Page 38 of Hooking Up with the Hockey Player

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Anna

I kissed him. He kissed me. We kissed. A lot. Those few sentences play on repeat in my head the entire drive home like some kind of bizarre mantra.

The whole evening almost feels like an out-of-body experience. Who was that grinding on his lap on the beach? And by the fire?

It was me? How is that even possible?

And he wants to see me again tomorrow.

When I park my car in front of my apartment, I press my hands to my flaming cheeks for a moment before I climb out and go upstairs, still a little dazed.

I still can’t believe I kissed him before I left. Like not that we kissed, we’d done that enough by then that him kissing me wasn’t surprising. But the fact that I reached up and pulled his face to mine. After knowing the man for twenty-four hours.

God, it took weeks before I initiated a kiss with Jared.

Who is this woman who’s taken over my body? And how is she so comfortable with a practical stranger so quickly?

The truth is, as astonished as I am by my behavior, I don’t regret a second of it. I’d do it all again in a heartbeat.

You’ll get to tomorrow.

A grin spreads across my face as I close my door behind me and slip off my shoes, pulling out my phone to send a text to Troy as requested.

Made it home.

Troy

Glad to hear it. See you tomorrow.

I stare at his text for longer than necessary, reading it a few times before finally heading to my bedroom. I’m not ready for sleep yet. I have too much pent-up energy for that.

When I start to pull out fresh pajamas, I realize I smell like a campfire, so instead I move to the bathroom and turn on the shower. After undressing and tossing my clothes in the hamper, I brush out my hair. Standing in front of the mirror, I stop and take a minute to really look at my body. Slim shoulders. Full, pink-tipped breasts. Waist nipping in below my rib cage before rounding out to full hips. Classic hourglass but with a very short waist and big enough boobs that it makes finding flattering tops a bit of a challenge. After Brit’s mini styling tutorial the other night, I realize that most of my tops are on the boxy side, and according to her, I need shoulders that fit and waist emphasis so I don’t look like I’m drowning in my clothes. “Of the two, waist emphasis is the most important,” she said after telling me to knot my button-down shirt at my waist. Which was also why she had me wear a shirt tied around my waist tonight. It’s cute and sporty and a practical layering piece after the sun goes down, but also shows off my curves more.

And even though I’d felt somewhat uncomfortable with her advice at first, it’s because I’m so used to hiding. Even my wardrobe is evidence of that—shapeless clothes in neutral colors that make it easy for people to look past me.

“But I don’t want to hide anymore,” I whisper to my reflection. And I have a nice body, if I look at it objectively and ignore the remnants of Jared’s voice in my head that tries to tell me I should lose weight, and why can’t I be as thin as I was when we first met? And if I just worked out more or ate less or …

But I don’t want to eat less. I eat a reasonably balanced diet that includes the occasional treat. Though I have to admit that taking the canoe out was an enjoyable way to move. Maybe I should make more of an effort to go for walks or some of the easy hikes in the area now that it’s nice out. Because it feels good to move and be active and it’s good for my health, not because there’s something wrong with my body as it is.

And Troy seemed to like my body just fine. Heat rises to my cheeks as I remember very vividly how the evidence of his liking felt between my legs. One hand slips down my body, and I widen my stance so I can caress myself between my legs, my blush growing brighter at the slightly voyeuristic experience of watching my reflection as I touch myself.

Seized by the need to relieve the ache that I’ve reawakened between my thighs with my own touch combined with the memory of Troy’s, I step back into my bedroom, yank open the drawer of my bedside table, grab my favorite waterproof vibe, and head for the shower.

I draw it out, though. Not giving into the need for release right away. Instead, I take my time washing my hair and body, paying attention to the sensual pleasure of the hot water running down my body, the feel of my hands gliding over my skin as I wash and rinse, none of the usual perfunctory ablutions intended only to get me clean. No, this is much more than simple hygiene.

Pinching my nipples, I gasp, then reach for the vibrator. Propping one leg on the edge of the tub, I turn it on, but I’ve teased myself enough that I can’t handle more. I put it right on my clit, rubbing in small circles, turning it up when I need more, and in almost no time, I’m gasping and shuddering with the release, wondering what it would’ve been like if Troy could’ve participated.

Will I find out tomorrow?

“Good, you’re finally here!” Brit exclaims, standing from the picnic table she’s claimed outside of Stephanie’s Creperie.

I check my phone, noting that it’s exactly eleven o’clock. “I’m not late,” I protest.

She waves that away, reaching for a hug. “I know. But I’m horribly impatient. I’ve been dying to know what happened last night since you called me beforehand.” Making shooing motions with her hands, she says, “Hurry up and order. Then come tell me everything.”

Unable to hold in my nervous laughter, I pat her on the back, then step away from her hug. “Okay, okay. Give me a sec.”

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