Waking up next to Justin feels a little surreal. I can still remember him with bright red cheeks and hockey skates in his hands. I remember a million shared laughs and mugs of hot cocoa. But I have exactly zero memories of him like this. With messy, sex-styled hair and his chiseled features relaxed in sleep.
I’ve never done the whole one-night stand thing, and honestly I’m not sure of the proper protocol. He’s still asleep, and not wanting to wake him, I decide to slip out of bed. In the bathroom, I brush my teeth and brush the tangles from my hair.
Last night after we’d had sex, we’d lounged in bed together for a while until his stomach growled. Then he hunted through my kitchen for something to eat. We’d brought our snacks to the living room and watched TV for a little while. Then he’d borrowed a toothbrush and we’d gone to bed together, me curled up in his strong arms, my head resting against his sculpted chest. I smile at the memory. This is exactly what I’d wanted—to chase away the regret of our first time together, and I think I’ve succeeded.
After I finish in the bathroom, I tiptoe beside the bed with the plan to go to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. I’m sure he needs his sleep. He had a game last night and then we played sex Olympics until the early morning hours, so he must be exhausted. But he catches me as I move by the bed, one strong arm snaking out to grab me around the waist and haul me back to bed. I land with a soft grunt right on top of him.
He’s smiling. “Hey.”
I grin. “Hi.”
He’s wearing boxer briefs and I can feel that he’s hard when he rolls me onto my back, supporting his weight over me on his forearms.
He kisses my lips and then pulls back with an amused expression. “You brushed your teeth?”
I nod. “I was planning to let you sleep.”
He looks so relaxed and happy, and not at all self-conscious about what we did last night. He’s probably much more well-versed in the art of the one-night stand than I am. It’s a thought that stings a little.
“I’m up,” he says, eyes crinkling in the corners as he watches me.
“I can tell,” I say, smirking at him. I’m referring to the hard ridge pressed right up against my stomach.
Justin chuckles, and gives his hips a slow roll. “You want to fuck again?”
“Oh my God,” I laugh, shaking my head. “That’s how you ask me?”
With an amused expression, he rocks his hips into me again. “I want you.” His voice is warm, and husky, and believe me, I’m tempted, even if a romantic he is not.
“I’m a little sore,” I admit. A look of concern flashes across his features. “But it’s the good kind of sore. And I have brunch plans with the girls.”
“Oh. Okay.” He blinks at me, and then rolls to his side, freeing me a second later.
“I’m going to go make us some coffee,” I announce, rising from the bed.
I pretend not to notice his confused expression as I shuffle from the room. Of course I wish I could just jump back into bed and have sex with him again, but I also know that I have to protect myself from developing any expectations. After all this is just casual sex. And I have to put a little distance between us right now to stop myself from feeling anything.
I have the coffee started and two mugs set out on the counter when he emerges from my bedroom, now fully dressed in his dress pants and button down shirt from last night. His feet are bare, and I have no idea why I find that so hot, but I do.
I pour him a mug of coffee, and hand it to him. I guess this is one perk of our long-standing friendship, I know exactly how he takes his coffee.
“Thanks.” His deep voice rumbles low, and I smile, amused.
Not for the first time, I think about how glad I am that we’re doing this, that we’ve patched up our friendship, and now there are orgasms involved.
“So, what’s on your agenda this week?” I ask, sipping my coffee.
He rubs one hand through his hair. “The usual. Practice. A team meeting on Wednesday. A game this weekend. You?”
I shrug. “Just work and plans with Becca later this week.”
“Can I see you again?”
Smiling behind my coffee mug, I nod.
He steps closer, closing me in against the kitchen counter. “Is that a yes?”
“Yes,” I murmur as he takes the mug from my hands and sets it on the counter behind me.
Then he places my hands on his chest, and puts his hands on my jaw, and then we’re kissing again. I taste a hint of coffee as his tongue strokes mine. After a moment, he pulls back, touching his thumb to my lower lip. “I better go. Have fun with the girls.”
“I will.”
He shoves his feet into his shoes, and gives me one last quick kiss goodbye at the door.
“I’ll text you later,” he says as he heads out and I nod.
It’s pouring rain outside and he’s got no raincoat, so he makes a dash for his car, waving at me as he climbs inside.
• • •
A big plate of French toast appears in front of me and I inhale the smell of sweet batter and powdered sugar.
“Okay, now I’m officially jealous,” Bailey groans, looking at my plate in envy.
I nod to the egg whites and wheat toast the waitress has placed in front of her. “Yes, but that’s so much healthier. I’m sure I’ll regret this in about an hour.” Even as I say the words, I know it’s not true. Nothing can mess with my mood today.
Sara and Becca both ordered the avocado toast, which is what I usually get too at our favorite breakfast spot. But after all the calories I burned last night, I wanted to splurge—or celebrate, maybe a little of both.
It was an amazing night, and I’m still on a post-orgasmic high. I cut one triangle of French toast in half and slide it onto Bailey’s plate. “Here. Please don’t let me eat all this myself.”
She flashes me a grin. “Done.”
“You guys missed a good game last night,” Becca says to Bailey and Sara, but her gaze cuts over to me and she winks.
I know she’s dying to know what happened between Justin and I last night.
“They won, right?” Bailey asks. Being good friends with the team means we have the best seats, and we usually all attend together, but last night it was just Becca and I.
Sara nods. “Yeah. Teddy was texting me, telling me to come out and meet them at the bar, but I wasn’t in the mood to deal with the puck bunnies drooling all over them. It gets so old, you know?”
“So old,” Becca confirms. “But last night Owen and Justin were actually behaving themselves. We grabbed one beer after the game, and then Owen went home alone. I’m not sure about Justin though.” She looks at me again, clearly baiting me.
I stuff another bite of French toast into my mouth and focus on chewing, and not making eye contact because Becca can read me like a damn book.
“That sounds like a first for Owen then. And I can guarantee you Justin wasn’t lonely last night. They’re both manwhores,” Bailey says.
I swallow my food and take a sip of mimosa. “They’re not that bad.”
Sara laughs, pointing her fork at me. “You’re just in denial because Owen is your brother and you love him, but girl.” She shakes her head. “They are worse than that bad. Teddy is, well, Teddy, and he went all TMI on me last time we went out. About how they’re all on Tinder before the plane even touches down during away games. How they have strategies to sneak girls into the hotel, even if it’s past curfew. Trust me. They sleep around with as much enthusiasm as they play hockey.”
Bailey launches into a story about Justin getting head from one girl while he made out with another at a club last year, and I suddenly feel sick.
I drain the last of my mimosa and set the empty glass down a little harder than I intended to.
Becca gazes at me with a look of sympathy.
“Alright guys, that’s enough,” Becca warns. “I’m sure Elise doesn’t want to hear these kinds of stories about her brother.”
Sara takes another bite, shaking her head. “We weren’t talking about Owen. We were talking about Justin.”
Bailey makes a noise of disagreement. “Yes but Justin’s practically like a brother to Elise too.”
Um, no.
Not even close.
No longer hungry, I push my plate away, and when the waitress approaches, I order a second mimosa. I’m not sure why I’m so upset. None of what they’ve said is new information to me. I guess it’s just that I have no idea if we’re exclusive and if we’re not, I don’t want to do this if we’re not. I don’t want feelings involved but I also don’t want to sleep with him if he’s still sleeping around when he’s on the road. I’ve been hurt by him before and it would crush me to know that I’m nothing but a number to him, someone to warm his bed on the off-nights that he’s not taking a puck bunny home.
Obviously the champagne has gone to my head, because I fish my phone out of my purse, and compose a text to him under the table.
You know what, I changed my mind about this week.
I don’t want to do this anymore.
His reply comes in a few seconds later.
Why? Did I do something wrong?
I scoff, and set my cell in my lap. I don’t want to start a fight with him right now. I don’t want to talk about any of this. The truth is, my girlfriends are right. He gets so much regular sex, my absence in his bed won’t matter. He’ll hardly even notice it. The anger simmering under the surface rises to a low boil. I can’t believe I thought this idiotic plan would ever work. I close my eyes and draw a deep breath, deciding on a simple, straight-forward reply.
I can’t talk right now.
Bailey and Becca are talking about seeing the new rom com that’s releasing in theaters this week, and I mumble something about joining them. But I’m so distracted. And now pissed off. I feel my phone vibrate and I look down to see another text from him.
If this is what you want, I’ll respect your decision. But we’re going to talk about this.
I roll my eyes, my fingers flying over the keys as I reply.
I’d rather not be exposed to whatever you pick up from all the women in your bed.
After several seconds of silence, I assume he’s not going to text me back, mostly likely because he’s got no come-back for that. Which only makes me feel worse, because it means I’m right. I didn’t want to be right. But at least I found this out now before I got in too deep.
But then my phone is ringing. I look down. He’s calling me. Why the hell is he calling me right now?
I hit ignore and send the call to voicemail. Becca is watching me, obviously wondering what the hell is going on. My phone starts vibrating again, and I slide from the booth, with the excuse of needing to go to the bathroom.
In the back hallway near the restrooms, I answer my phone.
“Yes?” I say, tone clipped.
I hear a door closing, and I picture him going into his bedroom to get privacy away from Owen. “Elise? What the hell is going on?” he says, tone filled with confusion.
“You tell me.” I place one hand on my hip, waiting for his reply. It feels like so long ago that we were in my kitchen, kissing and drinking coffee and making plans.
“I don’t know what you think this is between us,” he says. “But while we’re doing this, I have no plans to be with anyone else. And I get tested regularly. The whole team does.”
And now I feel bad because I never meant to imply that he had a sexually transmitted disease, I was just frustrated over the thought of being one of many. Even if we are just messing around, it’s still a big deal to me.
I lick my lips and take a deep breath. “What are you saying? Are we exclusive? We’re just messing around right? It wouldn’t be fair to expect that of you.”
He lets out a tense breath. “Let me help you understand this. First, hell yes we’re exclusive. For whatever this is and however long it lasts, I’m not fucking anyone but you. And you’re sure as hell not fucking anyone else either.”
The knot in my stomach suddenly eases. “Oh, okay.”
“Okay? We’re good then?” he says.
“Yeah.”
Justin chuckles, the sound warm and soft and all the tension melts away. “Are you still at brunch?”
“Yes. And I better, um, go.”
He makes a sound of disagreement. “We’re going to talk more about this.”
“Justin…” I plead, gazing back at our table.
“I’m serious, Elise. The next time I see you I want to know who or what got into your head and made you think you were just a casual fuck buddy to me. I’ve known you for damn near my entire life. Don’t you think that means something?”
My stomach swarms with butterflies and I nod, before realizing I’ve gone entirely mute. “I —”
“You’re going to tell me, and if you don’t, I have ways of getting the information out of you, you know.”
“Okay, we can talk later, but I really do have to go.” Before I do or say anything else to embarrass myself. And with that, I hang up and stuff my phone in my back pocket to re-join my girlfriends at the table.
