Chapter15
Crew
As soon as my orgasm has ended, the weirdest thought pops into my head. I haven’t had sex with the same person this many times since I was married. And the weirdest part is that, even though I’ve barely pulled out and taken the condom off, I’m already thinking about when we can do this again.
I kiss her forehead and go into the bathroom to clean up. When I come out she’s already dressed and I let out a sad, “Boo!”
She gives me a soft smile. “I told you this was a quickie.”
“Your first,” I remind her proudly. “How’d you rate it?”
“Ten out of ten,” she announces laughing, which is a sound I have come to adore the same way a puppy likes belly rubs. “I will probably remember it when I’m ninety-nine.”
“Probably?” I grab my sweats off the floor and pull them on. “That’s not much better than perhaps. I think we might have to go again.”
I grab her gently by the shoulders and pull her back toward the bed, but she breaks free of my loose grip and picks up her bag off the floor. “I’ve got a date with my favorite second cousin and even your ten-out-of-ten orgasms aren’t going to keep me from it.”
“Fine. Fine.” I mock grumble.
I walk Olivia downstairs to the door and it gets adorably awkward again. She looks everywhere but my face. “So… thanks. See you around.”
She reaches for my front door but I grab the handle first and hold the door open for her. Then I follow her out, and she gives me a look. “You said earlier you don’t like walking alone in the dark.”
I point up at the twilight sky. She smiles thankfully. I wrap an arm around her shoulders. "So this is clearly not a one-night stand anymore. I think we can both safely say that."
Her head snaps up and I’m finally able to see those deep dark pools. I lean down and give her a soft kiss. She flushes deeper. “I have to go babysit Dylan.”
“Okay well… if you ever want to get together again and give this a name, let me know.”
"You don't do relationships, Crew. I don't do one-night stands. I mean even when I try it turns into… this." She motions with her hands like there's a mess in front of us.
She shakes her head, her silky brown hair mussing around her face. I reach up and brush it back where a few strands cling to the corner of her mouth. “We can think of something to label it. I think we’d do our best brainstorming naked though,” I go on as we reach her car and she clicks the remote to unlock the door. “That’s how our best work has been done so far anyway and why mess with success?”
“My God, you are something else.”
I laugh. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“Goodbye Crew.” She winks. She fucking winks and I am on fire again.
I watch her drive away until her taillights disappear on Abbott Kinney. As soon as I’m within a couple feet of my front door I hear my cellphone screaming from the hall table where I plunked it with my keys as I was leading Olivia to the bedroom.
I see Nash’s name on the screen and walk away, leaving it to ring until it goes to voicemail, which I don’t intend to check. I head into the kitchen and stare at the contents of my fridge, trying to figure out which of the pre-made meals I ordered from my meal service I should eat tonight. Everything is so healthy and after really good sex I usually want something sinful and satisfying, like a cheeseburger.
But we’re days from the first real game of the season and there is no way I’m eating a cheeseburger so someone, like my brother, can comment that I don’t take the game as seriously as my dad did. My phone rings again and I walk back out into the entry and see my dad’s name on the screen so I pick it up. “Hey.”
“Nash is right. You’re avoiding him.”
Shit. I should have known he would bitch to Dad. I grit my teeth but try to sound light-hearted—and innocent. “I see him just about every day. How can I be avoiding him?”
“He says you bolt from practice and games without a word and that you don’t answer when he calls,” Dad says, and I can tell by his tone he’s unimpressed. Not just with me doing this, but with the fact that he has to get involved. Dad has a younger sister, but they never had a disagreement let alone a rivalry of any kind. He doesn’t get the way Nash and I sometimes—and lately more than not—grate on each other’s nerves. He has zero patience for it.
"He likes doing press. He's good at it so I let him," I reply and walk through my house to the living room. I drop down on the sofa and close my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose. "And he always calls when I'm busy, or in the shower or whatever. That's on him, not me. Also, we haven't had a real game yet so let's not be dramatic."
Dad sighs. "Okay well, I fully expect this to simmer down before that puck drop in four days."
Of course, he knows the exact countdown to our first game of the season. He's going to be there and, like with everything else to do with our careers, he’s going to be proud. Dad has never pushed us into hockey, but since we both chose it, he’s been nothing but a pillar of support. I can’t fault him anything, to be honest. He’s a great dad.
“Is that the only reason you’re calling?”
