by Sarina Bowen
When I wake up, the room is bathed in darkness. A weary glance at the alarm clock reveals that it’s a little past seven. I’d slept for seven straight hours. Awesome. Now I’ll be up all night. Why didn't I set an alarm?
A peek at my phone shows a missed text from Jamie.
How did the final go? Tell us over an early dinner?
It was sent at five, so I’m not sure if he and Wes have eaten already yet. But I’m starving, so I sit up and dial his number.
“Hey,” I say after he picks up. “Just got your message. I was napping.”
“I figured.” He chuckles. “God, I do not miss college. The thought of cracking open a textbook again makes me shiver in horror.”
“It’s not fun,” I agree.
“So how do you think you did this morning? A-plus or A-plus-plus?”
“Neither. But I’d give up my firstborn for a C-plus. That’s all I need to pass.”
“Eh, you can pump out a C-plus in your sleep. You’ve always been one of the smart Cannings.”
My eyebrows shoot up. Uh, right. I’m one of the smart Cannings? “That’s very sweet of you to say, but we both know I’m at the bottom of our family smarts ladder.”
“Bullshit,” he argues. “Joe didn’t even learn how to spell his name—all three letters of it!—until he was five. Mom told me.”
I gasp. “Oh my God, really? I am so bringing that up at Christmas!”
“And Scottie almost flunked out of the police academy,” Jamie reminds me.
“Yeah, but that’s because he was getting drunk with all the other cadets every night instead of studying, not because he’s a dumb-dumb.”
“True.” Jamie’s voice softens. “But you’re not a dumb-dumb, either, Jessie. You know that, right?”
“Right,” I say lightly, before changing the subject. “Anyway, are you guys still up for dinner?”
“Aw, actually, no. We ended up going to this Indian place after we didn’t hear from you. Wes was grumbling about how hungry he was and didn’t want to wait.”
“That’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”
“I’d invite you over to raid our fridge, but it’s probably better if Wes and I have some alone time tonight. He’s all cranky because his practice was a complete disaster today.”
I frown. “Why? What happened?”
“Not sure. The team wasn’t gelling, I guess? And Blake bombed in practice so bad that Hal changed up the lines. He didn’t even want to come to dinner with us because he was in such a shit mood.”
Surprise jolts through me. Blake Riley, in a shit mood? That’s unheard of. The man is a perpetual Susie Sunshine. And he turned down a chance to eat food? Very troubling, indeed.
“Weird,” I say absently. “Okay, I’m going to let you go now. I need to forage for food.”
My brother laughs. “Come over tomorrow?”
“Sure.” Now that my last exam is in the can, I have a whole week off before the new term begins.
We hang up, but I don’t get up from my bed. Instead, I pull up Blake’s number and stare at the last messages we’d exchanged. They’re from the home game where I sat with Mama Riley and listened to her lecture me about birth control.
After a beat of hesitation, I take a page out of Jamie’s book and text, You alive?
I’m startled when my phone buzzes right away.
No, I’m dead.
I snicker to myself. Want to hang out tonight? Just wrote my final exam.
This time it takes several moments for him to respond.
Not in the best mood, J-Babe. Maybe another time.
Undeterred, I type, My mood’s not great, either. Let’s be miserable together. I’ll bring the ice cream if you provide the spoons.
There’s an interminably long pause before he answers.
Yeah, sure.
Okay, so it’s not the most…enthusiastic reply. But hell, I’ll take it.
23 Pick Your Poison
Jess
When I arrive at a certain sleek condo tower by the waterfront, the doorman waves me in. But instead of getting off on Jamie’s floor, I ride the elevator farther up, to Blake’s. I’ve never been to his apartment before, and I’m not sure what to expect. There are only four doors on his hallway. I knock on the one that has a doormat depicting a St. Bernard with a hockey stick.
Behind the door, I hear the muted sounds of TV, then the thump of footsteps. Blake opens the door wearing a cuddly-looking flannel shirt—unbuttoned to reveal his fabulous chest—and a pair of well-worn jeans that hug his sculpted thighs. In other words, he looks scrumptious. But then I check his face, and I see that something is wrong. His expression is pinched in a way that’s completely unfamiliar on him.
“Hey, Jess,” he says softly. “How are you?” He shuffles backwards to let me in.
How am I? Totally weirded out. That’s how.
“I’ve had better days,” I admit. “But I brought ice cream and wine. I would have brought a chick flick, too, but you’re not a chick.”
I step past him and take a closer look at the apartment. I’d expected it to look about the same as my brother’s, but it’s not the same at all. Blake’s pad is huge, and his kitchen must have been designed by a Swedish architect named Torvald. Everything is sleek wood or gleaming white. A thick wool rug pads the floor under my feet. Gentle light washes over all the surfaces from hidden fixtures near the ceiling. And there are sliding glass doors on the far wall leading to what must be a kickass terrace.
“Wow,” I say stupidly. “Fancy.”
He shrugs. “What kind of ice cream?”
“I have dark mocha and also coconut. Pick your poison.” I carry my goods toward his kitchen, but Blake takes the bag from me and unpacks it himself.
“Did you eat dinner?” he asks, tucking the ice cream cartons into the freezer.
“Not exactly,” I hedge. “But that’s okay.”
Blake clicks his tongue. “How about we order some Chinese? You probably haven’t eaten all that well if you’ve been studying.” His green eyes bore into mine.
“Okay, thanks,” I say quietly. “I like chicken and broccoli. Actually, I like most anything.”
One warm hand cups the back of my head for a second. Just as I register how nice it feels, it’s gone again.
Blake orders our food while I locate a pair of wine glasses on a shelf over the countertop. But a corkscrew remains elusive. I can’t figure out how to open his kitchen drawers because there aren’t any handles. Out of frustration I give one a little push and it slides open a the hushed click that reminds me of a high-tech device. Blake’s kitchen drawers are like something you’d find on a space shuttle.
I pour carefully because I don’t know if red wine is capable of staining his immaculate marble countertops. Then I carry our glasses over to the generous leather sofa, where Blake is just finishing up his call.
“To shitty days that end with wine,” I announce when he’s ready to toast with me.
“I’ll drink to that,” he says as we touch glasses.
We hold each other’s gaze as we sip, and it feels weirdly intimate. Although maybe I should stop finding it weird, right? How many times have I gotten naked with this guy?
Let’s not count.
“This isn’t bad,” I say of the wine. I went above my usual price point, splurging on a twenty-dollar bottle. “Let’s drink every drop. Otherwise I’ve squandered my last twenty bucks.”
Blake cocks his head like a puppy. “Money troubles?”
“Always. I came to Toronto because nursing school cost only thirty-five grand a year, instead of fifty. My parents kicked in ten. I took out loans for ten. And the last fifteen are from a scholarship that I have to reapply for every year. If I don’t get at least a C-plus on today’s exam, I probably won’t be eligible next year.” Ugh. The wine sours in my stomach. I shouldn’t be worrying about this until my grades come back, but it’s hard not to. “If I don’t get the scholarship, I won’t be able to continue.”
>
And then where will I be? I’ll owe back the money I borrowed from the bank. And my parents will be out ten grand for another one of my failures. I’ll be back in Cali living in my old bedroom, in debt and looking for a job.
Shoot me.
Blake puts a hand on my knee. “I’ll bet you aced your test.”
I shake my head. Hard. “I didn’t, though. Whatever my superpower is, pathophysiology isn’t it.”
“You’re still awesome, Jessie. I refuse to believe that you won’t make it in nursing school.”
I give him a tired smile, because I appreciate how loyal that sounds. “Now let’s talk about your thing. What’s the matter, champ?”
He takes a gulp of wine, and then pats the place on the couch right next to him. I scoot over and he wraps an arm around me. And I lay my head on his chest, because it’s irresistible. He smells good, too. Like clean flannel and sandalwood.
“I’m just off my game, ’s’all,” he rumbles. “My superpowers are a little wobbly right now, too.”
“No, really? I’m sorry, sweetie.” I pat his thick wrist with my free hand. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
He’s quiet for so long that I wonder if he even heard me. Then he says, “I just like seeing your pretty face.”
I get an odd lump in my throat hearing it. But it’s nothing that a little more wine won’t wash down.
A few minutes later, our food arrives. We eat sitting in comfortable dining chairs at Blake’s small but sleek table in front of the windows. The lights of Toronto’s waterfront twinkle on one side of the view, while the blackness of Lake Ontario coats the other. I ask Blake about the team’s travel schedule, and then listen while he tells me which rinks and cities he enjoys visiting, and which ones are less fun.
The mood is a little subdued, but I tell myself it’s just because we both had shitty days.
After we eat, I do our dishes and put away the leftovers in Blake’s immaculate fridge. I pause in front of the freezer and ask which ice cream he wants first. “I don’t know if these really go together,” I admit. “Which one do you want to taste first?”
“You pick.” He stands beside me at the counter.
I choose the mocha and pry the top off. My hands are a little sticky, and I don’t have a spoon. So I use my hip to open Blake’s magical cutlery drawer, and this makes him grin.
When he finally smiles, something relaxes inside me that I didn’t even know I’d been clenching.
I grab a spoon and dip it into the chocolaty surface. To keep his good humor, I fly the spoon toward his mouth until he opens for me.
At the last second, my in-flight spoon banks sharply and flies toward my own mouth instead.
But—learn from me—never try to deke a professional hockey player. His hand moves so fast I don’t see it until it grabs mine. With a playful shriek I fight back. The spoon is almost mine. In fact, I manage to smear chocolate on my lip before Blake gets control and sweeps the bite of ice cream into his own mouth.
His eyes gleam as he cleans the spoon. “That’s a nice look for you,” he says, lifting his chin to indicate the sticky smear on my lip. His eyes focus and then fill with heat.
Slowly, and with great deliberation, I sweep my tongue across the spot. “Did I get it?” I’m teasing him mercilessly right now, but at least he doesn’t look sad.
“No,” he says, his voice pure gravel. “It’s…let me.” He takes a step closer. Now he’s looking down at me, his lips mere inches from mine. I quiver with expectation as he lifts a hand to cup my chin. “Jess…” he whispers.
And then Blake swipes his thumb across my lip and takes a step backward, sighing.
A beat goes by while my body says, Really? I feel unconscionably bereft. I’m used to Blake trying to get into my pants. Now he’s not, and it’s so confusing.
I pick up the spoon and dig it into the ice cream. Blake watches me, his gaze on fire. I take a bite. Then I scoop up another spoonful and feed it to him.
It’s smooth and cold and wonderful. Heaven, really. Another bite for me. Another one for him. He’s still watching every move I make. His laser concentration makes me feel completely alive. With those big green eyes tracking me, I’m not a broke student or a pharmacology failure. I’m just here, in this moment. And it’s beautiful.
On the next bite, I let the spoon linger in my mouth. He looks pained. Then, instead of offering the next bite, I take that one, too, smiling at him.
Blake’s eyelids get heavy. He mutters something like, “Oh, fuck it,” and before I can blink, he tosses my spoon on the counter and grabs my head, tugging it toward him. With a groan, he claims my mouth, his tongue parting my lips immediately. Our kiss is cold and hot and pure chocolaty hunger.
I moan into his mouth as a big hand grabs my bottom, pulling me into him. And there is nothing sexier than the Great Wall of Blake Riley. The front of me is flush against his hard body. The feel of him is addictive. It’s really no mystery why I keep shedding my clothes like a snakeskin every time we’re alone. His greedy kisses have already dismantled much of my executive function. My awareness narrows down to the taste of his kisses and the throbbing of my heart.
And other places.
My hands are almost too small to grasp his shoulders, but I need more of him. “Bedroom,” I murmur between kisses.
He doesn’t reply. Instead, he picks me up in one hand. We don’t even stop kissing as I fly through the air perched on his forearm. The light dims as we enter a back room. A second later he tosses me onto a giant cloud, which turns out to be a bed the size of my entire dorm room. He whips his shirt off. When he unzips his jeans, just the sound of the zipper makes me shiver. And then he shoves those down, along with his boxers. As always, my mouth goes dry at the dual sights of his massive erection and the look of determination on his handsome face.
This beautiful man wants me. Me. It’s enough to make a girl dizzy.
“You realize what this means, right?” he says, putting one muscular knee onto the bed.
“Mmmm?” That I have zero self-control?
He leans down to grasp the ankles of my yoga pants. And—whoosh—they disappear, along with my scruples. My shirt meets the same fate a second later. Blake props himself onto his elbows over my body. He puts his face between my breasts and sighs. Nudging my bra out of the way with his chin, he takes my nipple into his mouth suddenly and sucks on it with soft lips.
I gasp, my back arching unbidden.
“You know what this means,” he says again, unclasping my bra. “It means we’re going out for real.”
24 Driving Under the Influence of Orgasms
Jess
It takes a second for me to process the words, because Blake’s hungry lips have attacked my other breast. “Wait. What?” I demand.
He releases me with a wet pop. “You. Me. We’re a thing, if I do you in my bed.”
“Says who?” My words are tough, but I’ve heated up faster than the top-of-the-line stove I spotted in his spiffy kitchen.
“Says me. My bed is a temple. It’s reserved for solo spanks. And girlfriends.”
Blake licks a hot stripe between my breasts, and I shiver uncontrollably. Damn him. He can’t drop a girlfriend bomb while licking me all over. It’s impossible to concentrate.
“Just close your eyes, Jessie. We’ll talk deets later.”
What deets could we possibly need to go over? I’m not his girlfriend, and I’m not—oh wow. His tongue is working my nipple now and it’s pure heaven. Soft flicks and gentle kisses that make my toes curl into the mattress. And his warm palm is traveling down my stomach, tickling my mound, cupping my aching core.
I moan when the heel of his hand applies delicious pressure to my clit. Okay. He’s right. We can save the talking for later. It’s impossible to multitask when he’s touching me. When he’s sliding down my body and planting greedy kisses on my inner thighs.
“Better than ice cream,” he rasps against my sensitive flesh, his tongue coming o
ut to tickle my clit. “So much sweeter, baby.” Then he captures the little bud between his lips and sucks hard enough to make me cry out.
“Oh my God,” I choke. My fingers tangle in his hair, keeping him trapped between my thighs. “Keep doing that.”
His laughter vibrates through my body. He continues to suckle me while one finger teases my folds, circling my opening until finally, slowly, slipping inside. I gasp in delight and rock against him. He’s rocking, too, I realize. He’s all but fucking the mattress as he licks and sucks and groans.
My eyelids flutter open, and I see the taut concentration in his features as he pleasures me. The flush on his cheeks. The restless shift of the hips he’s grinding into the mattress.
I bunch his hair between my fingers and tug his head up. “Get on your back.”
“Not done with you,” he mumbles.
“Trust me.”
His eyes gleam as he shifts onto his side. Then he grins and rolls over, propping his hands behind his head and awaiting my next move.
The ache between my legs is unbearable, making it difficult to move. I order my shaky limbs to cooperate, and climb onto his muscular body, twisting around so that my butt is wiggling in his face and his massive erection is at eye level with me.
“Fuck,” he gasps. “Yeah, babe, that’s what I like to see.”
Two big hands cup my ass and pull me down onto his face. When his tongue glides over me, I almost come on the spot.
Taking a breath, I grasp his cock in one hand and lower my mouth to his engorged head. I give a tiny lick, then breathe out, “Better?”
His response is a hungry growl punctuated by the brush of his tongue on my clit.
I wrap my lips around him and suck gently, the salty flavor of him tickling my tongue and heating my blood. He tastes delicious. He’s thick and hard and throbbing in my mouth, and it’s the hottest thing in the whole damn world.
I don’t know how long we lie in this position, torturing each other with greedy licks and deep sucks, but just as the first tingles of orgasm warm the base of my spine, Blake abruptly yanks me off of him and flips me over.
