Page 29 of Hockey Player Seeking Fan (Billionaires Seeking Wives Club #2)

“Oh, I have a feeling he’s going to be very much a gentleman.”

“You think so?”

“You never know,” she says. “Hearing him on the phone—that was a man who’s ecstatic that he got a second chance. And trust me, he’s not going to blow it.”

I sit at the bar, feeling slightly uncomfortable. I’m drinking a scotch on the rocks, and I’m not really sure why—because I hate scotch. But it makes me feel older and cooler.

I hear the door to the bar open, and I look toward the front again. This time, it’s him. He stands there, looks around, goes quiet for a second, then continues looking. I blink for a couple of seconds, feeling embarrassed.

Why didn’t he wave? Didn’t he know me? Why didn’t he come talk?

But I don’t have time to think because I see him approach the bar.

“May I have this seat?” he asks me.

“What?” I stare at him, confused.

“Sorry. I wasn’t sure if you were waiting on anyone.”

“Kind of. You.”

“I… what?”

He stares at me in his white shirt, with his dark eyes, silky brown hair, his muscular arms, thick thighs, and I nod slowly—because right now I’m so turned on, I’ll do anything.

“Welcome to New York City. I hope you enjoy it here.”

I nod slightly. “I’m just visiting from a small town myself. Came for a Broadway show.”

“A Broadway show? You can meet some crazy people in those lines.”

“Yeah, you can say that.” I laugh. “Some real crazy people.”

“So… Broadway, huh? What’s your favorite play?”

“I would say…” I stare at him for a couple of seconds. “ Wicked .”

“That’s a good one,” he says. “A real good one. What about Phantom of the Opera ?”

I smile. I’m glad we’re doing this pretend motion—not knowing who each other is—because the last thing I want is for us to have a conversation about why I left that morning. Why I haven’t called. Why we haven’t…

I’m not ready. I just want to be around him, too. I just want to enjoy the night and my drink.

He looks down at my glass. “What are you drinking?”

“Scotch on the rocks.”

“Scotch on the rocks?” He sounds surprised, and I laugh.

“I thought I’d try something new.”

“And you like it?”

“It’s okay,” I say. “Sounds better than it is.”

“Yeah, I can see that. Would you like another?”

“Sure. Or… why don’t you surprise me?” I say, crossing my legs.

I watch as he stares at my thigh, and his breathing deepens. I still have an effect on him. That’s good.

“Bar,” he says, tapping his fingers against the countertop. “Can I get a scotch on the rocks and a Long Island iced tea?”

He grins at me. “I think you’ll find that more your speed.”

“If you say so.” I play with my hair and lean toward him. “So, what are you doing in town?”

“A little bit of this, a little bit of that.”

“Nice,” I say. “Sounds like you’re plenty handy.”

“I try.” He leans toward me. “And what do you do, ma’am?”

I laugh. “Really?”

“Really.”

“I guess I’m just a homemaker from the Midwest, taking a break.” I think quickly—because I don’t want this little fantasy play to be cheating on my husband.

“My husband died a couple of years ago.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that, ma’am. Do you have any kids who come with you?”

“No kids,” I say. “And I’m single.” I roll my eyes. “I’m from Kansas.”

He laughs. “Don’t tell me your name is Dorothy.”

“Nah,” I giggle. “It’s Samantha.”

Then he starts laughing because he obviously remembers that Samantha is the fake name I gave to Elliott.

“Would you like to get a more comfortable seat, ma’am?” he says. “Or should I call you Samantha?”

“You can call me whatever you like,” I say, really getting into it.

“Maybe I’ll call you Erica. Beautiful name… for a beautiful woman.”

His saying that… that feels real. I freeze for a moment and just stare at him—looking at his face, looking at this man who brought so much pleasure. Who knew me intimately, thoroughly.

And I knew him.

As I think about this man, I think about the things that excited me. As I think about all the things he’s done, he grabs my hand, and I step down from the stool. We walk to a booth in the corner, and he takes a seat first, then pulls me down beside him.

“Sit on my lap if you want.”

“On your lap?” I raise an eyebrow.

He smiles. “Yeah. We could really get to know each other.”

I’m not sure what possesses me to do it, but I decide to sit on him. And I’m pleasantly surprised when I feel his crotch underneath me—hard and firm.

I move back a little bit, and he blows into my ear. “Keep that up, and I don’t know what I might do.”

“I don’t know what I might want you to do, kind sir,” I say, looking back at him like an innocent woman from Kansas.

He wraps his hands around my legs. I bite my lip, nervous. He moves his right hand up, and I think he’s about to cup my breast, but he doesn’t.

“There are many things that a woman like you can do to pleasure me. And I don’t want to make this all about me.”

“Oh, yeah?” I say softly.

“You may not be as innocent as you appear. But maybe there are things that need to be said before we continue with anything.”

“Things like what?”

“I… You have no idea what I mean?”

“You’re not upset about a certain incident? You mean you didn’t see me a couple of weeks ago, outside a bar with a redhead I didn’t know and didn’t want?”

“Tyler,” I say, glaring at him. “I’ve never seen you a day before in my life.”

“Do you want to remember that?” he says, tugging on my earlobe and kissing the side of my neck. “She meant nothing to me. I didn’t kiss her, didn’t touch her. I didn’t want her. In fact, I only went to meet because…” He frowns as I shake my head.

“Know that I don’t want to know.” I’m about to get angry with him and tell him exactly what I saw. But as I think about what I saw, it had been him against the wall, not looking exactly turned on, and her all over him. Maybe I hadn’t really seen anything.

But still...

“You’re mad at me,” he says.

“Maybe. Maybe not. But if we’re pretending to be two other people, it’s because the real world’s really mad at you.”

“The real world,” he says.

He turns me around slightly so I’m still on his lap but looking at him.

“I’ve missed you, Erica.” Then he pauses, like he doesn’t know how to continue.

“And?”

“Why did you leave that morning?”

“What do you mean?”

“We made love, and you left—and then you didn’t pick up my call. Was I really that bad?”

I think about pretending that it was bad. I think about saying he was the worst I’d ever had. But he already knew I was a virgin, so that wouldn’t make sense. And joking about it in a moment like this would be immature.

“I was overwhelmed,” I say honestly, because that was true.

I was overwhelmed because I loved him—but he didn’t need to know that part. Because he’d been my first. And taken my virginity and I couldn’t stop thinking about him.

“You hate me.”

“Why would I hate you? It was amazing.”

“It was so amazing that you didn’t speak to me again. It was so amazing that I about lost my mind, and I didn’t know how to process anything—because you’re you, and I’m me. And we’re two very different people.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means you’re a hockey player with a bunch of fame, and I’m just me—a college graduate trying to figure out life and not be so fucking privileged and completely unaware.”

“But you’re not that person. You keep putting yourself down, Erica. But you’re really good. And you’re really sweet. And you’re really beautiful. And I’m more than just a hockey player.”

“I know…”

“Do you though?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you know that I have dreams and hopes and desires just like you do? But I just don’t let them out.”

“That’s not my fault if you don’t let them out. But I know you like art. You wanted to be an artist. That’s why you’ve been painting,” I say.

“And I’ve been loving it. And that’s thanks to you. You reminded me of that. And I’m glad. I want you to come to a gallery with me tomorrow. If you want.”

He stumbles over his words. “I mean, you don’t have to. But I’d like you to.”

“I’ll see,” I say, because I don’t know if he’s asking because he really wants me to, or if he’s just making conversation.

“Do you want?—”

I feel his hands on my shoulders, his breath on me, and I love how warm and hard and real he feels.

“Are you asking me what I think you’re asking me?”

His eyes meet mine, and his face softens. We both know what he’s asking.

“But I have one condition.” He smiles. “If you say yes and we do this—” I watch him as he plays with his hands. “You can’t leave in the morning. At least not without saying goodbye.” He lifts his lips, and he squeezes my hand. I flinch from guilt, but he takes my expression the wrong way.

“That hurt. I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he says.

“It didn’t hurt me.” I shake my head quickly. “And that morning, well I didn’t think it would hurt you. I thought you’d be happy that I’d gone and wasn’t asking you to define it. To label it. To tell me what it all meant.”

“We made love. But we didn’t make promises to each other.”

“Exactly. Is that what this is about?”

I press my finger against his lips.

“I don’t want to talk about this again. Not right now. I want to spend the night with you,” I say—because I do.

I grab his face and kiss him—hard, passionately—and open my mouth to his.

I feel like I’m home. I feel like I’m where I’m supposed to be.

And yeah, I love him. And maybe I’m delusional, but I’m ready to throw caution to the wind.

I kiss him hard and fast and passionately, and I feel his body shift.

I feel his finger slip down and under my top so that he’s touching my stomach, and I shiver with excitement and passion.

“Let’s go,” I say, and I grab his hand. He stares at me with wide eyes.

“Go where? What’s going on?” he says.

I make a left and take us down the corridor. “You’ll see,” I say.

We go to the first door. I push it open, pull him in, and close it behind us.

“Erica…”

“You once said to me that sometimes you should just go with how you feel. That’s what I’m doing.”

I look around the small storage room we find ourselves in, and I grin when I see a table. I head over to it, stare back at him, bend over, my ass up in the air, and pull my skirt up. He just stares at me.

“I’m here. You can take me if you want me.”

“Erica,” he says as he stalks toward me, lust in his eyes. “What are?—“

“You want to know if I know what I’m doing. If that’s what you’re going to ask me? I do.”

“But this is not how I want it.”

“I don’t care. You want me, right?” I say, sliding my panties down.

He nods slowly, almost reverently.

I watch as he unzips his pants, and his cock springs free. I grin as he takes another step toward me. His fingers reach between my legs, and he rubs my clit gently, softly, and I moan as I lean forward and close my eyes.

He growls as he slips a finger inside me, lubricating me. I’m already wet.

“We probably shouldn’t be doing this,” he whispers.

“I want this,” I say. “Take me.”

And he does.

I feel him slide into me—slowly at first—and then, with a breath, harder, faster, until we’re both screaming and shouting. And this time, it doesn’t hurt. At all. Instead, it feels like the very best thing that’s ever happened to me. I feel wanted and sexy, and I don’t ever want this to go away.

Then he stills and shudders. He pulls out of me, and I watch as he grabs a towel from the side of the desk. He comes in his hand, fast.

I stare at him and chuckle slightly—because I haven’t come.

But then he lifts me up, spreads my legs, and I feel his tongue between me—licking, sucking, until I’m coming hard and fast on his face. And he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t stop until I come again.

This time, I’m screaming, squirming, and I’m sure everyone in the bar can hear me—and I don’t care.

Finally, he pulls me up and kisses me like he’s tasting himself in my mouth. He runs his fingers through my hair and just stares at me.

“That was… okay?”

I let out a small laugh and shake my head.

“Are you still mad at me?”

“I was never mad at you. I guess I’m just coming to terms with the fact that I’m so into you.”

I grab him again and kiss him hard, and I place my hand against his chest because I want to feel his heart beating, even if it’s not for me. I want to feel his heart beating because I want to pretend this moment is special—for him, as well.

I want to feel his heart beating because mine is beating rapidly, and I want to tell him how much I love him. I want to tell him how much I want to be with him. I want to tell him he’s the most handsome man in the world, and I want to spend the rest of my life with him.

But I can’t. Because this is a fairy tale. And I realize that fairy tales very rarely come true.

But I also realize that in this moment… I don’t care.

I’m okay with the cold and the hard because it’s real. And it makes me feel things I’ve never once felt while dreaming.

Dreaming was great for a certain part of life.

But actually living?

Living is so much better.

And I don’t care what comes from this moment.

I just know that he’s the man I want to be with, even if he’s the man I ruin myself with.

Even if it all explodes.

Because I’m sure that one day, it will.