Page 46
I raise my brows, closing the door and coming into the room. “Thanks. My back-checking was laggy, though. I gifted Washington their first goal.”
She frowns. “That’s the point of preseason, right? To work on your game? You also got an assist and a goal you made entirely yourself. You skated rings around their defensemen.”
“Listen to you, knowing the game.”
“Hazard of both the job and being Canadian.”
I smile as I slump down onto the edge of the bed, but I know it’s forced.
“Are you okay, Jax? You don’t seem your usual self.”
“Annoying?” I scoff, and her pretty lips gently twitch up. “I’m good. Just tired.”
And pissed and confused and off-kilter for reasons I can’t put my finger on. God, sex would be helpful right now. And the woman sitting in front of me looking like an absolute goddess isn’t helping my wayward thoughts. My right hand can’t even help me out because Sienna and I are sharing the same room but when she looks like she does now, I think about her face as I made her come in Las Vegas. Mouth open, eyes closed, chest pushed out as she held on to the vanity unit. I don’t know how much is my imagination but whatever did happen in the chapel gets better every time I jack off over it.
I’m staring at her, thinking I’d like to slide that silk two-piece over her smooth skin and try a repeat, and she’s staring right back like she knows exactly what I’m thinking. Until she breaks the connection. She’s right, celibacy for three months is going to be a test of my will power.
“Hey, would you mind switching to the bed, so I can set up on the sofa?” I ask.
“I would, actually, because we agreed I’m taking the sofa. That’s why I’m set up here.” Any heat in her cheeks I saw is gone.
“Sienna, I don’t have the energy for verbal tennis right now.” Even though tonsil tennis, I’d manage.
“Good. So you’ll take the bed.”
I stand. “I’m not making you sleep on the sofa.”
“You need your rest and I’m working anyway. Please, you’d be doing me a favor, I’ll get sleepy if I work on the bed and I’ve got a lot to get through.”
“Sienna, don’t take this the wrong way but you’re relentless.”
She scoffs. “It’s been said before. Do your ablutions and get to sleep, my incredible sleeping man.”
I’m doing just that, staring at myself in the vanity unit mirror, and replaying how that sounded: my man.
I’m nobody’s man. But it sounded kind of… Nope, not going there. I have enough going on with needing to fix my game and keep up our fake relationship to all but those few in the know.
I tuck into bed, after Sienna refuses, again, to let me take the sofa.
But I toss and turn, checking my watch every five or ten minutes. This is unlike me. I normally sleep like a baby after a game. I’d fall asleep in a crowded room on the back of horse towing a wagon of angry trolls.
After more than an hour of pulling the pillows and duvet over my head, I decide the lamp light and Sienna’s incessant clicking and tapping on her laptop are the problem.
“Oh my God, Sienna, would you please stop for the night and go to bed?”
“Sorry,” she whispers, so quietly I almost feel bad.
She turns out the lamp but it’s another ten minutes of her quietly tapping and pretending not to work before she finally heads into the bathroom and faffs in there for another eight minutes.
Eventually, she settles onto the sofa and fuck me, I still can’t sleep.
Now, on top of everything else, I feel shit about snapping at her. Guilty for making her think she should sleep on the sofa.
At some point in the middle of the night, I carry her to the bed. She’s feather weight in my arms. Smells clean and fresh. The silk of her nightwear makes me want to nuzzle into the softness. I don’t, obviously, but I do lay her down on the mattress and cover her with the duvet, before settling onto the sofa that smells of her perfume, and finally, feeling myself sink…
* * *
When the sun starts to come up and peeks around the edges of the blackout blinds, I’ve dozed some and I’ve got morning wood. I glance to the bed and see Sienna curled onto her side, still sleeping. The woman makes sleeping look attractive – long hair flowing across the pillows, face peaceful, tits outlined by the pull of her silk camisole and barely covered by the lace trim.
