Page 33 of Any Second Now (Fort Collins Blizzard Hockey #2)

You’re My Kind of Weird

RALEIGH

“ I can’t accept that you really feel that way.” Jacob dips his head into his hands. I finally gave in and led him to the captain’s chairs facing the lake. There was no way I was letting him in the RV.

“You need to.” I have no idea what I’m doing on so many levels, but I do know that I need to make Jacob accept what I’m telling him.

That it’s over. That we need space.

Permanent space.

Maybe we can’t even be friends.

But I can’t say those things directly quite yet as he can’t even comprehend me telling him we’re never getting back together.

“I’ve never stopped loving you, Ral,” he says, looking up at me, still hunched over.

My instinct is to reassure him that I love him too, but I resist. I care about him deeply, but that’s where it stops.

“I’m not in love with you.” My voice is firm but gentle.

We’ve been at this for an hour and I’m burnt out. He sighs and shuts his eyes .

“And I’m exhausted.” I stand. “I need you to leave now. Leave the campsite and Fort Collins.”

“No.” Jacob looks up, his expression panicky. “Can we meet up once more?”

I shake my head.

“Tomorrow? Please? Then I promise I’ll get out of your way. I’ll get out of your… life.”

I’m not sure I believe him, but I desperately need him to leave me alone right now.

Jacob departs the campsite when I agree to meet up with him tomorrow evening, and I head back inside. To do what? I’m exhausted, but I won’t be able to nap. I’m wired, but don’t have the focus to cross-stitch.

I collapse on the loveseat and lean my head back.

My heart hurts on so many levels.

Watching Atticus drive away upset was the worst feeling I’ve had since I found out that Jacob had been secretly losing money.

But I feel like I owe Jacob one last time to talk.

Or maybe I don’t owe him that, but I want to give him one more chance to accept what’s not going to happen between us.

Even though it’s upsetting to me. Even though it was clearly upsetting to Atticus.

Jacob was my husband for five years and I’ve done a shit job establishing boundaries and enabling his recovery post-divorce. I see that now.

This is all my fault.

I don’t think—I just get in my car and drive.

It’s late by the time I get to Atticus’s apartment complex. I text him from outside his building’s door.

Me

I’m at your door. Can we talk?

A few seconds later, Atticus buzzes me in and is waiting outside the elevator on his floor. I take in his messy hair sans hat, tight gray t-shirt, loose athletic shorts over thick thighs. Those intense green eyes are locked on me.

“You okay, coach?” he asks. “It’s late.”

“As if I could be anyone’s dating coach.

” I moan, then I walk right into his arms, pressing my face against his chest. Atticus wraps himself around me and kisses the top of my head.

He feels so good. All the emotions of today rush through my body and settle while I’m in Atticus’s arms. This feels right in every single way.

Even if it’s not.

But tonight, I’m not going to let guilt or what’s right or wrong stop me.

I turn my head up and Atticus is waiting. He places a slow, sweet kiss on my lips and my chest fills with warmth.

“Hey.” He pulls back and looks at me intently. “I’m sorry about before. I was an asshole.”

“So was I.”

“Never.” Atticus slides a hand along my jaw, onto my neck, and into my hair.

I let myself smile.

“You really used the ‘she’s my girlfriend’ line on my ex-husband, didn’t you?” I was pissed at the time but my heart still leaped when he said the words.

“Shit. Yeah. But you didn’t seem to think it was funny at the time.” Atticus’s brow furrows. “I was so fucking jealous.”

“Of what?” I run my hands up Atticus’s chest and link them around the back of his neck.

“He had you for a long time. He married you.”

“And I divorced him.”

Atticus grunts and pulls my body against his.

“Let’s go inside.”

I nod and let him take my hand and lead me into his apartment. Instead of bringing me to his bedroom, he takes us to his couch in the family room.

“I’m going to pour us wine,” he says and heads to the kitchen .

“It looks good in here.” The mess is cleaned up and almost all traces of the construction gone.

It’s only the end of July, but it feels like the summer is wrapping up. Things are being finished off. His offseason is winding down. I’m getting ready to go back to Connecticut.

Things are ending.

“Want to talk about it?” Atticus returns to the couch and sinks down, handing me a wine glass.

I take a sip and consider. Do I want to discuss things with Atticus? I can’t possibly explain or justify my relationship with Jacob. Why we stay in touch, why I send him money, and why I feel some kind of guilty loyalty to him. Atticus wouldn’t understand.

I was so fucking jealous, he said just now.

I’m afraid to ask what he even means by that. It doesn’t matter anyway.

I sip my wine and slide the glass onto the coffee table, then lean my head in the nook of Atticus’s arm and close my eyes.

“I don’t want to.” I breathe in and out of my nose, appreciating the scent of Atticus. I run my hand up his thigh, muscles thick and taut under his long athletic shorts. His breathing quickens as my hand gets higher and I turn my face up to him, wanting to taste his kiss.

He doesn’t deny me.

I don’t know exactly why I came here tonight, but it wasn’t to talk. It was to feel something, and being in Atticus’s arms is a safe space for me to feel all the things.

We kiss softly until I swipe my tongue along his bottom lip, and when he makes a sound in his throat that resembles a growl, the ache between my legs intensifies. I move the hand on his thigh up to the hard length of him, rubbing up and down slowly over his clothing.

“I love when you put your hands on me, Raleigh,” Atticus says between quickening breaths. He lifts his hips to meet my hand, increasing the pressure. I love having this kind of control over him. I love how much he wants me. I love how much I want him.

That’s a lot of loves.

I slide off the couch onto my knees and slip between his legs. His eyes darken as he understands.

“I want to take you in my mouth,” I say. It’s not the first time I’ve done it with him. It’s a huge turn-on to watch him lose control over my touch. My mouth.

And right now, all I want is him. His body. I don’t want to feel anything in my heart. I want to feel it in the rest of my body.

“Raleigh,” he says as I tug down his shorts and boxer briefs to free his cock.

His dick springs up in front of my face and oh my god, it’s gorgeous.

Terrifying, but gorgeous. All thick and veiny and fucking throbbing.

I wrap my hand around the base and run it up to the tip, where a drop of precum is resting.

I lean over and lick it, swirling my tongue around his head.

What alien creature has taken over my body? I don’t know, but I don’t want to be Raleigh Hayes any more. Or Raleigh Ford, or Raleigh Monroe. I just want to be whoever this is. Someone who is passionate. A lover.

Who just so happens to be with the hottest, sweetest man ever.

A man who, it turns out, is a huge softie on the inside.

A man who hugs my chicken. Makes me coffee. Brings me gifts all the time.

Atticus.

This guy.

The man who called me his girlfriend to my ex-husband.

I can’t even begin to process that.

I roll my lips onto the tip of his cock and take as much of it in my mouth as I can. It reaches the back of my throat and I almost gag. Atticus moans and buries his hands in my hair, setting the pace of my sucking.

I’m having a really hard time thinking about leaving. Or not leaving. Or anything. And I think he’s just as fucked up about this whole thing as I am.

His cock hitting the back of my throat means I can’t think about my ex-husband or my job or anything that isn’t this. That isn’t making Atticus Knox lose control.

I’ve never known it like this with any other man—neither of my exes had caused desire to pool between my legs while I went down on them.

Atticus gently but firmly slides my mouth off of his cock and then stands, pulling me up with him and tugging his shorts up.

“Let’s take our time, Raleigh.” His voice is a husky whisper and I can only nod.

I almost ask him not to say my name. Because I don’t want to be Raleigh anymore.

At least not tonight.

I don’t want to be taken advantage of by my ex-husband.

I don’t want to feel bad about talking to him or not talking to him or about liking hanging out with Atticus or about more than liking hanging out with Atticus.

Because this is definitely more than like.

I don’t want to go any further down that line of thinking.

Atticus tugs my shirt up and over my head, his heated eyes only leaving mine for a split second when the fabric is over my face.

He leans down and kisses my shoulders, my neck, and the soft, sensitive spot at the base of my throat.

His hands work to unhook my bra and he deftly slides it off my body, moving to cover my breasts with long, slow tongue swipes and kisses.

I close my eyes and grip his shoulders.

My heart is breaking because I’m afraid this is the beginning of goodbye. This whole summer was a long goodbye. We started something that we can’t finish. That we’re not capable of finishing because of space and time and who we are as people.

Atticus reaches down and pushes my shorts and underwear down over my hips, his mouth on mine as he strips me naked. When he’s done, he leans over and picks me up in his arms. I can’t help but giggle.

“What are you doing?”

“Trying to make you smile.” Atticus turns and heads down his hallway, carrying my naked body to his bedroom.

“Well, it worked.”

In his room, he deposits me on his bed, where I watch him strip down, starting by removing his t-shirt with one swipe of his hand behind his neck, ending with a quick ditch of his shorts and boxer briefs.

Then he’s on me, kissing every inch of my skin, his mouth making its way down my abdomen until it’s between my legs, sucking on my clit and making me cry out in pleasure.

The man is painting me with his tongue, and every nerve on my body responds to his artistry.

When he knows I’m close, Atticus moves his mouth back to mine and kisses me as he teases my entrance with his incredibly hard cock. Finally, he’s inside me, thrusting inside with long, slow, maddening moves.

“Atticus,” I whisper into his neck when I can hardly take it anymore.

“Yes?” he asks, but I don’t respond, focusing on the sensations gripping my body, a building of pleasure that brings us higher and higher. We come together a minute later and then he collapses next to me.

“That was perfect,” I murmur. I didn’t mean to say it out loud.

“What were you going to say?” he asks, turning his head to me.

“Hmm?”

“Before you came. You said my name.”

“I don’t remember.” I shake my head and nestle into his side. “But we forgot about our wine.”

He shrugs and closes his eyes. When he dozes off, I stare up at his sharp jawline, the air moving in and out of his nose, and the way his eyelids move like he’s dreaming of something .

What was I going to say? I’m not sure, but I’m glad I didn’t get a chance to find out. I don’t understand the feelings that are rushing through me. It’s too intense. Too much.

I could live here in his bed forever. With Atticus. In his arms.

But the timing is all wrong.

There were no rules for what we’ve been doing this summer, but any second now, he will also realize how wrong we are for each other. How different our lives are.

I’ve already figured that out.

I have too much baggage. Too many things I still need to sort out about my past. About myself.

Can Atticus be patient? Would he wait?

No way.

This pro hockey player—and a self-proclaimed player with women—is not going to wait around for some nobody to deal with her issues.

Too many thoughts rush through my head.

Like how I told Jacob maybe I’m not coming back. Those were just words meant to freak him out though, right? I might be trying to test out a different version of myself, but let’s be honest, people don’t really change.

And how I have only two weeks left on my sabbatical.

How I ignored yesterday’s voicemail from my manager checking in.

I’m just some entertainment for Atticus during the offseason. He’s testing out having a girlfriend-shaped person in his life.

Not a real one.

Maybe I’ll leave and he’ll ask out Rose from the bookstore.

This thing is destined to end, and it’d be best if I started acting like I understand that fact.