Page 53 of My Pucking Perfect Goalie

BeforeIcan stop myself, I say, “Why did you apologize?”

With the words in the air between us, Sammy pulls back, his eyes finding mine, something like confusion there. With one hand, he reaches down and hikes his pants back up around his hips, and I get one last eyeful of him before he disappears behind his jeans.

“After…in the hotel room,” I clarify, embarrassed at how vulnerable I sound. I’m a grown woman with many one-night-stands and short relationships under my belt. There’s no reason why I should be nervous to ask Sammy about this.

And yet.

“I…” he says, closing his eyes and letting out a long breath. “I felt like an ass. You gave me that whole speech about being a woman in this industry, and what it would mean for you if people thought you were involved with your clients. Then I kissed you, and…I thought you regretted it. I didn’t want you to think I didn’t care.”

I sit, stunned, staring at him. He thought I wasangry.

“Oh,” I manage to say, and Sammy grins.

“So?” he asks, voice lowering as his eyes drop to my lips.

“So?”

“Should we—?” He stops, assessing me, his expression changing. I watch, in real time, as something like confidence rolls over his features.

“We should do this again, Finn.”

It’s impossible for me to think with him this close, his entire bare torso stretched out in front of me. As much as I’ve been working on improving his body, I can’t deny it’s pretty fucking great as it is.

Without answering him, I reach up, running my hands over his pecks, hearing his little inhale when I scrape my nails over his nipples. For the first time in a long, long time, I let myselflookat Sammy Braun.

Every time he was changing in front of me, or shirtless for a conditioning session, I’d force myself to look away. Focus on something else. But now—now I let my eyes wander over his stomach, broad and strong, those muscles stacked up and corded. They tighten and release as I trail my fingers overthem, listening to the rapid sound of Sammy’s breathing echoing through the room.

I’ve been so focused on building my career all this time that I thought how nice it feels to give into temptation every once in a while. Would it really be so bad to have something—a fling? To work through some stress with a gorgeous man instead of the same old, tired vibrator?

“Okay,” I say finally, not fully believing the word is coming out of my mouth. “Yes.”

“Okay?” he asks, the word like a breath. Maybe that’s because I’m touching him, or maybe that’s because he can’t quite believe it himself. Either way, I like the sound, and I chase after it, applying more pressure on my way back up his torso.

“Yes,” I breathe, finally reaching his shoulders. I watch the goosebumps break out over his skin as I trace lazy circles there. “Nobody can know—obviously. And at the first sign that it impacts your performance poorly, we’re done. And if you ever,evertell anyone about it, I will hit you with a case of defamation so fast it will make your head spin.”

“Anything else?” He’s grinning, like being sued by me would be an honor. I roll my eyes.

“We’re still going after Harper,” I say. “And just—just to clarify, this isno strings. Got that? I’m going home, back to California, at the end of the season, as originally planned. There is noversion of this reality in which we fall in love, and I move to Vermont and we have a syrupy little family.”

The last few words are dripping with sarcasm, but they twist in my chest. There is no version of the future in which I have a family with Sammy Braun. The way things are looking, there’s no future in which I have a family, period.

“Whatever you want, Finn,” Sammy says, his eyes dark as they flick down to my lips. “You can write up a contract—I’ll sign it. No strings. No Vermont. No maple syrup. Just put in there that I get to come with you when you go home for Christmas.”

“Oh,” I laugh, shaking my head. “I’m not going home for Christmas.”

What I don’t add isThere’s nothing to go home to.

“But Penny was booking a flight,” Sammy says, brow wrinkling. “Round trip. Los Angeles.”

“Yes, for herself. She’s flying home to see her family.”

“So…who are you spending the holidays with?”

I already don’t like the direction this is going—the puppy dog look in his eyes. The way he’s staring down at me, like I’m a lost little orphan.

Maybe I am, but I don’t want to be treated like one.

“Myself,” I say, using the confident tone that shouts,I need nobody.

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