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FORTY-SIX

Clay

“The finals ,” my sister gasps into my ear. “Are you freaking out?”

“I don’t freak out,” I tell her as the elevator climbs to the ninth floor of my hotel. It’s one thirty in the morning.

“Pfft. Nobody is too macho to freak out,” she insists. “I bet you screamed like a first-timer at a Taylor Swift concert.”

I laugh. “If we actually win the whole damn thing, I might just do that.”

“The finals ,” she repeats. “Maybe even Dad will notice.”

We both laugh. As if .

“Clay, I’m taking off from work and flying to Colorado. Can you get me a ticket for game one?”

“Yeah. You and the boyfriend.”

She squeals.

“Hey, you feeling okay?” I ask her.

“I feel great! My brother is going to the finals! Whee!”

Laughing, I get off the elevator and start looking for room 912. “Goodnight, Kait.”

“Night, Clayzy! Congratulations!”

Tucking the phone into my pocket, I turn down the corridor. And stop dead when I see Jethro leaning against the wall, watching me.

And, fuck, he looks good in his game-day suit, a lazy smile on his face. My stomach does a swoopy thing that it’s not supposed to do when I look at him. “Hey,” I say, swallowing. “You looking for me?”

He shakes his head. “I wasn’t. But I was about to open my door when I heard your voice.”

“You’re on this floor?” I ask stupidly. Since he’d confessed that he’d requested rooms on low floors, I wasn’t expecting to see him.

“I guess the Fairmont just really loves to upgrade me.” He pulls a key out of his pocket and swipes into… I peek at the room number. 910. It’s the one adjacent to mine. “Congratulations, Clay. I know this means a lot to you.” His door opens, and he steps through, dropping his gym bag on the other side.

The door is about to swallow him up, and I’m not ready. “That was a hell of a game, Jethro. We’re going to the finals because of the way you played tonight.”

He glances over his shoulder at me. “Thanks, Coach” he says slowly and deliberately. “You take care now.”

Then the door closes behind him with a sturdy click. I remain there in the hallway, forgetting to move. Tonight, I was given a passport to everything I ever wanted.

So why do I feel like the thing I really want just disappeared behind that door?

Eventually, I remember to unlock room 912. Walking in, I pass a door which clearly adjoins Jethro’s room. He’s right there.

Fuck. This is some kind of karmic test, isn’t it?

I go through the motions of getting ready for bed. I fire up the shower and wash all the gametime sweat off my body, and I hang up my suit. I brush my teeth. I find a complimentary bottle of imported water and a fruit bowl on the table. There’s a fancy chocolate on my pillow. The spoils of the rich and successful.

But I just feel hollow inside. Tonight, I reached the greatest achievement of my career, and I don’t have anyone to celebrate with besides my sister.

I sit on the edge of the bed and drop my head into my hands. If we’ve won the Cup ten days from now, I will be a very, very successful hockey coach. But I will still be lonely as fuck.

Without really thinking about it, I slip off the bed and walk to the set of doors separating our rooms. I unlock and open my side, then knock on his.

For a moment, I don’t think he’s going to answer. I can’t blame him. I made the rules, and now I’m the ass who’s thinking about breaking them.

Then I hear a single word on the other side of the door. “Clay?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you just knock on my door?”

“Yeah.”

I hear the bolt slide, and he opens the door partway. He’s bare-chested, and my eyes dip down to take in my favorite abs, an athlete’s eight-pack, and a sandy brown happy trail running down the center of his stomach.

When I remember to raise my eyes to his, they’re squinting at me. “Did you want something?”

Yes . I swallow. “Great game tonight. You…you amaze me.”

His jaw hardens. “Really, Clay? That’s what you knocked on my door to say?”

“Um…” I’m so busted.

He rolls his eyes. “Just don’t take a step closer.”

My heart drops. “Why?”

“A guy only has so much willpower.”

Oh . We stare at each other for another long beat. Then he licks his lips, and I feel it in my sac. “And if I did take a step… Then what?”

He glares at me. “Take it and find out.”

On tonight of all nights, after an exciting conference win, it seems I’ve got the self-control of a squirrel in a nut shop. So of course, I step closer.

Jethro’s eyes darken. Then his hands land on my chest, and he pushes me bodily back into my own room. “Just remember. You knocked on my fucking door.”

“I…I did,” I stammer as my knees hit the bed.

“This was your idea. You confusing son of a…”

I never find out how that sentence ends because he pounces, basically tossing me down on the bed. I’m on my back, and he’s covering my body with his heated one. His kiss is almost brutal in its vigor—all firm lips and scruff.

At first, I match his angry energy. Mouth locked onto his, I arch my back, pressing up against his chest. Jutting a knee between his muscular legs, I’m like a wrestler who won’t be pinned.

Then his tongue slides into my mouth, and I hear myself moan. He tastes like heat, and he tastes like him . I stop fighting, my body going willingly slack under his.

Our kiss goes straight to nuclear. His kiss is deep and my body is on fire. If I could form a thought right now, I’d wonder if the hotel’s sprinkler system were up to code.

But thinking is overrated, while Jethro’s angry kisses are not. I take everything he’s giving me, and my body begs him for more.

He groans, rocking his hips against mine before coming up for air. “Christ,” he pants, pushing off my chest and glaring down at me. “You confusing fucker. Am I never getting over you?”

I run a hand up his strong chest, the way I’ve wanted to since he opened the door. “Been wondering how that works for years. Haven’t figured it out yet.”

All the fight drains from his expression. He lowers his body back onto mine, green eyes inches from my face. “Are we doing this?”

“Yes,” I say quickly. But I don’t wrap myself around him the way I want to. Not yet. I’m the one who keeps changing the rules, because my resolve crumbles every time I look at him.

Jethro watches me, like he can see the confusion inside my soul. He leans down and gives me another kiss. It’s quick. Too quick.

“Look,” he whispers. “This is a bad idea. But I want you anyway.”

“Yeah,” I manage. And then I give into the temptation to grasp his shoulders and pull him onto my chest. “So finish what you started.”

Confusion flickers through his eyes.

“Our first time,” I say. “I was twenty-four, kinda drunk, and half in love with you. And you said, ‘Hey buddy let’s get off together! What could go wrong?’” I lift my hips off the bed and grind my cock against his. “You feel that? Fifteen years later and still going strong.”

He lets out a breath before kissing my neck. “You gave me a whole fricking PowerPoint about why you can’t fool around with a player. So how do you think this ends?”

I screw my eyes shut and say, “I don’t know, Jetty. I just wish I could be twenty-four again for one night. I want to love you and not think about the consequences.”