Page 10

Blair

The winning streak lasted until game five of the season. We were in Washington, and even from the sidelines, the game was a bloodbath.

Washington’s left D man was a mucker who seemed to have it out for Cian, the two having to be pulled apart twice before the end of the first period and the distraction cost the team. I’d never seen Cian anything less than completely in control on the ice, but when he missed a shot late in the third period, he looked ready to explode as he chewed his mouthguard and took up position.

Of course, I’d accepted when he invited me out with the team afterward. His smile had been a little more forced than usual, unlike mine when he took my hand to guide me to the table the team had claimed close to the back.

And of course, I left as soon as the puck bunnies turned up and Cian’s focus shifted to better options.

He kept calling us friends, and a good friend didn’t cockblock their friend when they were staying out of town and needed comfort after a difficult loss. Maybe one of them could ice his bruises for him. Strip him out of that olive green shirt that so perfectly matched his eyes and make him forget with their mouths and…

Stop it .

I shook the thoughts of what Cian could be up to out of my head and refocused on the behind-the-scenes footage I was putting together to post on the team’s social page. I had a cute clip of Oscar and our equipment manager, Toby Miller, goofing off with a soccer ball, and another of our rookie, Riley, finding his locker full of rolls and rolls of stick tape.

I took a sip of the horrible instant coffee I’d made out of desperation and pulled up the next file when a knock at the door broke my concentration. The clock read one AM, and I wondered if someone had gotten their room number wrong. Maybe one of the players had locked themselves out of their room and no other staff member answered their door? Or shit had hit the fan and Dante wanted me to sit in while she ran damage control.

It was the last possibility that forced me out of my seat to see who my early-early morning visitor was.

A waft of alcohol hit me in the face as I opened the door to over six feet of unsteady man. His hair was disheveled like he—or someone else—had been running their fingers through it. His eyes were bloodshot, face soft in the way of the inebriated. T-shirt and jeans were in place, though the former was untucked and ruched up over one hip.

“Where are your shoes?” I asked. Formerly white socks peeped out below the denim cuffs of his pants, and the toes in them wiggled as he dropped his head with a frown.

“Huh.”

He scrunched his toes a few more times, but otherwise seemed content to stand at my door in the middle of the night with no explanation.

His huge body swayed slightly like he was caught in a windstorm, but couldn’t take shelter. I leaned out into the hallway, checking both ends in hopes one of his teammates were coming to retrieve their wayward brother. Other than the flickering exit sign down on the left, nothing moved.

What had happened since I left? Cian was always up for being social, but he rarely drank to excess, especially when we had an early flight and another game in two days’ time.

“Why are you here?” I asked, torn between letting him in and escorting him to his room. The problem being I wasn’t sure exactly where he was staying, and it seemed like a bad idea to have him in my space.

He lurched heavily to the side, knocking his shoulder against the doorframe.

“Shit.” I ducked under his arm. God, he was heavier than I expected. As I tried to keep him upright, he curled his big body around me and dropped his face close to mine.

“You’re so pretty, Duckie.”

That nickname .

I pulled away, almost immediately lunging for him again as he overbalanced.

“Goddamn it, Cian. This is really unfair. You need to go to bed.”

He hummed.

Then he stepped into my room.

“You need to go to your bed,” I stressed, tugging at his arm, which now seemed a hell of a lot steadier. Instead of listening to my very sound advice, he took a seat on my bed and pinned me with eyes that seemed a whole lot more focused all of a sudden.

“You disappeared again.”

“I—What?” I asked, unsure what had changed.

“You always disappear on me. I want you to stay.” He leaned back on his hands and became distracted by the feel of the bed covers. He kneaded the mattress, eyes focused on his fingers curling in the sheets, then flipped over and crawled up to the pillows.

“This is nice,” he muttered, curling on his side as he let out a heavy breath.

“Oh, hell no. You are not sleeping in here. Get out of my bed.”

The only answer was a soft snore.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” I crawled up the bed, muttering about stupid drunk hockey players as I pushed at his huge, heavy as hell body. Why was he doing this?

I was sweating and breathing hard a few minutes later when I finally surrendered to the fact I was stuck with this beautiful, confusing, very passed out man in my bed for the foreseeable future. Pushing my curls out of my face with a frustrated hand, I studied his ridiculously long, dark lashes. His face relaxed in sleep, and it was only seeing him like this that made me realize the tension that had been in his features since we boarded the plane yesterday.

Something was on his mind, and as much as I told myself it wasn’t my business, I might… possibly… have wanted to make it my business? Maybe?

Despite my best efforts to keep him at arm’s length, Cian O’Leary had the kind of charisma that was difficult to resist. He made people want to be near him, and I was getting tired of resisting his charm.

Which was more dangerous than any interaction with my family.

They could hurt me.

Cian O’Leary had the ability to utterly destroy me.

Which was why I called myself every variant of idiot as I put my glasses on the nightstand and curled up beside him to try to get an hour or two of restless sleep.

* * *

An insistent beeping broke through my dreamless sleep, and I groaned, silently willing it to shut the hell up. Christ, I was warm. Sweat slid down my back, and I wondered why the hotel had such heavy covers. The bed dipped, and I froze as something large and warm squeezed my breast. Flashes of the night before came back to me as my brain woke up. Something else was clearly awake, and as I tried to shift away from the hockey player wrapped around me, I felt it slide against my ass cheeks.

“Cian.”

With a sleepy grunt, he hooked his leg over my hip and pulled me more tightly against him. His hips ground lazily into my ass as he buried his face in the back of my neck. Goosebumps raced along my skin as his hot breath coasted over my ear. The small snuffling noises he made in his sleepy state were not cute. At all. Really.

Maybe I could let him sleep just a little longer.

My alarm chose that moment to voice its opinion, recommencing the beep beeping with every increasing volume until my bedmate came away with a rough curse. Without releasing his hold on me, he reached out a hand and silenced the beeping, then curled his body back around me.

The tension in his body a moment later told me when he came fully awake.

The hand on my breast squeezed once before taking a lazy stroke down my body, up over my hip and finally settled in my hair, moving it away from his face.

“Blair?” he asked quietly.

“Uh… hi?”

He pulled his hips, and that erection I was quietly curious about, away from me with such a violent jerk he threw himself off the bed. The crash of his landing was accompanied by the bedside lamp following him down, as well as half the bedding. With a less-than-graceful push, he found his feet and flapped around, trying to untangle the sheets from his body. While he fought, I retrieved my glasses from the nightstand. Without them, I couldn’t see a whole lot more than color and blurred shapes.

“What are you doing in my room?” he asked, finally free of his restraints and sporting a deep crease between his brows.

“Actually, you’re in my room,” I said, pointing to my laptop as though it were proof of residence.

He looked around the small space that was mine for the night we’d spent in Washington. It wasn’t as fancy as where the players slept, and after the night we’d had, I would have appreciated something bigger than a double bed, but it was enough for me to get my work done. Cian’s expression told me he may not have agreed.

“What am I doing in your room?” he asked at last.

“Do you remember anything from last night?”

He kicked the sheets away and paced in the small space, hands on hips and head bowed.

“You left again.”

“You said that last night.”

He nodded, his movements becoming more sure. “You do that a lot. Come out with us for a drink, but as soon as my back is turned, you ghost. Why do you keep leaving?”

“I know when I’m not wanted.”

“You…? Are you serious right now?” He may have been the color of flour and smelled like stale booze, but Cian in a mood still cut an intimidating figure.

He stalked forward, until he stood over me on the bed.

“What part of the night made you feel unwanted? Was it when I explicitly invited you? When I held your hand and sat you beside me? Maybe when I made sure we both had drinks because I’d had a really shitty night and wanted you close. Tell me, Blair. When were you not wanted?”

I lifted my chin and met his glare, kind of wishing I could stand up and meet him eye to eye, but he didn’t give me the space for that.

“When better options came along.”

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Rubbed his hand down his face and winced like his head hurt.

“I’m too hungover for this,” he muttered. “What ‘better options’ came along?” He crooked two fingers as he spoke, turning the sentence into a quote.

Heat flooded my face. Did he want me to spell it out for him?

“Those puck bunnies are always so accommodating for you. It looked like you’d used them well before you came looking for the last resort. Should I thank you for giving me a look in?”

“What…?”

“You know. The leftover. The bottom of the barrel. Put a bag on her head and she’ll do in a pinch.” I was on a roll. Every passing comment I’d heard over the years in locker rooms and school halls bubbling out and spewing over this man that I’d made the embodiment of all my insecurities.

Because I liked him.

As I spiraled into a chasm of self-loathing and the hateful words of others I’d faithfully absorbed and stored in my emotional walls over the years, I comforted myself with the fact that none of it was new. And nothing could make me feel worse than I already did.

“You think I came here last night for sex?”

I was wrong.

Despite Cian being the one who was hungover, I felt sickness curling in my gut. Of course he didn’t want to fuck me. He wanted a friend. One of the boys.

He kept talking, but my mind was so much louder. The past flashing through my mind in a slideshow of shame and humiliation. I wrapped my arms around my stomach, willing the contents to stay put as I tried to find a way to surface, at least long enough to kick him out.

He didn’t need to see me break.

“You need to go,” I blurted, interrupting whatever he’d been saying. He cocked his head, hands half raised as though he wanted to touch me, but wasn’t sure he would be welcome.

I sucked in a deep breath. Get him out, rebuild the walls. That was the plan.

“Our flight will be leaving soon, and I’m sure we don’t need your teammates to catch you leaving my room at this time of the morning. Go and pack your bags. We can talk about this later.”

His scowl was severe, but he couldn’t argue with anything I’d just said.

With a look that told me he expected me to keep my word, he slipped out the door without further argument.

Now I just needed to avoid him for the rest of my life so he couldn’t hurt me.

Easy.