Page 27 of Stick Break (Boston Bucks #8)

Rip

I roll over in bed, and for a heartbeat, and my heart soars when I find Charley there, still asleep.

Soft morning light filters through the curtains, falling across her bare shoulder, her cheek pressed into the pillow, lips parted just slightly.

Peaceful. Like the world finally gave her a moment to rest.

A wide grin curls across my face, and my chest pulls tight in the best kind of way. I reach out, brushing my hand down the slope of her spine, the curve of her waist, memorizing the shape of her in the quiet. Her skin is warm beneath my touch, like she’s holding the sun beneath her surface.

The covers are half-kicked off and bunched at the foot of the bed.

As I lean forward to tug them up, something catches my eye, a small, delicate tattoo on her hip.

A butterfly made of musical notes. I blink, stunned that I haven’t noticed it before.

Then again, every time I’ve had her naked, I’ve been too overwhelmed to see anything other than how badly I wanted her. How she completely undid me.

“Like what you see?” Her voice is scratchy with sleep, low and amused.

I glance up. She’s watching me, a lazy smile on her lips, her eyes still heavy-lidded.

“Always,” I say, voice low and honest, then lean in to kiss her. Soft. Slow. Like I have all morning, when really I do, but I don’t have forever…not with her. When I pull back, my gaze drifts again to the tattoo. “This is beautiful. I didn’t notice it before.”

She stretches, breath catching just slightly, and gives me a look that’s half shy, half resigned. “Mom and Dad hated tattoos. Said they were trashy, rebellious.” She snorts. “That’s me, rebellious, remember.”

“I do remember you saying that, but I don’t get it, Charley.

I don’t know why your parents thought you were a rebel or disobedient, or a troublemaker.

The first thing you wanted to do was give the guitar back, when you thought it was lost. Then there’s Emma.

She adores you and you’re giving up your time to teach her a few notes and look at ‘Betsy’.

It only took five minutes with you, before you had her wrapped around your finger.

You’re kind, compassionate, and everyone who meets you loves you”

Loves you.

She arches a brow, and I say, “Anyway, go on. Tell me about this.” I lightly trace the butterfly.

“I knew getting it would only validate everything my parents said about me, and maybe it did. But I wanted it, So I got it somewhere they’d never see it. You’d have to be paying attention to notice.”

I don’t think her parents were paying close enough attention to what their daughter needed from them, and that makes me sad.

“I’m paying attention,” I whisper, fingers brushing gently around the edges of the ink. “The music I get. But the butterfly?”

She hesitates, eyes drifting to the ceiling as if looking for the words.

“They always wanted me to be what they envisioned. The perfect daughter. Polished, obedient. There was no room for color. No room for mess. But music…” Her voice softens.

“Music gave me space to feel. And the butterfly… it’s freedom.

It’s growth. It’s mine. I wanted to mark the moment I stopped living in a box and started becoming who I really am. ”

I study her, not just the tattoo anymore, but the story etched beneath it.

“I like it,” I whisper, letting my lips brush over the ink. “Where did you get it done.”

“I was at this dive bar in San Diego…” I cock my head and she blinks like she’s rethinking the story and how much to tell me. “Anyway, I met this tattoo artist. His work was beautiful.”

“I’ve always thought about getting a tattoo, but I might be a chickenshit,” I half joke.

“Don’t people who play hockey take a pounding all the time?”

I stare at her, my brain racing. Am I a fool for thinking, or hoping, she doesn’t know I play in the NHL. But it’s clear from the way she worded her question, that she’s keeping my secret if she does know. Just like I’m keeping her secret.

“A pounding is one thing. A needled.” I stop to cringe.

“Don’t be a baby.”

“Hey, I’m not baby bear, Goldilocks.”

She laughs. “Right. Well, if you do decide, and you happen to find yourself in San Diego, I personally vouch for Raze at Rogue Ink.”

“Rogue Ink,” I murmur. “I guess that’s why you liked it. You related, huh?” She nods and I run my finger over the tattoo before pressing my lips to her thigh. “Raze did an amazing job and this suits you. Beautiful, strong, a woman who knows what she wants.”

Her smile falter and my heart wobble as I take in the tears threatening to spill.

“I thought I knew what I wanted…but now, I’m a little lost.” I stare at her, not knowing what to say, how to make this better.

Before I can, she continues, “What’s on the agenda today, Rip?

” she asks, injecting enthusiasm into her voice that I don’t think she feels, but it’s a sign that she needs to move on from the hurt.

I get it. This time together is about forgetting. “Stretches? Sun? Sand? Sailing?”

“There might be one ‘S’ word you’re forgetting,” I say, lifting a brow as I try to lighten the mood.

She smirks, eyes twinkling. “Sunshine, of course. How could I ever forget sunshine?”

I laugh, and something about her smile, the quiet between us, the warmth of her skin beneath my fingers, it makes me wish that fairy tales really were true.

I laugh and drag her beneath me. My lips find hers for a deep, kiss and the next thing I know, my cock is inside her and she’s chanting my name. “Goddammit, I plan to make you come every day until we have to leave her.”

As her body clenches around my dick, I release inside her, and we both hug each other, like sex in the morning is something we do every day, and well…we will. Until this is over.

“Oh, wait,” she teases. “That other ‘s’ word was sex?”

“No, it was smartass.”

She laughs—warm, unguarded, and full of that easy joy that always seems to unravel something tight inside my chest. I swear, her laugh might be the best thing I’ve ever heard.

“How about breakfast before yoga?” I ask, stretching with a sleepy grin.

“Perfect,” she says.

“Why don’t you jump in the shower and I’ll get it started?” I offer, as her fingers trail lazily down my chest.

“You’re not joining me?” she asks hopeful.

I smirk. “If I do, we’ll never eat.” She shifts to roll out of bed, but I stop her with a gentle touch. “Babe?”

“Yeah?”

I slide my hand down the silky length of her thigh and brush my fingers softly over the slick heat between her legs. My throat tightens at the feeling—intimate, still warm from our bodies. “You know I’ve never had sex without a condom before.”

“I know,” she says, her brows lifting with soft curiosity.

“Can I ask a stupid question?” I glance at her, and for a moment, I hesitate—then I don’t. Not with her. She makes it safe to ask vulnerable things—things I could never as my ex, because I feared it end up in print somewhere.

She cups my cheek with such tenderness it nearly undoes me. “Ask me anything. Always.”

I exhale slowly. “Will I… drip out of you? Will you feel it?”

A slow, knowing smile curves her lips, and something in her gaze turns molten. “Some will, yeah. And yes, I’ll feel it,” she says gently. “Some of it gets absorbed. Why?”

I swallow hard. “Jesus… just knowing a part of me is still inside you, knowing you feel it… It does something to me. It’s like—I don’t know. It’s intimate as hell, and fuck, it turns me on. I’m not sure I’ll be able to walk around today without embarrassing myself.”

Her eyes gleam with mischief. “Then I’ll be sure to let you know the moment I feel it.”

I groan, dropping my head to the pillow. “God, woman. You’re going to kill me.”

She slides out of bed, still completely bare, and my eyes follow her like they don’t have a choice. I groan again, louder this time. “Wait… is that the plan? Seduce me to death so you can have the cottage all to yourself?”

She taps my nose playfully, grinning. “Nah. It’d be boring here without you.”

I’m opening my mouth to answer when my phone pings on the nightstand. Then again.

I don’t move, but my whole body tenses. Her smile fades. It begins to shimmy across the wood.

“Are you going to get that?” she asks quietly, no longer teasing.

I stare at it. “No.”

“It’s her?” she asks, voice barely above a whisper.

“Uh-huh.”

There’s a pause, heavy with unspoken things. “Well,” she says, her tone carefully neutral, “I’ll leave you in private. In case…”

She disappears behind the bathroom door and closes it quietly, but the sudden silence feels heavier than the room itself.

I reach for the phone to silent it, and a strange, gnawing feeling settles deep in my gut—like I’m already doing Charley wrong, like I’m betraying her without even moving.

Cheating. The word tastes bitter on my tongue, because nothing about this is black and white anymore.

I hate cheaters. Charley hates cheaters.

And yet, what the hell am I supposed to call this tangled mess?

I might not currently be in a physical relationship with Lyra, but isn’t an emotional relationship…

still cheating. Am I even in an emotionally relationship?

Honestly, I don’t even know if Lyra and I have anything at all.

Or if I want anything.

I glance at the message again, heart suddenly pounding in my throat.

Fuck no.

Before Charley showed up, I told Lyra I was holed up at a friend’s cottage, resting before training starts. She knows exactly where I am. But now she’s talking about coming out here. Coming to this place with Charley. No way. I can’t let that happen.

A cold chill goes through me. If Lyra found out Charley’s here… if she even smelled it… it’d blow up in ways I don’t want to imagine. I don’t need that kind of chaos. Not now. Not with Charley.

So I tap out a quick white lie telling Lyra I’ll be leaving soon. No point in her making the trip out east. Phone down, I rise and head toward the kitchen. The fridge’s still bare, so I head back to the bathroom door and knock.

“I’m going to run to the store. Bacon and eggs sound good?”

“Perfect…” Her voice is soft, hesitant, like she wants to say more—and she does. “I can go with you, if you like.”

My chest tightens with an unexpected flutter.

“Sure. Maybe we can actually eat at the little café in town.” After last night, after meeting the neighbors, maybe she finally feels safe here.

Unseen. But then there’s Jensen, and the anger coils in me.

If he says anything about us, I’ll make sure he regrets it.

But with my threat hanging in the air, I’m betting he’ll keep his mouth shut.

“Okay, give me a minute.”

I hurry back to the bedroom, tug on clean shorts and a T-shirt, the fabric cool and soft on my skin. As I head back to the kitchen, the bathroom door clicks open and Charley steps out wrapped in a towel, damp hair clinging to her shoulders.

God, she’s beautiful.

“I’ll hurry,” she says, voice low and steady.

Before I can tell her to take her time, and maybe leave the bedroom door open so I can admire her a little longer, the front door bursts open with a bang like the FBI just kicked it down. Both of us whip around.

“Don’t mind me,” Mrs. Callahan calls out, strolling in like she owns the place. “Just bringing your bowl back, and I baked some blueberry muffins this morning.”

Charley stands frozen, hand pressed to her chest, caught somewhere between amused and horrified. I clear my throat and back up a few steps, positioning myself in front of her, a human shield for her near-naked body.

“Oh, sorry, am I interrupting something?” Mrs. Callahan arches a perfectly gray eyebrow in my direction, suspicion practically dripping off her. “You putting those two boxes to good use?”

Oh. My. Fucking. God.

A tortured groan gets stuck in my throat while a soft chuckle bubbles up from Charley behind me.

“We were just getting ready to go to town for breakfast,” I say, trying to sound casual, but failing miserably.

That judgmental eyebrow stays pinned high. “Mmm-hmm. Just checking. I’ve seen less sexual tension in a romance novel.”

I cough, laughing despite myself. “How many romance novels are we talking, exactly?”

“Enough to know a thing or two,” she replies, setting the container down on the counter with a satisfied smile. Then, her eyes soften as she looks at Charley. “Now, Charley, I also made some special lemon bars for you. And Ripley?”

“Yes, ma’am?”

She steps closer, reaches out, and pats my cheek with a knowing smile. “If you mess this up, I will personally shave your eyebrows off in your sleep.”

“Not messing anything up,” I assure her.

“Um, Betsy, you have your own key,” Charley asks.

She holds it up like a trophy. “Of course I do. I check on the place when no one’s here.”

“Well, I guess there’s no need to check on it now. Not while we’re here,” I say, biting my tongue before adding, “...sullying up the place.”

“I hope I get an invite to the wedding.” Grinning, Mrs. Callahan turns on her heel, her dress catching a breeze as she disappears as quickly as she came, leaving behind the faint scent of lavender and mischief.

Charley shakes her head, still smiling. “Did she really say, ‘less sexual tension in a romance novel’?”

I shiver mockingly. “Out loud. But you get it now, right?” I roll my eyes and groan. “Get why I was so mortified when I heard her say ‘sexcapades’—”

We both burst out laughing, the sound filling the kitchen, chasing away the chill left by Lyra. And somehow, right there, everything in our world feels perfectly, undeniably… right.

Except…there will be no wedding.