“Yeah, for someone like you, that could be a lifetime. You could have driven four or five other girls home since then,” she says casually.
“I could have?” I question back. This woman, no matter how beautiful or how good she is to my cock, is starting to show me the downside to liking a woman with a smart mouth. “You’re the one without a car. How many men have you invited in for impromptu sleepovers so you can catch a lift to work?”
The car gets deathly quiet. I know that was a borderline shitty thing to say, but so is what she said to me. Still, I shouldn’t have said it. I open my mouth to apologize, but she starts talking first. Her voice is hard, and her tone is biting. “I didn’t invite you to sleep over. You kind of just invited yourself. And for the record, I don’t have the opportunities you do. I’m just a lowly yoga instructor, not a hockey god with a collection of exotic cars so women know my dick is as big as my bank account.”
Whoa. That was beyond harsh. I glance over to her. “So can you just tell me why you hate my guts, please? This is getting tedious.”
“I don’t hate your guts. I don’t let guys I hate have sex with me,” she blurts back suddenly and with way less attitude than everything she’s said and done since we left the shower. She sighs, her eyes finally drifting to mine. “And I think this sex thing is…fun. And maybe we can keep doing it.”
“The sex thing? Only?” I ask, looking for clarification because I think she’s asking me to be her bed buddy.
“Yeah. I mean, it’s fun, right?”
She is asking me to be a bed buddy. “Yeah. It’s more than fun. It’s great, but I think a relationship would be too. And that’s what I want.”
She frowns, shaking her head so adamantly it’s almost offensive. “What makes you think I’m girlfriend material for you?”
I slow to a stop at a red light and turn to her. “You’re smart and smart-mouthed. You’re independent and strong-willed, which I love, even though most guys would think I’m nuts. There’s just something about you that makes me…happy every time I see you. And I want to figure that out. Oh, and you’re gorgeous as hell.”
She runs a hand through her damp hair, pushing it back off her face except for one piece that sticks to her cheek. I reach out and gently brush it back. I literally see her quiver at my touch, but she pushes my hand away anyway. “Frenchie, I just don’t want to be involved with a…”
She falters. I stare at her until the light turns green and I have to focus on the road again. “A French Canadian?” I ask trying to fill in the blank. “A guy with a dick as big as his bank account? A guy who makes you smile? Because that hot little mouth of yours turns up every time you see me. Like it or not.”
“A hockey player.”
“Why?”
I turn onto her street and slow down because I know when I get to her place she’ll jump out and leave this whole conversation behind her. And I’m not ready to let her off the hook yet. “Your brother was a hockey player, right? He seems like a great guy.”
“He is, because he doesn’t play anymore.”
“Come on, that’s ridiculous.”
“He used to fuck around all the time on his girlfriends in college. In fact, when he suffered the injury that ended his chances at going pro, three girls showed up at the hospital all claiming to be his girlfriend. Because the profession breeds arrogance and self-entitlement,” she states flatly. “And that doesn’t foster healthy relationships. I want a healthy relationship. I want a man I can trust.”
I glance over at her, pausing at a stop sign much longer than I need to. “And so now, thanks to injury, he’s not untrustworthy, arrogant, self-entitled anymore. He can suddenly have a healthy relationship? And that’s because he stopped playing, not because he grew up and matured, like wealldo?”
She frowns like she’s annoyed, but something flickers in her eyes that’s more melancholy than annoyance. I want her to tell me why but she’s doesn’t explain it. “Not everyone does, Sebastian. Not all hockey players do.”
Okay. I see where this is coming from. I pull away from the stop sign, smiling softly at her. She looks at me like she doesn’t want to like it, but she does. I can tell. “So just because your brother was a bit of a manwhore in college you’re not going to give me a chance?”
For the briefest of seconds, I can see her register the stupidity of her own reasoning. But then her face grows dark and stalwart. “It’s not just my brother,” she says as she turns her face away from me to look out the window. Her hand reaches for the door handle. “I can walk from here. Just pull over.”
“Shay,” I start to protest but pull the car over anyway because, knowing her, she’ll jump out of it whether I stop or not. “Shay…ma belle.”
“No. Don’t,” she snaps and glares at me while she undoes her seat belt. “I’m not falling for that French crap. I told you that. I’m not your usual puck bunny. I don’t want your bank account or your fame, and I’m not about to get sucked into a world I’ll get trapped in.”
“What are you talking about?” I blink. I’m not asking this woman to marry me. Hell, I haven’t even technically asked this woman on a date.
“There’s too much temptation in your world, too many easy ways to hurt the person you claim to love,” she babbles on. “It’s just not what I want. Ever.”
I stare at her. She’s fucking insane. Of course she is. Because she’s sexy and smart and quick-witted and mind-blowingly perfect around my cock, so of course she’s insane. Thanks, Universe. “I’ve never fucked around on a girlfriend.”
She doesn’t even look the least bit contrite, even though it’s clear from my tone that I’m offended. “When was your last relationship?”
Her smoky eyes are narrowed and her eyebrow is cocked, like she’s a cop on an episode ofLaw & Orderor something. It makes me defensive. And angry.
“What difference does that make?” I demand because there is no way I’m telling her I broke up with Dawn the day before hooking up with her. She’ll think that makes me a player. It doesn’t. I don’t control timing; fate does. I don’t believe in a mandatory mourning time for relationships anyway. When it ends, it’s over. I didn’t expect to find someone else so soon, but I wasn’t about to ignore a bona fide connection with someone because of some abstract rule about how long you should be single in between relationships. “If there’s a connection, I am going to go after it. That’s not because I’m a hockey player; it’s because I want to find someone to share my big bank account and big dick with. One person.Forever. That’s what women want men to want, isn’t it? That makes me a fucking catch,n’est pas?”
