by Avery Flynn
His whole being felt lighter with her clinging to him. She kissed the same way she’d spoken with him two nights ago when fate brought him to her bar—without reservation, playful. It was everything he’d been missing all his life outside of hockey.
Being with her planted a seed of something inside his head, made him wonder if he could get back to that on the ice.
Though he was naked, and his dick very much wanted back inside her, they kissed for so long they were out of breath by the time she pulled back. Her hand was around his cock before he could stop her, and she sat down and put her mouth on him before he could think to care.
“Fuck, Dahlia. You don’t have to do this.” He grabbed at her hair, not sure if he wanted to push her further down this path or push her away, but she took away his choice when she wrapped her wicked strong hands around his ass and pulled him all the way in. Fire beat a path all over his skin, and he didn’t know if he could last longer than a few minutes. Every stroke, she licked and sucked all the way up and down, wrenching sounds from deep in his chest. He felt his most elemental, chest-beating nature spring forth.
When she reached between his legs and massaged his balls, he lost it. She sucked him until he was done, and sat back with a swollen smile on her face when she was done. This woman wrecked him in ways he hadn’t known he could be wrecked.
He had no words to explain how she made him feel. And he wasn’t sure he’d share them if he did. She was already running scared, that was what that blow job had been about. He was sure of it. His telling her that he was starting to need her would get her out that door faster than he could blink.
He slumped onto the couch next to her as she was standing up.
She grabbed her phone out of her purse on the end table. “I’ve gotta go.”
“Seriously? You’re going to leave me like this?” Maybe cajoling her would get her to stay, make her think he was playing her fast and loose, sarcastic sex games.
“I think I’m leaving you better than I found you.” Her eyes flashed with emotion that belied more than a quip.
“You’ve got that right.” Her gaze flipped to her phone screen. “Will I see you tonight?”
“I—uh—I don’t know.” She was out the door before he could pin her down for a more definitive answer.
When the door snicked shut, it was just him—naked and totally laid out—and the Cup. At that moment, it looked like nothing more than a piece of metal, and he wanted to toss it into the lake and watch it disappear.
7
The text from her mom saying that her uncle was sick and that she needed to fill in for lunch was the most welcome family emergency Dahlia had ever had. She simply could not have faced all the raw emotion that Anders had scooped out of her overnight.
Anders didn’t seem to want to let her push him away. When she’d accused him of setting things up so that the Cup-keeper guy would find them, she’d been panicked. She hadn’t believed a word of it, but it seemed like a good way for them to end. It was way too dangerous for her to want something more than one night with Anders.
Last night had been—beautiful. She’d had raw sex, dirty sex, sweet sex, boring sex, even exciting, kinky sex that hadn’t kept her in the moment as much as Anders’s hand in her hair directing her, making her beg for him. He was fucking something else, and it was a crime he hadn’t been using his talents in that department for good—or evil for that matter.
The thought of him using his sex magic on anyone else was enough for her to stop stirring the coq au vin she’d made for a lunch special. As soon as she’d left Anders, she knew she needed to do something that would fully occupy her mind so that she couldn’t drift back to his hands all over her, the way he smelled and the slightly desperate sounds he made when she took his cock in her mouth.
But hurried shopping and lots of dicing and slicing didn’t distract her from feeling hot all over every time she let her mind wander. It was almost as if he was right there, his touch was so indelible on her psyche.
And it had to be a fucking hockey player. They had to get caught by someone who knew him and about the bounty. Jesus, it would be a miracle if the whole world didn’t catch wind of Anders popping his cherry before he left the resort in a few days—was it cherry popping if the dude was the virgin?
And he was leaving in a few days. She had to remind herself of that every time her head took over and she thought about rated R hikes at the Temperance, or making it to an actual bed. No, last night was a one-time deal. She got a bunch of orgasms, and Anders got a boon to his erroneously battered concept of himself as a romantic and sexual prospect. He definitely didn’t have anything to worry about.
Lilly walked into the kitchen with a batch of orders. “You’re going to tell me.”
“Not now.”
“Well, if you don’t tell me now, in front of the entire kitchen staff, you’re going to have to give me more details later.”
Dahlia grabbed the tickets out of Lilly’s hand. Over her shoulder, she said, “Fire me two walleyes, a pork chop, and dish up two of the specials.”
“I’ll tickle it out of you if I have to.” Lilly was still standing there, stubborn as all get out.
“Actually, I don’t have to tell you anything.”
“At least tell me you had sex with him!” Of course, her cousin said that as there was a lull in the din of the kitchen.
She looked around, and it appeared that the kitchen staff valued their jobs enough to stay silent.
“Don’t you have tables?” Dahlia needed them to get off this topic as soon as possible.
“You’re blushing. That means you had sex with him.”
“Shut up.”
Lilly reared back, and her teasing smile turned into a grimace. “You’re really mean. You know that?”
Dahlia went into the walk-in, and Lilly followed her. The cool air swept away some of the heat from her anger. “Yes. I’m really mean.”
“That didn’t sound like an ‘I’m sorry.’”
“That’s because I’m not apologizing.”
“What the fuck is your problem?” Lilly punched a bag of greens. If she weren’t so genuinely angry, it would be funny. “Ever since you came back up here, you’ve been a jerk. A lot of people are worse off than you. If they fuck up their business, they can’t go home to a job and people who love them.”
Lilly was right. Dahlia had been taking out all the pain and anger she felt toward Dylan—and herself—since she’d come home. She thought she’d been covering well, but she wasn’t. And Anders opening her up with his kindness, his sexiness, him being him didn’t help matters.
“I’m mean, and he’s not.”
Lilly looked at her quizzically. “Now I really don’t know what you mean.”
“He’s too good for me. I meet the one guy who I actually want to stick around, and he’s too good for me.”
“Shut up.” Lilly hit her on the shoulder so hard, she jostled one of the shelving units.
“Why? It’s true.”
“Well, then you’re now lying to yourself.” Her cousin’s probably shrewd assessment of her internal state knifed Dahlia’s frayed emotions open wider. “You are so smart, and fun, and talented. Your boobs are amazing and your ass is perfect. Plus, you can cook anything. You’re better than my dad.”
“If I’m so fabulous, why am I stuck here? No matter how far and fast I go, it’s like there’s a rubber band that snaps me back.”
“You just haven’t broken it yet. It will break. And maybe Anders is your way out.”
“I’m not collecting the bounty.” The idea of it made Dahlia a little bit sick. No, she’d make it out of her hometown on her own terms and her own dime.
“I don’t mean the bounty. But you’ve changed overnight. You look like yourself again. Before, you looked like shit.”
“I thought my boobs were amazing and my ass was perfect?”
Lilly hugged her. “Don’t fish. They were, but your smile was gone. This morning, you were
in the kitchen like you finally cared about something. I think ‘something’ is Anders Sorenson.”
“Maybe you’re right. But if he’s the difference, what am I going to do about it? He leaves in a few days, and he’s a professional hockey player.”
To say their lifestyles were incompatible was an understatement. If he wanted to spend more time with her, enough to invite her to stay in New Orleans with him for a while, she would have to find a job. And any job she found would prevent her from spending time with Anders. When she’d been in the run-up to opening her place in Minneapolis, she’d worked twenty-hour days. She couldn’t show up in the stands every time Anders played. She couldn’t be the kind of girlfriend he needed.
Dahlia broke their hug. “We have to go serve lunch.”
“I’m still going to need details later.” Lilly was like a dog with a bone. Maybe Dahlia needed to be more like her cousin when it came to Anders.
Anders spent all day staring at the Cup. He’d even showered with it, but he still didn’t have an answer. The only thing that was constantly in his thoughts was Dahlia. That fact alone kept him from seeking her out during the day.
And she hadn’t forgotten about him, either. She’d sent him food, beef stew, with a note that said, “Please enjoy this replenishing meal, on me. Your recuperation has surely proven to be exhausting.” The stew had been amazing, but nothing about him was tired, especially his desire to see her again.
Finally, to stop himself from going to the bar and refusing to leave until she let him inside her again, he went to sit on the rocks overlooking the bay. The water crashing against the shore, the spray in his face was more clarifying than his time with the Cup. Did that mean that he should give up hockey?
He’d always wanted to travel, but he’d mostly seen the inside of hotels and crappy hotel restaurants for away games. And, ever since the Deadspin story, he hadn’t ventured outside his room on road trips. But where would he go?
His mind wandered to what it would be like if he retired and went to Paris with Dahlia. She’d work all the time, and he’d be idle? That idea didn’t appeal to him either. And, no matter how much hockey had taken away from him, it had given him a purpose for most of his life. Something at his core made him resistant to giving that up.
The sun started to descend into the far side of the lake, and the sky revealed streaks of purple light that reminded him of Dahlia’s hair. The smell of the pine trees lining the boardwalk reminded him of the way she’d smelled at the Temperance. Ironic that he would always think anything but temperate thoughts about that place.
Fuck, he was acting like a lovesick idiot.
He stood up to go in, noting that his knee felt a lot better after having done nothing that day.
When he saw a tired, rumpled-looking Dahlia walking toward him on the boardwalk with two beers, he felt even better.
“What are you doing? Let me guess, staring into the abyss like a crusty sea captain?”
Though she thought giving him a rasher of shit was foreplay—maybe because of it—he beckoned her closer.
“I’m a lot less crusty after last night.” She looked him up and down when she got on the rock, and there was something so proprietary about her stare, that he got half-hard. He might not be her boyfriend—yet—but she looked at him like she owned him. Probably the same way he was looking at her.
“Is that your way of saying that taking time out of the game hasn’t made me lose my edge?”
“Sometimes a break is good. Let everything heal.” She gave him a bottle opener and one beer.
She laughed. “I’d planned to retire permanently.”
He handed her the open beer, and took the one she still held. “A great like you needs to have a comeback, even if you’re just doing a victory lap.”
“Would that be what going back to hockey would be for you?” She took a sip.
He looked away from her and back out into the deep and endless water. “No. I really haven’t met my potential yet. I don’t know if I ever will now.”
He took a long drink that did nothing to quench the dry throat that thinking about the game had done nothing to quell.
“Then, you have to go back.”
He was about to deny it, tell her he was still thinking about it, when the truth of her words struck him. Because she was right. He hadn’t been able to decide because both choices would cut some possibilities off. If he went back and couldn’t play like he had before the injury, he’d know that he was never meant to be great. If he didn’t go back, put the work in, he would always wonder.
“You’re right.” In his mind, knowing was better than not knowing, even if it meant he and Dahlia were nothing more than a vacation fling. The idea of saying goodbye to her made his throat close. “Have you ever been to New Orleans?”
8
Anders’s question made Dahlia’s beer turn to syrup in her throat. She’d wanted him to ask her to come to him in New Orleans. But now, she couldn’t say yes.
Fucking Edwin Motz had shown up at the restaurant, and asked to give his compliments to the chef. She’d walked out, ready to tell him to stick his “compliments” up his ass, when he handed her a check for $150,000.
Instead of ripping it up in front of him, she’d stared at it so long he’d walked away before she could toss the pieces in his face. So, she had a check in her pocket, one that would make Anders take his question back. Hell, if he knew she’d accepted that money, he’d have good reason to toss her in the lake.
“Anders, I—” She should tell him now if she was going to tell him at all.
“I’ll fly you down.” That offer made things worse. He still thought she was short on cash. If he only knew. “Not that I would be paying you or anything.” His sheepish smile made her want to kiss him. “I just—I want to see you.”
“I want to see you again, too.” It seemed as though she was determined to fuck up anything good that came into her life despite the best intentions. Did she actually think that Anders would never find out she took the money? If she found a way to give it back to Edwin, Anders would still find out that the bounty had been paid. His teammates would give him shit about it. And the press—if they got word, they’d probably come to the resort or flood the social media accounts with filth and garbage from trolls.
“I have to—”
“I understand if you don’t want to come down there. My life is a circus.” He ran a hand over his hair, and then dropped that arm around her shoulders. It lit her up and weighted her down at the same time.
“I want to come, but I have responsibilities here.” She wasn’t going to take the money, and she was going to say goodbye to him. One of the reasons she hadn’t given the check back immediately is because she was surprised at her angry reaction. She’d felt suddenly protective of Anders. He was a big man who could take care of his damn self, but she still wanted to make sure that his feelings didn’t get hurt.
Before meeting him, before he touched her, if he were anyone else, she might have fucked him, taken the money, and run off to Paris. In his shoes, that’s exactly what she would have expected anyone else to do to her.
But Anders was different. Being around him had opened her up to feeling empathy and compassion again. He made her feel all the things she’d stuffed down to survive high school. She didn’t feel like the mean, automaton-like professional chef she’d been in Minneapolis anymore. She’d started questioning her actions. Why had she run off with her tail between her legs when Dylan had fucked her over? Why hadn’t she stayed to fight for her business, her livelihood?
Because it hadn’t meant that much to her in the first place. The restaurant was a venture between her and someone else. It wasn’t hers.
Anders must have taken the stricken look on her face to mean that she wanted their relationship to be a summer fling. “Forget that I asked.”
Dahlia still didn’t have words to describe how she felt about him, so she kissed him. And it wasn’t a goodbye kiss—it was filled with p
ossibility, joy, and need.
She grasped at his muscled shoulders, which bristled with tension for a moment. She wondered whether his offer to visit him was genuine or whether it was empty—just an indicator that Anders wasn’t the kind of man to pump and dump the girl he finally gave it up to.
Before she could pull back and ruin the best last kiss she’d ever had, he wrapped his arms around her and took the kiss further.
Out there on the rocky shore, where everything was isolated and romantic in the impending night, she gave him the kind of kiss she would have given him if they could have a relationship. She let herself indulge in him.
She’d never had a man taste so good to her. His skin was damp with spray from the lake, not briny like the ocean, but clean.
He shifted their bodies to she straddled him. She moaned into his mouth as she felt his erection against her lower belly, through her clothes. He broke the kiss, and she sucked in air as he licked down the side of her neck, nibbling here and there. When he dragged her t-shirt over her shoulder and worried the skin stretched over her collarbone with the front of his teeth, she knew she needed to stop this.
She couldn’t have sex with him now. It was bad enough that she had a folded-up check in her pocket that made her kind of a whore. If she let this go to its natural conclusion, then she wouldn’t be a very good one. What was that saying about them paying sex workers to leave?
But Anders stopped things for her. “Are you not into this?”
She opened her mouth, not sure what to say. Although she could end this right now by saying that she wasn’t into making out with the best looking, best smelling, best feeling man who’d ever looked her way, that would be one more bald-faced lie on top of the secret burning at the back of her throat and in her jeans pocket.
“I am.” She looked around, thankful that they hadn’t attracted an audience. She wanted more of him so badly that it burned her from the inside out. “We should take this somewhere more private.”
