I nod. “See you later, Riley.”
Once he’s gone, I give the driver Hailey’s address and then we’re back on the slush-covered roads, heading midtown. Hailey’s building is a low-rise condo, about eight stories tall, with small balconies that face Yonge Street. Damn. Guess there won’t be any fucking on the balcony, at least not without giving the bumper-to-bumper traffic on this busy street an eyeful. We’ll save that for my high-rise, I suppose.
In the small lobby, I buzz Hailey’s apartment. A moment later, the door clicks open and I ride the elevator to the fourth floor.
She answers the door with a hesitant smile. “Hey.”
“Hey.” Zero hesitation on my end as I kick the door closed and lift her into my arms for a kiss.
Our mouths lock together eagerly, tongues sliding out to say hello. It’s the kind of frantic, greedy kissing that sends shockwaves straight to my cock. Hailey gives a tiny whimper and wraps her legs around my hips. Within seconds we’re grinding up against each other and I’m harder than stone.
“Whoa, slow it down, greedy girl,” I pant as I pull my mouth away.
“I’m the greedy one?” She’s as breathless as I am. “You’re the one who mauled me the second I opened the door.”
“You mauled back harder,” I tease.
Rolling her eyes, she gestures to my coat, which I remove and hand to her. She hangs it up and then leads me deeper into the small apartment. There’s a dining nook next to the kitchen, and it’s giving off the most fantastic smells. My stomach growls when I spot the huge serving of lasagna on one of the place settings.
Wait, only one place setting?
“I couldn’t wait,” Hailey says sheepishly. “I was famished even before you called from the cab. No way would I have lasted the forty minutes it took you to get here.”
“It’s all good, but that just means you get to watch me eat.”
“Do you want something to drink? I’ve got water, beer, and wine.”
“Beer me.”
Chuckling, she ducks into the kitchen while I take a seat at the round glass table. She comes back with two Bud Lights, twists both caps off, and hands me one. I greedily take a swig, then dig into some of the best lasagna I’ve ever had in my life.
“Hottie can cook!” I say in delight.
She snickers. “Hottie can order ready-made meals, freeze them, and then nuke them when Hottie is hungry.”
I snort and shovel more pasta into my mouth. I demolish the generous serving, then have a second helping while Hailey sits there with wide eyes.
“You’re a beast,” she marvels.
“Growing boy,” I say between bites. “And I didn’t get to eat after the game.”
At the mention of the game, her expression sours. “That was a bullshit penalty in the third,” she grumbles. “Wesley did not trip that jerk!”
Actually, he kind of did, but I love how loyal Hailey is to the team. We can do no wrong in her eyes. Though technically we did wrong tonight, since we lost to Philly. That penalty Wes took led to the power play goal that clinched the game for the other team.
“You can’t win ’em all,” I say, a surprisingly magnanimous attitude considering I fucking hate losing. But I think Hailey might hate it more. Jeez—a relationship in which I’m the level-headed one when it comes to hockey? Who woulda thunk it.
Not a relationship, I have to remind myself. We’re seeing each other and having fun, but I don’t envision engagement rings and wedding cakes in our future. I already tried walking that path, and it only led to a dead end.
We keep talking hockey until I finish eating. And that’s always fun. But I can’t seem to shake the awareness that things are supposed to be a little different between us now. That she’s someone I can disappoint if I’m not careful.
I sure don’t want that.
She hurriedly cleans up while I wander around the apartment, trying to get a sense of the woman living in it. It’s hard, though. There’s no art on the walls. The furniture is plain and slightly boring.
“So this was all the stuff you bought with your ex-hubby?” I call toward the kitchen.
Hailey pops out with a frown, following my gaze to the rather boxy, beige couch. “Yeah,” she admits. “Jax doesn’t like splashy things. He’s all about neutral tones and clean lines.”
Yet he married a woman with a nose ring and tats. Interesting. I wonder if, deep down, ol’ Jack is more adventurous than he lets on, or if his long history with Hailey was the sole reason they ended up together. They knew each other when they were kids, so she wouldn’t have had the piercings and ink when she was six.
Did he divorce her because she evolved into something he wasn’t comfortable with?
Christ. Where are all these questions coming from? I’m not usually so curious about other people’s past relationships. But having met Jackson—and noting how stuffy he seemed—I can’t figure out how Hailey ended up with someone like him.
“I should probably get rid of it, huh?” She heaves a great sigh. “It’s just so expensive to refurnish an entire apartment.”
“I hear ya. I saw the credit card statements after your shopping spree for my place,” I tease.
Her bottom lip sticks out as she stares at the rectangular coffee table. It’s as sedate and personality-free as everything else in the living room. “We should’ve gone to your place,” she says.
Maybe I’m not the only person experiencing a moment of hesitation. “Why? Because you bought this furniture with your ex?” I wave a hand. “I don’t mind.”
“I kind of do,” she confesses, her blue eyes worried. “It’s weird to have a man here who isn’t Jackson. Like, I want to ask you to sit down, but I look at the couch and all I see is Jax on it.”
I cock a brow. “You two get it on a lot on this couch?”
Pink splotches rise in her cheeks. “No. We only did that…um…stuff in the bedroom. And I did get a new bed,” she’s quick to assure me. “That’s one thing I couldn’t keep.”
“Okay, so if you guys didn’t bang your way around the apartment—outside of the bedroom—then what do you see when you look at the couch?”
“Jackson reading a book,” she answers glumly. She gestures to the bar. “There, I see him reading the morning paper.” She points to the balcony doors. “Or I see him out there reading our quarterly statements.”
“Your ex did a lot of reading.” I’m trying hard not to laugh. I shouldn’t find this funny, because Hailey looks so distressed, but the idea that all Jackson Emery did in this apartment is read is so damn absurd. Look at who he was married to!
I take a deep breath and feel my own tension fall away. “Hottie. Come here.” I crook my finger at her.
She takes a step closer to me, and I pull her in for a hug. Then I whisper in her ear. “How could your ex have his hands on some book or newspaper when those hands could’ve been on you? I don’t get that at all.”