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CHAPTER ONE

October

SAWYER

S he’s like a wild fucking animal.

“You gonna take this off or what?” she asks, although it’s more a demand.

A tear rips through the room, and one of the buttons on my white shirt pops off as she forcefully tugs it from my dark blue dress pants.

“You just ruined my shirt.”

She looks down between us, shrugging a nonchalant shoulder. “Eh, kind of makes this whole thing easier.”

Curling her fingers around each side of the collar, she pulls my shirt apart in one motion. More buttons cascade across my bedroom floor, bouncing underneath my dresser and bed frame.

Initially, I’m pissed, but when I notice the way her eyes land on my tattooed chest, my shirt now hanging open at the front, annoyance rapidly gives way to satisfaction.

“Like what you see, Collins?” I lean in to capture her mouth with mine.

She pulls back. “Hard line—too personal.”

Running a quick hand over my left pec, Collins stops when her fingernails brush the bar piercing my nipple. “Some of your ink could do with a retouch.” Her brown eyes find mine. “I guess that’s what happens when you get older. Everything kind of … fades.”

She plucks lightly at my piercing, and the sensation tents my pants further.

“I like this though.”

As I bring my hands to her black leather dress, I palm her ass—something I secretly did all night as we sat next to each other in the booth—and I squeeze it gently. “You’ll let me touch your ass, but not kiss you. You make no sense to me.”

Eyes sparkling, she wraps her arms around my neck, rising on her tiptoes since I have at least a foot on her. Her pretty heart-shaped face is so close that I can smell her peach-scented lip gloss.

“I don’t kiss anyone.”

This woman never ceases to amaze me. Since she’s the best friend of my starting center’s girl, Kendra, you’d think I’d know her a little better than I do. But countless postgame nights at our local hangout have left me with nothing more than what I can physically see with my eyes—wavy, shoulder-length light-pink hair; deep brown irises; sharp black eyeliner; and lashes that have to be fake because, fuck me, how can they not be? All her clothes are black; in fact, it’s the only color I ever see her wear. And I’m one hundred percent fucking sure that what lies beneath this hot-as-fuck mid-thigh dress is the tightest body I will ever touch.

Despite her previous comment, I wet my lips, and she smirks up at me in question.

“So, we gonna fuck or not?”

I roll my damp lips together, equally amused and turned on by her brash attitude. “You just want to use me, don’t you?”

She drops her hands from around my neck, settling them on my belt buckle. As she begins unlooping, I watch the crimson flush descend her chest—her low-cut dress can’t hide it or the delicious curve of her cleavage.

“What do you want, my life story? Last time I checked, it wasn’t a prerequisite for sex.” Her tone is a mixture of sultry and exasperated, and my cock twitches in response.

Jesus.

“I don’t even know your last name—you realize that, right?” I reply.

Ignoring my comment, she finishes on my belt and moves to my pants, unzipping and leaving them hanging open at the front.

As she takes a small step back, she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, studying me.

“What?”

She shakes her head and reaches to her side. “Nothing. Your body is just better than I thought it would be. That’s all.”

I roll my tongue across the roof of my mouth, ready to tell her that she’s brattier than I expected, but stop short when I register what she’s doing.

Collins pulls the side zip on her dress over her full hip and then reaches up to her shoulders, dragging each thin strap down in turn.

Time slows as the dress falls to my wooden floor, leaving her in only a strapless black bra and a matching thong that sits high on her hourglass figure.

She’s tattooed. A mermaid with an elegant fishtail wraps around the right side of her rib cage. I can only see the back of the mermaid and her face is hidden beneath her long, dark hair, but it’s exquisite and so fucking hot on her perfect skin.

Unlike mine, it’s the only tattoo I can see on her body, and I wonder if it has meaning.

My eyes then drop to her navel piercing—a black stone set on a silver bar. Her body is all woman and curvy. Even better than I imagined.

There isn’t a flicker of doubt or hesitancy when she brings her attention back to my face, looking me straight in the eye.

I can’t deny this woman intimidates me, but I maintain eye contact, mainly because that was the first thing that drew me in—her eyes and the way they shone beneath the lighting at Lloyd’s Bar. Like two mugs of black coffee. I still can’t work out where her irises begin.

I take a determined step toward her, shrugging off my torn shirt.

Her pale complexion flushes further when I reach out and wrap my hand around the nape of her neck, toying with her hair.

“You don’t need to pretend like you aren’t attracted to me.” I’m a second away from kissing her when I stop, remembering what she said. “You knew the first time we met, when I offered to drop you home, that I wanted you, and you knew it again tonight, when you let me touch you while no one was watching. Let’s not play around.”

I still cringe at the memory from last November—of what happened after she randomly met Kendra in the bar restroom. Turned out, Collins was there to meet a guy, but when he didn’t show and her phone got drenched from a drink, she needed a spare to call a taxi home. As I sat in the booth, watching her call for a ride, I got this overwhelming urge to do something completely out of character—spend the night with a woman I barely knew. I don’t know whether it was the immediate attraction, fascination, or the fact that I hadn’t gotten laid in so long that made me ask the question. But when she shot me down in flames, I instantly regretted it.

Yet here I am. Eleven months later. Still into her. Still just as fascinated by her zero-fucks-given attitude.

Way to torture yourself.

“Oh, Sawyer.” She pats me mockingly on the shoulder, eyes diverting—very briefly—from my face to the tattoos painting my chest. “If I didn’t want to play, I wouldn’t be here. It’s been a while, and, well …” She moves one of her hands from my shoulder to my back, trailing her fingernails down my skin.

I shiver, fighting to hide its effects.

“I figured, what’s just one night? I don’t usually go for hockey boys, but some are cute to look at, I guess, and all of them have fine asses.” She bites down on her bottom lip, slipping her pointer finger beneath the waistband of my pants and then boxers. “Even the older, more experienced captains.”

I feel a pang of unease.

Can I sleep with this girl?

I haven’t slept with anyone in fucking months—and definitely not under these kinds of circumstances. A few dates and maybe we go back to her place for vanilla sex, only for me to end it a couple of weeks later—that’s my usual MO.

I can count the number of women since my late wife, Sophie, passed, on one hand.

Collins pauses her finger and narrows her eyes cautiously. “You’re good with one night, right?”

My throat feels thick as I swallow casually. Truthfully, I don’t know what I’m good with. Our brief interactions over the past several months should leave me in no doubt about what tonight is—working out the sexual tension that’s been building between us for way too long.

I swallow again and bring my hand to her right hip, looping my finger around her thong.

“I’m good with it,” I finally say, sliding the material down her smooth skin. “But I think it’s best if we tell no one about tonight.”

She tips her chin up, brown eyes fixed on mine as she guides my free hand to the other side of her underwear and hooks my fingers through it. “Works for me. I’m not in the business of publishing my sex life, and I like to control what people know about me. Including you.”

She starts backing up toward my bed, and a few paces later, she lowers herself on my duvet, her attention falling to my hands. “One other thing.”

I drag the soaked thong down her legs, a stronger sense of unease settling over me. Not only am I going ahead with this, but I also suggested we do it in secret. I’m not especially bothered about my teammates or friends finding out since we’re not doing anything wrong. My real concern is Ezra, my only son. Other than Sophie’s parents—who he’s with tonight—he’s my one constant and main priority. He’s the reason why I rarely date, and him finding out about a one-night stand through a leaked story to the press is not what I want. You could bet your ass his preteen friends would find it on social media.

“What’s that?” I ask, dropping her panties to the floor and pushing my pants and boxers down until they pool around my ankles.

I step out of them and lift my gaze back to hers.

Lying back on her elbows, she’s all confidence—spreading her knees and showing me her perfect pink pussy.

“I might not kiss, but I don’t mind your mouth here.”

Don’t fucking come. Don’t fucking come.

Her winged eyeliner is slightly smudged around the corner of her left eye, and when I drop to my knees in front of her, I’m certain it will be right across her face by the time I finish my meal.

She won’t do dating, she won’t do kissing, she won’t give me more than tonight. So, I guess I’ll just have to make these next few hours count.

I hook her right leg over my shoulder, and her breathing picks up, satisfying me briefly.

My hand moves to her soaked inner thighs, and she sucks in a sharp breath when I tease my fingertips along her damp skin.

“I’m on birth control, and I get checked after each time I’m with someone.”

My eyes snap to hers, chest tightening. “I haven’t been with anyone in … a long while.”

Collins’s usual hard expression softens a fraction. “Okay. Good. Other than kissing, I’m comfortable with most stuff.”

My fingers find her center.

Jesus, she’s dripping.

Yeah, she’s hot for me.

“Just …”

I pause and wait for her to continue. She doesn’t.

“Just what, Baby Girl?”

Her eyes flare wide, and I fight back a smirk. I knew she’d hate that, but I couldn’t help myself. She doesn’t get to have it all her way.

I see that she wants to scold me for calling her a cutesy nickname, but she doesn’t. Instead, she opens her legs wider, digging her heel into my shoulder.

“At thirty-five, you have nine years on me, and that makes you the oldest guy I’ve ever slept with. I expect you to be the best yet.” She presses her heel in a little more. “Just don’t put it in my ass. That’s not something I offer up to anyone.”