Page 17 of At First Smile

CHAPTER EIGHT

Cold Shower and Regrets

Rowan

“ F ucking hell,” I grumble, closing my eyes.

For the second time in five hours, I seek refuge in the shower.

Pen’s intoxicating presence crowds every crevice despite her being tucked safely in her room across the hall.

The icy spray’s sting is powerless to quell the simmering heat in my bloodstream.

My heart thrums as I imagine her supple body against me.

“You’re daft,” I chide myself, running my palm over my face.

I could be with Pen. Our limbs wrapped together while I explore every inch of her. Little whimpers escaping as my hands coast over her body. The rasp of my tongue as I learn that she tastes as sweet as I expect.

The scent of want wafting off her lingers in my nostrils.

Like a ravenous wolf that found my meal, I almost salivate with need for her.

She’s the only thing that will quench the hunger that riots inside me.

Just an hour ago, we stood, her back pressed up against her door, her eyes dark with desire.

Every sign that my desire for her is reciprocated was there.

The hitch of her breath. The staccato rise and fall of her chest. Taut nipples visible through her dress.

Shutting off the water, I get out of the shower and grab a towel. Disappointment flashes in my eyes in my reflection in the mirror.

The almost plane crash. The emotions of the day and shared truths.

Too many drinks. It all colluded in a loud voice in my head shouting at me to walk away.

To not take advantage. To not be like Alex.

That fucker. No matter how many pints of Guinness I’ve had, the only regret that nips at me worse than the idea of waking up without Pen in my arms is the idea of her waking up and regretting being there.

Tugging on shorts and a T-shirt, I pace the length of the room. My body is still keyed up. My phone pings and I lunge for it, thinking…hoping it’s Pen until I remember we’ve not exchanged numbers. It’s something I’ll need to correct in the morning.

“If she’s speaking to me.” I let out a hard breath as I’m seized with the realization that I may have left her feeling rejected.

There’s no maybe about it. I did. The silkiness of her lips pressed against the corner of my mouth is a memory that will linger for a lifetime. The velvety smoothness of her voice singing to me still echoes in my ears. She all but served herself up on a silver platter and I just walked away.

Desperate for a distraction from the churn in my stomach, I look at my phone.

Wes: How’d it go?

Me: Fine.

Wes: Liar.

My forehead creases.

Wes: If it had, you’d be too occupied to answer your phone.

Me: Fuck off.

Wes: Seriously, how’d you fuck it up? I mean after seeing this it’s clear she’s into you.

I open the attached link, which takes me to a video on someone’s social media page.

Clicking the video, Pen appears in that sexy good girl dress that drove me wild all night.

It appears Stacy took the video and tagged Pen in it.

The memory of her almost smokey singing voice crooning the song she dedicated to me dulls in comparison to seeing it live.

Sexy. Sophisticated. Sweet. Delectable. Dangerous.

They all flash in front of me as I drink her in.

Me: How’d you find this?

Wes: Calm down. I’m not internet stalking your girlfriend. I’m just one of her thousands of followers and set a notification for updates. Guilty Face Emoji. Ok, so maybe minor internet stalking.

Me: She’s not my girlfriend.

Wes: Yeah, because you fucked it up. She’s clearly got it bad for you.

Me: How do you know she’s singing to me?

I scan the video to make sure I’m not in it or tagged.

I’m not. I flip to my social media to ensure there’s no photos or videos of me here or with Pen.

Again nothing. The last post on my page is still an apology to my teammates, coach, family, and fans.

Not to Landon. I won’t fucking apologize for punching him and would gladly do it again.

Wes: Dude, I can tell. Looking at her you can tell she’s singing to someone, and it’s not the Noah Kahn wannabe playing the guitar. So, why are you texting with me and not with her?

Why indeed? I fling my phone onto the bed beside me and press the heels of my hands against my eyes.

I yank on socks and runners. It’s midnight and the inn’s small fitness center is closed, but I need to work this off. Regret pulses along my limbs and winds through my muscles. A long run will zap the regret.

Pulling open the door, I stop. Pen stands at her open door and steals my breath.

Her long legs on full display in blue sleep shorts dotted with silver stars.

The toes of her bare feet painted pink. A camisole, a few shades lighter than the shorts, hugs her full breasts and I try not to fixate on how I can tell she’s braless.

Our gazes lock and her heart-shaped mouth forms an O. “Rowan.” It’s breathless, needy, and fucking unlocks the beast inside me that I’ve tried to cage all day.

The primal need for her is unleashed. Like a hungry wolf ready to devour Little Red Riding Hood, I prowl towards her.

Eyes wide she swallows. “Please tell me you’re going to kiss me.”

“Yes.” I take her mouth. There’s no other way to describe it. Each press and nibble proclaim those plump lips belong to me. I devour her like she’s my last meal.

“Rowan,” she gasps with the slow lick of my tongue down the column of her throat.

“What, luv?”

“You’re really good with your mouth.”

“Mmhmm.” My mouth trails back up to her lips. “We’re just getting started.” Coaxing her mouth open, my tongue slides over hers.

Whimpering, her arms circle my neck and I lift her up.

Those long legs fold around me. Her pussy scorches through the layers of fabric.

Greedy to have her alone, I carry her into the room and kick the door shut behind me.

I don’t want prying eyes nor anyone who might have recognized me tonight to see us.

As drunk as I am about this woman, I have enough clarity to keep her safe.

The last thing she needs is a salacious picture of the NHL’s currently most hated player defiling her in a sleepy inn’s hallway.

With three long strides, I reach the bed.

Laying her atop the cream-color duvet, I peer down at her.

Her hair a little mussed from my fingers stroking through it while kissing her.

Sleep shorts riding up. Her eyes starry.

The camisole straps have fallen off her slim shoulders.

Her lips are kiss-swollen and her cheeks rosy.

“Shoes by the door,” her command is hoarse and a little sultry.

Smiling, I comply.

“I don’t want to trip on them in the middle of the night,” she says, scooting up and laying her head on the pillow.

“It is the middle of the night, luv.”

She waves her hand dismissively.

“Has that happened before?” I crawl onto the bed and settle myself between her legs.

“Do you really want me to answer that?” She removes her glasses and places them on the bedstand.

“No.” I claim her mouth, hoping to kiss away the memory of anyone else before me. I’m selfish, possessive, and starving for this woman.

She yanks my shirt off and drops it beside us on the bed. “Much better,” she purrs. Her hands run along my collarbone, to my pecs, down the ridges of my stomach, and back up. “You are…impressive.”

Her legs wrap around my waist. My hand drifts up her bare thigh and plays with the shorts’ silky hem.

I kiss down her neck and nip at her collarbone.

Little mewling noises fall from her lips, spurring me on.

My hands curl around her thighs and inch her higher on my torso.

My mouth devours hers. Her pelvis moves against my hard cock.

“Fuck,” I groan, pressing my arousal harder against her.

“Yes,” she moans, her nails dragging down my back. “Right there.”

“There?” With increased pressure, I rub myself against that spot again.

“Please…don’t stop.”

“You don’t need to beg, luv.” I move against her writhing body.

Thrusting harder, I fuck her through our clothes. Her needy whimpers telegraph that I’m hitting her in just the right spot. Breath stuttering, her nails bite into my shoulders.

“Oh, god,” she cries, a gentle shudder ripples through her, halting her movement beneath me.

I comb my fingers into her hair and soak in the sight before me. A sated smile stretches across her face. The pink that rouged her cheeks invade the rest of her sun-kissed skin. A satisfied glossiness glazes her honey eyes. Her legs splay on either side of me, and arms hang loose around my neck.

I roll over and pull her into my chest and she nuzzles limply into me.

“I should have said something earlier, but you in my arms doesn’t feel right?—”

She tips her gaze to me.

“–it is fucking right.”

She moves her hand to my shorts, the bulge still very visible.

I wrap my fingers around her wrist, gently pulling her away from where she’s wandered. “Let me just hold you.”

“Are you sure?”

My cock may hate me, but the only thing I want is to hold her. “Very sure.”

“Okay.” She snuggles in deeper.

“I should have kissed you before.”

“After our maybe date?”

“Yes.” My brow creases. “And at the waterfall. In the lobby with Pisser. On the plane. At Tim Hortons. Every time I thought of kissing you, I should have done it.”

“That’s a lot of kissing.”

My fingers trace her lips. “I plan on doing way more kissing than that.”

“I may need to invest in Chapstick stock,” she teases, stifling a yawn.

Chuckling, I scoop her up, untuck the duvet and fold it over us. She settles herself into my nook, using my shoulder as her pillow.

“Why didn’t you kiss me before?” A sleep-drunk quality coats her question.

I let out a long breath. “I was scared.”

“What scared you?”

“Disappointing you.”

Her eyes flutter open, and her hand strokes my cheek. “Why?”

My gaze moves from her to the ceiling. The antique-looking fan’s blades cut through the dimly lit room sending thin lines of shadows reaching across the ceiling like grasping fingers.

“I’ve disappointed a lot of people in my life.

My mam. Brothers. People I care about. It’s funny, though.

They have expectations for me but at the same time they’re never surprised when I don’t meet them.

It feels like their disappointment isn’t in that I don’t live up to their expectations of who I am, but in themselves for believing I am someone I’m not. ”

“That’s not funny ha ha; that’s funny sad.”

“I know.” I brush back her hair, rubbing the silky strands between my fingers.

“They’re the disappointment, Rowan.”

“What does that mean?”

“They don’t see you, the real you. If they really saw you, then they wouldn’t be disappointed by you. They’d know who you are and why you do the things you do. I see you.”

I swallow thickly. “We just met.”

“That doesn’t mean that I don’t see you.”

“And what do you see?”

“He asks the blind girl.” A quiet giggle breaches her lips.

“Smartass.”

“Kind. Protective. Guarded. Supportive. Generous. A sweet man.” Her eyelids heavy and her hand covers a small yawn. “It’s what I see when I look at you.”

Fullness surges in my chest.

“Will you stay with me?”

“Yes.” My lips press at the crown of her head.

“Yay.” She snuggles against me. “See you’re not disappointing me.”

We lay quiet, her relaxed body curled in my arms. The ceiling fan’s gentle hum and the soft melody of her steady breaths silence any doubt that I am where I should be, despite the niggling worry that slithered inside me because of each raised eyebrow, lingering look, or second glance our way.

“I did something recently that upset a lot of people.”

“What?” she mumbles.

“I punched someone.”

“Why?”

I regret the tension now invading her relaxed body. “He did something to someone I care about.”

“Then…you were”—she yawns— “right.”

“The thing is, nobody knows what he did and why I punched him. If people knew it would hurt the person I care about more. All anyone knows is that I punched him, and it just reinforces what they think of me.”

I close my eyes, pushing away the pinched face of my mother in the stands. My brothers beside her. Finn, eyes blinking and head shaking, while a stone-faced Gillian leans back.

“Protective.” A sleepy smile caresses her lips.

“Maybe you do see me,” I whisper, praying it’s true.

This woman’s vision of me is akin to a fresh spring storm, washing away the barren remains of a lonely winter. In her eyes is the promise of rebirth. Am I deserving of that? Of her?

“Pen, when I said I still play hockey…” I look to Pen.

Her eyes are shut. Breath steady. Body still.

“Goodnight, Pen.” I press a kiss to her head.

Reaching to the bedstand, I click off the light.

Eyes closed, I sink into this moment with this woman, who is utterly undisappointed in me, in my arms and I pray that I won’t fail her faith in me.