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CHAPTER FOURTEEN

MARLEE

I wake to the sunlight pressing against my eyelids, thin and gold, slipping between the blinds like it knows a secret.

You were fucked into oblivion last night.

Yep. That’s right, Mr. Sunlight, and you missed the whole thing.

My mouth is dry—dry like I’ve been chewing cotton in my sleep—and the dull throb behind my eyes pulses in sync with my heartbeat. Not exactly pain, but not peace either. The familiar ache of exhaustion, and maybe too much of him.

Who am I kidding?

I could never get too much of Ledger Dayne.

Especially not when he’s between my legs.

The sheets are tangled around my knees, one of them hanging halfway off the bed, a toe poking into the cool air of my…wait. I open my eyes.

Oh…

I mean Ledger’s hotel room.

I don’t remember when we finally fell asleep last night but I do remember his breath against my neck, the weight of his hand tracing the slope of my hip like he was trying to memorize it, the fullness of his thick cock as he lazily rocked into me and then, eventually, stillness.

I roll over slowly, feeling the creak in my muscles, the slight sting along the inside of my thighs—physical remnants of the night that had been more want than words.

Though his words were part of my undoing.

“I like knowing you’ll be reminded of me as I drip out of you.”

“I could spend forever wrapped up in you.”

“I’ll fill you with a thousand children plus a thousand more, Marlee. I’d do anything for you. Give you the fucking world if you ask for it.”

Ledger’s gone. Not entirely—his scent still lingers on the pillow beside me, something clean and masculine, skin and soap and heat—but the space is empty now, covers thrown back, his warmth evaporated.

A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth as memories of us in the shower together last night play back in my mind.

Ledger’s soapy hands.

The softness of his touch over my breasts.

The way he knew exactly how to play my body.

The attractively carnal yet heartwarmingly tender way in which he filled me over and over again.

More times than I could have ever imagined.

I sit up, regretting it instantly as the room tips slightly to the left.

Is it even possible to be hungover from too much sex?

Is that a thing?

Groaning under my breath, I rub at my temple with the heel of my hand.

Water.

I need water and maybe a slice of toast, or better yet, a really strong cold brew would be great.

Slipping my feet to the floor, I take a breath.

The kind that stretches your ribs and tries to convince you that this is just another morning.

But it’s not. Not exactly. Something has shifted.

It’s subtle, like the way the tide changes without asking permission.

I feel it in my chest. It’s not regret. Not by any means, but something else.

Something I’m not sure I have the right words for yet.

There’s something else I don’t have words for quite yet, and that’s the unmistakable sound of a man attempting to sing “Uptown Girl” in the shower. Badly.

I guess there is something in this world that Ledger can’t do.

Billy Joel he is not.

I blink twice, curling my lips over my teeth to keep from giggling too loudly as I creak open the bathroom door.

There he is in all his glory—naked except for a towel hanging dangerously low on his hips, hair sticking out in every direction, steam billowing behind him like he just emerged from a rock concert fog machine.

Good Lord, parts of that body were inside mine not even four hours ago.

And as tired as I am I don’t regret a thing.

“Oh,” I croak, my voice somewhere between a frog and a haunted Victorian child. “Good morning, Billy.”

Even in this heated, steamy bathroom, with his cheeks a full-on blush color, he gives me an expression that says he isn’t entirely sure if I’m going to laugh or throw something at him.

My body perhaps?

What’s one more time after last night?

Finally, a playful smile spreads across his cheeks as he rubs a towel over his head like he’s just conquered Everest and not just survived multiple consecutive rounds of unreasonably athletic sex.

“You’re awake.”

I nod, yawning. “Yeah. I couldn’t tell if you were singing or ordering a pizza from uptown.”

“Listen, I’m not saying I am the best post-coital shower performer on the west coast,” he chuckles softly with a lift of his shoulder, “but I’ve yet to be challenged.

” His eyes rake over my body covered in his t-shirt.

The way he’s looking at me makes me wonder if he’s thinking about whether or not we should go for round… six? Seven? Hell, I’ve lost count.

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

“Fine. Although, I’d be lying if I said the world isn’t spinning…” I lift my fingers to show him the small space between my thumb and pointer finger. “Just a teeny tiny bit.”

He grins and turns toward me, tossing his toothbrush into his toiletry bag. “A little hungover? From last night?”

“Mm,” I mumble. “Something like that. Or maybe you just fucked me so hard you knocked the whole damn world off its axis.”

He tips his head back in laughter and it makes me smile to see him so carefree. “That’s definitely it, Mar.” He follows me into the room and picks up my bra from the lampshade…yep, the lampshade, and dangles it like a trophy. “Do you want this back or should I donate it to modern art?”

I swat at him, miss entirely, and fall back onto the mattress. “Oh, he sings and he tells jokes ladies and gentlemen,” I announce to nobody. “But he looks a lot like a golden retriever who knows what he did.”

“You’re welcome, by the way,” he says before leaning down and kissing my forehead. “Are you hungry? I could call down for room service or I think I’ve got some Pop Tarts in my bag from the plane.”

I snort a laugh. “Oh good. Nothing says sex-a-thon hangover cure like a toasted pastry.”

“You mean a toastable but sadly untoasted pastry.” His smile is crooked, boyish, almost nervous. “Should I order us some coffee? Or just…” He slides his hand through his wet hair. “Pack my bag and get out of here so you can be alone?”

“Ledge, this is your room,” I remind him, grinning.

Glancing at him as he stands in front of me, I spot a faint bruise on his collarbone and a few scratches on his biceps that I may or may not have left in the heat of the moment last night.

Part of me feels bad for leaving marks but then I remember his instructions to literally fuck his face and milk his cock and suddenly I don’t feel so bad.

I also notice the way his hair does that cute sticking-up thing in the back that happens especially when he rips his hockey helmet off.

He is so cute and I don’t know what I did to deserve the pleasure I experienced at his hands last night.

“You’ll be reminded of me as I drip out of you.”

Yep. I’ll remember him alright.

I’ll remember every single inch.

“Coffee,” I say finally, smiling up at him. “Let’s start with coffee. I need to do the walk of shame back to my room to find fresh clothes, but do you think we can find some cold brew in this hotel?”

He exhales like I’ve just spared his life and something in my chest tickles.

Did he think I was mad about something?

Am I making him nervous?

“Cool. Yeah.” He nods. “Cold brew. I can do cold brew. I’ll call down to the café in the lobby. I think there’s a Rise and Grind around the corner. We could stop there before we have to be on the bus to the arena. Give me two minutes to grab some clothes.”

As he turns toward his bag his towel slips a little. I try not to look but…

I fail.

I sip my delicious Rise and Grind cold brew special as Layken, Ella, and Corrigan suck down their smoothies. Thank God we’re not forcing down the terrible vending machine coffee that was offered to us when we got here. I’d like to think a professional hockey team can spring for better coffee.

We stare out the glass window overlooking the rink. Practice is winding down and players are zigzagging across the ice, laughing, shouting, smacking pucks like they weren’t just blurs of muscle and stubbornness.

I can see him down there.

Ledger.

Skating like his life depends on it but not looking as strong as he usually does. My guess is he’s probably a little sore from last night—not that he’d admit it.

“He’s got good hips,” Blakely says, appearing beside me like some kind of gossip fairy. “That’s all I’m saying.”

I jump, sloshing some of my cold brew down my hand. “Jesus. You scared me. Did you just appear out of thin air? Is that what you do now?”

“I’m a reporter. I observe, and then I report,” she says with a smug grin. “I’m just up here pretending to be focused on the guys below and totally faking it for the sheer purpose of checking on your emotional state after last night.”

I turn to her. “What? Why? What was last night?”

Ella spits out her coffee, some of it shooting out her nose when she laughs. “What was last night,” she mumbles. “Girl, did you not hear yourself?”

Oh my God.

They heard us?

Of course they heard us.

We weren’t even trying to be quiet.

Dammit!

Wait.

Maybe they didn’t hear what they think they heard.

Play dumb.

Play dumb.

Play dumb.

“What? What do you mean?”

“Oh, my God, Ledger!” Ella squeals, impersonating me as she repeats the noises she heard last night. “Yes, Ledger!”

“Fuck yes! Yes! Yes!” Layken adds, giggling and pretending to be breathless.

Corrigan’s eyes bulge and she laughs. “Oh, my Gosh! Sounds like someone had a rockin’ night, huh?”

I roll my eyes as Blakely laughs with them. “Alright bitches. I get it.”

Ella pulls her straw into her mouth and takes another sip of her smoothie. I secretly hope she gets a brain freeze but she doesn’t. “I mean either you were having a hell of a night with your newest toy…”

Layken finishes her sentence. “Or you were getting super-fucked by a boy.”

He’s nowhere near a boy.

He’s a man.

One hundred percent grade-A man.