Another win for the books. We beat the Elmont Eagles, one of the other New York teams, three to one. Which means we are heading to End Zone next to celebrate the win.
I have never wanted to skip a night out more than tonight. At the very least, I want to bring someone with me—a certain someone who’s in Minnesota.
Brett and I make the short drive back to our place, change, and leave immediately for the bar. I slipped on a black hoodie, gray joggers, and a Nighthawks cap, placing it backward on my head.
I meet Brett in the living room, and his face is locked on to his phone.
“Ready?” I ask him as I pull my phone out of my pocket.
“Oh, yeah. I’m more than ready.” He smiles, and I have an idea of why he is so excited.
Brett finally got out of a toxic relationship with his now ex-girlfriend of two years and is having fun getting over her by bringing home a different girl almost every night.
I follow Brett out and unlock my phone, pulling up my texts, specifically Nikki’s. We’ve been talking almost daily—well, maybe that’s a lie. I have talked to her daily since I left. In the middle of the night is usually when the thought of her lingers the most. Typically, I am waking from a nightmare, and I swear I can smell her in the room. Like sweet berries, mixed with vanilla.
I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m usually good at keeping emotions out of all of my relationships of any kind. Aside from my teammates, of course. But I can’t shake her. She’s like a sickness that’s spreading through my body and taking over. Part of me is terrified, and part of me never wants to beat this cold.
In the mornings, I send her a text, often accompanied by a photo of myself in bed with messy hair so she can see what I would look like if she woke up by my side. On practice days, I shoot her a text afterward, either of me sweaty in my gear or in a towel, wet after a shower.
This is the first game I’ve had since last weekend, since I left her. Part of me wants to send her a selfie and say I wish she were here. But that sounds like the most douchebag line I could possibly send her.
So, instead, I wait until we arrive at the bar, End Zone, and I text her and attach a pic of the team huddled around the counter, getting their first drink.
Me: Just beat the Eagles’ ass. It would have been a better win with you in the crowd to cheer me on. You name the game, and the tickets are yours.
I hit Send before I can stop myself, and once it is mark Delivered, I get nervous, like a little schoolgirl waiting to see if her crush marked yes or no on a note. Three dots appear, and I wait for a response. The dots always appear for longer than a technical difficulty, but they always disappear eventually. This time is no different.
When they disappear, I shove my phone in my pocket, feeling vulnerable and defeated. I want to know why she won’t answer, why she’s so afraid. I want to know what caused the scars on her body, the reason she is so blocked off. I want to know everything. But I can’t do that if I can’t even get a text back.
“Double whiskey sour, please,” I ask the waitress when she meets my eyes.
“Coming right up.” She pops the P.
Within a minute, she returns with my drink and slides it across the counter with a napkin underneath it. I can see something written on the napkin. I ignore it.
“Eight dollars,” she hums with hooded eyes.
I hand her my card. “Open tab, please.”
“You got it, babe,” she says, and I’m already over the advances of women tonight.
I smile sweetly so she doesn’t poison my next drink. I laugh to myself as she hands my card back. Picking my drink up, I leave the napkin with what I imagine is her phone number on the countertop and join my team at our tables.
It’s become a Nighthawks tradition to celebrate at End Zone after a win. Our tables are always vacant, reserved for us after a victory, no matter how packed the place is.
Everyone is out tonight, including the girls, Laura and Charlotte. Laura is sitting next to Kos in the seats across from me.
Brett shouts as he sits beside me, “What a fucking game tonight was. I thought you were going to destroy that kid, Cam.”
“He left walking. He’s fine.” I laugh.
“Yeah, with two black eyes.” Kos chuckles.
Number eight slammed me into the boards and told me to keep my “bitch ass” out of his way. So, the next time the puck was in his stick, I checked him so hard into the boards that it took him a minute to get up after falling to the ice.
He was seething, and I loved every second of it. Our fight was inevitable, but the tension only grew as the time on the clock ran. Third period, he charged Brett and checked him into the boards.
There’s an unwritten rule when it comes to Brett Burns—no one touches him. It’s known to almost all players in the NHL. And if by some chance they don’t know and they plant Brett on the boards, they quickly find out. He is a golden boy with a slight partying streak but aside from a few nights out with the boys, the only thing he does is dedicate his life to hockey. A lot like myself, but I’m not quite the nice guy he is.
If a player touches Brett on the ice, our defenders will light them up. It never fails that a player wants to test that theory, and it ends the same way every time.
Usually, the defenders of our line are the ones to punish the player that checks Brett. But this one was all mine.
“He had it coming.” I smile and take a chug of my drink.
My phone vibrates, and my heart skips a fucking beat at the possibility of it being Nikki. But I’m met with disappointment when I see Olivia’s name on my screen. She and I are occasional friends with benefits. But the thought of her in my bed right now sounds like torture. Don’t get me wrong; she’s hot and great in bed, but I don’t want anything to do with her anymore.
Olivia: Congrats on the win tonight. Need someone to celebrate with?
Me: No, I’m good. Already got someone. Thanks though.
Olivia sends back a thumbs-up. The terms of our relationship have always been clear, and I’ve always appreciated that. We get what we want out of each other—sex—and that’s it.
When I set my phone down, the bartender who hit on me earlier walks over to our group.
“How is everyone doing? Need any shots tonight? More drinks?” she asks the table, holding her flirty stare on me before moving on to Brett.
Kos calls out to the table behind us, “MacArthur!”
Matt turns with a shit-eating grin on his face.
“Shots?”
“Fuck yeah!” Matt shouts.
“A round for our group, please.” He quickly gets a head count of the players and the accompanying girls. “Thirty-one of them. Your choice of shot.”
She smiles eagerly. “Coming right up.”
Brett and Kos get into it on what play was the best of the night, and I sit back in my seat in silence, just observing the room and chaos that End Zone is on a Saturday night.
The dance floor is flooded with drunk people trying to have sex through their clothes. Which immediately reminds me once again of Little Dove.
The way she felt in my hands. Fuck. It was pure ecstasy.
I wish that night hadn’t gotten interrupted. I would have brought her back to my place and licked every inch of her body and fucked her until she couldn’t take it anymore.
I want to know what her panting sounds like and the whimpers that would escape her when I gently squeezed her throat.
I’m suddenly aware of the tightness of my pants, and I adjust myself accordingly. If I get this hard from just thinking about her, I can’t imagine what it would actually be like to be with her.
I need more from her than just one date. I need more than her ass pressed up against my hard cock through layers of clothes.
Jesus Christ, Cam, get it together, I think to myself, once again adjusting in my seat.
This girl is going to be my ruin.
The waitress appears with the tray of shots and hands them out to all the players and the girlfriends.
Kos raises his glass. The second it starts its descent to the table, everyone else does the same. We each set it on the table for a millisecond before throwing it back.
Before the waitress leaves, I order another double whiskey sour and quickly down the rest of the one I still have.
When the second one appears, I drink a third of the glass in a few large gulps, catching a side-eye from Kos.
I read his expression without any words needing to be said. You good?
One sharp nod from me, and his focus goes back to Laura, who is already dancing in her seat to the music. Not in the way a sober Laura would. In the way drunk Laura wants to dance the night away with Kos.
Not two minutes after I notice that, she is dragging him to the dance floor. They are followed out by the other couples and a few of the single guys who take only a second to find a girl.
I’m not feeling up to dancing tonight. In fact, I’m not feeling much up to partying tonight in general.
Nudging Brett, I lean into his shoulder to speak over the loud music. “Hey, man, I’m going to grab an Uber. I’m fucking beat.”
“You sure, bro?” Brett asks, looking a bit concerned because we always leave together.
“Yeah, I’m sure. Get home safe,” I tell him before I pull my phone out and order an Uber. It’s two minutes away.
Sliding out of the booth, I start heading over to the guys to say my good-byes when I’m stopped by a smokeshow of a redhead.
“Care to dance?” she asks me, her words slurring together.
She’s hot, but she’s got nothing on Nikki. No one in the world is as beautiful as that damn woman.
“I’m good, thanks.” I point to Brett. “I’m sure he would love to dance though.”
Brett smirks at the girl, and she’s already swaying her hips and walking over to him.
My phone alerts me that my ride is here. I quickly say good-bye to my teammates and hype them up about our win tonight. The cold air is refreshing when I open the door and walk outside.
When I slide into the backseat of the car, my Uber driver, Bryan, greets me, “Hey. How’s your night going?”
I pull my phone out of my back pocket and set it in my lap. “All right. Yours?”
He merges into traffic. “Pretty good. Been super busy, so I can’t complain about that.”
“Very true,” I say in an upbeat tone.
Picking my phone up, I do the one thing you shouldn’t do drunk—text the person you’re into.
Me: Little Dove, I can’t get you out of my fucking head. I should have kissed you that night so I would know what your lips tasted like …
Three dots appear and disappear a moment later.
Fuck. What do I have to do to win this girl over?
“We’re almost there,” Bryan announces.
“Thanks, man.”
My fingers hover over the keys to message her again. But the continuous line of blue texts in our messages are getting pathetic.
“Thanks for the ride, man.” I hand him a twenty and hop out of the car when it comes to a complete stop.
“Anytime. Have a great night!” he exclaims.
I gently shut the door and make my way up to our condo. My exhale turns into a sigh as I shut the door behind me and toss my keys on the counter.
Nikki. Nikki. Nikki.
Images of her from our date flash in my mind. She looked so fucking gorgeous. I have no idea how I made it through dinner without making a move on her. I wanted to for sure, but I need to be patient. She deserves to be wined and dined and fucked like the woman she is.
So, I will have to keep my filthy thoughts to myself—at least for now. Just thinking about her again has me itching to get out of these boxers and joggers.
My feet carry me to my bedroom before I can stop the thought that’s growing in the back of my mind.
If I can’t actually be with her and touch her, I can at least do this. I kick my joggers and boxers off, followed by my socks. Grabbing the back of the neck of my shirt, I pull it over my head, feeling my muscles stretch from the soreness of the game tonight. I quickly retrieve a hand towel from my bathroom. Crawling into bed, I reach into the nightstand and grab the bottle of lube.
If Nikki walked into my bedroom right now, what would I do?
I squeeze a quarter-sized drop onto my left hand and let it sit for a second to warm up. Then, wrapping my hand around the already-stiff shaft, I slowly slide it up and down.
I would physically tear her shirt in half, right down the middle, and throw it on the ground. If she were here, she would be mine. If she wanted a shirt afterward, it would be from my closet.
My tongue would savor the taste of her mouth as I unhooked her bra. I would pick her up with ease and set her high on my waist, high enough for me to suck one of her peaked nipples into my mouth, rolling it just sharply enough between my teeth before soothing any ache with the warmth of my tongue.
I pump myself harder and faster and grab my balls with my other hand, massaging gently.
I would throw her down onto my bed and strip her pants off of her, tempted to tear those, too, so she had no choice but to show me her perfect ass all the time while she was here.
I would leave her panties on her just for a little longer. She would already be panting, anticipating my next move.
“Get on all fours,” I would demand as I pressed the fronts of my thighs against the edge of the bed.
She would hesitate with a challenging gleam in her eyes before obeying. I would memorize this image. Burn the picture of her arched back, naked breasts, and pink hair flowing around her shoulders into my brain forever.
I squeeze my balls tighter and continue my ruthless stroking of my thick cock.
“Now what?” she would ask and be interrupted as my hand smacked against that perfectly round ass.
She would yelp, and my dick would fucking throb. Her breathing would become needy and ragged.
“Do you like that?” I would ask her, pressing my wet lips against her ear.
She would nod before whimpering, “Yes.”
“What a good fucking girl you are, Little Dove,” I would praise and smack my hand against the same spot as before, knowing the sting was more intense this time.
Smack. Smack. Smack.
She’d finally speak up, her voice sexy and breathless. “Fuck, Cam, it’s too much right there.”
With my big hand wrapped around her reddened cheek, I’d lift her ass higher into the air as my left hand grabbed the base of her neck, pulling up slightly.
“One more, baby. I know you can take it,” I’d encourage her.
Her blue eyes would lock on to mine as she stared up at me, pupils completely blown.
Her nod would struggle against the hand I had wrapped around her throat.
“That’s my girl,” I’d groan.
I wouldn’t give her a second to be scared before I landed my hand on her ass again, slightly weaker than before. And not a moment later, I would have my tongue running back and forth over the raw and delicate skin.
I pump myself harder, already feeling pressure building deep in my groin. Switching hands, I feel my orgasm nearing more and more by the second. I’m not going to last much longer.
Kissing, sucking, licking, I’d devour the bare skin of her round ass. Without warning, I’d kiss her panties that covered her soaking wet center.
Faster and faster, I massage my balls as images of Nikki flash through my mind.
I’d run my tongue up the red thong, inhaling her scent. And I’d be fucking done for.
The pressure explodes, and I groan as those blue eyes fucking ruin me. I come into the towel and wipe myself off when I’m done.
My muscles relax into the bed as I come down from my high. I don’t know what I’m doing with myself, what she’s doing to me. Before I met her, my life was very simple—hockey and one-night stands. But I turned down three potential hookups tonight because I can’t get this girl out of my fucking head. Simple is easy and predictable, and nothing about Nikki is simple.
My phone vibrates on my nightstand, and I pick it up, expecting it to be Kos or Brett. But it’s not. It’s my Little Dove.
My heart fucking flutters, and I want to slap myself. But I can’t help the giddiness when I read her message.
Little Dove: Hi, Cameron.
