Page 22 of Securing the Pucking Rebound

“Thanks for the ride.”

“Anytime. Call us if you need anything,” Rett says as I release the seat belt and push the door open. “And if I find anything out about the sexual preferences of my teammates, you’ll be the first to know.”

“Appreciate that. Have a good night.”

“You, too.”

I stand on the sidewalk, ready to wave them off, but it soon becomes clear that Rett isn’t leaving until he’s seen me inside.

Ugh, who’d have thought Everett Donnelly was such a gentleman?

With a little wave, I concede and walk toward the building and let myself in.

The second I meet the fresh scent in the lobby, my smile widens.

“Good evening, Miss Wentworth,” the concierge greets. I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting this one yet.

“Hi, please call me Sienna,” I say, introducing myself.

“Sienna,” he says with a nod. “I’m Clint.”

“Nice to meet you, Clint.”

“Vipers fan, I see. Did you go to the game?”

And that’s how I manage not to walk into my apartment for another forty-five minutes.

It’s not until the door closes behind me that I realize just how tired I am. I kick my sneakers off at the door, drop my purse on the kitchen counter, and then march straight through to my bedroom. It isn’t until I’m standing in my bathroom in just my underwear that the noise hits me.

Music.

Loud, bass-pounding music.

I listen for a moment, trying to figure out where exactly it’s coming from before I tip my head back and look up at the ceiling.

I narrow my eyes in warning, as if that’ll be enough for whoever is up there to turn the volume down. Obviously, it doesn’t work, and I force myself to ignore it as I go through my skincare routine, braid my hair, and then climb into bed once I’ve got my pajamas on.

The noise might be annoying, even more so considering how much I’m going to be paying for this place, but it’s quieter than my old apartment. I just have to hope whoever it is doesn’t party into the early hours every day.

Despite the exhaustion pulling at my muscles, as I lie there with the beat of my neighbor’s music as a backing track, my mind refuses to shut off.

The adrenaline of the game and the fun of the evening are still buzzing through me.

I think of everything that happened, but no matter where my head goes, I always end up back at the bar, talking to Killer. There was something in the way he looked at me, something in the beaten-down tone he spoke with. And then there was the way he blatantly hit on me. It wasn’t the first time, and I’m sure it won’t be the last—that’s the kind of guy he is. But it hit a little differently tonight.

Maybe it’s just because I spent the day listening to Garrett talk about his conquest last night and how much fun easy sex is. It’s reminded me of just how long it’s been. Wait…no. I’ve never had the kind of sex that Garrett was talking about. The kind where you leave your inhibitions at the door and just let yourself enjoy the ride. But as much as I might need it, I know I’m not going to find it. The thought of hooking up with a random guy, getting naked with him, and letting him see all of me…Ugh. It sends shivers of fear racing down my spine.

I allow my mind to wander, imagining where Killer ended up with the girl he left with. He’s probably giving her that kind of all-consuming sex right now. She’s probably clawing at his back with her nails, screaming at him to take her harder.

Shit. Now I’m imagining what he might look like while he fucks her. His hair falling over his forehead, his skin glistening with sweat, his abs pulling tight as he drives into her.

Before I know what I’m doing, I have my nightstand drawer open, and I'm pulling my vibrator out.

My sleep shorts get shoved down my legs, and the second I press my buzzing toy to my clit, I gasp.

Oh yeah, this is what I needed.

I groan, filthy thoughts of a hockey player I don’t want filling my head. Only now, the girl in question isn’t the brunette he left with, it’s me. I’m the one clawing at his back, screaming out my demands for more.