Page 9

I nod and check my watch.

Nearly forty minutes late.

I glance over my shoulder, and fifty pairs of eyes shoot in my direction—no sign of her. The doors to the chapel remain closed, and an eerie silence descends on the room, almost as if the wedding guests have resigned themselves to my fate.

She’s not coming. My childhood sweetheart, my everything.

I turn back to the priest and nod once at him, holding out my hand to shake his. I’m not staying here to be gawked at and then fawned over while people attempt to console me with their empty words.

He looks down at my hand and then back up to me, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he smiles warmly. “God has another plan for you, Jensen.”

I boltup in bed as the sheets pool at my waist.

Cracking my neck from side to side, I swipe the back of my hand over my forehead and remove the sheen of sweat. It happens a lot, but each time it does, the dream breaks off at a different stage.

“Different plan my ass.” I huff out a laugh to no one in particular. Every plan I’ve ever had has turned to shit. So I’ve given up planning to go with the flow and just accept whatever comes my way.

I turn the faucet on in my walk-in shower and step under the freezing water. I sleep naked since I seem to wake up in a cold sweat most mornings, and so I don’t have to fuck about getting undressed. Ice-cold water works every time; it awakens my senses, especially before games. A couple minutes of this and then I’ll slowly crank up the heat and ponder my day.

And today is big. Fucking seismic, in fact.

If we get the W tonight, we will clinch the cup for the second time in my career and during our captain's final game.

Pressure rolls up my spine; I need a shut-out against the Blades. It’s nothing I haven’t dealt with before, but it never gets any easier.

I turn the heat up on the shower, letting the rainfall cascade down my back as I lean my forearms against the tiles.

Feeling like it’s my best option to ease some of the tension, I take my semi-hard cock into my left hand and move my fist up and down.

Damn, that feels good.

But just like during my morning routine and as if on cue, her face invades my mind.

And I’m not talking about my ex-fiancée, Lauren.

Kate Monroe. My fucking kryptonite.

The grip on my cock gets tighter as I pump it harder and with added frustration. She’s like she always is in my fantasies: on her fucking knees with her silky blonde hair wrapped around myfist. Her piercing bright blue eyes stream, leaving mascara tracks down her rosy cheeks as she takes me further down her throat.

That’s right, Princess. Take me. Take it all.

Let me fuck that sass and back talk right from that pretty mouth of yours.

I feel the pressure transfer from my spine to my balls as a powerful orgasm threatens to burst free.

I drop my forehead to the cold tile wall and squeeze my eyes shut as my hips begin to pump erratically. God, she’s fucking good at sucking my dick in my imagination, and I know she’ll be even better in reality. I’d fuck her through my mattress, given half a chance, even if she won’t come within twenty feet of me.

Squeezing my dick harder, I come on a deep roar as streams of hot cum spray against the wall, and my jaw hangs open as I imagine her swallowing every single fucking drop.

Take it, Katherine.

A shudder wracks through my body as I come back down to earth, and frustration swells within me once more. For the past eighteen months, since that night in Riley’s, all I can think about is her. And ever since she rejected me and then moved on to some random guy at the bar, she’s triggered memories of that fateful day ten years ago when I was left standing at the altar.

But the kicker is that she’s the one who thinks I moved on to some redheaded chick and took her home. Well, she’s wrong. That redhead, Chloe, was actually my sister’s best friend visiting her family for the holidays. We randomly bumped into each other, and the moment I saw she was drunk and planning to walk herself back to her parents’ apartment in downtown Seattle, there was no way I was letting that happen.

So the immature little princess threw her toys out and concluded I’d moved on with someone else.

The hypocrisy.