ALEKS
Blinkingmyeyesopen,I take a quick survey of my bedroom. After noting that everything looks like it’s supposed to look and wondering briefly why the hell I’m awake so early, I close my eyes again and try to go back to sleep. Until approximately 2.1 seconds later when the events of last night come flooding back to me. The bar, the fun conversation and flirting with Ben, bringing him back to my loft, and then the next few hours of utter sexual satisfaction and complete bliss.
I think last night qualifies as one of the top three sexual experiences of my life.Okay, fine. Who am I kidding?That was, without a doubt, the hottest, most amazing night of sex I’ve ever had, hands down. The way he played my body was like some kind of master violinist, which is a ridiculously cheesy thing to say, but it fits. Ben seemed to know exactly what to do to make me feelun-fucking-believable.It was like he could read my mind and my body, knowing what I wanted even before I did. And if my ability to read body language is worth anything, I’m pretty sure he was just as blown away by our connection as me.
Hoping he’ll be up for a repeat this morning, I reach over to find him, only the sheets next to me are cold; my spacious king-sized bed is empty.
“Well, crap,” I murmur, my fantasies of mutual wake-up blowjobs evaporating. Instead, I indulge in a luxurious stretch and a big yawn before rolling out of bed and into the bathroom. After taking care of business, Ben still hasn’t returned, so I snag a pair of gray sweats off the edge of my big, rarely used bathtub and head down to the kitchen.
By the time I’ve reached the bottom of the stairs, it’s obvious he’s not here.Huh.Maybe he’s an early riser and popped out to grab us coffee and breakfast. He probably left a note. Padding into my kitchen, I glance around to find the counters just as clear as they were last night. The only sign that someone has even been in here is an empty glass sitting beside the sink. That’s it. No note. My phone is sitting on the coffee table, so I grab it. He probably texted.Shit… We never exchanged numbers.The phone in my hand stays rudely silent while I stare down at it blankly as if it’s going to provide me with answers. Running a hand through my messy hair, I survey my loft again, looking for some kind of explanation, but I come up empty.
“Maybe he decided to go to the really good breakfast place. The line’s always crazy there,” I mutter to myself. But deep down, I know that’s just my optimistic side clinging to the last scraps of hope. I’ve been ghosted; it couldn’t be more obvious.
“Whatever,” I mumble. Setting my phone down, I head to the kitchen for coffee. Strangely, I’m not hungover. I guess the hours we spent riding the old bony express must have burned off all the alcohol in my system.
Waiting for my coffee to be ready, I replay the night in my head, but I can’t find a good reason for him to have bolted. I mean, it’s not like it’s so unusual. I’ve certainly left a hookup in the middle of the night before, and people have left me too. It’s never bothered me one bit. So, the question is, why am I even sparing a second thought for this Ben guy? I mean, yeah, he’s hot, and yeah, we werefirein bed. But we’re strangers. We don’t owe each other anything.Why the hell am I even concerned?
I shake my head like I’m literally trying to ditch these unsettling feelings as I add a liberal amount of cream and sugar to my coffee. But I can’t stop thinking about him. The way Ben’s touch sent shivers down my spine right from the first moment our fingers brushed against each other at the bar. The way his kiss felt almost worshipful, like he couldn’t get enough of me. The way our bodies pressed together, desperate to make sure there wasn’t one millimeter of space between us. A delicious shiver rolls through me as I stand at my kitchen counter, remembering how he felt inside me, like his body was made to fit with mine. How hot it was that he never broke eye contact, watching me intently while I came, and then how he looked when he finally let himself go, surrendering to his own release.
Jesus fuck.Yeah. No doubt about it. It was the best sex I’ve ever had, and the fact that he took off can only mean one thing: he didn’t feel the same way. The connection I felt was all in my head.
“Well, fuck that,” I grumble aloud—again. Apparently, incredible sex turns me into a weirdo who walks around alone in his house making conversation with himself. Maybe I need to get a cat. At least that way, I can tell myself that’s who I’m talking to.
I walk over to my window and stare outside. It’s another cloudy, drippy day in Seattle. I mean, it’s the time of year when nothing else should be expected, but for some reason, it pisses me off this morning. I wonder what Ben’s doing today? I wonder if I’d run into him if I went back to the pub.
“Fuck. That,” I snarl. I refuse to turn into some sad little puppy, chasing some guy around, no matter how amazing the sex is.I. Will. Not. Be. That. Guy.Been there and done that.
I head back upstairs to change into running clothes. Yeah, going for a run is about the last thing I feel like doing, but maybe a little pain will take my mind off things. Plus, I’ll feel better for tonight’s big gala with the Sasquatch team. Several players and members of management are coming to this fundraiser for brain injury research, including the team’s GM, Carson Wells. People from all over the pro sports world will be there, so tonight is a chance for me to make some useful connections. I’m gunning for an NHL-level job. I know I haven’t been working for the farm team all that long, but I’ve always known the NHL is where I want to be.
I’ve been hearing rumors that Wells has been trying to persuade the ownership group to participate in some kind of new project around player safety. It has something to do with a new type of helmet designed to reduce head injuries. I only know about it because the Sasquatch’s equipment manager, who is indirectly my boss, told me about it on the down-low because they may need some extra staff to help the Sasquatch technicians care for the new equipment. It’s all confidential, but if it gets the go-ahead, I might have a chance to work some NHL games with their technicians. That would get me in front of the players, coaching staff, and maybe even their management team. I sometimes feel like it’s taking forever to get into the job I really want, helping to manage a team, but I know these things take time. Gotta walk before I run, I suppose.
Whatever the case, I refuse to fuck up my future by acting like some kind of sad sack simply because I got ditched by a hookup. This guy needs to be relegated to the back of my mind with all my other hookups. Just a pleasant memory. Tonight, my head needs to be fully in the game.
Chapter 7
BEN
Iwakeupbrightand early on Saturday morning, assuming it still counts as waking up if you haven’t been to sleep. When I got home from Aleks’ place, after getting my Uber to drop me at the bar so I could pick up my car, there was no way in hell I could sleep.
What are the chances that the first time I hook up in ages ends up being with someone who’s basically an enemy of my family.Okay, that might be a little dramatic.But my stepdad lying on the ice, knocked out cold, and then never being able to return to the game was also pretty dramatic, and somehow, I end up in bed with the son of the guy responsible?Jesus Christ.Kent Warren is still active in the NHL as some kind of advisor or something, but our paths have never crossed. I didn’t realize he had another kid besides the older ones who are currently NHL players. Not that it would have mattered if I’d known. It’s not like it was at the top of my mind.
I ran out of Aleks’ place like my ass was on fire, which was a really shitty thing to do. Especially since last night was one of the most intense experiences of my life. The depth and rawness of our connection… I don't even have words for it. Guilt over the way I took off on him is eating at me because I’m more respectful than that. He didn't deserve to be ditched without a word, but in the moment, all I could think about was getting away.Fuck.
I’m showered and ready to go before 9:00 a.m. Problem is, I don’t have anywhere to go. I usually visit my stepdad on Sundays, not Saturdays. But after an hour or so of pacing around my condo, feeling like a trapped animal, I decide I'll just head over there early.
It’s still drizzling when I arrive at the specialized care home. A few years back, it became apparent that Bob was going to need more care than my mom could provide on her own, so they decided to move to Seattle since, by some strange quirk of fate, my sister and I both ended up living here. They found an incredible, supportive home for Bob in Bellevue, just on the east side of Lake Washington, and they bought a lovely condo with a water view only a few blocks away. They both lived in the condo for a couple of years before Bob decided he wanted to move into the memory care facility. His balance had become a lot worse, and though it was a difficult decision, his memory lapses were becoming dangerous, to the point where even he knew it. The frustration experienced by patients with dementia can often result in them lashing out, sometimes even becoming violent. For someone like Bob, with his size and extensive experience with fighting, having him live alone with my mom wasn’t a good idea.
My mom’s BMW is parked in one of the visitor spots when I get there. I guess she drove today because of the rain. Even though this place is lovely, my stomach is always a mess of knots when I first arrive. The problem is we never quite know what version of Bob we’ll get when we visit. It’s one of the many shit things about dementia; it literally changes your personality. The kindest, sweetest person can end up being viciously mean, and it’s heartbreaking for everyone involved.
The facility itself is beautiful, and the staff does everything possible to keep it from feeling like a hospital. At least the years he spent getting his ass kicked for the entertainment of hockey fans paid him well. Because he can afford it, he has access to the best care in the best setting possible. But all the little niceties mean shit to my mom, who, for the second time in her life, had her partner ripped away from her by fate. My biological father, JJ, was killed in a car accident when I was a baby. She and Bob Prescott met and married when I was pretty young, so I’ve never known anyone else as my dad. But because of his brain injury, my mom once again gets fucked out of all the dreams they shared of things they wanted to do once he retired from the game. They’re barely even in their sixties— they should be traveling and enjoying the money, not using it to pay for high-end medical care. My mom is amazing though, and somehow, she manages to stay positive and optimistic through everything. Honestly, she’s one of my heroes. I don’t know how she does it.
I take a breath as I turn the corner to where Dad’s suite is located. The door is propped open, which probably means there’s a nurse or a care aide in with him, so I knock softly and peek my head around the door. My mom is sitting in the living room of the apartment-style suite. It really is beautiful, and the things that make it suitable for someone who has trouble with mobility and balance are barely noticeable. The windows look out onto a dog park, and on sunny days, he likes to watch the dogs playing and living their best lives.
“Ben, sweetie, what are you doing here today?” my mom asks when she sees me. She hops up from her chair and comes over to give me a squeeze. “Corinna is just helping Bobby with his shower. They’ll probably be out in a few minutes,” she says. “Can I get you anything? Is it too late for coffee? There’s other stuff in the fridge as well. Just grab whatever you feel like.”
I return her hug, leaning in to place a kiss on her cheek. “Thanks, Mom. I’ll grab a coffee.” I hang my coat in the alcove and head into the small kitchen, where there’s a Keurig and a big basket of K-Cups on the counter.
After doctoring it up with plenty of cream and sugar, I make my way back to the living room where the care aide, Corinna, is helping my stepdad into his favorite chair.
