Stay: A WAGs Novel

by Sarina Bowen

  “So when do we get to see Weather Lady again?” Blake asks as we lumber across Pearson Airport, heading toward the exit. “Wanna double date?”

  I glance over him. “Weather lady?”

  He nods fervently. “Yeah. The hottie from the opera.”

  “Still not seeing how you got weather lady from that.”

  “Her name’s Hailey. As in, hail. As in, ice chunks that fall from the sky. As in, weather.” Blake beams at me. “So she’s the Weather Lady.”

  “Christ, Riley, your nicknames just get worse and worse,” I inform him, shifting my carry-on duffel to my other shoulder. “Matty-Cake at least makes sense in some stupid Blake Riley way.”

  We step out into the evening chill and head toward the taxi stand. There’s no line, fortunately, and we get a car in no time, the two of us jamming our huge selves into the backseat. Blake and I were the last ones to get off the plane, so most of our teammates had already hightailed it out of the airport to hurry back to their respective homes before Blake and I even cleared customs.

  “My nicknames only get better,” he disagrees as the cab driver weaves out of the terminal in the direction of the highway ramp. “And you didn’t answer the question. DD with me and J-Babe?”

  “Can I assume DD means double date? One never knows with you.” I pull my phone out of my jacket pocket to see if Hailey texted. We have late dinner plans for tonight. “I’ll ask her,” I say absently, my eyes on the phone screen. “But it might be too early for the double-dating thing.”

  Blake guffaws loud enough to startle our driver. “Too early? You sent her to the WAGs box, dude. You’re practically engaged!”

  Shit. I really didn’t think things through when I gave Hailey that WAGs pass. I should’ve known that it would create a flurry of gossip and excitement in our incestuous little circle. But I genuinely wanted her to see another live game—the woman is a rabid fan—and those were the only seats I could score at the last minute.

  Except now my teammates and their partners are all on my case. And even Hailey questioned the move by asking me if we were dating. And we are. I mean, of course we are. I’m not seeing anyone else, and have no interest in doing so. But I’m not thinking long term at all, either. I’m just dying to see Hottie tonight and fuck her brains out. I need the release after this last string of road games. My joints ache and so does my dick.

  “My Blakey senses are telling me you’re scared of the G-word.”

  I glance over. “The G-word?”

  “Girrrrlfriend.” He drags out the two syllables, a grin on his face. “But that’s dumb. You shouldn’t be scared, Matty-Cake. Fear is in the eye of the beholder, you know?”

  “One, that’s not the correct phrase. And two, it has nothing to do with this situation. I’m not afraid of having a girlfriend.”

  Okay, I’m lying. Maybe I am a bit afraid. But only because past experience has taught me that I fucking suck at that shit.

  I hesitate, then bite the bullet and ask, “What’s it like for you and Jess when you’re gone? Does she get pissed? Lonely?”

  Blake narrows his eyes, and then they widen with understanding. Blake is so ridiculous sometimes that I tend to forget he’s more perceptive than he looks. “Gotcha. I did that, too.”

  “Did what?” I ask in confusion.

  “Compared everyone to my psycho ex. I told you about the psycho ex, right?”

  I nod slowly. “The woman you were going to marry after college?”

  He nods, too. “She was insecure with a capital insecure.”

  “A capital I, you mean.”

  “A capital everything, broski.” Blake shudders. “She didn’t trust me, and after that relationship exploded I was all like, women are nutso. Get laid and get out, am I right?”

  “Right.” Although I’m not sure the parallel holds up. Blake’s ex was legitimately nutso. Kara isn’t. And when she left me, she made some very valid points about how often I’d let the family down.

  Blake’s expression softens, as if he’s thinking about something truly amazing. Which he is, because in the next breath he brings up Jess. “And then I met Jessie and it was, like, boom! This girl ain’t crazy, and she trusts me. I’m going all in.”

  I shift my gaze out the window. All in, huh? Not sure I can do that again. Last time I did, I lost my wife and custody of my kids. Besides, Hailey hasn’t said she wants a serious relationship with me, just an exclusive one.

  “You’ll see,” Blake says cryptically. “When the boom’s there, it’s there. Anyway, double dating. Let’s make it happen.”

  I simply shrug again and repeat myself. “I’ll ask her.”

  For the rest of the cab ride, we each have our noses buried in our respective phones. Blake is sexting Jess, I bet. And while I’d love to be sexting Hailey, we seem to be having a dinner miscommunication.

  Hailey: Wait, I thought you were having dinner before we meet up. You said something about a post-game dinner, no?

  Matt: Post-game press conference. Why would they serve dinner there?

  Hailey: Shoot. Sorry. Well, I literally just pulled a lasagna out of the oven and was about to sit down to eat.

  Matt: Then why don’t I head over to your place instead of vice versa?

  There’s a long delay in which my screen remains blank, and I suddenly remember how she admitted that she still lives in the apartment she shared with her ex-husband. I wonder if it would make her uncomfortable to have me there. But on the other hand, I think it would be a damn good idea. Living with a ghost can’t be fun for her. Maybe my presence will help her feel like the place is hers rather than some tomb to her marriage.

  So I type another text.

  Matt: C’mon, Hottie. Feeeeed me. I’m starrrrrrving.

  I see her typing something.

  Hailey: Stop whining. It’s unattractive :)

  I grin to myself. I can’t wait to see her. And get her naked again. I’m dying to taste her again. To hear those breathy noises she makes when she’s close to coming. Fuck, I need to make her come again.

  And she needs it, too. I don’t know when it happened, but somewhere between our first kiss and that first fuck, I came to the conclusion that Hailey needs sex. Good sex. And lots of it. I’ve caught glimpses of her steel, her confidence, her sexiness, usually in our online exchanges. But in person, it’s like she’s second-guessing herself all the time. The poor girl needs to get her mojo back, and I’ve decided I’m the man for the job. Just call me Matt the Mojo Maker.

  “Later, Matty-Cake.” Blake slaps a meaty hand on my shoulder as the cab comes to a stop in front of his lakefront condo.

  I nod. “See you later, Riley.”

  Once he’s gone, I give the driver Hailey’s address and then we’re back on the slush-covered roads, heading midtown. Hailey’s building is a low-rise condo, about eight stories tall, with small balconies that face Yonge Street. Damn. Guess there won’t be any fucking on the balcony, at least not without giving the bumper-to-bumper traffic on this busy street an eyeful. We’ll save that for my high-rise, I suppose.

  In the small lobby, I buzz Hailey’s apartment. A moment later, the door clicks open and I ride the elevator to the fourth floor.

  She answers the door with a hesitant smile. “Hey.”

  “Hey.” Zero hesitation on my end as I kick the door closed and lift her into my arms for a kiss.

  Our mouths lock together eagerly, tongues sliding out to say hello. It’s the kind of frantic, greedy kissing that sends shockwaves straight to my cock. Hailey gives a tiny whimper and wraps her legs around my hips. Within seconds we’re grinding up against each other and I’m harder than stone.

  “Whoa, slow it down, greedy girl,” I pant as I pull my mouth away.

  “I’m the greedy one?” She’s as breathless as I am. “You’re the one who mauled me the second I opened the door.”

  “You mauled back harder,” I tease.

  Rolling her eyes, she gestures to my coat, which I remove and hand to
her. She hangs it up and then leads me deeper into the small apartment. There’s a dining nook next to the kitchen, and it’s giving off the most fantastic smells. My stomach growls when I spot the huge serving of lasagna on one of the place settings.

  Wait, only one place setting?

  “I couldn’t wait,” Hailey says sheepishly. “I was famished even before you called from the cab. No way would I have lasted the forty minutes it took you to get here.”

  “It’s all good, but that just means you get to watch me eat.”

  “Do you want something to drink? I’ve got water, beer, and wine.”

  “Beer me.”

  Chuckling, she ducks into the kitchen while I take a seat at the round glass table. She comes back with two Bud Lights, twists both caps off, and hands me one. I greedily take a swig, then dig into some of the best lasagna I’ve ever had in my life.

  “Hottie can cook!” I say in delight.

  She snickers. “Hottie can order ready-made meals, freeze them, and then nuke them when Hottie is hungry.”

  I snort and shovel more pasta into my mouth. I demolish the generous serving, then have a second helping while Hailey sits there with wide eyes.

  “You’re a beast,” she marvels.

  “Growing boy,” I say between bites. “And I didn’t get to eat after the game.”

  At the mention of the game, her expression sours. “That was a bullshit penalty in the third,” she grumbles. “Wesley did not trip that jerk!”

  Actually, he kind of did, but I love how loyal Hailey is to the team. We can do no wrong in her eyes. Though technically we did wrong tonight, since we lost to Philly. That penalty Wes took led to the power play goal that clinched the game for the other team.

  “You can’t win ’em all,” I say, a surprisingly magnanimous attitude considering I fucking hate losing. But I think Hailey might hate it more. Jeez—a relationship in which I’m the level-headed one when it comes to hockey? Who woulda thunk it.

  Not a relationship, I have to remind myself. We’re seeing each other and having fun, but I don’t envision engagement rings and wedding cakes in our future. I already tried walking that path, and it only led to a dead end.

  We keep talking hockey until I finish eating. And that’s always fun. But I can’t seem to shake the awareness that things are supposed to be a little different between us now. That she’s someone I can disappoint if I’m not careful.

  I sure don’t want that.

  She hurriedly cleans up while I wander around the apartment, trying to get a sense of the woman living in it. It’s hard, though. There’s no art on the walls. The furniture is plain and slightly boring.

  “So this was all the stuff you bought with your ex-hubby?” I call toward the kitchen.

  Hailey pops out with a frown, following my gaze to the rather boxy, beige couch. “Yeah,” she admits. “Jax doesn’t like splashy things. He’s all about neutral tones and clean lines.”

  Yet he married a woman with a nose ring and tats. Interesting. I wonder if, deep down, ol’ Jack is more adventurous than he lets on, or if his long history with Hailey was the sole reason they ended up together. They knew each other when they were kids, so she wouldn’t have had the piercings and ink when she was six.

  Did he divorce her because she evolved into something he wasn’t comfortable with?

  Christ. Where are all these questions coming from? I’m not usually so curious about other people’s past relationships. But having met Jackson—and noting how stuffy he seemed—I can’t figure out how Hailey ended up with someone like him.

  “I should probably get rid of it, huh?” She heaves a great sigh. “It’s just so expensive to refurnish an entire apartment.”

  “I hear ya. I saw the credit card statements after your shopping spree for my place,” I tease.

  Her bottom lip sticks out as she stares at the rectangular coffee table. It’s as sedate and personality-free as everything else in the living room. “We should’ve gone to your place,” she says.

  Maybe I’m not the only person experiencing a moment of hesitation. “Why? Because you bought this furniture with your ex?” I wave a hand. “I don’t mind.”

  “I kind of do,” she confesses, her blue eyes worried. “It’s weird to have a man here who isn’t Jackson. Like, I want to ask you to sit down, but I look at the couch and all I see is Jax on it.”

  I cock a brow. “You two get it on a lot on this couch?”

  Pink splotches rise in her cheeks. “No. We only did that…um…stuff in the bedroom. And I did get a new bed,” she’s quick to assure me. “That’s one thing I couldn’t keep.”

  “Okay, so if you guys didn’t bang your way around the apartment—outside of the bedroom—then what do you see when you look at the couch?”

  “Jackson reading a book,” she answers glumly. She gestures to the bar. “There, I see him reading the morning paper.” She points to the balcony doors. “Or I see him out there reading our quarterly statements.”

  “Your ex did a lot of reading.” I’m trying hard not to laugh. I shouldn’t find this funny, because Hailey looks so distressed, but the idea that all Jackson Emery did in this apartment is read is so damn absurd. Look at who he was married to!

  I take a deep breath and feel my own tension fall away. “Hottie. Come here.” I crook my finger at her.

  She takes a step closer to me, and I pull her in for a hug. Then I whisper in her ear. “How could your ex have his hands on some book or newspaper when those hands could’ve been on you? I don’t get that at all.”

  She looks up, her eyes vulnerable.

  “Let’s make some new memories. Replace the old with the new,” I clarify. “In fact…” I waste no time planting my hands on her slender hips and backing her toward the kitchen counter. Before she can blink, I lift her up onto one of the tall stools.

  “What are you…doing?” she squawks when I sink to my knees.

  I grin up at her, happy again because I’ve got this. I really do. “You said you look at this counter and picture your ex reading the morning paper, right? Well, after I’m done with you, all you’re gonna remember is this.”

  I get her yoga pants and bikini panties off so fast that Hailey sputters with laughter. Then the humor dies and her eyes take on a panicky glint as she realizes she’s half-naked. She tries to close her legs, but I make a tsking sound and stop her by placing my hands on her thighs.

  “Nuh-uh, baby girl. Open up.”

  “Matt…” There’s a slight warning there. “This is…”

  “Hot?” I supply. My voice grows smoky as I stare at the perfect pussy that’s inches from my mouth. “You’re right. It is.”

  Then, before she can say another word, I close the distance between mouth and paradise and take a long, languid lick that makes both of us moan.

  “Love how you taste,” I whisper against her slick core.

  “Mmmmmrghh,” is her response.

  I peek up to see that her eyelids have fluttered closed and her lips are parted in anticipation. Fuck yeah. There’s nothing sexier than a blissed-out woman.

  My tongue comes out for another happy lick. Hailey gives an answering shiver. I don’t even notice the hard tile beneath my knees—knees that are sore as fuck from tonight’s game. I’m too busy concentrating on pleasuring Hottie. I plant the softest of kisses on her clit and enjoy the way she gasps, the way she tries to tangle her fingers in my hair to trap me in place.

  “Matt,” she begs when I deny her what she wants by licking a path away from her clit toward her inner thigh.

  “Simmer down,” I murmur. “We’re making memories here.”

  A choked laugh heats the air. “You’re making me crazy, that’s what you’re doing.”

  That’s what I like to hear. And so I keep going, making her crazier and crazier with my barely there licks, the hint of suction where she wants it before darting away to taste another delectable part of her. By the time I slide one finger into her tight sheath, I’m swea
ting with desire and my erection is damn near painful. But the slow, seductive exploration is worth it, because when Hailey comes, the orgasm lasts for fucking ever.

  Her moans fill the kitchen. Her hips rock as she comes hard against my tongue, as her inner muscles squeeze the hell out of the finger I’m lazily thrusting inside her. When she finally crashes from the high, she pries her eyelids open and makes a soft, contented noise.

  “You’re…good at that.”

  “I know.” Smirking, I rise to my feet and reach for my belt buckle. “You want to know what else I’m good at?”

  Her blue eyes laser in on the bulge in my pants. “I already know you’re good at that, remember?”

  “Oh, I remember. I remember how tight you were,” I rasp. “And how fucking amazing it felt to be inside you. I want to feel that again.”

  Anticipation shines in her eyes, but it turns to confusion when I take a step away. “Where are you going?”

  I give the room a contemplative look. Eventually my gaze settles on the couch. Her ex liked to read books on that couch, huh? Sucker. I’d way rather fuck the goddamn cushions off that thing.

  “Up, baby,” I order, tugging Hailey onto her feet.

  Then, like a caveman dragging his woman into their cave, I haul Hailey to the couch with all the finesse of a horny teenager. Before she’s even settled on her back, I have my pants off and my dick covered with a condom. The adrenaline from tonight’s game is still pulsing through my system.

  “This is gonna be a fast ride,” I warn her as I strip off my shirt. “So you’d better hang on.”

  Heat sizzles in her eyes. “Bring it.”

  Oh yeah. This is what I hoped to achieve tonight—coaxing the badass out of this woman. I know she’s a badass. She just needs to remember that.

  Within seconds, I’m buried so deep in her that I’m seeing stars. Hailey hooks her legs around me and off we go on the ride I promised, and, holy hell, it’s fantastic. Each deep thrust threatens my control. Actually, what control? I’m horny and anxious and desperate to finish, and thank God I got her off before, because finish is actually what I do. Ten strokes, tops, and then I’m coming with a grunt, in a rapid burst of pleasure that sucks the breath from my lungs.