All the Way Page 13

  I accept my dessert and swallow the lump that’s formed in my throat. I’d almost forgotten that this was all an arrangement to help me shake my rocky sexual past. It feels like this has become so much more than that. At least to me.

  But what about Owen? Is this really just an experiment to him? Will he really just walk away when it’s done? I know it’s what we agreed on, but in this moment, it feels like that was the most futile promise in the world.

  We enjoy our ice cream on the couch, cuddled close together. After, we decide against a movie and opt to head straight for bed. Which is probably for the best. I’m all up in my head again, I doubt I’d be able to clear my brain enough to focus on a movie.

  When we crawl into bed, he immediately circles me in his big arms, pulling me close against him. I feel so small and secure in his embrace, like I’m finally home.

  But I hardly have a chance to enjoy the feeling before it’s replaced with worry.

  Is this how he’s held all the women who came before me? Because if there’s one thing I’m certain of—I won’t measure up to them. Not by anyone’s standards. I’m too old to be this inexperienced and too young to be this jaded. And a sexy pro-athlete hockey god like Owen Parrish doesn’t deserve someone who’s damaged goods.

  The longer I lie here, the more my worst fears take shape and fill my chest with anxiety.

  “You okay?” Owen whispers, sitting up a bit. “You’re tensing up.”

  I nod, taking a fluttery breath and slowly letting it out. “Yeah. I’m all right,” I lie. “Just tired is all.”

  Fighting to quiet the voices in my head telling me I don’t measure up, I curl my body around his and just hold him—hold him with the same strength he’s holding me. Only there’s one striking difference . . .

  He’s holding me like I might break. I’m holding him like he might flee.

  At this point, I’m not sure which would be worse.

  15

  * * *

  Brand-New Day

  Owen

  This is a new experience. I can’t say I’ve ever woken up with a girl in my bed before. At least, not since my high-school girlfriend and I accidentally fell asleep watching a horror movie. I know, you’re thinking how can you fall asleep to a horror movie? Well, there may have been some pot involved. I had to sneak her out before my parents woke up the next morning.

  But thankfully, I don’t have to do that with Becca. She’s curled on her side, facing away from me, and I roll closer, tugging her sleepy body next to mine.

  “Mmm.” She moans sleepily. “You’re awake?”

  “Yeah, just now. How’d you sleep?”

  She stretches, relaxing into me. “Wonderfully. There was this huge, warm body pillow to snuggle with.”

  I chuckle. “Yeah, it was nice, wasn’t it?” The couple of times I woke up, I was happy to realize I wasn’t alone—that she was still in my bed, softly breathing beside me.

  Running my palm over her hip, I bring my lips to the back of her neck, planting a soft kiss there. She curls into me, pressing her hips back, and I wonder if she can tell I’m hard.

  I want her again, of course I do. But I’m not going to push my luck. This isn’t about me and my desires; it’s about Becca getting comfortable with sex again. So unless she initiates it, I’m certainly not going to.

  My stomach rumbles, and she chuckles.

  “Are you ever not hungry?”

  “I could always eat. How do you feel about trying my epic scrambled eggs?” I ask.

  “How could a girl possibly say no to that?”

  We get dressed and then share coffee and scrambled eggs at the kitchen island. Since I’ve made plans to play a game of pickup basketball with some of the guys at the training facility later, Becca says she’ll be heading out shortly after we finish breakfast.

  “Thank you for the eggs,” she says pressing a kiss to my cheek as I load the dishwasher. “I’m going to get out of your hair. I just need to grab my bag.”

  “You sure?” I ask, wiping my hands on a dish towel. I don’t want her to think she has to rush off, don’t want this morning after to be awkward.

  She nods, biting her lip, then pauses, her mouth curling up in a lazy smile. “Last night was . . .”

  “Last night was mind blowing,” I say. “You are incredible. And so sexy.”

  Her smile grows even bigger. “I was talking about the stir-fry.”

  I let out a deep laugh. “You brat.”

  I follow her into my bedroom, and Becca grabs her tote bag from the chair. Then she freezes, gazing down the stack of books balanced on the edge of my desk. They sport titles like Surviving Sexual Trauma, How to Cope, Faith to Move Forward, and Healing and Hope.

  Oh. Yeah. I’d kinda forgotten about those.

  She doesn’t say anything for a moment, just stands there, her bag dangling from her hands as she stares at the books. “What’s all this?” she asks, voice quiet and unsure.

  “Uh, just some books I picked up.”

  She scans the titles for a moment longer as though she’s committing them to memory, and when she looks up at me her eyes are filled with questions. “For you or for me?”

  “Me,” I say quickly. “...And you, I guess.”

  Shifting her weight, Becca lets out an uneasy breath. “I’m not broken, you know? These textbooks won’t tell you how to fix me.”

  I grab the stack of books and shove them in a desk drawer where they land with a loud thud before I slide it closed. “I know that.”

  I mean, logically speaking, I do know that. But when I agreed to help her, it was a proposition I took seriously. I figured a little research would be in order, but now I can see how insensitive that seems to Becca. Like there’s some playbook I could read, a manual about how to help her. She’s not a robot, or a part that needs re-tooling. She’s human with complex feelings and emotions.

  Turning to face her, I take her shoulders in my hands, giving them a soft squeeze. “Hey. I’m sorry. There’s not a damn thing wrong with you. I just wanted a little reassurance that I wasn’t going to mess up and do something wrong.”

  Her expression softens. “You’re not. You won’t.”

  I nod once, hoping I haven’t already.

  Without another word, Becca exits my room and I follow. Once she’s slipped her shoes on, we linger by the front door like neither of us is quite ready to say good-bye.

  She gives me one last look that I can’t read as she opens the door. “Call me later?”

  “Sure. Talk to you then.”

  I watch her walk away, hoping that I haven’t messed anything up. Because last night? Was fucking incredible.

  • • •

  Throughout the entire game, I’m distracted and consumed by thoughts of my night with Becca.

  She was right, the stir-fry was pretty good, but the sex? It was fucking amazing.

  The misstep with the self-help books aside, I’m pretty damn happy about everything we accomplished last night. I can’t stop picturing the way she gazed up at me with those wide blue eyes, almost like she was asking for permission to enjoy herself. And once I gave her a little bit of encouragement, it was like all her walls came tumbling down. I’m not going to lie—I’m feeling more than a little proud of myself today.

  “I’m open!” Justin shouts from across the court, and I duck out of the way just in time to avoid getting nailed in the head with a pass.

  Shit. I guess I need to start paying better attention.

  By the time we finish the game forty-five minutes later, I’m tired, drenched in sweat, and fucking starving. At the sidelines, I grab a bottle of water and down half of it in a single gulp.

  “Hey,” Teddy says, watching me from across the bench, almost like he’s trying to read my expression. “How did everything go last night?”

  I can’t help the way my mouth lifts in an immediate smile.

  “That good, huh?” He chuckles.

  “Yeah. It was . . . good.” Good feels like th
e wrong word entirely. It’s like calling a win against Toronto good, or saying the surface of the sun is warm.

  “That’s good to hear,” he says, still watching me, obviously waiting for details.

  Too bad I’m not going to give him any. “Your advice helped too. Thanks, man.”

  “Anytime.” He tosses a towel at me. “Now go take a shower. You fucking stink.” As we walk into the locker room, he flicks the back of my head.

  And there’s the Teddy I know and love.

  “How was the art installation thingy last night?” I ask Justin as we head to the showers together. All the shower stalls are separated by half walls, so that’s not as awkward as it sounds.

  “Elise loved it, so I guess it went well,” he says, shaking his head.

  It’s crazy to see how much my best friend has changed since he started dating my younger sister. Yeah, it’s still not something I like to think about often. But he treats her right and she’s happy, so I really can’t complain.

  Still, things have definitely changed. Gone are the days of us going out to bars and enjoying the buffet of females who were willing to go home with us simply because we’re pro hockey players. But it’s all good because I still have Teddy and Asher, and even the rookie Morgan is a pretty good ladies’ magnet.

  Although lately, I’ve got to admit, the bar scene hasn’t held much appeal for me. I’ve been spending most of my free time off the ice more concerned with Becca. And to be honest, I don’t miss the casual hookups at all.

  I’m only supposed to be helping her—coaching her, so to speak, between the sheets—lately it’s felt like things have changed between us. First, she’s far surpassed any expectation I had, and second, I’ve found myself uninterested in any woman but her. And I’m really not sure what to make of that.

  I assumed my interest in her was only because the crackling sexual tension between us was brand new and therefore exciting. Except now I have an inkling it’s more than that. She’s so much more than just a shiny new object to play with.

  Honestly, I have no idea how I’ll walk away when this is done, how I’d ever be okay with handing her off to another man. The idea of it kind of sickens me, to be honest.

  It’s been the thing nagging at me since Becca left this morning. I’m not sure how I’ll handle when she says she’ll be ready to move on from my lessons and get with someone else. I mean, I’ve tried to tell myself that I’ll be fine. I’m freaking Owen Parrish . . . it’s not like there won’t be a line of women ready to keep my bed warm once she walks away.

  Realizing Justin is still talking about his evening with Elise, I try to focus on our conversation.

  “Did you go out?” he asks.

  I shake my head and reach for my towel, shutting off the water. “No, I had someone over.”

  His brows raise. “That someone a girl?”

  Reluctantly, I nod. I can’t lie to my best friend, even if I don’t want to make a big deal out of this.

  “Yeah?” He grins. “Something I should know about?”

  I’m sure he suspects it’s Becca based on our conversation that night in New York.

  “It’s new,” I say. And it might be ending soon.

  Last night with Becca, it was like my whole world finally made sense. But today, as amazing as it was, I’m starting to realize that what we have has an expiration date.

  She’s going to want a lot more than I can ever offer her, and soon. She deserves the best. And I have no idea what I’m going to do about that. On no planet am I good boyfriend material, and I’m sure she knows that better than anyone.

  “Everything all right?” Justin asks, knotting a towel around his hips.

  I nod. I just need to figure out what to do about Becca, and I’ll be golden.

  16

  * * *

  Pizza and Hidden Pasts

  Becca

  Every month, when my pesky Aunt Flo makes her five-day visit, I’m always guaranteed to be found in the exact same place—on the couch with a bottle of ibuprofen and a bag of peanut M&Ms nestled in my lap. And this month is no different. My cramps have been extra bad this cycle, but there’s not a whole lot that chocolate and painkillers can’t solve, as far as I’m concerned.

  As I flip through my options as to which show I’ll be spending the evening binge watching, my phone buzzes on the coffee table. It’s Owen. And although I can’t read his text from this distance, I’m almost positive that he’s asking about my plans this evening. The guys won their game tonight, which no doubt means they’ll be out celebrating. But one look at me, and anyone could see that I’m not exactly up for a night on the town.

  I shift the heating pad off of my lower stomach and reach for my phone.

  Yup. I was right. Owen just invited me out for a victory celebration at the bar. As much as I’d love to see him, there’s no chance I’m getting off this couch tonight. So I type out a quick response, thanking him for the invite but letting him know I’m out of commission.

  Naturally, he responds right away, pressing for details.

  Out of commission??? R U ok?

  I roll my eyes and shamelessly inform him I’m on my period.

  Are guys really that oblivious? I thought “out of commission” was universally understood to mean it’s that time of the month. And even if I was feeling up for going out, I wouldn’t be drinking. I don’t want to cramp his style. Literally.

  A minute passes before Owen responds, but when he does, I’m surprised by his answer.

  I’ll skip it then. Cool if I come over?

  A giddy feeling builds in my stomach. There’s nothing I would love more than to see Owen tonight. But does he really want to forgo a night with the boys for my unshowered self who might force him to watch a rom-com? And without even a chance at getting laid?

  I fire off a response.

  You heard me say I’m on my period, right? AKA no sex.

  He doesn’t even hesitate in his response.

  Loud and clear. We can just hang. I want to see you.

  I almost swoon right off the couch when I read his message. Then again maybe this is his way of making it up to me. I can’t help but think about those books in Owen’s bedroom—like I’m some science fair project he’s been assigned to work on.

  Twenty minutes later, he’s at my door.

  “It’s unlocked!” I call out, although I’m not actually sure if it is. I just don’t want to get off the couch, if I can help it.

  A second later, the door creaks open and I hear Owen kicking off his shoes, so I settle even deeper into the couch, cranking up my heating pad a few degrees.

  “Hey, good lookin’, how are you feeling?”

  Owen’s dressed in a pair of charcoal gray dress pants and a white button-down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, giving me a nice view of those forearm veins. I don’t understand why that’s so sexy, it just is.

  “If anyone is good-looking around here, it sure isn’t me right now.” I pop a peanut M&M into my mouth and adjust my messy bun. “But I’m okay. I’ll be better once this ibuprofen kicks in.”

  With a frown, Owen sets his phone down next to mine on the coffee table, then grabs a spot on the couch, close enough that his thigh is pushed up against mine. “You look great. You always look great. Let me know if there’s anything I can do to make you feel better.”

  It crosses my mind that I once heard that orgasms actually help with cramp relief, but I’m definitely not going to ask him to cross that line with me. Instead, I pull my heating pad tighter against me and nod toward the remote.

  “You could pick out what movie we should watch. That would help.”

  Owen gives me a skeptical look. “Is this going to be one of those things where I pick out a movie and then you tell me no and make me pick another one? And then we just keep doing that for, like, an hour?”

  I shrug and shoot him a cheeky grin. “Depends on if you pick a good movie the first time around or not.”

  He laughs.

>   After flipping through the entire action movie section without a word, Owen moves on to the section labeled GIRLS’ NIGHT. I can’t help but smile.

  As we weigh our options, he starts reading the movie descriptions out loud in the girliest voice he can manage. It sends me into such a giggle fit, for a second, I forget that the pain in my abdomen is from Mother Nature and not from laughing too hard.

  Just as we settle on a movie that seems to combine basketball and romance in a way that will make us both happy, there’s a buzz on the coffee table. I reach for my phone, only to discover that I’m not the one who just got a text.

  It’s Owen. And there’s a picture from an unknown number of some girl’s boobs on his phone screen.

  “Um.” I pull back, averting my gaze. “You’ve got a, um . . . Somebody sent you a picture, I think.”

  Owen furrows his eyebrows at me, but his confusion clears when he picks up his phone. “Shit. Sorry about that. It happens all the time. Some girl who has my number from months ago gives it to a friend who gives it to a friend . . . you know how fans can be. It’s nothing to worry about. I promise.”

  “No worries.” I shrug.

  But it’s too late to tell that to the knot in my stomach. I knew Owen was a hot commodity among the ladies, but I guess I never realized just how in demand he is. A naked picture from a girl he’s never met is just another day in the life when you have a pack of girls constantly following your every move.

  Which is why these feelings I’ve been having toward my best friend need to be quashed ASAP. Sure, he’s beyond sweet and thoughtful with me, but he was always that way. Even before we took things to the next level.

  But now that I know how earth-shattering sex with Owen Parrish is, I’m seeing all that thoughtfulness in a whole new light. A relationship light. Which is nothing but bad news for a million reasons. One of which being that I don’t stand a chance against the swarms of women and rabid fans chasing after him. Those girls are probably totally into the whole domination thing that Owen wants in the bedroom. Unlike me, who is scared shitless by the idea.