“Because you brought up sex and that will bring her back to last night. Knowing you and what you have in your pants, she’ll be transported back into a beautiful moment of ecstasy, so when she sees you, she’ll be reminded of that. It’s called subliminal messaging.”
I punch him dead in the arm and say, “It’s called being a fucking moron. Jesus Christ.” I stand from my seat and move toward the center of the locker room while Posey rubs his arm with a hurt expression. “I have to fix this.”
“Or maybe you don’t,” Eli says.
“What do you mean?” I ask, looking to him for advice since he’s the one person who isn’t invested like the rest of the idiots I’ve involved.
“If there’s one thing I know, it’s that you keep pressing forward. You ignore the awkward tension and keep taking what you want, then it will work out for you.”
“You want him to just . . . keep doing her?” Silas asks.
“Yup.” Eli shrugs. “Keep moving forward. Keep giving her what she was taking last night. At some point, she’s going to break. Until then, show her how you have ruined her for any other man.”
Just then, my phone dings with a text back.
Silence falls over the locker room as I look down at the text.
Blakely:Thanks for impaling me with your giant stick.
My mouth goes dry as I slowly look up at the boys.
Posey smiles and says, “From the look on your face, I bet you owe me a thank-you. Go ahead, I’m all ears. Lay it on me.”
“Fuck off,” I say as I sit back down on the bench.
Keep moving forward? Keep fucking her?Is that even a question? Of course, I want to keep fucking her.I’ve never had a better night than last night. Hands down, sex with Blakely ismind-blowing. The noises she makes. Her insatiable greed.Her mouth. Her body.
Keep fucking Blakely? Yes. Please. That’s something I can do, something I want to do. Only question is, willshewant that?
Chapter Eighteen
BLAKELY
This is so awkward.
Here I am, slipping into Halsey’s bed without him, after we were so sinful in it the night before. But he’s on my mind. Once my responsibilities at the game were done, I booked it out of there and came straight home where I took a bath and soaked in my feelings.
Halsey played for a grand total of one minute. I believe they wanted to see how he was out on the ice, and from what I saw, he was really good. How he can skate with a rolled ankle, I have no idea, but then again, the training staff are miracle workers.
And I hate to admit it, but when he was on the ice, I couldn’t take my eyes off him and how he effortlessly glided around the rink, passing the puck and avoiding being slammed into the wall.
He’s so good at hockey, it’s why he’s so mesmerizing to watch. I wonder what he was like out on the ice with his brother. They were probably magic.
But now that I slipped into my silk pajama set—yup, it’s all I had left that was clean—sleep eludes me as I’m turned away from the door and on the far edge of my side. I could not be more obvious.
I told myself I was going to be asleep by the time he got home, but from my mind racing over what’s transpired between us, I can’t seem to find that natural sleep I’m looking for.
It’s why I’m getting up to grab some of my melatonin when the front door opens and shuts.
Oh God, he’s home.
I slink back under the blankets and curl into my pillow where I pretend to sleep. Besides the entryway, the lights are off in the apartment, so when he turns that one off, the entire room is drenched in darkness. The only light is from the sliver of the moon peeking through the curtains.
His feet pad down the hallway and into the bedroom where I hear him set his phone on his nightstand and plug it in.
Be cool.
You’re asleep.
