Page 29

TWENTY-NINE

Natalie’s visit could not have come at a more perfect time.

I need my best friend right now. Things have felt off between Ryan and me since our talk at lunch. He’s been steady and affectionate, but he’s treating me like a feral cat—careful not to spook me, trying to coax me out of my hiding place.

He hasn’t tried to initiate anything physical since, not even a kiss. The closest he’s come are quick brushes of his lips on my forehead and soft, gentle touches. At first, I was grateful, needing a minute to process my feelings. But as the days pass, I start to worry I messed everything up with that disaster of a lunch date.

I get off the train and start walking toward the arena to meet Natalie. She arrived late last night and went straight to a work conference this morning, so we haven’t had a chance to catch up yet.

I show my badge at the entrance, the one Ryan got me for access to the friends and family area, and wait in the main corridor. I’m scrolling on my phone when I feel slim arms wrap around my shoulders, and Natalie’s floral perfume fills my nose.

“There you are. How was your work thing?” I ask, spinning to give her a proper hug.

“Not bad. There was a panty-melting doctor… Well, actually quite a few hot doctors, but one stood out from the rest. He put McDreamy to shame.”

I laugh because it’s so like her to immediately find a man in a new city. She dates enough for the both of us, and it’s fun hearing her stories and living vicariously through her. Though I’m not envious of what she tells me about the dating scene. My one experience was more than enough, thank you very much.

“Where’s the store around here? I want a jersey,” she says, heading in the wrong direction.

I loop my arm through hers and guide her toward the team store. Unlike everyone else here, Natalie stands out in the sea of jerseys—effortlessly chic in a black fitted turtleneck tucked into skin-tight jeans, paired with black heeled boots. Her long red hair is swept up into a high ponytail. She looks more like a fashion model than a hockey fan.

“Whose number are you going to get?” I ask as we enter.

“Hmm… not 19. Don’t want to wear your man’s number. Who’s single on the team?” She flashes a mischievous grin.

“I’ve only met Ryan’s closest friends, and I’m pretty sure they’re all single.”

“What’re their last names?” she asks, pushing hangers around as she flips through the racks.

“Fox, Volkov, and King.”

She mumbles to herself, sounding out her first name with their last names, as if testing how they roll off the tongue.

“I’m going with Volkov. Natalie Volkov has a nice ring to it. You know I have a thing for accents. The Russian it is!”

I laugh, imagining the interactions between Ilya and Natalie. She’s all sunshine and sass, while he’s broody and quiet. She’s definitely picked the hardest nut to crack, not that she knows it yet.

I pull out my phone to text Ryan.

Me:

Guess whose number Natalie picked for her jersey?

Ryan:

I really hope it’s not Fox. He doesn’t need any more ammunition. I’ve warned him off her since he found out she was visiting.

Me:

Have they met? If so, I don’t think she remembers him…

Ryan:

Only briefly when she stayed at my place when she was in town. I stayed with Fox to give her space. They met then.

Me:

I mean, they are pretty evenly matched. I don’t think we need to worry about them.

If there’s anyone that can give Dominic Fox a run for his money, it’s Natalie Banks.

Ryan:

Rather not risk it.

Me:

Lol well rest assured, it’s not Dom… it’s even better!

Ilya. She said, and I quote, “Natalie Volkov has a nice ring to it.”

Ryan:

Oh God, that might be worse. I’ll warn Volk not to be a dick to her, but no promises…

Me:

I’m not worried. She can hold her own. Have a good game! See ya later alligator.

Ryan:

How could I not? You’re here.

“Hannah! Pay attention to me and let your man work,” Natalie says, spinning in a circle to show off her outfit. “How do I look? Hockey-y?”

God, I love her. “Very hockey-y. C’mon, let’s go to our seats.”

As the players emerge on the ice for warm-ups, the arena brightens and the air buzzes with the crowd’s excitement.

We’re sitting glass-front, just to the left of the Saints’ home bench—my favorite spot. I get a perfect view of the action and the players rushing on and off the bench for their shifts. Plus, I can sneak glances at Ryan, even when he’s not out there playing.

As Natalie pops peanut M just crosses her arms and waits me out.

“We started this whole fake dating thing to piss Jace off, right? But it’s like we opened Pandora’s box, and instead of chaos and misery, it’s unleashed… feelings. Very, very real feelings.”

Nat shivers dramatically. “Oh no, feelings,” she mocks, drawing out the words as if telling a ghost story.

“You’re one to talk,” I huff, tapping her foot crossed in my direction. “It’s just, I came here with a plan and feelings weren’t a part of it, but at the same time I can’t walk away from this thing Ryan and I have.”

“Haven’t you heard? The best things in life are often unplanned.” She smirks. “I know you wanted to focus on yourself and your career, but not every man—especially not Ryan—is going to be like Jace. Did you ever consider you could have both? Your independence and a healthy, equally supportive relationship?”

I’ve thought about it—a life with both love and the career I’m passionate about. It’s everything I’ve ever wanted but always thought was out of reach. I know it’s possible, in theory. But I’ve never seen an example of it.

My mother’s life revolved around my father’s career, finding her fulfillment in supporting him and raising me. My whole life, she’s encouraged me to do the same: find a good man, settle down, and have a family. There’s nothing inherently wrong with that path; it just didn’t work for me. I built my life around Jace, only to be left feeling empty and lacking purpose. I’m terrified of finding myself in that same position again.

“Listen, Han. Maybe you don’t see the way the man looks at you, but I’ve witnessed it since freshman orientation. I know falling is scary, hence why I don’t do it. But for you, you have someone who’s gonna catch you, so let freaking go.”

My teeth chatter, and I think it’s more from the rush of adrenaline than the crisp air coming off the ice.

She takes my hands, squeezing them as she meets my eyes. “Don’t think I’m letting you wiggle your way out of talking about the lunch date. What freaked you out?”

I release a long breath, steadying myself to say the words out loud. I hate being that insecure girl, someone who questions her worth. “I’m not like them, Nat.”

“Like who?” Her perfectly arched brows flatten into a straight line.

“Them. The girls Ryan dated before. The ones Jace left me for. The ones who fit into a size two, who are flawlessly fashionable, and both cute and sexy. Who know how to do winged eyeliner.”

Nat’s eyebrows shoot up, clearly caught off guard by the direction of my thoughts. “I got you, babe. I can teach how to do the winged liner. But everything else is utter shite?—”

“Shite?”

“Oh, did I not mention McDreamy was British? The accent, Hannah.” She fans her face dramatically, even though sitting this close to an ice rink hardly requires cooling off. “Don’t distract me. As I was saying, you don’t need to be them. Jace is a shite , and Ryan likes you exactly how you are. I mean, why wouldn’t he? You’re smart. You’re passionate. Kind. You’re literally launching your own non-profit. And, babe, let’s not forget how drop-dead gorgeous you are,” she adds, her soft expression morphing into something mischievous. “Seriously, look at this rack.”

She reaches out to feel me up, but I swat her hand away with a laugh before she makes contact. I pull her into as much of a hug as the seats will allow, the sides of our heads pressing together. “Thanks for the pep talk. I’m so glad you’re here. I’ve missed you.”

Sometimes, you just need your best friend to remind you that you’re a badass. And Natalie will forever be my hype girl when I can’t be my own.

“Me too, girl. Quit holding back, all right? Trust in the power of good things.”

“You and your positivity quotes.” I shake my head, but a smile tugs at my lips.

I tease her about a lot of things, but on this, I think she’s right. I deserve this. I’m worthy… And I do have a great rack.

What’s happening between Ryan and me feels too good to walk away from. Maybe it doesn’t fit neatly into my original plan, but plans change, right? With Ryan, I don’t feel an ounce of the pressure I did with Jace. There’s no weight holding me down or expectations I need to measure up to. Just the opposite, actually. I feel supported and empowered.

This may have started as a silly ruse, but it’s becoming so much more. If what he told me at lunch was true, and I have no reason to doubt him, it’s as real to him as it is to me.

“Look, they’re coming out!” Natalie redirects my attention.

The team emerges from of the tunnel and skates toward the bench, except for the second line, who are starting. Ryan, Dom, and Ilya are all out there as a woman sings the national anthem. My eyes zero in on Ryan, who’s already looking at me with a subtle smile.

“What crawled up his butt?” Natalie comments from beside me.

I follow her line of sight and land on Ilya, who’s scowling at her. I’ve never seen the creases between his brows so deep. Ryan catches on to what I’m looking at and nudges him, saying something that prompts Ilya to redirect his eyes and school his expression.

Since they’re standing across from us, Natalie can’t see the numbers on the jerseys, only the team logo on the front. I gain way too much satisfaction when I lean closer so she can hear me over the noise. “That’s your future husband.”

I let out a bark of laughter as her features twist into an expression of horror, wide eyes and mouth slightly agape. Her disbelief only makes me laugh harder.

“I really know how to pick ‘em,” she mutters.

It looks like the Saints’ winning streak is coming to an end. By the time the third period rolls around, the Saints are down by two points. There’s still hope for a comeback, but as the clock ticks down, the outlook gets bleaker.

Usually, when the team has an off night, Ryan somehow looks like he’s the only one holding it together. He’s the most dedicated person I know, always putting an immense amount of pressure on himself and giving his all in every game. But tonight is different, he seems just as off-kilter as the rest of the team.

Natalie, on the other hand, is having a blast. She isn’t a loyal fan of the Saints, or hockey in general, though that might change after tonight. She’s been loving the game, but then again, it would be enjoyable if I were cheering for the opposing team. They’ve been dominating on offense, scoring four goals, and their defense has been relentless, with more hits than I can count.

Every time someone gets slammed into the boards, Natalie bangs on the glass and cheers, not caring that the Saints are taking the beating. She’s picked up the rules quickly, but the way she’s chirping at the refs, you’d think she’d been a fan for years. I’ve had to pull her back into her seat multiple times. At least someone is having a good time.

“Oh shite, is he okay?” she gasps. I’m starting to think this British curse has become a regular part of her vocabulary.

I focus back on the game to see someone lying on the ice. My heart stops momentarily, not able to tell who it is. Relief floods me when I see number 19 crouched next to the downed player—it’s not Ryan. But then I realize it’s Dominic, and concern rushes back in. He’s able to get up and skate back to the bench, but he immediately heads down the tunnel.

The surrounding crowd is a mix of murmurs and outrage over the questionable hit. I’m just hoping it’s nothing serious. The fact that he was able to get himself off the ice bodes well. It’s when a player stays down that you start to worry.

If they had any hope of a comeback, it’s vanished now. As soon as play resumes, their enforcer drops his gloves and charges at the opponent who hit Dominic. After a brief scuffle, he’s sent off the ice with a ten-minute major penalty. The crowd loves it, like all hockey fights, but the other team takes advantage of the power play and scores again. The game drags on for another eight minutes, ultimately ending in a 2-5 defeat.

“I see why you like it. I think I’m a hockey fan now,” Natalie comments as we make our way to the friends and family area to wait for Ryan.

He comes out twenty minutes later, with Ilya trailing close behind. The moment Ryan spots me, his eyes light up, and he makes his way over. He wraps me in a tight hug and leans down to brush a soft kiss on my temple.

“Good game,” I mumble into his chest, even though we both know it’s a lie. He kisses the top of my head in response, before letting go and turning to greet Natalie.

“Is your friend okay?” she asks him.

“Yeah, he’ll be fine, but he’s on concussion protocol, so he’ll be out for a couple of games.”

“Oh. Is someone with him now? Someone should stay with him overnight to keep an eye on him. Sorry, it’s hard to turn the nurse brain off.”

“An intern drove him home.” Ryan looks over at me with apology in his eyes. “I offered to stay with him. I know we were going to go out, but why don’t you girls still go?”

Before I can respond, Natalie does. “Oh no, I’ll watch him. Professional and all. Really, I don’t mind.”

Ilya scowls at her, unsurprisingly.

“You’re not here to work, though. I’ve got it, it’s okay,” Ryan tries to convince her.

But I know Natalie; she’s not going to take no for an answer. Once she sets her mind on something, there’s no convincing her otherwise. My suspicions are confirmed when she presses on, “No, I insist. You two should have some quality time together,” she says, smiling widely.

“I’ll do it,” Ilya interjects, a frown still firmly set on his face.

Ryan and I exchange a surprised look. Ilya doesn’t come off as the overly caring type.

Natalie must disagree because she simply loops her arm in his. “Okay, future hubby, let’s go take care of our patient.” Her voice fades as she leads him down the hall. “Did you drive here? Lead the way, Prince Charming.” All the while, he glares down at her.

Once they’re out of sight, Ryan and I exchange a look, both struggling to keep a straight face. The effort lasts only a few seconds before we break into a fit of laughter.

“What’s Natalie up to?” Ryan asks as soon as we’re home and on the couch. I’m sure it’s been nagging at him since her comments at the arena.

“Who knows? You know how she is.”

“She seemed pretty insistent on us spending time together…” I can tell he’s digging for details about what we talked about.

“You know how she is,” I repeat, curling my feet under me on the cushion to face him.

He nods, accepting my answer, then heads to the kitchen. He returns with two glasses, a bottle of white wine, a candle, and a lighter. Setting everything on the coffee table, he lights the candle and turns to me, holding up the bottle. “Wine?”

“Sure.” I lean over the coffee table to smell the candle. It’s new, judging by the smooth surface of the wax, and smells like a summer day in Florida.

I settle into the couch, sipping my wine. Ryan moves beside me, draping his arm casually across the back of the couch. He closes the space between us, and for the first time in days, there’s no hesitation in his eyes. He runs a lazy finger under the neckline of my shirt. I’m still wearing the jersey from his game. “I love seeing this on you,” he murmurs, his gaze dropping to the Saints logo on my chest.

I squeeze my legs together, subconsciously moving toward him. How can a simple touch and a few words have such an effect on me?

He takes my glass and sets it on the table along with his. When he leans back in, he frames my face with his hands and kisses me lightly.

I shift to my knees, needing to be closer to him. The height brings us eye to eye. I rest my forehead against his, and his breath ghosts across my lips. “I’m sorry about the other day at lunch,” I whisper.

“You don’t have to apologize.”

“I do. I know I’ve been all over the place, and I don’t want you to think it has anything to do with you or how I feel about you. It’s just that everything’s been a jumbled mess in my head.”

He pulls back just enough to kiss my forehead. “Understandably so. You’ve been through a lot, and I don’t want to push you. Like I told you, I’m here when you’re ready. And I’ll still be here, even if you never are.”

I feel lightheaded, air coming and going from my lungs in a staccato rhythm.

He runs his hand up my neck, stopping to cup my jaw. His movements are slow and deliberate, giving me plenty of time to pull away. When I don’t, he brushes his lips against mine, just a tease of a kiss, before pulling back to give me time to decide.

“Are we practicing?” I breathe.

“Do you need it to be?” His implication is clear. To him, this is real, but he’s leaving the door open for me to retreat, if that’s what I need.

I shake my head, the motion gentle and slow, our foreheads still pressed together.

“Thank fuck.” He brings our lips together violently, no buildup—just pure, unfiltered need driving his movements. I love this side of him, the way he can be both tender and rough, flipping seamlessly between the two.

I moan as his tongue meets my lips, and I part for him. He takes the opportunity to push into my mouth further. Before I’m ready, his lips leave mine, but they return to my sensitive skin quickly. Kissing, licking, and nipping across my jaw, down my neck, to my collarbone, until the shirt I’m wearing obstructs his path.

He pulls back to meet my gaze. “I want to keep this on you. I want the taste of your cunt on my tongue while my name graces your back.”

I nod.

“Words,” he rasps.

“Yes.”

He works his way down again, stopping at the juncture where my neck meets my shoulder. Pushing the fabric aside, he peppers me with open-mouthed kisses before biting down—hard enough to send a shiver down my spine. “You’re mine.”

“Yes,” I breathe.

He lifts the jersey, so it’s bunched around my neck, giving him access to me. His eyes take me in hungrily. I’ve never felt as sexy, as wanted, as I do when I’m under his gaze.

Getting frustrated with the awkward angle of our seated position, he guides me down. I spread my legs, making room for him, and he cradles himself between my thighs. He keeps his weight off me as he kisses down the valley between my breasts and pushes my bra up.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he mutters against my skin. His wet tongue laps at my hard nipple, while his hand tweaks the other. Alternating back and forth between both breasts until my mind is blissfully blank and I’m grinding against him.

“I’ve imagined this moment so many times, but my fantasies don’t come close to the reality.” He speaks into my wet skin. It’s not the first time he’s said it, and the reverence in his voice each time makes me believe it’s true.

He cups one of my heavy breasts in his large palm and runs his thumb over my sensitive skin as his mouth explores. He lays kisses on my soft stomach. The stomach I used to be self-conscious about, not being perfectly flat. But the way Ryan worships every inch of me leaves no room for thoughts about my body. Only how good it all feels.

He continues his descent, kissing and nipping at the skin above the waistband of my jeans. “Can I take these off?” He pinches the denim fabric.

“Yes.”

I lift my hips and shimmy, helping him to get them off. In one quick motion, he pulls down my underwear and pants, leaving me completely exposed. The fact that he’s still fully dressed in his gameday suit, sans jacket, somehow makes it hotter.

“Can I taste you?”

“Yes.” Gone is the hesitation I felt last time. I can’t believe I’ve wasted years without knowing the feeling of Ryan’s lips buried between my thighs.

“If you don’t like something, you’ll let me know.”

“Yes.” Apparently, that’s the only word I know tonight.

He smiles up at me before his tongue laps at my center. I can feel his groan of pleasure when his tongue meets my clit.

I’m going to come much too fast, which is something I never thought I’d say. Until Ryan, I could never consistently come with another person. I can count on one hand the number of times Jace was able to get me off. But with Ryan, everything aligns. My whole body hums.

I’m so wet that I worry it’s off-putting to him. I quickly reject that thought when his lips refuse to leave my skin and he mumbles, “I love how wet you are.”

He keeps teasing me, bringing me higher and higher, but not giving me enough to fall over the edge. I’m torn between wanting this feeling to last forever and craving relief.

I try to enjoy the coiling feeling in my core, the tingling sensation running down my legs, to the tips of my toes, but I’m practically trembling with the desire for release. “Please,” I whimper. It’s hard to get words out. “Please, Ryan. Please. Please. Please. Please.”

When I focus down on him, his eyes are closed, and his breathing is heavy. His body is strung as tight as mine. He grinds his hips onto the couch, and it’s nearly my downfall. A sound escapes me, and his gaze snaps to mine.

He sucks my clit as his fingers enter me and curl up. Once. Twice. That’s all it takes for me to go off. My eyes slam shut, and white light flashes against the dark backdrop of my closed lids as I clench around his fingers. He continues with light licks and slow thrusts, prolonging my climax.

I open my eyes to him kneeling between my spread thighs. He’s lost his shirt, and his pants are pulled down just enough to free his cock, which rests heavy in his hand. He alternates between squeezing tightly and lazily stroking.

“Can I?” His voice is a harsh rasp. “I want to stay between these pretty thighs all night, but if I don’t take care of this, I’m going to come in my pants… again.” He gives me a lazy smile.

The thought of him stroking his cock until he comes on me sends aftershocks through me. I’m very on board with the idea, but I didn’t get to touch him last time we did this, and I don’t want to miss the opportunity. “No.”

He frowns slightly but quickly schools his features and stands abruptly, stumbling as his feet remain tangled in his dress pants. “Okay. That’s okay, just give me one minute…”

Grabbing his hand to halt his movement and rambling, I tug him back down to sit. I, not so gracefully, roll off the couch and kneel between his spread legs.

“Hannah,” he rasps, looking down at me with so much adoration I don’t know what to do with it.

“Can I?” I repeat the question he asked me earlier.

He nods jerkily.

“Words,” I mimic, smirking at him as I lick my bottom lip.

“Yes, you can do anything you want, always.”

Holding him at the base, I lick up his length, swirling my tongue around the head each time I reach it. He stays perfectly still, watching as I take him as deep as I can and suck.

“Fuck,” he breathes.

I meet his half-lidded eyes. With one hand, he caresses the side of my head, not interfering with my movements but creating another connection between us. With his other hand, he reaches between us and gently pinches my nipple, causing me to moan around his length.

“That feels so good, baby,” he pants. His face screws up like he’s in pain. “I don’t want to come. Fuck , I want this to last.”

His abs strain, and I know he’s losing the battle as I continue to suck him greedily, focusing on the head while using my hand to stroke him in tandem.

“Are you going to swallow me down?” Before I can respond, which would have been a yes, he’s coming in hot, salty spurts on my tongue. “Fuck,” he groans.

I gently lick him, not wanting to miss a drop, until he becomes oversensitive and urges me into his lap. He kisses me, his tongue tangling with mine.

He tucks me under his chin and holds me tight. “I’m sorry about that. I was holding on by a thread. I should’ve said something sooner.”

I kiss the underside of his chin. “Don’t apologize. I liked it.”

“Okay, good.” He takes a deep breath and, on the exhale, says, “You’ve ruined me… I mean, you ruined me years ago. But now I’m really fucked.”

He sounds so resigned to this fact that I can’t help but laugh into his chest. “If it helps, you’ve ruined me too,” I whisper.