurfaces—years ago, her talking with animated excitement about her new job.

For six months after we graduated from university, Darcy worked for the Canadian Department of Agriculture as a data analyst. I still remember the way her voice sounded when she talked about her job, full of interest and excitement.

"Hey, Darce?"

"Mmm?"

"What happened at your first job?"

She never told me why she got a new job, just that she was working somewhere else before she changed the subject. She never had that spark when she talked about work, though.

Not until tonight.

"I screwed up and got fired," she says quietly. "And I got someone else fired."

I can still make out her profile in the dim bedroom as she stares at the ceiling. "What happened?"

She exhales through her nose. "We were running a study on small-scale farms, on who could use the grant money most effectively, and my model was wrong."

Our gazes meet before she looks away, and I have the overwhelming urge to pull her against my chest and tell her it's not her fault, that it's going to be okay.

"My boss checked it, but I uploaded the wrong one. People missed out on the government grant because of it, and we only found out when we were audited." She swallows .

My chest aches at the pain in her voice. "And they let you go?"

She nods. "They let my boss go, too, though. And she was a single mom." Her expression crumples and my body tenses. "She was so nice, Hayden. She was such a good boss. She spent so much time training me and explaining things. I could tell she really loved the work, you know?"

I nod, not knowing what to say. I hate seeing her in pain like this. I hate that this has weighed on her for years and made her feel like she isn't capable.

"You were twenty-two. You were fresh out of school."

"I should have known better." She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. "Some of those small-scale farms had to close and sell off land. Some of them had been family farms for generations. A lot of people were hurt by my mistake."

I don't say anything for a long time. I just watch her and wonder what she'd be like if that hadn't happened. If she was still at that job and loved her career.

Christ, I want to see Darcy love her career again. I want to see her light up like she did tonight. "Everybody makes mistakes."

"Yep. Everyone makes mistakes, but sometimes they hurt people. That's why I work in insurance," she admits with a wry half smile. "No one gets hurt. Rich old men might lose a bit of money, but no one goes out of business, and no one gets fired."

She gives me a quick, reassuring smile, like she's smoothing the conversation and all her vulnerability away. But her words knot in my chest, snagging and scratching.

Her eyes close and she settles farther under my duvet. "Good night, Hayden."

I want more for her. I want her to feel on top of the world, to be excited about work and to feel like she's making a difference. I want her to take risks and see that sometimes they pay off.

"Good night, Darce."

I wake the next morning spooning Darcy, her body tucked against my chest, warm and soft, pretty hair all over me and her sweet scent in my nose. Intense feelings of comfort and possessiveness course through me.

She fits right against me, like we were made for each other.

In her sleep, she sighs and shifts her hips, pressing her ass back into me. Blood hurtles to my cock and my balls ache.

She lets out a low moan and does it again. My jaw clenches at how good the pressure feels against my cock, how good it feels for her to want me like this. The urge to yank her pajama bottoms down and rock against her pussy sweeps through me, but instead, I tighten my hold around her, clutching her harder against me, letting my lips fall to the exposed skin between her shoulder and neck.

I shouldn't be doing this, but I'm half asleep and not thinking clearly. Her skin is so fucking soft under my mouth, and I could spend hours like this, just teasing each other.

Her breathing changes and she stiffens before her head jerks up and our gazes meet. Her eyes go wide.

"Sorry." She moves away, and I pull my arm back, rolling onto my back.

Thankfully, between my tight boxers and the thick duvet, she can't see my straining erection and how much I enjoyed what we just did.

On the other side of the bed, she gives me a soft, slightly embarrassed smile, looking so fucking gorgeous in the morning light .

"Did you sleep okay? I wasn't, like, kicking you or mumbling about the Fibonacci sequence?"

I chuckle, shaking my head. "I slept like a rock."

The realization sinks into my gut. Not a fluke, then, that I sleep better than ever with Darcy in my bed.

We watch each other for a few moments.

"Me, too," she whispers.

Our eyes meet again and my heart thumps harder. I want to stay in this bed with her forever, just lying here talking. My mind wanders back to last night at the bar. "I like that you're playing with your hockey models again."

She rolls her eyes.

"They make you happy, though, don't they? Maybe that's enough." I reach for a lock of her light-purple hair and drape it across her upper lip like a mustache.

Beneath it, she smiles.

"It's nice to see you excited about things again."

She makes a pleased, thoughtful humming noise.

My eyes drop to her mouth, and the urge to pull her back against me and kiss her rushes through me. Our gazes meet, and something sparks in her eyes. For a moment, I think she might feel the same way.

"I should get up and get ready for work," she whispers.

"Yeah." I nod. "I'll call the maintenance guy about your window again. It'll be fixed by the time you get home tonight."

She gives me a grateful smile and leaves, closing my bedroom door behind her, and I lie there, listening to the sounds of her getting ready for work while I wrap my hand around my cock and give it slow, torturous strokes, teasing myself until I hear the front door close when she leaves.

With a few faster, rougher strokes, I come hard, white light blinding my vision and pleasure running like a hot current through my veins as I shoot all over my stomach with a groan. I can never come quietly. My breath saws in and out of my lungs as my head fills with thoughts of soft, sweet, fuckable Darcy. My Darcy.

Like always, the orgasm isn't enough. Afterward, I want her more than ever. The urge to take control rises. It's the same feeling I had on the ice the other night when I scored the goal.

Later, on my way to the kitchen, I pause in the doorway of her bedroom, eyes on the box sitting on her desk, unopened past the original shipping box.

The sex toy.

My thoughts flick to the instructional video that popped up on her laptop last night. It's not my problem, and I'm not going to get involved. No matter how badly I want to intervene, help, and make her feel safe.

Make her come.

I force myself to walk to the kitchen, clearing thoughts of her from my head as I call the maintenance guy again to get the window fixed.

Not. My. Problem.