Page 4 of Fall Wherever They May

“Where the hell do you come up with this shit?” I laugh, picking the label from my beer bottle. Aiden is from Dallas, Texas, and he is as country as they come.

“I don’t know. What I do know is she’s hotter than a tweaker’s spoon in a trap house on payday.”

A deep, wheezing laugh burst out of me. I cough into my fist as I try to breathe through the laughter. I’m doubled over, my face heated, trying to catch a breath.

The guys and I hung out well into Sunday morning. I nursed a hangover from hell all day Sunday. Fuck, I haven’t been that hungover since my early college days. Of course, I don’t really drink, so it’s no surprise I spent the day lying around with the worst headache known to man. Once you hit thirty, your body changes, and I realized yesterday that I’m no spring chicken. After spending Monday morning running my usual errands, I hit the gym at the hockey facility.

When I’m in the gym, I lose myself. I shed my concerns and focus solely on releasing frustrations. There’s no media circus, no facade to put on, and if I get here early enough, there’s no best friend breathing down my neck to “live life.” Mondays are my days to mentally prepare for the week, so I do light weights and forego someone here to spot me. Despite the off-season, the facility remains busy. New professional league draft picks make it necessary for all of the veterans, like me, tomaintain top shape. That means extra workouts, ice time, and clean eating. I may look like I have the body of a twenty-year-old, but my joints say otherwise. That’s why I stretch daily and do yoga to keep myself flexible.

Pantera’s “Walk” blares through my iPod as I pull my chin to the bar for the very last time. I drop down to my feet and bend over with my hands on my knees, taking in deep breaths. Sweat streams in rivulets down my exhausted body and drips onto the floor. I chug down a bottle of water then toss the bottle into the trash as I make my way to the showers.

Drew walks into the locker room while I’m lacing up my shoes. “What’s up? Great party Saturday.” He gives me a fist bump. “It was nice to see you let loose for once, man.”

“Yeah. Hey, I was thinking about getting in some ice time tomorrow. You down?”

I used to be the center of attention—the fun friend who liked crowds and parties. Drew reminds me a lot of myself from before . . . well before everything. Everyone knows I’m not the type to “let loose,” and I have absolutely no desire to hear how nice it was for my teammates to see me have a good time. Those words remind me of the person I used to be, and fuck if I don't wish I could be that person again. The presence of others can be excruciating. I prefer solo drills; actually, I prefer to do everything on my own—if for no other reason than to avoid awkward conversations like this. Yet, I find myself here, striving to make an effort, to take the advice Carter shelled out to me on Saturday and connect with my teammate. I pull on my charcoal henley, ready to flee, and then sling my gym bag over my shoulder.

Drew throws his bag into his stall and removes his shirt, tossing it onto the bag. “What time?” He asks.

“I’ll be here around ten thirty.”

“Sorry, dude. No can do. I take Gran to lunch on Tuesdays.”

Well, at least I can say that I tried.

“Don’t forget about the team meeting tomorrow at two.” I give a wave and head out the door. “See you tomorrow.”

I’ve been following the little, black, beat-up Honda in front of me since the exit about five miles back. I’m a mile or two from my house, and I cannot wait to plop my ass on my couch, watch some sports with a beer in my hand, and do nothing for the rest of the night. Except this person is driving so slowly it will be a fucking miracle if it’s not tomorrow before I have that luxury.Come on. Come on. Come on.I could go around them. Just as I’m about to pass them, the car swerves a little, then corrects. I go for a second attempt at passing them; the car swerves again to the left, then overcorrects to the right, before straightening. Fuck, this person either cannot drive or they're drunk off their ass. Shit or get off the pot, asshole. Better yet, learn how to fucking drive.I lay on my horn, lift my hand to flip them the bird, then remember who the fuck I am and put my hand back on the steering wheel where it belongs. I can’t be driving around with road rage, flipping people off. Man, Teagan would just love me to death if I created a PR nightmare for her to clean up.

Suddenly, the person in the car slams on their brakes. Though neither one of us is going over thirty miles per hour, it’s at the very moment when I stomp my foot to the brake pedal thatI realize I don’t have enough time or space to stop my vehicle from hitting theirs.

I only have a few seconds to brace myself. My head jerks forward as the front end of my car smashes into the back of the Honda. Theres a bang and a crunch, followed by a pop. My bumper is surely fucked.

What the ever-loving . . .

Fuming with anger, I practically fly out of my car and slam the door. The woman jumps out of her car, races to the front, and bends down. What the fuck is she doing? If this woman is under the influence, I swear to all that’s holy that I’ll . . . well, I don’t know what I’ll do, but I know I’d rather not call the police. The media circus would eat me alive, even though this woman obviously has no business behind the wheel of a car.

I try to get a look at her face to see if she’s maybe high or drunk, but all I can see is a mass of waist-length, thick, black hair whipping around her face from the wind and a puppy in her arms.

“What are you doing in the middle of the road? I could have run you over,” she coos at the pup while scratching its head.

That voice. Holy shit, that fucking voice. Sexy as hell with a slight southern drawl. All I can think about right now is self-preservation because I know without a doubt this is the woman I heard during the party. Which means she lives not too far from me. Which also means I’m more than likely to see her again. Her voice played on repeat in my head all Saturday night: a low, sultry tone. The way she drew out her vowels. That alone had me wanting to seek her out, even after I had told Carter and myself that I wasn’t interested in dating. But a woman with a voice like that can't be anything other than fucking gorgeous.

I haven’t even seen her yet, and my fight-or-flight reflexes have kicked in. Nevertheless, I can’t keep my eyes from traveling all the way down her long, toned, tanned legs in a pairof denim shorts that are short enough to make any man salivate. My eyes roam back up her body, taking in the wide curve of her hips. A white tank top is stretched tight across her chest. Her body is sexy as hell. I’ve always been a man for curves. Wide hips and big tits; that was my motto back in the day. I cast my eyes down to stop myself from eye-fucking the woman who just caused me to fuck up the frontend of my car with her inept driving skills.

“What you did was very dangerous. Yes, it was.” She scolds the puppy.

My attention shifts back to her as she lifts the brown fur ball to her face. He wiggles his tiny body in her hands, then relaxes before stretching out his neck to lick her face. I saunter closer to her—like a moth to a flame—just to get a better look. Or rather, to see if she's drunk or high. That’s what I tell myself anyway. I’m still pissed. Beyond furious. It’s going to take a whole hell of a lot more than a rockin’ body and a sexy ass voice to get her out of the clusterfuck of a mess she’s made with me. The wind blows her long, raven locks out of her face and back behind her.

Fuck me!

I’ll need to use all my resolve to avoid this woman regardless of my current anger towards her. She is insanely beautiful, just like Aiden said. I don’t even know if beautiful is even the correct adjective to describe her, because she is beyond that.

I don’t have time for this shit,is my last thought before stunning, teary, green eyes lock with mine.

CHAPTER TWO

Aspen

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