Page 46 of Risking the Pucking Defense

I nod, happy with that short and sweet answer.

Leaving my cell behind, I take my wine, swipe my book from my coffee table, and return to the bathroom, where I run a bath and sink into the bubbles, ready to finish my week off properly.

But as much as I try to relax, I can’t.

Despite the scalding-hot water, I’m tense. And as much as I might want to lose myself in my book, I keep reading and rereading the same couple of sentences.

My mind keeps drifting to Hayden and his sneaky little suitcase trick.

Okay, I might have jumped to conclusions. It might have been an accident. He wasn’t in a good place; it would have been easy to forget which side of the truck each case was on.

But despite that, I still don’t believe it.

He did it on purpose. I’d put money on it.

And the question is, what’s he going to do about it?

13

HAYDEN

Ilie on my bed, staring at that damn suitcase.

I knew exactly what I was doing when I “accidentally” picked mine up and handed it to her.

It was stupid. But in that moment, seconds before I was going to have to say goodbye to her, I needed a reason to see her again.

I knew she’d never agree to just hang out with me. Linc and Parker’s engagement party and then the wedding are the only personal events I’ve seen her attend since I started with the Vipers last season. She doesn’t hang out with the guys or anyone from the franchise, from what I can see. I get it; she keeps her work and personal life separate. But while I respect that, I also want to see her again.

It’s selfish. But…I do. And I don’t just mean at the arena, when she’s got a clipboard clutched to her chest and she’s barking orders at everyone. I mean, just the two of us. I want a repeat of my hotel room, where I felt able to just be myself. She allowed me to be sad. She didn’t judge me when I cried on her shoulder, and more than all that, she understood.

She never said anything more about her brother, but she said enough.

She’s been through something similar. She’s suffered a loss that changed everything she knew about life. I don’t need to know the details, just like she hasn’t asked for mine. She just…knows, and there’s something so comforting in that.

The guys have been fantastic. And of course, they’ve all experienced some kind of loss throughout their lives, but it’s different with them. I don’t crave sitting beside them like I do Hailee. We don’t even need to talk. Just her presence is enough to settle everything that’s been erupting within me for months—hell, years—now.

The temptation to pull some clothes on, pick up her suitcase, and drive over there now is tempting. But I force myself to stay put.

I haven’t heard anything since I sent that stupid “okay.” I was trying to play it cool and pretend that I didn’t set all this up. Trying to cover up just how much I needed her to message and demand I bring it over immediately.

It was obvious that it was never going to happen. She hasn’t noticed that she took the wrong suitcase home for five days. There’s nothing inside there that she’s needed all week. I can’t imagine she suddenly needs something on a Friday night.

My mind races with what could be inside. I haven’t opened it. And I won’t. But I really fucking want to. The need to find out more about her is almost too much to ignore. What brand of perfume does she wear that ensures she always smells so sweet and tempting? What products does she use to have her face so bright and clear? What kind of panties…

Lock it down, Monroe.

I grit my teeth and try not to let my imagination run away with me, but it’s hard. Really fucking hard. Pun intended.

I shove my hand into my boxers and squeeze myself as those images keep circling in my head. I bet she wears those sexy lace ones that cut halfway across her ass. And of course, her bra will always match. She’s too much of a control freak for anything else.

In my head, that morning in my hotel room takes a turn. When she jumps out of bed, it isn’t to run away; it’s to strip off her tank and shorts. She was braless, so I don’t get to find out if she’s matching, but who the fuck cares when I get her bare breasts instead? They’re small, and so fucking perfect, and her panties are exactly as I expected, but when my eyes drop to the juncture of her thighs, I find that there’s a wet patch on the pretty pink lace.

Goddamn.

“Come back to bed,” I rasp, and she does. Slowly, she walks toward me, her tits bouncing with each step, before her knees press against the mattress.

I shove my boxers down to my hips, my hand moving faster, stroking my dick up and down as I imagine her lying back down before me.