Page 28 of Sin Bin (BU Hockey Season 2, #1)

Ollie

I wake up naked.

That’s nothing new. I usually wear a pair of boxer briefs when I sleep, but it’s not unheard of for me to let it all hang loose when I crash into bed, especially if I’ve spent the night drinking.

But there’s a weighted blanket on my back, and that is strange.

I don’t own a weighted blanket.

The bright light streaming in through a crack in the shade makes it hard to focus, but I will my eyes to zero in on my surroundings so I can figure out where the fuck I am. It’s not my room at the Holy House of Hockey.

I spot used packets of LiquidEnergy and two empty water glasses on the nightstand. At least I wasn’t so drunk I forgot to hydrate.

I also see a little plastic charging case, but it isn’t mine.

And it’s not for earpods.

It’s for hearing aids.

I turn over gently to find that the weighted blanket on my back is actually the woman who’s been starring in my filthy daydreams for the past two years.

She’s wearing my boxer briefs and a lacy bra that’s trying its damnedest to contain her full tits and losing the fight.

She’s sleeping peacefully.

But when she wakes up, all hell is gonna break loose.

So, call me a bastard if you want to, but I take a minute to soak it all in—the feel of Fallon’s skin next to mine, the sweet smell of her peachy lotion, the way her lips curve into a soft smile.

I’ve never slept so damn well in my life. This mattress is soft and pillowy, but I think the real reason for my restful slumber is the beautiful woman curled up next to me.

I’m racking my brain, reaching for the puzzle pieces that will tell me how the hell I ended up in Fallon’s bed last night.

Let’s be clear: I’m not complaining, but I’m curious as hell.

And I’m wondering if Fallon remembers not only how we got here, but what we did once we got here.

I need to wake her up so we can have that conversation, but I also need to take a piss, so carefully lift her arm, untangle our legs, and tumble out of bed as quietly as possible.

The need to pee is so urgent that I don’t even bother looking at my phone or checking the time. All that can wait. After I take care of business and wash my hands, I brush my teeth and run my fingers through my hair. And no, I’m not stalling. It’s called hygiene.

I’m trying to remember if I saw a coffee pot anywhere in the room, but I have the feeling that coffee was nowhere on my mind when we stumbled in here last night. And just like that, a flash of memory hits.

Fallon and I are laughing as she fumbles with the key card.

I tell her that since I’m the athlete, I’m guaranteed to be more coordinated so she should trust me with the daunting task of unlocking the door.

She hands the key over, but I’m staring so intently at her mouth that I let it fall through my fingers.

She makes a joke about my athletic prowess, so when she bends down to pick up the plastic key card, I smack her ass.

Just as quickly as the memory started, it fades. I try to chase it into my mind, but there’s no use. My brain has stopped playing the footage—the very hot footage—that I need to see. Dammit.

Maybe if I calm down and focus, the images will come back.

Taking a seat at the edge of the tub, I close my eyes and massage my temples in the hopes that if I clear my mind, more memories will surface.

I’m a pretty chill guy by nature, but waking up naked in Fallon’s room has me a little rattled.

Sitting up straight, I breathe in for four, hold for four, and breathe out for four.

Centering myself works to get me in a good headspace for hockey games, so maybe it will work for this, too.

Suddenly, every ounce of calm I’ve managed to muster is shattered in an instant when someone tries to bang the damn hotel room door down.

At first, I can’t tell if they’re trying to get into this room or just freaking the fuck out and banging on every door in the hall, so I step outside the bathroom to see what’s going on.

The banging persists, but that’s no longer my biggest concern.

I see Fallon sitting up in bed, her eyes wide when she spots me.

Whoever’s trying to get our attention is practically shaking the walls, so no wonder she’s freaked out.

I reach across the bed and grab her hearing aids before handing them to her.

As she slips them on and uses her phone to adjust the settings, she chances a glance at herself and then at me.

When she looks in my direction, there’s a question in her eyes and it’s probably the same one that’s running through my brain:Did we have sex last night?

I have no clue, so I shrug.

“Holy shitballs, Jablonski, open this fucking door!”

It’s Mickey. I should have known. And that means JT is either with him or about ten feet behind.

Mickey and JT are trying to bang down the door. Should I see what they want? I ask Fallon, signing the words without speaking because it’s just the two of us. For the next ten seconds anyway.

She nods. If you don’t, people are going to start complaining. Just give me a second, okay?

I pull on the jeans I wore last night, but Fallon’s still searching for her clothes, so I toss my t-shirt at her.

When she slips it over her head, I try my hardest not to think about how hot she looks, how her curves stretch the material in the best fucking way, and that the only thing hotter than Fallon in my t-shirt and boxers would be Fallon in my jersey.

Now that we’re at least partially clothed, it’s time to let our guests in.

And because they were rude enough to wake Fallon up, I pull the door open with more force than necessary and no warning at all.

Mickey’s fist is balled up, so I duck as he begins to slam it against the door, then I jump back out of the way when he tumbles forward and nearly face plants on the floor.

Serves him right for waking my girl up.

And yes, I’m fully aware that she is not my girl, and likely never will be, but she woke up wearing my underwear, so I’m allowing myself to feel protective of her.

JT steps inside after Mick and closes the door behind himself before parking his ass on the corner of the large desk that takes up half the room. He looks at me, then at Fallon, then back at me. “ What the hell were you thinking, Ollie ?” he asks.

His tone takes me by surprise, and I’ve had just about enough of those this morning. “Uh , excuse you? What the fuck I do in my bed—or Fallon’s bed—is none of your concern. You of all people should know this. Do you want to explain to me how my sleeping arrangements are any of your business?”

Mickey’s sitting criss-cross-goddamn-applesauce on the bed scrolling on his phone. “To be fair, you kinda made it our business.”

I shoulder check him and take his spot, forcing him to take the office chair that matches the desk, and the damn thing spins. Great. Now he’s never gonna leave. “ The fuck I made it your business,” I tell him . “You nosy assholes found me here and ? —"

Mickey shakes his head, interrupting me as he shoves his phone in my face. “Not here, dude. Here .” He taps the phone screen as Fallon inches closer to me. A video begins to play. It looks like we’re at the bar in the lobby, so I still don’t see what the big deal is and now I’m getting pissed.

“ Whoop-de-fuckin do. You have footage of Fallon and me drinking. Ok…And were you spying on me? How in the hell did you ? — "

“ We weren’t spying on you, dude, ” JT says, signing as he speaks. “ But maybe somebody should have been before you two got fuckin married.”

And with those words, my teammate sucks all the oxygen out of the room.

I watch as JT and Mickey shift their attention back to the bed and back to Fallon.

She looks at her left hand as though she’s seeing it for the first time.

When she holds it up, there’s diamond sparkling from her ring finger, but I don’t need to see it to know that there’s a matching gold band on my finger.

The weight of it steadies me as memories flood my brain in fragments.

I remember dancing with her. And doing shots. And I have a vivid memory of telling her I liked the way she looked with my ring on her finger. I catch a flash of the band on my own hand as I remember stumbling back here and fumbling to get our clothes off.

Your shirt’s in that drawer , I sign, pointing to the nightstand next to her. When we got back last night, I couldn’t find your suitcase and a drawer seemed like the next best thing.

You remember last night ? she asks, signing, and I like that our conversation is silent, even though I know JT can read our words.

Some , I admit. I wanted you to have flowers, but the bouquet at the chapel looked like a funeral arrangement, I sign as the memory comes back to me in vivid color.

I didn’t need flowers. I don’t need them , she signs before shaking her head like this is all too much. What were we thinking? She signs, echoing JT’s earlier question.

I don’t remember , I answer honestly. It’s funny because I can recall the way she looked at the altar, I can hear the officiant’s voice in my head, and I even remember hastily folding a little paper bouquet for her, but I don’t remember asking Fallon to marry me. And I don’t remember why she said yes.

Fallon takes Mickey’s phone and replays the video, maybe because she figures it will jog something in her own memory. Something inside me knows that I could watch it a dozen times and those key moments I want to remember—that I need to remember—will stay just out of reach.

Before anyone can hit Play again, my phone starts buzzing. Then JT’s, and then Mickey’s

Coach just texted.

Shit . He’s on his way.

I’m running plays in my head for the next half hour of my life is going to go when I feel Fallon’s touch on my shoulder.

If we’re getting more guests, I’m going to hop in the shower.

Yeah, okay , I sign back. She stands and takes her hearing aids off and snaps them into the charger.

The blinking light on the case must mean something because she crosses the room and roots around in her suitcase before pulling out a cord.

When she passes by me again on her way to the bathroom, I have to tamp down the urge to pull her in for a quick kiss.

What. The. Fuck?

As soon as the door shuts behind her, I feel my buddies’ eyes on me.

And JT is laughing at me, the fucker. “Dude, there are easier ways to get a girl to go out with you.”

“What are you talking about?” I ask, playing dumb.

“You’ve been pining over Booker’s sister as long as I’ve known you,” Mickey answers. “And now you’re married to her? I’m no relationship expert, but shouldn’t you have at least taken her to dinner first? Or even the movies?”

I don’t respond, because I have nothing to say. I feel like I won’t know if what we did last night was the dumbest thing I’ve ever done or the smartest, at least not until I can remember how it all went down.

JT clears his throat and the look he gives me is sincere, and it is a far cry from the scowl he was sporting earlier. “Relationships are hard work. They’re worth it, no fucking question, but they take effort and time and thinking about the other person.”

His words are part advice, part warning and they hang in the air as I hear the water turn off I pop off the bed, walk over to Fallon’s suitcase, and grab a fresh pair of leggings and a clean tank top.

I pause before scooping up a purple bra and a matching pair of panties.

A second before I make it to the bathroom door, it opens a crack and Fallon’s head pops out.

She’s wrapped in a towel, her cheeks are flushed from the steam, and her hair is up in a messy bun.

Without missing a beat, I hand over the stack of clothes and the smile she gives me makes me feel drunk all over again.

The door snicks shut again, and I turn back to JT, “You were saying?”

JT’s looking at me like he’s only mildly impressed by my show of husbandly duties right now, but by my calculations, I’ve been married for less than eight hours, and I was asleep for at least six of those. So basically, I’m just getting started.