Beckett:
You know, I’ve never made a cake. But I’m willing to learn.
Ash:
could be a back up career if this hockey thing doesn’t work out
I laugh, and then groan. The dull thud of a headache startsup again.
Beckett:
Tonight?
The dots dance for a little while before they blink out. I smile at my phone and trace the edges like I’m tracing her lips. I lie there a little longer, arm over my eyes to block the stabs of sunlight. She was… I don’t even have words. Trying to play seductress but too sweet for it, too real. The way she moved under me, every touch was like a surprise. Her scent. God, her scent. And the taste of her. I could live between her thighs.
But I can’t. I’m already late.
I throw the comforter off and stand. The dull thuds explode into sharp pain behind my right eye. My skull feels one size too small for my brain. I drop back onto the bed and press my forehead to my knees, breathing through the nausea. The bile wins. I swallow it down, then feel my way along the wall toward the bathroom. The floor lists under me, uneven like the deck of that cruise we took when the sea went bad.
By touch alone, I find the shower knobs and twist them on. Cold. I don’t open my eyes until I’m under the spray. The first hit of cold water steals my breath, but the second makes the world settle. I brace my arms against the tile, head hanging, water beating the back of my neck until the pain dulls to a slow, ugly pulse. I gulp at the water, spit out the taste of bile, and test the light with one eye.
I grip the sink and barely feel the chill of the porcelain. Mouthwash burns. I spit again, wipe my mouth, and dig through my bag for some Advil. I could check the bag Liam dropped off for Tramadol. I hate the stuff. Still, one tablet might be the only thing standing between me and puking on the ice.
My phone chimes.
Ash:
Ok tonight
Just seeing her name loosens something at the base of my skull. I breathe deep for a count of sixty, then pull the sweater over my head. I should be in a suit. The league likes us to look civilized, not like barely contained animals pretending to be men, but I can’t bring myself to care.
The bed’s still messy with her scent. Would it make me a creep if I rolled in it before I left? Probably. I lick my lips anyway, tasting the memory. Tonight… maybe I’ll get another taste.
I grab my keys, open the door, and freeze.
Pierce is sprawled on the floor across the hall, back against the wall, long legs crossed at the ankles in whatever designer sneakers he’s obsessed with this week. He looks wrecked, or maybe just tired, until he lifts his head and gives me that smile. The one that short-circuits every thought I’ve ever had.
That’s how it’s always been with him. His lips curve, and I’m done for.
Since the first night I met him, it’s been that way. Reed was working at the rink where I was sent for extra training before my rookie season. I’d just been drafted by Detroit as an eighteen-year-old beta, second-round pick. Then I presented as an alpha. Power hit like lightning. My bones ached every day, as if they were trying to stretch to fit what I’d become. I lost my balance, my finesse, everything that made me good.
So, they shipped me off to Florida for training. Reed hit on me first, dragged me out of my own misery. Pierce and Liam were his other halves, not official yet as a pack, but close enough. Paperwork doesn’t make a pack. They already were one.
Pierce had a swagger I could never manage. They all did. They were cocky, scrappy, so different from anyone I had ever known.
It had been just before Halloween. We fucked in a haunted house. Then I left. Thought I’d never see them again.
Now he’s sitting there with that same smile, the one that undid me then, the one that’s lying to me now.
Has he always been lying to me?
“What the fuck do you want?” The sound of my own voice ricochets in my head.
His lip twitches. He likes it when I get sassy.
“You.” His voice doesn’t waver. It cuts straight through me.
“You want me?”
