The Rebel: A Second Chance Hockey Romance (Looking to Score Book 1)

by Kendall Ryan

  She tastes even better than I remember, and I groan low in my throat as my tongue makes greedy passes at her silken flesh.

  My mouth is everywhere at once, all over her sweetness, nipping at her inner thigh with my teeth, licking her in a steady rhythm over and over as I squeeze the base of my cock to fight off my desperate need to come.

  Her body quakes as she comes apart. It’s a beautiful sight, and I don’t let up. Her voice is rough as she climaxes, and I’ve never heard a more lovely or desperate sound as my name leaves her lips again.

  Eden is boneless and disoriented for a moment, and I love that it was me who put that sleepy, satisfied look on her face. She cuddles into my arms, laying her head on my chest as her heart rate slows. As much as I love holding her, my body’s insistent reminder is difficult to ignore. My cock is still hard, and frankly, a little grumpy at being ignored.

  But then she seems to remember there’s a steely erection pressed inconveniently between us, and she brings her hand to me again, stroking so slowly, it takes my breath away.

  “Can I ask you something? Are you . . .” Her hand moves down torturously.

  “Get it out, sweetheart.”

  “Are you sleeping with anyone?”

  Shit. Now I feel like an asshole. She’s trying to have a serious, adult conversation with me, and I respond with some growly, macho comment.

  “Uh,” is all I manage, and I’m forced to clear my throat.

  “Because I was tested after Alex, and I’m cl—”

  Lifting her chin, I force her gaze to mine. “I’m not sleeping with anyone. And I’m clean too. But we’re not having sex tonight.”

  I fight back a strange wave of emotion at the thought of finally being with her in that way after all these years. She looks a little taken aback by my comment, but the truth is, I’m just not ready to go there emotionally yet with her.

  “In that case, may I?” she asks sweetly, moving down the bed until she’s perched between my parted thighs.

  Fuck yes. Those are the words that leap into my head, but thankfully something a little more articulate comes out of my mouth.

  “Anything.”

  She offers me a pleased smile before lowering her mouth to my groin and treating me to a slow lick. It’s hot, and I love watching her. I shift, lifting onto one elbow, and move her hair from her face so I can watch her sucking on me.

  Fuck.

  I grunt, and Eden murmurs her approval.

  “Your mouth feels so good,” I say on a groan, petting her hair and tucking it behind one ear.

  The sight is erotic as hell, and I lose myself in the pleasure of it. She’s perfect.

  The intensity of my release is unexpected. Normally, I’m quiet in bed, so I’m surprised to hear the deep groan that rumbles in my chest, and the sound of her name falling from my lips. My cock jerks in her mouth, but Eden doesn’t let up, swallowing me until I’m spent and relaxed.

  Finally, she releases me and sits back on her heels. “That okay?”

  “Fuck.” I groan again and tug her onto my chest. She laughs softly and lets me hold her. “You’re incredible.”

  I hold her close, wondering how long she’ll lie with me like this. I’m sure she’s about to get up and dress and make an excuse about going back to her own room. And while I do understand that, it doesn’t mean I’m happy about letting her go.

  But then she sits up, pulling the sheet with her to cover her naked chest, and I can tell there’s something else on her mind.

  “I was wondering about something.”

  17

  * * *

  EDEN

  Holt said I could ask him anything, and lying here in bed with him, I believe him. I’m sleepy and completely satisfied, and apparently that’s a recipe that makes me want to reminisce. I’ve just asked Holt about our night together way back in college, and now he’s gone quiet on me.

  His chin dips and he presses a soft kiss to my forehead. “I thought it was obvious I enjoyed myself back then.”

  I smile in the darkness. Most of the light from outside is now gone, and there’s only a soft lamp glowing dimly in the corner. “That’s good. I thought about that night often over the years.”

  I’m not sure if I should have admitted that, but now that it’s out there, I decide it’s only fair—I wouldn’t want to hide my truth from Holt.

  “So, you never regretted it, then?” His voice is low and husky.

  Surprise jolts through me. “Regret? What makes you say that?”

  “You left that note,” he says, his low voice a little unsteady. With each word, it sounds like he’s stepping around broken glass. “I worried that I’d hurt you or something. Wondered if you felt pressured or just didn’t enjoy yourself. I tried to make the right decisions, respect your boundaries and all, but that note . . . you said it was all a mistake.”

  He studies my palm for a moment, then releases a sigh, his sad eyes meeting mine.

  “At the time, I thought it was.” My voice is soft, hesitant. “I was inexperienced and so uncertain about what I wanted. Later, I realized the real mistake was running from your bed and into someone else’s arms,” I whisper. “But I didn’t know that then. I was young and stupid.”

  “Hey.” He sits up, leveling me with a stern look. “You’ve never been stupid. You graduated magna cum laude. Stupid people don’t do that.”

  “Fair,” I say, but then his words fully register, and the slightest smile tugs at my lips. “But wait. How did you know I graduated magna cum laude? Did you check on me after you left Sutton?”

  He lifts a shoulder, and if I’m not mistaken, the faintest flush appears on the apples of his cheeks. “Can’t blame me for being curious about the gorgeous, mysterious girl who came into my life for one perfect night and then disappeared for good.”

  “Not for good, it turns out,” I murmur, nuzzling into his chest.

  It’s a little dangerous to be this vulnerable with him, I admit. I have no idea where a man like Holt fits into my life. What I do know, however, is that being with him in this moment feels right, logistics aside. So I snuggle in a little tighter, enjoying the feel of his heartbeat on my cheek. But when I feel myself start to doze off, I know it’s time to go.

  “It’s late,” I say through a yawn. “I’d better get back to my room.”

  He sighs. “I wish you wouldn’t.”

  “I wish that too. But it’s for the best.”

  Reluctantly, I peel myself away from him, immediately missing his touch the moment it’s gone. I collect my clothes from the end of the bed, and Holt does the same with his boxers, hiking them up over his hips before tugging on a pair of sweats from his suitcase. At the door, he treats me to another long, slow kiss, the kind that makes me wish I could say fuck it and crawl back into his bed for the night.

  There’s nothing I’d love more than to spend the rest of the evening wrapped in his arms. But there’s also nothing that would ruin my career quicker. So with one last squeeze of his hand, I slip out the door.

  “Good night, Holt,” I whisper.

  He smiles back. “Sweet dreams.”

  But we both know sweet won’t even begin to describe what I’ll be dreaming of.

  18

  * * *

  EDEN

  “I think I’m going to freeze to death.”

  Gretchen pulls together the sides of her thick cardigan, frowning at me from across the wrought-iron table. When I invited her to have lunch with me this afternoon, I may have omitted the detail that I reserved a table on the patio, and she hasn’t stopped shivering from the moment we sat down.

  “You’re being dramatic,” I tease, grabbing my phone and swiping open the weather app for evidence. “See? Fifty-six degrees. It’s practically summer.”

  Okay, maybe I’m exaggerating, but so is she. Besides, with all the traveling I’ve been doing lately, I haven’t gotten the chance to enjoy my favorite season in my favorite city. From our table at this Back Bay brunch spot, we have
a stellar view of the Public Garden, where all the trees are blazing with bright yellows and deep reds. Fall in Boston is not to be missed.

  “Maybe this is considered summer in Antarctica,” Gretchen grumbles, warming up with a big sip of her chai tea. “Remind me why I haven’t moved to Bora Bora yet?”

  “Because there probably aren’t a lot of tax accountant positions open in the tropics,” I remind her. “And you’d miss me too much. Based on how much you’ve been texting me during away games, I think you might actually explode if we were permanently located in different time zones.”

  The mention of my travel schedule quickly takes her mind off the cold. Her eyes light up as she leans forward with both forearms planted on the table. “Yeah, Little Miss New Zip Code Every Weekend. How has everything been going?”

  “Pretty well.” I sip my oat-milk latte, dusting off the Titans scores I keep filed in the back of my mind. “We lost four to three against Detroit, but Cleveland was a huge victory, five to one. So fingers crossed for Toronto tonight. It’s sort of weird not being with the team this weekend, but it is nice to have some time off.”

  Gretchen’s frown is back and deeper than ever. “I read the hockey blogs, Eden. I know the scores. What I want to know is what your scorecard looks like with you-know-who.” She grins at me expectantly.

  We’re interrupted by our waitress, delivering Gretchen’s panini and my broccoli-and-cheddar soup. While my best friend picks the tomatoes out of her sandwich, I have a moment to choose my words. I knew this conversation was coming, but I didn’t exactly plan a script.

  “You’re not getting out of that question,” Gretchen says, pointing a sweet potato fry at me. “What happened with you and Holt?”

  “A few things happened,” I say slowly, dragging my spoon through my bowl and scooping up a heaping portion of soup. It’s warm and luxurious on my tongue, but more importantly, it buys me a few more precious moments before having to tell my best friend how wrong her advice was. “Turns out, your idea to get him out of my system wasn’t exactly effective.”

  She arches a brow at me, urging me to continue. “Go on.”

  “Well, against my better judgment, we hooked up twice,” I say, my focus more on my soup than on her. “Not sex, but you know . . .” My voice drops to a quiet murmur. “Other stuff.”

  “And?” she asks. “How did said other stuff go?”

  I sigh, looking down at the table between us. “All it did was make me want him more.”

  I’m expecting another frown in response, but when I glance at Gretchen, her lips are curled in a devious, self-satisfied smirk, like a supervillain hatching a plan. “I sort of had a feeling it would.”

  “What?” My voice errs on the side of too loud for a public conversation, but I’m too shocked to correct my volume. “Then why did you tell me it would get him out of my system?”

  She lifts a shoulder, a wicked gleam dancing through her green eyes. “Because he’s hot, and you wouldn’t have done it otherwise.”

  A laugh of disbelief threatens to sneak past my lips. “You’re crazy, you know that?”

  “No, you’re crazy,” she says insistently. “You’re the one who made us sit outside in the cold today. I’m just being a good friend and making sure you get laid.”

  This time, there’s no restraining my laughter.

  I can’t believe Gretchen, but with how absolutely incredible things with Holt have been, I probably should be thanking her. That is, as long as no one finds out about us. Otherwise, all this giddy excitement would blow up in my face and make everything about my position so much harder. I think the team is actually starting to respect me now.

  After I’ve had a few more spoonfuls of soup, my phone vibrates with a calendar reminder. One hour until I need to be at the arena. I swipe out of the notification, wave down the waitress, and ask for the check.

  “Are you leaving?” Gretchen asks, disappointed. “You haven’t even gotten to the juicy parts.”

  “We’re hosting a kids’ clinic at the arena today,” I say. “I have to be there early to give the opening remarks to a bunch of mini hockey legends in the making.”

  “Can’t the mini hockey legends wait a little bit longer?” She juts out her lower lip as far as it goes. “You can’t withhold details from me now.”

  “I can and I will,” I say, grinning as I scribble my signature across the bottom of the check and slip my credit card back into my wallet. Gretchen’s puppy-dog eyes don’t have power over me anymore, and even if they did, they can’t compete with work obligations.

  “Why don’t you just get Aspen to do it? The kids won’t know the difference between the team owner and the team owner’s assistant,” Gretchen points out.

  I roll my eyes. “Sure, and then I’ll just have Aspen run the whole team too, on top of managing my entire professional life.” Even if Aspen is amazing at her job, that would hardly be fair. I’m already conscious of how many hours she’s working—and it’s a lot.

  “Technically, that would make her Holt’s employer, right? Not you? Maybe then you could bang him without any guilt.” Gretchen’s eyebrows jump up and down suggestively, but I shoot her a stern look and she stops. “Sorry, sorry,” she grumbles, waving me off. “I’ll take care of the tip. Tell the kiddos I said hi.”

  “Thanks, Gretch. Gotta run.” I smile, tossing in a wave as I exit the patio.

  It’s a ten-minute walk back to my condo, just long enough for me to pop in my earbuds and listen to the first three songs on the playlist Holt shared with me. The gritty vocals and atmospheric guitar solos send adrenaline pulsing through my veins. He was right. This is the perfect pump-up music for any situation.

  By the time I make it home, I have forty-five minutes until I have to be at the arena, just long enough to put the finishing touches on my speech. A few run-throughs in my bathroom mirror later, I’m feeling confident and ready.

  Maybe the playlist wasn’t the only thing Holt was right about.

  As I rehearse the lines I wrote about believing in yourself and working as a team, I realize my words perfectly reflect what he said to me the other night. A team is more than just one player or one coach. It’s a living, breathing organism made up of different essential parts, and if I take on the pressure of the entire Titans organization, I’m going to crumple. I have to trust others to do their part, and focus on what’s in front of me.

  And today, that’s giving a speech to a bunch of eager ten-year-olds on skates.

  I’ve got this. I’m a Wynn, and Wynns don’t fail. Always Wynn, no matter what.

  I repeat the family mantra in my head as I slip into a pair of black booties and my camel-colored topcoat, giving the jeans and sweater I wore to lunch a bit of a professional edge. Not that these kids would mind if I showed up in an oversized hockey jersey, but this outfit makes me look as unstoppable as I feel right now.

  While I’m applying a fresh coat of lipstick, my phone buzzes with another calendar reminder. Only twenty minutes until speech time. Time to hustle. Luckily, there’s barely a heel on these booties, and I’m in the parking garage and slipping into my SUV in no time, rehearsing my speech in my head as I back out of the garage.

  “Ever since I was a little girl, hockey has been an important part of my—”

  Crunch.

  My stomach lurches back against my spine at the sound of metal crashing against metal.

  Oh God, no. Not right now. This can’t be happening.

  I squeeze my eyes shut, sucking in a breath through gritted teeth. But I can’t hide from what I’ve done forever, so I pry one eye open, then the other, turning cautiously to peek over one shoulder to assess the damage.

  Shit. I hit the freaking garage door. Way to go, Eden.

  A string of curse words pile up in my throat as I climb out of my car to inspect the damage on the garage door. I’ve seen worse, but I’ve also sure as hell seen better. When I click the button on the fob provided by the condo building to open the door, there�
�s a harsh gear-grinding sound, but no movement.

  Looks like my SUV isn’t going anywhere, and neither am I. So much for my speech to the next generation of Titans.

  My stomach churns with a nauseating combination of frustration and anger, mixed with a heavy dose of self-doubt. Just when I was starting to feel confident in my role, I go and do something completely stupid. I can’t even back out of my own parking garage without screwing it up, and I’m supposed to be in charge of a pro hockey team?

  As always, I do the only thing I know how to do in times like these. I pace. And then I pull my phone from my coat pocket and call the first person who comes to mind.

  “Hello?”

  Just the sound of Holt’s low, gravelly voice on the other end of the line brings my panic down from a ten to a seven.

  “I need your help,” I whisper, chewing anxiously at my lip as I begin my explanation about my car being stuck, but before I can say another word, he speaks.

  “I’ll be there as soon as I can.” His voice is cool and calm, providing instant relief to my tightly wound system.

  Either he was nearby, or he has no regard for speed limits, because hardly five minutes pass before Holt ducks under the partially open door of the garage. I’m leaning against the cold concrete wall, chomping on a hangnail, when he slips an arm around my waist, pressing a kiss into my hair.

  “Accident, huh?”

  I nod, trying to wrestle back the tears welling up in my eyes. I don’t know if I’m crying because of the car, or the fact that he was so quick to rush to my rescue. But either way, he wipes my tears with his thumbs, then pulls me against his chest, smoothing my hair with his palm.

  “It’s going to be okay, Eden. It’s just a little accident. Everyone is entitled to a few mistakes now and then.”