Page 25 of Any Second Now (Fort Collins Blizzard Hockey #2)

Everything is Fine

RALEIGH

O h, holy mother of god.

We just finished having sex—again—and Atticus is passed out. It’s still the middle of the night. My mind races and I can’t get myself to fall asleep.

He snores lightly behind me, his arm draped across my waist, his whole body pressed against mine as the big spoon. He’s like a warm blanket that I want to snuggle up with forever.

Well, not forever.

Obviously.

This is a one-night stand.

Also, obviously.

But… I’m not a one-night stand kind of girl. Doing things like this is not like me. Things being sleeping with a gorgeous professional hockey player.

Not like the old me, anyway.

And while he is probably a one-night stand kind of guy, I have a feeling this was not one. Or am I wrong about that? I desperately want to talk to my friends about this.

Oh no. Lucy .

Have I made things permanently weird with my best friend’s little brother and therefore my best friend?

I shift and Atticus’s breath hitches and his arm shifts on my waist. I stay frozen until he settles back into steady breathing.

There’s been no casual dating in my life. No hooking up with random guys in college or at bars in my twenties.

Just Raleigh Hayes (then Monroe then Hayes then Ford then Hayes again) doing exactly what she’s supposed to do in life, following the spreadsheet, over-planning her entire life.

Although two divorces are probably not in anyone’s spreadsheet.

I move again and Atticus rolls over onto his back, so I scoot closer to the edge. I think I need to get out of his bed and find some space to think without his warm, hard body touching me.

Do all one-night stands include such amazing sex? Like the best sex of my life?

Maybe that’s the whole point. No inhibitions, no predictability, freedom from the expectations of marriage or anything serious.

Careful not to shake the bed too much, I slowly wiggle my body until my toes are hanging off, then swing my legs over until I can sit up and place my feet firmly onto Atticus’s bedroom floor.

I sneak a look at the gorgeous man sleeping lightly in bed behind me. He’s probably going to be unhappy that I’m sneaking out. But I can’t sleep. I need to go. I stand and hunt around the dark room for my belongings. My clothes are in a messy pile in front of the bed.

A delightful shiver runs up and down my body when I think of the way he talked to me last night. The way he made me beg. I cover my mouth with a hand and tiptoe out of the room, grabbing my things from the floor next to his bedroom door and pulling the door mostly shut behind me.

I duck into the hallway bathroom and pull on my jeans. I have one arm half out of Atticus’s jersey when I change my mind.

Nah. I’ll wear it home. I can return it later .

I catch myself in the mirror and breathe out in a huff.

My hair’s sticking up everywhere—sex hair if I’ve ever seen it. I have mascara smudged beneath my eyes and remnants of foundation on my cheeks. My contacts feel like burlap on my eyeballs.

I’m way too old to be sleeping in makeup or my contacts.

I am a hot mess. Yet… I find myself smiling.

It’s gonna take me hours to process all of this. Days. Months? Years? But I can drive myself home and start that thinking tonight, since I’m sober now.

I open the bathroom door. Across the hall, Atticus’s bedroom door is wide open.

“You aren’t trying to sneak out, are you?” Atticus appears in the hallway from the kitchen, two water bottles in his hands.

The man is standing there like some kind of greek god in his boxer briefs, his ab muscles ready to cut steel, arms strong and screaming to be touched, thighs thick. Heat flushes through my entire body.

“Uhh—” I’m fully dressed—in his jersey, no less—with my bag in hand. No denying my intentions. “Kinda.”

Atticus’s face falls.

“It’s one o’clock in the morning. You’re really gonna walk through the streets of Fort Collins to your car, then drive into the forest by yourself in the middle of the night?”

Yikes. That sounds terrible.

“Guess I hadn’t really thought it through.”

“What if there’s a bear lying in the hammock, Raleigh?”

“Do bears… sleep in hammocks?” I’m half horrified and half entertained. I hadn’t really considered middle-of-the-night wildlife, which is shameful, because I’m sure Megghen thinks about bears all the time.

“Not the point, coach.”

I press my lips together. “I gotta get home and feed Megghen. She’s probably terrified by herself.”

“Is she inside?” Atticus looks adorably concerned.

“Of course.”

“Phew.” He breathes out pointedly, still clutching the two bottles of water, still looking gorgeous. “Fine. We’ll go to the Pink Palace. But I’m gonna bet a year’s salary that my bed—” he nods into his open bedroom door. “—is a lot more comfortable than yours. Let me get dressed.”

My jaw drops as he dips into his room.

This was not the development I expected.

Twenty minutes later, I’m pulling up to the Pink Palace in my car with Atticus in his Wrangler right behind me. He wanted to drive me but I wasn’t feeling awesome about being stuck at the campsite dependent on someone else. Even Atticus.

It’s pitch dark as the gravel crunches under my tires and I am very, very grateful that Atticus insisted he come with me.

I get out of my car and gently close the door. The sounds of the middle of the night on the edge of Colorado wilderness blanket me. The rhythmic chirping of crickets and croaking of frogs. An owl hoots. Rustling in the woods—thankfully, Atticus appears by my side.

“Think there’s a bear in the hammock?” I whisper. “Or right there in the woods?” I point to the pitch-dark treeline.

Atticus lays his arm across my shoulders.

“There are definitely bears in the woods, but probably not in the hammock,” he whispers back. “But to avoid me having to fight one of them, let’s get inside.”

I giggle and unlock the door to the Pink Palace. Megghen boc boc bocs as soon as we walk in, then seems to stare at us, looking back and forth between me and Atticus. I’ve managed to securely trap her in her tent, so there probably aren’t any surprise eggs.

“I don’t think she likes me touching you,” Atticus says, but leaves his arm on my shoulders.

“Maybe not.” I look up at him and he immediately leans down and kisses me, letting his lips linger on mine .

“Let’s get you to bed.” Atticus kisses my forehead. “I’ll feed Megghen. Maybe she’ll like me better then.”

“She just needs a scoop of that.” I point out the container with her food. “And needs is a strong word. This is more like her bedtime snack.”

“Obviously she needs a snack.” Atticus flashes me a crooked grin as I step into my bedroom.

Do I put on pajamas? Are we snuggling or getting naked?

But I don’t have to decide, as Atticus appears behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist and nuzzling into my neck. I lean back and sigh.

“Let’s get you comfortable,” he says. “What do you usually sleep in?”

“A tank top and shorts.”

“Still devastated you don’t sleep naked.” Atticus sighs. “Personally, I prefer to be naked, but I’ll wear my briefs until you get used to me.” He slides off his joggers and then reaches behind his neck to pulls his shirt off in one swift motion, revealing those cut abs.

Heaven help me.

Wait… until I get used to him?

I pull my comfy but decidedly unsexy pajama shorts and tank top from my closet. Atticus watches me as I strip down, most interested when I peel his jersey off. I hold it out for him.

He reaches for my wrist and tugs me to him instead.

“You hold onto that for now.” He pushes the jersey out of my hand and wraps his hands around my waist, pulling me in for a long kiss.

Our plan to go to bed is immediately sidetracked as his hands slide into my underwear and onto my bare ass. I moan into his mouth.

“Maybe we can go to bed in a little bit instead,” I say when he moves his mouth to my neck, then trails kisses down my chest to my nipple. I reach my hand into his boxer briefs and grasp his long, hard length. Suddenly we’re both naked again.

Atticus kicks the door shut and lowers himself onto the bed, pulling me on top of him.

“I don’t want to traumatize Megghen,” he says, and I laugh, then stop when he pushes against my wet entrance. He slides right in and I writhe and rock on top of him, riding his cock as waves of pleasure build.

We come at the same time, and minutes later he clicks the light off and sweeps me into my bed, which is much too small to be sharing with a six-foot-four man, and—Atticus was right—much less comfortable than his.

I scoot until my head is resting on his bare chest, the sound of his heartbeat lulling me to sleep.

“Good night, Raleigh,” he says, one hand tucked beneath his head, the other lazily rubbing my back.

This is definitely not a normal one-night stand.

What is it, then?

I wake up alone in my bed to the sound of a cabinet closing in the kitchen, and it takes a second to remember last night.

Out with Atticus and Lachlan and Barrett.

Home with Atticus.

The best sex of my life. Then back here after I tried to escape alone. Sex again. Then sleeping wrapped up with each other.

I chuckle and shake my head.

And I guess he’s still here.

I pull on some thin fleece pants and sneak into the bathroom. Obviously Atticus sees me. It’s a freaking RV, after all.

“Coffee?” he calls.

“Sure,” I respond through the door, biting back a smile.

“How do you like it?”

“Uh, cream and one sugar.” This is so weird. I clean my teeth and run a brush through my hair. I hear the coffee machine spitting out a fresh cup and I take a deep breath before leaving the bathroom.

“Morning,” Atticus says when I emerge. He offers me a steaming mug and adjusts the hat that sits backwards on his head. I don’t even remember him grabbing that at his apartment when we left last night.

“Hey.” I accept the mug and sip the perfect coffee.

“I put Megghen outside in her coop.” He looks right at home in the Pink Palace, but also completely and utterly out of place.

“Thank you.” Is this awkward? Or amazing?