Then, he’d come home, where I’d been cooking, and baking all day, and scoop me up.
He’d carry me to our oversized bed, throw me down, and make mad, passionate love to me.
Immediately after that pleasant daydream, I remembered all the four o’clock in the morning practices that my dad had driven me to.
All the money he and Mom had shelled out over the years for me to play.
Every bead of sweat, every injury, every soul-destroying loss—and every monumental win.
The fresh, crisp smell of the rink first thing in the morning.
How I always left a piece of my heart on the rink every evening.
And, most of all—playing the game I’d loved my entire life, with some of the greatest women on the planet.
There was nothing like being on a team of like-minded individuals, all focused on one thing.
Winning.
The way a team came together, to accomplish that goal was always a thing of beauty.
You could have the most random group of misfits—but by the end of the season, you’d fought tooth and nail by each other’s side.
And that deemed you friends for life.
Once you battled game, after game with your teammates, you’d make some of the deepest, best connections.
For life.
If someone had your back on the ice, you could be darn sure they’d have it off the ice, too.
There was a level of trust that bonded you.
So, no—I could not—would not give that up.
Not even for Trey Turner.
The hottest player on Earth.
“It was a great one-night—” I started to say, then corrected myself, “two-night stand. Thanks, Trey.”
The smile on his face faltered for a brief second, before he pulled me into his body, and said, “Definitely the best two-night stand,” his lips gently touched mine, “ever.”
I sighed, and let him kiss me, one more time.
Gosh, when Trey kissed you—he really kissed you.
Like, takeover your entire mouth, and body kind of kisser.
I let my hands dive into his hair—one last time.
His hand traveled down to my behind, and pull me closer.
I could feel his hardness against my belly.
If we weren’t careful, there was definitely going to be a very public display right here on the sidewalk.
“We should go,” I muttered against his lips while he kept up our punishing make-out scene.