Page 2 of Treat

It had worked for a while. He’d been busy getting settled into his role with the team, and she’d been busy handling the move, and by the time all that had settled down they’d been pushing for a playoff spot and then in the playoffs, and there had hardly been time to breathe much less lust inappropriately after his personal assistant.

But a new season was on the horizon, with new goals and new opportunities for him both on and off the ice, and he was going to need her help. Which meant he was going to have to learn how to talk to her without wanting, to work with her without yearning.

“Might as well wish to win the Norris trophy,” he muttered, and shoving aside the combination of lust and despair he’d become all too accustomed to over the last nine months, he retrieved his duffle and headed for the bedroom.

The shades on the windows were drawn tight, the bed a king-sized shadow in the middle of the room. It was the only piece of furniture he’d bought new for the move to Detroit, taking advantage of the space to get the biggest mattress he could find. The modern platform bed had a headboard with built-in shelving, eliminating the need for bedside tables and extending his rollerblading path.

There was plenty of room for more furniture, but Jude hadn’t seen the need. He used this room for sleeping and fucking, so who needed more than a bed?

Not that he’d fucked anyone since he’d moved here, which would’ve been depressing if he hadn’t been too tired to think about it. Since he was, he just carried his bag into the closet.

Dim lights along the baseboards flickered on automatically upon his entry, and since it was enough to keep him from tripping over something, he didn’t bother with more. Like the rest of the apartment, it was much bigger than he needed—even with all the new clothes Brynn had bought for him it was only half full. Dropping his bag on the padded bench that ran down the center of the space—another Brynn purchase, none of his other closets had been big enough for furniture—he dug his phone out of his pocket, then stripped out of his clothes.

Wearing only his boxers and moving with the disjointed shuffle of exhaustion, he headed for the bathroom. With under cabinet lights illuminating the way, he emptied his bladder and brushed his teeth, then shuffled back into the bedroom and aimed for the bed.

He moved slowly, not sure exactly where it was in the dark room. He reached out a seeking hand, swallowing a curse when his knuckles rapped against the wood of the headboard. He set his phone down and then slid his hand lower over the soft, cool cotton-covered pillow, the fluffy duvet. With pleasure and anticipation, he pulled back the duvet with a sigh.

Something sighed back.

Jude paused, his fatigue-fogged brain taking a beat to register the sound. He frowned, eyes burning as he tried to see in the dark, but all he could make out was the big, square shape of the bed. He waited a few moments, ears straining for a repeat of the sound, but nothing came.

He shook his head, feeling ridiculous. He was so tired he was having auditory hallucinations, he thought with a silent, self-deprecating laugh and lifted the covers to slide into bed.

A rumbling snore had him leaping back.

He fumbled for his phone, panic tightening his chest. With visions of some overzealous fan having snuck into his bed—and the media nightmare that would follow—he held his breath and turned on his phone’s flashlight.

It took a second for his eyes to adjust to the bright glare. Then he just stared while the basset hound occupying his bed blinked droopy brown eyes, yawned, and let out a softwoofwhile wagging its tail and rolling onto its back in a blatant bid for belly rubs.

He didn’t know what he would have done in response—besides rub the belly, rules are rules—but before he could think of something, a sleepy voice mumbled, “Shut up, Tilly,” and he realized the dog wasn’t the only occupant of his bed.

“What the fuck?” he said and aimed his cell phone flashlight at the far side of the bed just as the person in it sat up and screamed.

Covers flew, and Jude caught a flash of blonde hair and a white shirt, then it all disappeared over the side of the bed, followed by a loud thump. The screaming cut off abruptly, leaving only the swish of the dog’s tail against the sheets and the hammering of his own heart to fill the silence.

He leaned over the bed, aiming his light toward the floor on the far side. But whoever was there had fallen too close to the bed for him to see them.

“Hello?” he called, then sputtered when a long, wet canine tongue lapped at his face. He ducked, trying to evade the affectionately aggressive slurps, then cursed when a tooth caught his nostril. Nose stinging and face dripping, he planted a hand on the dog’s nose and shoved. The dog, who had reared up on its hind legs to better cover him in slobber, fell slowly backward onto the bed and farted.

Jude would’ve laughed, but whoever was lying on his floor moaned, and he remembered he had a real problem on his hands.

With the light from the phone guiding the way, he strode over to the light switch beside the door and slapped it on, then turned to face his intruder with his best don’t-fuck-with-me-or-I’ll-put-you-through-the-boards glare, his thumb poised to dial 9-1-1.

Then he blinked. “Brynn?”

Eyes squeezed shut against the glare of the light, her pink-streaked blonde hair covering half her face, she lifted a hand. “Hi, Jude.”

“What are you doing here?” he asked, but it was automatic, knee-jerk. Because she was wearing a thin, white t-shirt, and as far as he could see, nothing else.

“I needed a place to crash for a few nights,” she said, struggling to sit, her voice tight. “I thought you weren’t coming back until August.”

“Change of plans,” he said faintly, mesmerized by Brynn in motion. The t-shirt didn’t move much around her thighs—it was too tight for that—but it was considerably looser up top, the stretched-out V-neck sliding off one shoulder, making it uncomfortably clear that she was braless, her tidy, barely-a-mouthful tits poking against the thin white fabric, and he was suddenly and painfully aware that all he wore was a pair of cotton boxers. Which, if he kept staring at her boobs, were going to be no help in keeping his dick in check.

He shifted his gaze to her face just as she managed to shove herself upright to lean against the side of the bed. The dog, who’d been watching them with a sort of lazy curiosity from atop the mattress, trotted over to rest its chin on the mattress next to her and licked her cheek.

Brynn sighed and lifted a hand to give the dog’s long, floppy ear a pat. “Hi, Tilly.”

“Since when do you have a dog?” Jude asked, wondering if he could casually grab a pair of pants while she was distracted.

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