Page 23 of The Rebel (Looking to Score 1)
“Just say it,” Tate says.
“Well, she says American men . . . Why don’t you moan during sex?”
My cheeks begin to burn, probably turning a bright red. Well, grab some popcorn because things are about to get salty.
Camille’s question pulls a deep chuckle out of Tate. “Um . . . I don’t know. Years of silently masturbating so my parents wouldn’t hear me?”
The guys laugh.
“That, and because I’m usually out of breath from doing all the work,” Saint says.
Okay, so they’re going there. I try not to squirm with embarrassment.
Reeves nods. “So many reasons. Trying not to come. Focusing on getting my partner there because I’ll finish regardless . . .”
Camille leans forward in interest.
“I just yodel. I figure it’s way sexier,” Saint says with a wink.
The guys laugh, and someone slaps the back of Saint’s head.
Alex doesn’t contribute to the conversation, and I’m very grateful for that. The last thing I want to do is remember what he was like in bed. Though those last few months, we really had more of a roommates situation going on.
“I think it’s bold of you to assume hockey players are having frequent sex,” Wild says with a smirk.
This pulls a chuckle out of Alex, who has otherwise been a bit surly tonight.
As the conversation takes a crude turn, I duck back into the kitchen, rearranging the fridge to try to accommodate the six-pack Saint left on my counter. It’s moments like these that make me wonder if hanging tight to my role as team owner was smart after all.
I’m sure that Grandpa Pete had no problem being one of the guys in situations like this, joining in on their conversations about women and dating. Although he’d been married for fifty happy years, he had plenty of wild stories from before he met Grandma, and the man was never one to miss a chance to tell a dirty joke.
Meanwhile, I’ll never be able to chime in on a conversation like that without being accused of hitting on the players. And that’s not a path I’m ever willing to go down again. Not just because it would be wildly unprofessional, but because I have almost five years’ worth of proof that dating a hockey player isn’t good for my mental health.
My phone buzzes with a notification from the front desk that the pizza has arrived, and I make my way back through the living room to the front door, pulling it open as I hear the first knock. But for the second time tonight, I’m caught off guard.
It’s not the delivery man standing before me. At least, not the one I was expecting. It’s Holt, carrying a stack of pizza boxes that obscures most of my view of him.
My body instantly reacts to his presence, tensing up at first, then flooding with a rush of warmth that takes me by surprise. My jaw hangs slack, and suddenly, words feel like a distant memory. There’s only one word on my mind.
“Holt.”
Not a sentence, not a greeting, just his name. It’s all I can manage. I gulp down my nerves, pressing my shoulders back to summon any bit of confidence I can muster.
“I didn’t think you’d come.” Smooth, Eden. “I mean, thank you for getting the pizzas.”
Holt shakes his head, although I can’t see anything but his cool gray eyes from behind the stack of boxes. But just one look into those eyes has me feeling unsteady, the same way I did all those years ago.
“It was nothing. Delivery guy was in the lobby, asking the front desk about buzzing up to your unit. I volunteered to take it from there, save the guy a few minutes.”
“Did you tip him?”
Holt’s gaze narrows, and I don’t have to see his mouth to know that he’s smirking. “Of course I did. I’m not a monster.”
I give him a warm smile. It’s still so surreal having him here. “Well, thank you. Let me know what I owe you, okay?”
I take the stack of boxes from him, despite his protests that he’s happy to carry them the rest of the way. It’s a much-needed distraction to keep my mind from playing out all the ways I’d like to repay him. Maybe with another one of those toe-curling kisses we shared so many years ago. What was it about him that made me want to give him everything so quickly? I hardly knew him before that night, after all. But in the span of a few hours, this kind, mysterious man looked beyond my family status and saw who I truly am, a deeper part of me that I haven’t shared with anyone since. Not with Alex, not with anyone.
And I saw Holt too. He invited me into the darkness of his past, the goals he had for after he graduated from Sutton. When we kissed, it felt like I’d known him all my life. I would have given him everything that night, had he not stopped us.
