Apparently I’m exactly like my dad where hockey is concerned, except I’m a better player. At twenty-four, I’m in my sixth season with the NHL. He managed three seasons, but never first line. Still, it’s been hammered into me that I’m just like Randy Senior. We have the same personality, the same face, the same skill set, the same style on the ice, the same everything. And I’ve spent enough time with him to know it’s true.
So that means one thing: there’s a good chance I’m going to screw someone over the way he screwed over my mom. It might not be intentional, but it’ll happen. So I don’t get involved. Usually I’ll hang out with the same girl for a while, rather than bunny hop. We have fun until it gets too involved and isn’t working anymore, and then we part ways and do our own thing.
Most of the time it works out okay. But some girls get invested way too fast. There’ve been a few bunnies along the way that wanted more from me, but I make it abundantly clear that’s not how things are going to roll. It’s not my fault they read more into it than they should. There was one who got a tattoo of my face on her tit—and that was after I cut ties. As soon as I see it happening, I bail. I don’t want to hurt feelings or break hearts; I just want awesome sex and some sleepovers.
Except that’s actually a load of BS, because in all honesty, if I wasn’t at risk of fucking up someone else’s life, I might want an actual girlfriend. I can see the appeal. But definitely not this chick currently taking up space in my truck.
With Lily, I have to be even more conscious of what I’m doing and who I’m doing it with because she’s connected to Miller and Alex. I don’t want to mess shit up and make my life or theirs more difficult. She’s a lot of fun, though, and she’s clearly on the rebound, so I’m thinking we can spend some time getting to know each other without clothes on.
I chuckle at the memory of Lily’s expression when she saw my underwear in that bathroom last weekend. I plan to pull them out next weekend to see how she reacts again.
M Girl must mistake my chuckle for some kind of green light to get all up on my dick. She’s still pants-less. She adjusts her seatbelt’s shoulder strap and leans over as far as she can. Her hand lands on my upper thigh and moves to my slowly inflating, traitor dick.
I glance down and then at her. “What’re you doing?”
“I thought maybe I could thank you for the ride.”
“By holding my dick?”
“I was thinking more along the lines of a blow job.”
I exhale heavily through my nose and move her hand off me. We’re less than two minutes from her place now. “I don’t really have time for that.”
“I can be real fast. I give amazing blow jobs.”
I want to tell her that’s not something she should be bragging about. I take the next corner a little too fast, almost fishtailing. She slides across the seat and bumps into the passenger door.
“Sorry.”
“It’s okay.” She moves back into position as I turn another corner. I need both hands on the wheel, so she takes the opportunity to slide her hand into my shorts.
Her building is two hundred feet away. I screech to a stop in front—it’s a nice place—and throw it in park.
“No!” I bark, gripping her wrist.
Her eyes go wide, and she retracts her hand like she’s been bitten.
I close my eyes for a second and breathe. When I look at her again, I’m calm. I’ve given this speech a bunch of times, so it’s nothing new. “Look, you’re a nice girl, and we had fun, but the new season’s about to start, and I can’t get into anything right now. I gotta keep my head in the game, you know?”
“Oh.” She wrings her hands.
Shit. I hope she doesn’t start to cry. “It’s not personal. I need to stay focused.” A daylight truck BJ wouldn’t be happening with her regardless (still news to my dick), but at least the excuse is mostly true.
“Right. Sure. I understand.”
She unbuckles her seatbelt and leans over like she’s going for some kind of goodbye kiss. I only spent one night with her. I think we had sex twice. It was decent if I’m remembering right, but I’m not positive. I lift my chin so I get her forehead instead of her mouth.
I pull back and smile. She returns it, but it’s got that watery quality again. She reaches for the door, which is when I realize she’s still not wearing bottoms.
“Hey.”
She stops with her hand on the door, and her hopeful expression makes me feel shitty.
I glance down and get an eyeful of *. “You should probably put some shorts on, honey.”
“Oh! Oh my God!” Her cheeks flush, and she mutters an apology as she rummages through her bag. It takes forever for her to find her shorts. She jabs her feet through the holes and pulls them up, then jams all the other crap back in.
She opens the door without looking at me. “Thanks for the ride.”
There’s a thick feeling in my throat. “No problem.”
She gets down just fine without any help. She’s about to close the door when I notice her phone on the seat.
“Hold up!”
She lifts her head, that same hopeful expression appearing again. Except she uses the back of her hand to rub at her eyes. I made her cry. I don’t think this situation could get any more awkward.