The last time I saw Deanna, she dragged me into a quilt shop. Our fuck-buddy relationship went from sex only a few times a week to her asking me if I’d go shopping with her. A no was on the tip of my tongue until she said she’d make it worth my while. Whenever those words come out of Deanna’s mouth, the woman follows through.
So, I went shopping.
Except, Deanna didn’t buy a damn thing. She browsed for a bit before she pulled me into the quilt shop. I followed along aimlessly, ready for the part that would make it worth it, when we suddenly found ourselves in the back of the store in what appeared to be the break room.
“Have sex with me.” That’s what she said seconds before she grabbed my neck and pulled me down for the hottest kiss between us yet, and things are always off the fucking charts with Deanna. I had no time to object but only once before I was having sex with her in the break room of a quilt store.
I dragged her out the moment we were done. She had a big grin on her face and because I knew she was watching me carefully for a reaction, I gave none. If I was caught having sex in public? God, it could’ve been so bad. I’m still waiting for the owners of the shop to review their security cameras, catch us, and send the police to my house with the appropriate charges. She also didn’t get a reaction because I was pissed. How could this one woman so easily without saying more than four words get me to have sex with her in a public place? It’s insane!
Hot, but insane.
That was when I knew for sure that I definitely couldn’t make an exception for her. So before the season started last week, I had sex with her one last time. It’s been a week and a half, we’re on the road, and I’ll be damned if that woman didn’t get under my skin. I can’t stop thinking about seeing her once we get back.
Deanna is a bad idea, though. She pushes me out of my comfort zone. First with the karaoke singing, which I’m still hearing shit about, and then with the sex in the quilt shop. She’ll be a distraction during the season and that is something I refuse to have, even for some of the best sex I’ve ever had.
And it’s absolutely the best sex of my life.
However, I can’t have her fucking things up for me. My new mantra should be Say no to Deanna.
My focus is hockey. Always has been. I’ve never been able to find a balance between hockey and my life when hockey is in season. It’s why I’m in my thirties, single as they come, and my last serious relationship was over five years ago. I want to bring this team further in the playoffs. I want to hold the best trophy in all of sports over my head, and I want my teammates to be able to do the same. The last thing I need is a woman to distract me from my goals.
And Deanna is the kind of woman who could knock me flat on my ass and destroy everything around me in the process.
“Damn, I’m ready to get home,” EJ says as he sits down next to me with a plate of food. “I miss my princess.” His princess is his infant daughter who he learned about at the end of last season.
“Did you ever find a nanny?”
He scoffs. “Bree goes through nannies like they’re diapers.”
“Bree does or you do?”
He glares at me while he stabs his fork into his pasta. “My mom hasn’t liked any of them either. The search is being tabled for the moment. I’ll know the perfect nanny when I meet her. You still seeing your karaoke girl?”
That’s what they’ve decided to call Deanna since I won’t reveal her name. I shake my head.
“Something happen?” EJ asks. He’s brave to ask, but we’ve become a bit of friends. Not to say my teammates aren’t my friends, but we don’t normally hang out if hockey isn’t involved in some way. My mom was a single parent and EJ is raising his daughter with the help of his mother. I’ve offered to babysit. He’s never taken me up on the offer, but he’s invited me over to hang out and his daughter kind of likes me. So, we hang out some, which is why he probably feels he can ask.
“Season started,” I answer.
“So? You don’t fuck during the season?”
“Leave me alone, EJ.” I don’t like talking about this shit and I’m not talking about it with him, especially when so many of my teammates are around. No wonder my friends are few and far between. I keep to myself too much.
“Okay, okay. Want to see the latest picture of Bree that Ma sent me?” He’s already pulling his phone out, and his daughter is a more enjoyable topic of conversation than I am.
Soon, we’re on the ice for a game against Detroit. Our season is off to a hot start, having won four of our five previous games. I try not to think too much about past games or future games. Only the here and now. Only what’s right in front of me.
Right now, the puck is on my stick. We’ve had a few opportunities to score so far, but no one has slipped the puck past either goalie. I want to change that. I don’t have an opening, so I pass to Nathan O’Donnell, who is waiting. He rears his stick back, the puck flies through the air, hits the arm of a player, but still makes it past the goalie.
One to zero.
We work hard, once spending almost two minutes in Detroit’s zone peppering their goalie with shots and keeping them from clearing the zone. It also wouldn’t truly be the start of the season if I didn’t hook one of their players. It’s my first hooking penalty of the season. I don’t know why I have this bad habit or why I can’t seem to rid myself of it, but I hate it. It’s like the same way my muscles are familiar with skating, they’re familiar with reaching out and hooking someone.
I’ve been able to reduce the number of times I do it a season, so there seems to be hope that I can eliminate the habit altogether. My team is able to kill off the penalty with only a few close calls. Once I make it back to the bench, Marco slaps my shoulder.
“Thanks.”
“For what?”
“We placed bets on when you’d get your first hooking penalty and a few of us, myself included, had this game.”
“Fuck off.” I shove him away. He’s the exact type of person who can be distracting during a game. That’s fine...if he’s distracting our opponent.
I get onto the ice for my shift, happy to focus on the one thing that matters the most to me. This is all I have and it won’t last forever. I plan to give it two hundred and ten percent, which means I don’t have room for anything, or anyone, else.
“My birthday is coming up.”
I laugh. “Yeah, Mom. I know. I’m shopping for your present today.”
She gasps, but it’s all for dramatic effect. “You’re just now shopping for my present, Brayden?”
“Cut me some slack. I was on the road for the past two weeks.”
“Which is the perfect time to find me something while you’re traveling.”
“Too late for that now. Is there anything in particular you want?” I ask.
“Oh,” she starts and I can picture her waving her hand. “You know I don’t need anything.”
True, but... “Not what I asked.”
She’s quiet for a moment before finally admitting that she would like a new clock for her mantel. That’s my mom; the most exciting thing she can ask her son for is a clock. She doesn’t like asking for anything, though, after having raised me on her own with little help. She’s stubborn, too. When she gives in and tells me what she wants, best believe that’s what she gets.
We talk while I drive, but hang up once it’s time for me to shop. My mom doesn’t ask if there is a woman in my life. She gave that up a few years ago. Should it mean something when a mother doesn’t ask her only son about any potential wives and, by extension, grandchildren? It seems as if she’s given up on that idea. It’s not that it’ll never happen, but it’s not my current focus.
And yet...
I can’t help but be reminded of the last time I was shopping. I haven’t heard from Deanna since the last time I saw her, but then, when she gave me her number the morning after I first met her, her words were, “Use it if you want to see me again.”
She never texted me wanting to have sex. It’s not surprising that she hasn’t texted. She did spout something about how she had a fuck buddy, so she’s probably been satisfied by him the past two weeks. Meanwhile, I can’t stop thinking about her. This is exactly why she needs to stay out of my life. She’s already fucking with my head. The only time she’s out of my head is when I’m on the ice.
I spend the next hour shopping for a clock and avoiding thoughts of Deanna. I find the clock, but am walking around the outdoor shopping center when my feet lead me to the door of the fucking quilt shop. I really don’t know what it is about this woman. We mostly fuck. She likes to talk some after sex, but not in a getting-to-know-you kind of way. The only personal question she asked was the night we met. She asked me again about my job. She wanted to know what I did and I froze. I blurted out that I was a financial analyst. That’s my normal go-to lie if I’m lying about my job. Girls think it’s boring and they don’t ask questions.
I’m about to return to my car, but stop short when I see Deanna, smiling and laughing as she stands behind the counter, chatting with a customer. She works here? Before I can think twice, I storm through the door. Her eyes widen when she sees me. Luckily, the customer is walking away.
“What the fuck, Deanna?”
She takes my hand, calls someone to take over the register, and leads me back to the break room. “Okay, so surprise,” she smiles, “I own this place. We were never going to get caught, but it was fun to think you might, right?”
What? “You’re fucking crazy.”
That causes her to grin. “You’ve been worried about it, haven’t you?” She laughs, covering her mouth with her hand. “I’m sorry, Brayden, really, but I wanted to push you a little without actually putting us in any danger. My employee that day happened to be my best friend, so it all worked out.” Her fingers walk up my chest.
“I hate you.”
“Yet you still want to fuck me, don’t you?” She smirks.
I grab her hand when she starts walking her hands downward.
“What’s in the bag?” she asks when I don’t reply because yes I want to fuck her, but I’m having a hard time remembering why I don’t want to.
“A present for my mother.”
Deanna plucks the bag from my hands and peers inside. “A clock?” she asks with curiosity.
“It’s what she asked for.”
She hands the bag back to me and glances around the room. “So, it’s been two weeks.” Her eyes flick up to mine and I grin.
“And?”
She shrugs. “You barged into my shop. Just making conversation.”
“I got an explanation, so it sounds like I can leave.” She frowns, and I add, “Unless there’s something you want to ask me?”
Deanna folds her arms over her chest. I have a feeling she’s never had to ask her fuck buddies for sex; they’ve always reached out to her. She wants me? She can ask for me. I grab her hips and pull her flush against me.
“You like to play games with me, Deanna.” I lean forward to press a kiss to her jaw. “I don’t like playing your games.” That makes her laugh and I kiss her neck. Her back arches as my mouth travels to her chest to place a kiss on what cleavage she has exposed. A breathy moan catches in her throat and she grabs the back of my head. “Sounds like you want me to fuck you again. Do you?” I bring my mouth up to hers, but I don’t kiss her yet.
“I don’t like your games.”
I chuckle. “We’re even then.”
Her hand tightens in my hair before she breathes her answer, “Yes please.”
I kiss her finally. Kissing her is never enough. I’ve only been with her a handful of times, but I know that already. There’s too much tension, her mouth a source of too much pleasure, and the woman doesn’t know how to keep her hands to herself or in relatively safe zones. I pull away before her hand gets too close to the waistband of my jeans. “Come to my house tonight.”
She hesitates for a moment. “I have plans.”
“More important plans?”
“I can be swayed to cancel if you’ll feed me.”
I shake my head. “See me tomorrow.” At her frown, I add, “I’ll feed you then.” I don’t like the idea of being responsible of her canceling whatever plans she has. I give her one more kiss and leave. It’s not until I get to my truck that I groan with mild regret. I was doing just fine until I saw her again. Without trying, the woman draws me to her.
One more time can’t hurt, right?