“Same. Rain check on dinner?” I ask, and he smiles.
“Definitely.” He untangles our limbs and climbs off the bed. He pulls off the used condom and ties it in a knot before dropping it in the trash can. “Do you have your alarm set?”
“Yeah.” I stretch out my legs and sigh. “Thanks for a good night.”
“Right back at you. We’ll see the results of our experiment tomorrow.”
“What happens if we win again?”
“I guess we’ll have to fuck a third time, just to be sure,” he says, putting on his clothes.
“And if we lose?”
“Is it really losing if we fuck away the disappointment?”
I laugh and nudge his thigh with my foot, pushing him toward the door. “Good night, pretty boy.”
Maverick bends down and kisses my forehead, just like he did the last time we were together. His lips linger on my skin, and my heart skips a beat when he’s slow to pull away.
“Night, Emmy girl. Sweet dreams.”
TWENTY-SIX
MAVERICK
Sleepingwith Emerson twice accidentally turns into a third time (on a warm night in Florida) then a fourth (in New York City after the heater in her room stopped working).
Around our teammates and on the ice, everything between us is exactly the same.
She still rolls her eyes at me and acts like I’m the biggest pain in her ass. I still try to make her laugh and am smugly satisfied when I get half a smile out of her.
When we’re together behind closed doors, it’s fuckingelectric.
I’ve never wanted someone the way I want Emerson—repeatedly.
Consistently.
Every second of every day.
The best part?
We keep winning, and as a superstitious motherfucker, I need to find a way to convince her this needs to be an every night thing.
We head into early December with an eight-game win streak. I’m playing the best hockey of my career, and the league hit me with a no-notice drug test last week.
I almost called the commissioner to tell him I don’t need performance enhancing drugs when I’m having the best sex of my life, but I figured that would open up a line of questioning I really don’t want to answer.
“Finish your warm-ups,” Coach calls out. “We’re starting in five minutes.”
I stretch my hamstring and grimace at the tightness in my leg. It’s been sore since I fucked Emerson against the window with the Empire State Building behind us two days ago, and I’m trying my best to keep it loose so no one asks why I’m limping.
Worth it, though.
I scan the rink, looking for her red hair and her snarky smile, but I can’t find her anywhere.
She’s usually the first one on the ice, and after six weeks on the team, she’s never been late.
I grab my phone from my duffle bag and fire off a quick text to her.
