“Bea, can we?—”
“I think it’s probably best if I go and take a nap. I’m tired and…and…”
She’s gone before managing to finish her sentence, leaving me standing there with the need to talk to her about what we’re doing here.
I guess that’ll have to wait until later.
“Sleep well,” I call after her. “If you need anything, I’ll be here.”
The second her door closes, I let out a heavy sigh.
I look around, unsure of what to do or where to put myself.
Everything looks the same. My furniture is all in the same place, my kitchen is as unused as ever with just mugs in the sink. But despite all of that, something is very different, and not in a bad way.
It…it feels warmer, somehow. More homey. Which is fucking weird, because all I’ve done is bring another person here. Her stuff isn’t out here, but something has shifted, and I’m not sure I want it to go away again.
As quietly as I can, I clean up. I debate what to do about the food she hasn’t eaten. Will she still be as emotional over wastingit when she wakes up, will she have a craving for it, or will it be long forgotten?
After deciding the risk of her wanting it is high enough, I put it all into containers and place it in the fridge. It seems like the safest option. Anything I can do to stop her from crying again, the better.
Unable to sit still while she’s sleeping in the other room, I change into my gym clothes, stopping for a moment outside her bedroom door and listening to make sure she’s okay before I make my way to the other side of the apartment and my home gym.
The rest of the day passes without a sign of Bea. I work out until my arms and legs are like jelly, my muscles burning for release.
We might be in the off-season, but the work never really stops.
Our bodies are depleted after a long season, even more so after going all the way to game seven of the Stanley Cup Finals. Now is the time to bulk back up, to get ourselves in peak condition, ready for training camp to start in two months’ time.
I had two weeks without seeing my personal trainer, but sessions are starting back up again, and before training camp starts, I’ll be having daily sessions to ensure I’m ready.
I spend almost two hours on a call with Parker, which of course, Linc insists on joining. She wants to know all about my new roommate and demands to know why I still haven’t told our parents. When I run out of excuses, I make the mistake of asking about wedding plans. Parker wasn’t kidding when they said they were going to make it happen before the season starts. They’ve already booked their venue, she’s got dress fittings lined up, and a whole heap of other things I wouldn’t have even considered.
I end up back on CoD with Killer and Monroe, and I even manage to shoot a few people this time. Killer, thankfully,doesn’t say anything or let my secret slip to Monroe, which I appreciate. That kid has enough on his plate right now, although we’re all clueless as to what it might be.
As the sun sets outside the windows, there is still no sign of Bea. I know she was exhausted, but she’s been gone for hours.
I feel a bit like a kid who’s had his favorite toy taken from him, and nothing else quite hits the spot.
The number of times I’ve walked past her door for no reason other than to listen and see if she’s moving around is bordering on obsessive. But I can’t help myself. I’ve also caught myself standing there with my fingers wrapped around the door handle, desperate to just crack it open so I can see her.
I’ve got real fucking problems.
I’ve spent my entire life sending women away as soon as I’ve gotten what I wanted, and here I am, obsessing over not getting enough attention from one.
Eventually, I force myself to head to my own bedroom. I take another shower in an attempt to distract myself, but the second I look down and find my semi taunting me, thoughts of Bea and just how fucking incredible she was that night come flooding back to me.
Holding her earlier, feeling her pressed up against me…fuck.
Before I know what I’m doing, my hand wraps around my shaft, and I stroke slowly up and down, my other hand planted on the tiles before me.
I think of her twisted up in my sheets. What if she’s not asleep right now? What if she’s got her legs spread, her fingers on her pussy and thoughts of me in her head?
“Fuuuuuck,” I groan a few minutes later as thoughts of slipping across the hall and finding her wet and ready for me push me over the edge and have me coming on my own feet.
Goddamn, how my life has changed.
47
