You know what? I’ve dated dozens of women. Dozens. And none of them ever made me feel the way I did about Rori. What was that? Why was that?

When I got home from dropping her off, I made a fucking beeline to my shower where I jacked off, coming harder than I had in a long time. I did the same this morning with the same results. Goddamn, if I was coming this hard without her, I couldn’t even imagine it with her. Jesus.

My phone rang at ten.

“Hey, you have a good time last night?” I asked Carson.

“The best! Although when we got home, Myles acted like a big baby when I tried taking his eyeliner off.”

“Who was he again?”

“Billie Joe Armstrong,” she answered.

“Uh.”

“Good lord. From Green Day. Don’t you listen to the radio?” she scolded.

“Yeah, but just because I hear their songs doesn’t mean I know who the fuck they are.”

“Some DJ you are,” she said with a chuckle. “So, you wanna come to lunch?”

“I have a date.”

“A date on a Sunday? Damn. Sundays are your sacred days. Game days,” she said with a deep voice mocking me.

“We’re not playing right now.”

“I know, but you’re Mr. OCD and can’t change anything. So I’m impressed. Who is she?”

I cleared my throat knowing she was gonna get all excited and shit. “Rori Flannigan.”

“Cinnamon Roll Queen?” she squealed. “Yes! You’re finally using the brain in that big bobblehead of yours.”

“Speaking of, Jack called yesterday saying another ten boxes of them came in, so I’ll get a couple for Tinley and Sam,” I said.

Jack had ordered 1000 bobbleheads that supposedly looked like me—if I had a big, wobbly head and a tiny body—last month and had sold them to the local gas stations, the proceeds of which went to KIDS Klub, and the stations had sold them to the public for two dollars apiece. According to Jack, all the stations sold out in four days and were asking for more. I’d told him to double it to 2000 this time, and we’d see how it went.

“I want one too!” Carson begged.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“You damn sure will if you want to see your niece and nephew ever again.” She laughed then asked, “Hey, what are you doing on your date?”

“Lunch then a Capitals game.”

“Oh, okay. I was gonna invite you all here, but you do you.”

“I will,” I said chuckling.

“You think she could be the one?”

“Hanging up now. Love you, bye,” I said and hit “End.”

That was the last thing I needed, to be questioned by my sister. I know I said I had questions to ask her, but I decided to wing it. This was confusing enough as it was then to have Carson trying to coach me through it all.

“That’s high sticking!” Rori stood up and yelled, holding her hands up trying to get the ref’s attention.

When she sat down, I asked, “So, you’re a big hockey fan?”

“No. I’ve just heard my brothers yell that.”

I burst out laughing, putting my arm around her and pulling her head over to kiss the side of it. “You’re a nut.”

We had great seats at center ice and right at the glass, so we could see everything.

Lunch had been great at a small deli she’d suggested that made a great pastrami sandwich. Our conversation had flowed so effortlessly, and I’d had a great time.

Now at the hockey game, I was having an even better time watching her trying to keep up with the old man a couple seats from us who was yelling all kinds of things which she’d repeat. I wasn’t a huge hockey fan, so watching her was entertainment enough.

At the end of the first period, I went to pee then stopped by the concession stand to get us a couple beers.

When I handed her the cup, she said, “You should’ve seen these little kids that got out here and played! They were so cute! You’ll have to stay here for the next intermission to see if they play again!”

The next period went the same, Rori joining the old dude in yelling and me loving every minute of it. When intermission came, she turned and smiled at me, waiting to see if the little kids came back. Imagine her disappointment when a team of bikini-laden women came out in skates to play.

“Damn. I wanted the kids again,” she pouted.

But then she got into that short game like she had the real one, and screamed in excitement when one woman smashed another into the glass right in front of us.

The woman who’d done the smashing skated away, but the smashee stayed put, fixing her bikini top because her double Ds had just about made an appearance, then I froze when I saw who it was. Nevaeh. Fuck.

I pulled my beer up in front of my face and looked away hoping she wouldn’t see me, but we were right there. Of course, as luck would have it, she noticed me.

“Hey, handsome. Remember these?” she asked and shook her boobs at me.

She then made kissy lips at me sending me several air kisses, and grinning big, held her thumb to her ear and her pinky to her mouth and said, “Call me!” before skating off.

Well damn.

I sat staring straight ahead at nothing as I waited for Rori to say something. It took a couple minutes before she finally spoke.

“So, is that one of the ones I took your order for?”

I’d bought dozens of flowers over the years from her friend’s shop, but of course, this had to be one of the women she’d taken my order for.

I cleared my throat, shifting in my seat. “Uh, yeah.”

Leaning forward, she looked out at the ice and said, “Let’s see if I can guess which one she is. Is it Nevaeh birthmark or is it Bethany blond hair? Which one is it.” Her fingers were at her chin as she tapped one curiously against her mouth watching the women playing. Suddenly, she yelled, “Aha! I think I see a birthmark!” She looked at me where I’d scrunched down in my seat trying to not be too noticeable to the fans around me. “It’s Nevaeh, right?”

I nodded then shook my head right after because good God.

The women were finally done and skated off, but not until Nevaeh turned and waved at me, then the Capitals returned to the ice.

I knew it was coming, so I just kept quiet. I’ve learned over the years that women have a huge need for details so I waited. And I knew better than to tell her we’d talk about it later because those words only exist for women when they’re coming out of their mouths.

You know I’m right, ladies.

Halfway through that last period, the questions came and I knew it was crucial to be honest.

“So, do all your old girlfriends look like that?”

“Like what?” I asked.

 “Big boobs, tiny waists and some junk in their trunk?” she questioned.

“Pretty much.”

“Hm.” She looked back at the ice then back at me. “How many girlfriends like that would you say you’ve had?”

Shit.

I scratched the side of my neck, first because it itched and second to have my hand ready in case she tried hitting me. “Around thirty.”

Rori stared at me.

I remained quiet and stared straight ahead. It was the right thing to do.

“Are all of them since you’ve played pro ball?”

I nodded.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw her doing the math in her head.

“So, we’re talking six women a year, so one every two months for the past five years?”

“Roughly.”

She nodded, looking back out at the rink for a few minutes. Turning back, she asked, “So did you love any of them?”

I laughed. “Fuck no.”

She narrowed her eyes at me. “None?”

I shook my head as she turned back to the rink.

And I waited.

“Did you sleep with all of them?”

Fuck.

I looked at her and said, “Yes,” hating when the hurt flashed in her eyes for a second.

She turned away again to watch the game and I stayed silent.

A moment later, she asked, “Were you in love with any of them?”

“No.”

She glanced at me checking to see if I was lying, I supposed, then she asked. “Have you ever been in love?”

“Once and once I thought I was until I figured out I wasn’t.”

“What happened?”

“First or second one?”

“Second,” she chose.

“She owned a dress shop downtown. We dated for six months. I thought I loved her but I didn’t.” I shrugged.

“How’d you break up?”

“She became really demanding of my time, whining when I had out-of-town games, and that didn’t work for me, so I broke it off.”

“And the first?”

“I was a junior in college. Dated a cheerleader for a year and a half. I thought she was the love of my life until I caught her with a baseball player.”

“She broke your heart.”

“Pretty much.”

A couple minutes later, she turned. “Was Nevaeh your last one since we met? Or have there been others since?”

“Last one.”

More math in her head as she calculated the date I’d shown up in the flower shop.

“So, three weeks?”

I nodded because I thought that sounded right.

Now we were down to the critical part where she’d either ask me to take her home and never want to see me again, or she’d accept that I’d had my fun and we’d move on to having our own great sex and when it was over between us, no hard feelings. Not to sound like an asshole, but I’d been through it a dozen times before.

Just as the final horn sounded, she turned and said, “Okay.”

All right then. I stood and took her hand, leading her up the steps ready to take her back to my place for a bit of fun of our own.

“Castle!” a little kid hollered when we got to the top. I looked over to see a boy of about nine looking at me excitedly, smiling like crazy. “Dad! It’s The BFD!” he said, pointing at me.

I laughed and walked their way, Rori in tow.

“Will you autograph my cap?” the boy asked. “And can we take a picture?”

“Sure, buddy,” I said, taking the cap he held out and a pen from his father, signing it, “The BFD #6.”

“Hey, lady, will you take our picture?” the kid asked Rori as he held a phone out to her.

“Uh, sure,” she replied.

I stood between father and son, smiling as she took a couple pictures then handed the phone back to the dad.

“Thanks, Castle!” the boy cried as we walked away.

This happened twelve more times. I mean, I could’ve requested special treatment and all, sitting in a box and going out back doors and shit, but I liked my fans and liked to be around them and it made me happy to see them happy.

By the time I turned and waved at the last kid, I was ready to go. Grabbing Rori’s hand, I pulled her to the concourse where we took an elevator down. On the ground floor, I pulled the collar of my jacket up tighter hoping to disguise myself some, and we made it out of the arena without another fan encounter.

“Does that happen all the time?” she asked.

“Part of the job,” I said, with a shrug.

What I did take advantage of was the parking, so we were at my truck in no time where I held the door for her to get in.

On the drive back, I asked, “Your place or mine?”

“Mine, please? It’s almost nine and I have to get up at four-thirty.”

I turned my head to her quickly. “Seriously?”

“Yep. The store opens at six, so to make sure I’ve got all the goodies ready, I have to be there by five.”

“Damn.”

“It was hard to get used to at first, but I’m good now with going to bed by nine,” she stated.

“You were up until after one last night,” I reminded.

“Yeah, but I knew I could sleep in this morning, so it was okay. Plus, you didn’t see me yawning at the beginning of the night.” She chuckled.

“How long have you owned the bakery?” I inquired.

“Going on three years.”

Deciding it was my turn to put her in the answer chair, I asked, “So, who’s Noah?”

I saw her fiddle with her jacket zipper before she said, “My ex-fiancé.”

“When did he become your ex?”

“A year ago last August.”

“Why’d you break it off?” I questioned.

“Well, we’d been together for four years, since our sophomore year in college. We did everything together. He even almost went in on the shops, thank God he didn’t, and my family considered him family and vice versa.” I looked over at her to see her playing with her zipper again.

“And?”

She blew out a breath. “Our wedding was three weeks away and we’d met with the wedding photographer the month before to get everything planned out. I was busy with the cake and decorations and bridesmaids’ dresses and all the other little things that go with weddings. But one day I realized I hadn’t paid the photographer, so I stopped by, because you have to pay these people or someone else will come along and take them right from under your nose.”

She was rambling so I assumed she’d gotten nervous telling me about something so personal.

A moment later she continued. “So, I showed up at the photographer’s studio, check in hand, and when I got there, I was shocked to see Noah there. I asked him what was going on, and he started crying then finally admitted he wasn’t in love with me anymore. He was in love with the photographer.”

Oh, fuck. What a bastard.

I reached over and took her hand then rested the back of mine on the console.

“So we broke off the engagement.”

“Is he still with this woman?” I asked.

I saw her body start to shake and knew she wasn’t over this asshole if she was still crying over him.

I waited a bit then squeezing her hand, I asked, “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” she bawled.

Great. Well, goodbye, Rori Flannigan. It’s been nice knowing you.

“I actually think they’re getting married,” she said, voice shaky and I turned to see that she hadn’t been crying, she’d been laughing.

“What’s so funny?”

“It’s just so screwed up. We’d been together for four years and he was gay the whole time! He promised he never cheated on me, but he said he’d been scared to come out to me and especially to his family. The funniest part is, his family was so accepting of it, which meant he’d wasted four years with me, almost freaking married me, worried about what they’d say. All he had to do was tell them and it would’ve been fine and I could’ve been spared the heartache.”

I looked at her. “And you’re over him?”

Her brow wrinkled. “You know, I am. I hung on for a long time, but I know now it wasn’t him I was hanging on to. I was hanging on to what I thought was true and right when it was nothing of the sort.”

I parallel parked in front of her apartment building like I had the night before, turning to her, waiting for her to ask me up.

“I had so much fun today! Thank you for that! You don’t have to walk me up,” she stated, then leaned over and gave me a peck goodnight before leaving my truck and going inside her building.

Seriously?

I pulled my phone from my pocket and called her and got sent straight to voicemail. I hung up and called again. Voicemail again.

“’The fuck?” I mumbled wondering what was going on.

I tried one last time and she answered. “Hey!”

“You okay?” I asked.

“I’m fine, why?”

“Well, we had a pretty hot makeout session last night and tonight all I get is a peck?” I explained.

She was quiet for a beat before asking, “And you want another hot makeout session?”

I huffed out a laugh. “That my only option?”

She’d lit up for me last night and I wanted more of that. Now. And she’d shut me down.

“What else do you want?” she asked, her voice low and sexy.

“I wanna fuck you, Rori,” I admitted.

“I wanna fuck you too, Calder, but I don’t want to be out on the ice one night sometime in the future and see you with another woman as I jiggle my boobs at you before blowing you kisses.”

Shit. Was she already wanting a commitment?

“What do you want, Rori?”

“I’d like to go out on more than one date before completely sharing my body with you.”

That seemed reasonable.

“I can do that.”

“Good!”

“What’re you doing tomorrow night?” I asked and heard her laugh. “What?”

“There’s not a magic number on dates and we can’t rush anything. What I meant was I want to get to know you better before, you know.”

“I can do that too.”

“Good. I’ll talk to you later, Calder. Goodnight.”

“’Night, Rori,” I said and hung up.

The whole way back to my house I wondered if I really could do this.