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CHAPTER TWO

COLLINS

G oddamn, Collins.

Why the fuck are you here?

It has to be the early hours of the morning as I lie flat on my back, staring up at Sawyer’s blue ceiling.

Who paints their fucking ceiling?

Men I shouldn’t sleep with—that’s who.

Did he have some leftover paint when he finished the walls or something? Or was he just bored?

A bit like me last night, with all the vanilla sex taking place.

I had known it. I damn well knew it would be a disappointment. From the second he crawled over me and started with the missionary position, I had known I’d be counting down the minutes.

At least I came.

Plus, he has a big dick, so that’s something.

I roll over, facing away from Sawyer as he breathes softly into the bedroom.

Blue ceiling.

Yeah, I’m outta here.

Gently, I pull the duvet back and swing a leg out to the side, my foot meeting his solid wood flooring.

Thankfully, Sawyer stays asleep as I creep to the en suite on the opposite side of his room, grabbing my bag, dress, and underwear from the trunk at the foot of the bed. I pull the door open, stepping onto the heated white tiles.

I look like a fucking shit show—eyeliner smeared across my face and bedhead for days.

Unzipping my black shoulder bag, I find a pack of tissues and hold one under the running faucet, waiting for the warm water to kick in.

My left eye is worse than the right, and slowly, I manage to clean up my face before throwing the tissue into the trash.

“You promised yourself you weren’t going to do this,” I whisper into the dimly lit room, the only light filtering in from the Brooklyn streets outside.

Motionless, I stare at the running faucet, the flow of water mesmerizing and comforting. Everything Sawyer said last night was the truth; he doesn’t know me, and I hardly know him. He’s thirty-five and the captain of the New York Blades with a twelve-year-old son, and his wife died over seven years ago. That’s it. That’s literally the extent of my knowledge about this man, the majority of which I learned from other people. Oh, and he likes IPA, but only has one pint after a game and then moves on to soda.

I’d say I know his dick better than the person it’s attached to.

But I’d be lying if I claimed my closed-off nature wasn’t by design. Not just with Sawyer or any other guy I sleep with, but when it comes to everyone. I move from place to place and take temporary jobs before I move on again. My New York era is the longest I’ve spent anywhere since my childhood, and I’d say that’s, in part, thanks to my closest friend and the girl I randomly met at Lloyd’s last November. Kendra Hart is the one person I’ve connected with the most since my grandparents died and the main reason I renewed the lease on my apartment for another six months, although that’s now on a rolling contract.

I like her. She’s cool. That said, she is one hundred percent to blame for tonight. Without Kendra, I wouldn’t have seen Sawyer beyond that first night. And I wouldn’t be standing here, confused as to how average sex could leave me feeling some kind of way the next morning.

I don’t sleep with a lot of guys, and the ones I do, I carefully select them to be sure they have a shared interest in going no further than a cock-in-pussy situation.

Sawyer Bryce doesn’t meet my stipulation of no-strings fun. I knew that from the second I set eyes on him last fall, and that reality has become painfully more obvious with every sideways glance and look we’ve shared since. He makes me … nervous, eliciting tingles not even my ex-boyfriend, Mike, could achieve. Huh, and, boy, was he an asshole—two years of my early twenties I’ll never get back.

So, I guess you could say I don’t trust easily, but more importantly, I don’t want to. The only love affair I’m interested in pursuing is the one I have with my Harley-Davidson motorcycle.

Turning off the faucet, I root around in my bag and find a tie, securing my shoulder-length hair into a loose knot, and then I twist a few strands around my fingers until they frame my face.

“Hey, you okay?” Sawyer’s deep voice permeates the silence.

I spin around to face the closed door, hands already reaching for my dress.

Stepping into it, I quickly do up the zip, foregoing underwear completely as I shove my bra and panties into my bag and close it.

“Collins?” Sawyer speaks again, his voice sounding kind of concerned.

I grab my bag and reach for the handle, quickly pulling the door open.

“Whoa, Jesus, fuck!”

Sawyer practically lands on his face as he falls forward. He was clearly holding his weight against the door.

I bite my lip and fight back laughter as his right arm flies up and grips the doorjamb, steadying himself.

“You know, it’s generally unwise to rely so heavily on something that could move at any time, with or without your knowledge.”

He narrows his eyes at me. “Is that right?”

His gaze travels the length of my body, and I ignore the tingles that resurface.

“Why are you dressed?”

I reach into my bag and pull out my phone.

Four a.m. Shit.

“I’m heading home.” I nod over his shoulder, indicating my wish to leave.

He drops his hand from the jamb, crossing his arms over his chest.

Don’t look at his tattooed forearms or the fact that he’s only in black boxer briefs.

“It’s not even light out.”

I guess I could make up some stupid excuse, explaining why I have to go. Like work just called me into the shop for an urgent bike repair or I forgot I’d left my curling iron on. But bullshitting has never been in my wheelhouse.

I loop my bag over my shoulder. “We both got what we’d wanted, no? Post-hookup talk really isn’t my thing.”

My gaze drops to his groin— for fuck’s sake —and a rogue grin spreads across my face when I notice his reaction. His dick is definitely growing.

Sawyer clears his throat, shifting uncomfortably. “Why are you such a bitch to me?”

My attention rests on his cock. “And why am I thinking it turns you on?”

He scoffs. “It doesn’t.” He pauses briefly. “Thinking about what we did last night does, but you being a brat does nothing for my dick.”

My phone is still in my hand when I unlock it and bring up the Uber app. “I can be out of here in five minutes.” I click Request on the time slot and drop my cell into my bag. “We don’t breathe a word about any of this, right? You gave me a ride home, and I accepted. Simple.”

I step forward, and he moves aside, but as I notice my boots lying on his bedroom floor, a hand wraps around my wrist, spinning me to face him.

Those goddamn green eyes .

He pushes a hand through his messy, dark hair, clearing the loose strands from his eyes. “So, that’s it? You aren’t kidding, are you? You’re just going to grab your things and go. You have zero intention of talking about last night ever again.”

I shrug, averting my eyes from his. “It was a one-night stand. I came; you came. It was okay. Six out of ten.”

Sawyer’s jaw drops, his hand tightening around my wrist. I sense he wants to pull me closer to him, but he doesn’t.

“You just rated my performance in bed and gave it a shitty one at that.”

I pull away from him, taking the few steps toward my boots. I realize, at this point, I’m not wearing underwear and my dress hits mid-thigh. I’m not especially keen on flashing him despite his mouth being all over me last night.

I sit on the trunk and quickly pull on my long boots, I want out of here as soon as possible. Apparently, my theory of fucking him out of my system did nothing to ease the tension between us.

“That’s a pretty decent score. I regularly struggle to climax, and you managed that, so all things considered, I can probably up it to a seven.”

When I’m finished lacing my second boot, I expect to look up and find Sawyer right where I left him.

Instead, he’s standing in front of me, and his breath fans my lips as he bends down to my height, eyes way darker than I’ve previously seen. “I don’t like being compared to other men you’ve been with.”

My mouth opens, but no words materialize. Sawyer pins me with a glare that makes it impossible for me to speak. Heat pools between my thighs, and I quickly stand.

I grab my jacket from beside me as I feel the familiar buzz in my bag, telling me my Uber driver is outside.

Sawyer’s huge frame towers over me, and I grin up at him, patting him twice on the shoulder.

“Now, if you’d had those eyes last night, we’d definitely have been looking at an eight.”

He bites his bottom lip, grinning. I can tell he’s enjoying this back-and-forth between us. Even if he claims my brash attitude is infuriating, I know that’s not strictly true.

“Stay,” he says, wrapping his big palm around my hip.

My phone buzzes again.

“And do what exactly?”

He pulls me into him. He’s hard. “Fuck. Seems only fair to give me another shot at a higher score.”

It would be so easy—one palm pushing his bare, ripped chest, and he would be flat on his back in seconds. I could hitch up my dress and sink right down, showing him how I like to be in control.

I shake my head, thinking better of it. I don’t need Sawyer Bryce inside me again. One and done, and that’s what I’m sticking with.

“No,” I answer abruptly.

His hand falls from my hip, eyes narrowing. “Do you plan on completely ignoring me after every game from now on?”

A car horn sounds outside, and I immediately turn to leave.

I twist the handle on his bedroom door, glancing back at him. An odd feeling of regret rises in my gut, but just like the tingles, I push that down too. “Mackenzie.”

He scratches at the back of his neck, obviously confused. “Huh?”

“That’s my last name. Last night, you said you didn’t know it, so I’m telling you now. I don’t plan on ignoring you, Sawyer. In fact, I don’t plan on changing anything between us at all. You’re the hockey player whose teammate just happens to be dating my friend. We were both horny, so we spent a night together, and you said it yourself that you hadn’t hooked up in a while. That’s literally the extent of it.”

Sawyer shakes his head and tips it toward the ceiling. “Collins Mackenzie.” In his delectable Southern accent, he rolls the name around his mouth like he’s testing it out.

I drop an exasperated shoulder, so damn ready to get home.

Finally, he brings his attention back to my face, heated gaze still present. “Nice name. But I think I prefer Baby Girl.”