Brutal Love & Stanley Cups_A Slapshot Novel

by Heather C. Myers

  He leaned over her, completely naked, his cock erect and waiting. His eyes feasted on her body and she could not help but squirm slightly underneath his gaze.

  “You’re a goddamn masterpiece, Clara.” His eyes were on hers when he said the words, not her breasts or her pelvis or her soft stomach. Her eyes. “God, I’ve missed you. I’ve missed this.”

  He crawled over her and she shuddered. Just seeing him on top of her, seeing him above her, his powerful arms pinning her between them so she couldn’t escape even if she wanted to.

  When he slid into her - slowly, gently - she felt herself sigh. Not because she was tired. Not because she was bored or considered this a chore. But because this felt right. Because this felt the way it always had. It felt like to pieces of a puzzle fitting perfectly together, bringing each other pleasure simply by connecting.

  He let out a grunt, his eyes snapping shut, and he paused. It appeared as though he didn’t trust himself to continue on. Clara could hear him muttering to himself but she was so enraptured that she couldn’t hear him clearly.

  But that only lasted so long.

  His hands gripped her hips and he started thrusting into her hard. He didn’t even ask as he slid his hand between their bodies and started to dance his fingers across her clit.

  She let out a moan, tightening her thighs. Her ankles locked around his back and her fingers tugged at his hair.

  It was just like old times, only better. They both had experience. They both missed each other. They both craved each other just like they had before. The best part was that they still remembered each other. She knew his body. She knew he liked when she ran her fingers down his back and she loved when he teased her nipples.

  It wasn’t long before she felt herself start to build up. She was going to come. Her breathing turned ragged. She tried to get the words out but she couldn’t. She wanted him to know but all she could muster was his name - and she couldn’t even be certain that he heard that.

  She crashed around him. She felt him stiffen inside of her and then he continued to thrust, letting out a long, low moan.

  Clara somehow felt both energized and exhausted. Her brain was fuzzy. He collapsed on top of her and she welcomed him with open arms. She didn’t know much. She didn’t what this was. But she knew she didn’t want to be anywhere else but here with Dean right now.

  Chapter 14

  Dean couldn’t sleep. His whole routine was off now, thanks to the woman wrapped in his arms. At first, it was bliss, something he didn’t particularly worry about. This was what he wanted. Clara was here. They had just had the best sex of his life, in his bed, and now she was here with him, sleeping softly in his arms. She still drooled too. He couldn’t help but grin at the sight, and pushed an errant strand of red hair out of her peaceful face.

  But now what?

  Did he confess his love for her? Because he did love her. That much was certain. And he had no problem admitting it to her, or even to himself. The timing - was it right? Should he wait until after the finals?

  Dean always grabbed breakfast after morning skate before coming home and watching a couple of hours of mindless television. It helped to get his mind off of hockey temporarily, and The Real Housewives of Atlanta usually helped him do that. Then, he would go to Ma’s, a hole-in-the-wall Italian place south on PCH, near Balboa, and get a large plate of her homemade spaghetti with meat sauce. He would always get it to go, he would eat, and then he would nap, before he was expected to start getting ready.

  He never had to worry about sex before. Back in Florida, he made the playoffs four times during his tenure with them. He never had sex on game days, though it wasn’t as though that had been planned. Typically, he focused solely on hockey during game days. Off days, he partied, but not the way he usually did.

  Technically speaking, today wasn’t a game day. But sex never happened during the afternoon. It only happened at night. And sex had never been with Clara. Never with the one he really wanted.

  Now that it had...

  Was he fucked in more ways than one? His whole game plan was out the window now. She had thrown a wrench into it, and he couldn’t even be mad about it.

  Dean pulled Clara closer to his body, doing his best not to wake her. He wanted her to sleep as much as she could. After what had happened to her…

  He couldn’t even finish the thought. He was lucky Clara had pulled him away. He had been ready to beat Bill to a bloody pulp.

  Was it wrong he didn’t even blink an eye at inflicting that much pain in one human being? Then again, Clara had always been his exception. He would do anything for her - and that scared him shitless.

  Dean’s stomach growled, interrupting his thoughts. He quickly looked over at Clara, wondering if she had been disturbed by his incessant stomach. When he still heard her purring evenly, he relaxed. However, he knew Clara had an appetite - especially after a sex nap - and she would not be in a good mood if she didn’t get food in her system when she woke up. There was still food in his cupboards and in his fridge he could use to cook. He couldn’t even remember the last time he actually cooked - unless a bagel counted, and he didn’t think it did.

  Slowly, he disentangled from her and slid out of his bed. The cool air smacked him like a sucker punch to the gut. He pulled on his sweatpants and nothing else before heading for the door. When he reached the frame, he glanced back at Clara and felt himself grin.

  Even if his day was completely discombobulated thanks to the new turn of events, it was worth it. Anything that had to do with Clara was always worth it.

  He headed down the stairs and went straight to his kitchen. From the corner of his eye, he noticed the discarded bra and the shirt that Dean had pulled off of her body. He felt his cock stirring at the sight. The fact that they were Clara’s seemed to turn him on. He hadn’t had that reaction before with anyone else.

  For the next fifteen minutes, Dean scoured through his walk-in cabinets, looking for something that was both edible and not toast, bagels, cereal, or oatmeal. When he came up with nothing, he tried the fridge. He wasn’t coming up with anything solid. As such, he decided it might be best to order out. Then, his eyes caught sight of eggs and shredded cheese and grinned.

  Back when they used to date, Clara was obsessed with his omelets. He always gave her extra cheese. At the time, she had been a vegetarian, so he would chop up onions and peppers and make sure there was a healthy mixture of the vegetables. One time, he added a hint of jalapeño and it did wonders to the food. He glanced around his produce section. He definitely had onions and had green pepper but it didn’t look like he had any jalapeño. He had stopped buying it at the grocery store. It reminded him too much of Clara and he didn’t want to be reminded of her.

  He placed his ingredients on the marble countertop and bent down to grab a pan. He turned on the stove and started to let the pan heat up while he chopped up the vegetables. The strong scent caused his stomach rumble, eagerly anticipating tasting his own creation.

  “Alexa,” he said to the Amazon Dot sitting on his microwave, “play Bon Jovi.”

  Eighties music filled his kitchen and he grinned, moving around the kitchen. Dean wasn’t a dancer. He liked to move his body on the ice, he liked to move his body during sex. He didn’t really see the point in moving his body to music, even good music like Bon Jovi. But he couldn’t help himself. Not now.

  “‘Wanted: Dead or Alive,’” a voice said from the stairway. “Why am I not surprised?”

  Dean glanced up and had to do a double-take. There was Clara, in one of his t-shirts and boxers hair all mussed because of the sex, looking tired and content. He smiled.

  “Hello.”

  She lifted her nose up in the air, making her way into the kitchen as if she owned the place. She’d never set foot into his place until a few hours ago, and yet, it felt right, having her here. She fit.

  “Are you making –” She turned to him with a wide grin on her face. “The Morgan Special!”

 
“The Morgan Special was what I gave you a few hours ago,” Dean drawled, giving her a wink. Clara rolled her eyes but smiled as she took a seat at the bar.

  “Anything I can help you with while you cook?” she asked, resting her chin in her palm. Her eyes were on him as he continued to chop up the peppers and he suddenly felt shy, unsure how to handle her piercing stare.

  “Just sit there and salivate,” he said.

  The music continued to hang in the room. From the corner of his eye, he saw Clara mouthing the words to the song. She loved Bon Jovi nearly as much as he did and knew the words to all their major songs - and she wasn’t afraid to sing them. She actually didn’t sound half-bad and he would always try to get her to do karaoke but she claimed she was too shy.

  Right.

  It took him fifteen more minutes before he had a plate of omelets in front of her, sprinkled with lots and lots of cheese. Clara didn’t wait for permission. She took the fork he offered her and dug in.

  “You are going to share, aren’t you?” he teased, walking around the bar to sit next to her. He reached out with his own fork in order to try and claim a piece of the omelet for himself.

  “Share? Not in my vocabulary.” Her eyes sparkled but she leaned away from him in order to give him better access to the plate.

  “I remember that,” Dean said. “I also remember you preferred a healthy amount of cheese on your food. I can see that that hasn’t changed.”

  Clara grinned but couldn’t speak right that second, not with a mouth filled with too much food.

  They ate in comfortable silence, the only sounds the music in the background and the scraping of silverware on the plate they were sharing. Dean didn’t remember being this content before coming back to California. He didn’t need to prove anything to anyone. He didn’t need to fall back on his usual personality - boisterous and charming and slightly dirty. He didn’t have to worry about pining for anyone who came before Clara because they were irrelevant. Once they finished having sex, she would get her things and go and that was that. It wasn’t mean - it was a mutual unspoken agreement. With Clara, he was happy. He couldn’t stop himself from smiling. He had to be around her, always. He didn’t want to even think about what would happen when she decided she would go - where?

  Certainly not with Bill. Maybe her parents? Seraphina?

  “Do you want anything else?” Dean jumped up and grabbed her plate and silverware before putting it in the sink. He needed an excuse to keep her with him. “A drink, maybe some fruit?”

  Did he even have fruit?

  Clara smiled. “When did you ever become such a gracious host?” she asked. “Usually, after sex, you always passed out.”

  Dean felt himself grin. He liked that she was comfortable enough to take shots at him. He went to the fridge and grabbed a carton of pineapple orange banana juice. Clara had been the one to introduce him to it and he was surprised to find he actually liked it - but only with ice. If there was no ice, it was too sweet.

  “Do you want juice?” he asked.

  “Sure.”

  He grabbed two glasses and filled them up with cubes of ice. “So,” he said slowly. Once both glasses were both half-filled with ice, he grabbed the carton of juice and shook it up. He uncapped it and poured the juice into the glass. “What’s next for you?”

  He watched as Clara furrowed her brow and rolled her shoulders back. She murmured a quick, “thanks,” and took the glass from him before taking a sip. Dean took his seat next to her, the ice cubes tinkling against the glass.

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “Where do you go from here?” He tapped the cool condensation on the glass. “My house is your house, Clara. That will never change. Stay as long as you want. Stay forever if you want.”

  Clara grinned. “You’re always quick to ask me to move in with you, Dean,” she said. “Last time we were together it was, what, a couple of weeks?”

  “You were crazy enough to agree,” he pointed out.

  Clara took another sip of juice.

  “I’m serious, though,” he said. “Do you need me to go help you pack? Should we call your mom?”

  “Dean, I honestly have no idea what I’m going to do,” she admitted. She put her glass down and started rubbing her temples. “I haven’t really thought about it, to be honest.” She offered him a tired smile. “I know I won’t be with Bill anymore. I’m sure at some point I’m going to pack up my stuff. But I don’t think I want to involve you - not when you have so much on your plate already. I don’t want you to worry about me.”

  “Clara...” He let out a breath, grasping for words he couldn’t hold onto. He didn’t know what he wanted he wanted to say or how to say it.

  Before Dean could say anything else, Clara reached out and placed her hands on his thighs and leaned towards him. He could feel how cold her hands were through the thin material of his pajama pants, thanks to the glass of juice she had been holding.

  “Dean,” she murmured, “I just want to be distracted for a bit. I want to go to a movie or eat a bunch of pie. I don’t want to think about the future right this second. I just want to be with you.”

  Dean nodded his head, a small smile on his face. “I think I can help you with that,” he said.

  Chapter 15

  The problem with Dean was that it was too easy for Clara to fall in love with him. He was just as she remembered, only older and more experienced. Whoever taught him about that thing he did with the tongue should be blessed on so many levels. It was easy to forget that they had had their share of problems like any other couple. It was easy to forget that she was older now too, that she was a grown woman with a job and goals and a plan for her life.

  Dean was a fantasy, sure, but could he be her reality again?

  Looking up at the ceiling in his room, arm over her forehead, listening to him snore softly beside her, she couldn’t help but ponder the question. It was ridiculous, certainly, because sex did not translate into a relationship, and just because he had rescued her a couple of times - even though she didn’t need rescuing - didn’t mean that they were well on their way to a new relationship. She wasn’t sure if she wanted a new relationship with him. She didn’t know if she would simply fall into her nineteen-year-old self, plagued with bad habits she had worked hard growing out of.

  Clara supposed the best thing she could do right now was figure out what she wanted. Did she want to be with Dean? What would that mean? Would he even be able to be with her, considering his reputation? Everyone had to settle down. Hell, even Zachary Ryan, Alec Schumacher, and Art Jackman had all found someone worth changing for.

  Dean, on the other hand...

  Clara rolled on her side, making sure she didn’t disturb Dean behind her. She knew Dean was loyal, at least when he committed to her. Nobody said it would last between them. People said she had been crazy for moving in with him so fast. But she did it anyway, probably because she was nineteen and stubborn and thought Dean was cute and charming.

  Dean had a reputation in the NHL then, and he had one now. She just wanted to make sure he was as committed to her as she would be to him.

  ‘And Bill?’ a voice pointed out.

  Clara blew out a breath and started playing with the ends of her hair, even though her focus was on the dark blue wall in front of her. Bill was a jerk, there was no question about that. What hurt her about Bill the most was that he actually slapped her. He could say whatever he wanted about her and that would be that, but the fact that he lost his temper and actually slapped her because she had pushed his buttons? She couldn’t even fathom it. Never did she think he would ever hit her. And she wasn’t going to stick around to see if and when he would do it again.

  Clara had already decided she was done with Bill the minute she left, but now, she needed to get her things. For the time being, she could stay here with Dean until she found a small place of her own. Granted, she might have to move up to North County just because it was expensive living by herse
lf with a paycheck that wasn’t guaranteed - as a private investigator, she hadn’t had a job for the last couple of weeks, and she felt it. She didn’t want to assume anything would happen with Dean. She didn’t want to assume he was serious about moving in. She wanted to be able to take care of herself.

  Which meant doing little things, like not running from her problems and getting her car.

  She slowly peeled herself away and grabbed her phone. It had been off for her entire time with Dean and, as she pulled on a shirt and her pajama pants, she waited for her phone to turn on.

  She snuck out of the room and headed down the stairs as she searched for the person she wanted to call.

  Seraphina Hanson answered on the third ring.

  “Hello?”

  Clara bit back a smile. She was almost expecting Seraphina to be like all the other billion-dollar CEO’s who answered with their name or something equally as pompous.

  “Seraphina? It’s Clara.”

  “Clara!” Seraphina’s genuine tone made Clara feel warm and fuzzy. Seraphina was the sort of friend she could count on, even if they hadn’t spoken in a while. “I haven’t talked to you forever! How are you?”

  “Actually, I’m in a bit of a bind...”

  Half an hour later, Seraphina texted her to let her know she was outside. Dean still hadn’t woken up and there was no way Clara was going to wake him up to say goodbye. Dean would insist on coming with her, claiming she needed protection. More than that, Dean had a huge game tomorrow that Clara refused to distract him from. If he needed sleep - and clearly he did if he was napping so deeply - she refused to bother him with her problems. Maybe they could talk later, but right now, he needed to focus on himself.

  Clara had her phone and headed out the door. Seraphina was driving her old Nissan. All that money, and Clara had no idea why the woman couldn’t get a car that matched her bank account. Seraphina, of course, didn’t seemed bugged by it one way or the other and if Seraphina didn’t care, no one else should either.