Caged (Gold Hockey Book 11) Page 4

  Groaning, he dropped his head to the tiles, felt the cool material against his skin, though it did nothing to tame the need burning within him.

  Then he gave in to the inevitable and wrapped his hand around his still-hard cock . . . and stroked, pretending it was her hand, that her naked body was under the stream, touching him, coming close, her breasts pressing against him, her lips on his—

  And he came, her name on his lips.

  Fuck, but he was in deep.

  Chest heaving, he let the water flow over him, sliding along his back until he started to feel guilty for contributing to the California drought and knew he needed to get on with his day. He cranked the shower off, snagged a towel, and wrapped it around his waist, glad his cock was flaccid but feeling the slightest bit dirty for jerking off to thoughts of a woman who wasn’t attracted to him. Then he pushed down the creeper feeling, promised he wouldn’t do it again, got dressed, and headed out to get his shit done.

  The first order of business was the library.

  Maybe not the most logical place for a six-foot-five, two-hundred-and-twenty-three-pound professional hockey player, but it was one of his places.

  Ever since he’d been a little kid, it had been his main happy place.

  Tagging along with his parents, disappearing into the children’s section while they browsed for research books or just novels to read for fun. He still remembered the feeling of getting his first library card, how excited he’d been to have the power to check his books out, all on his own.

  Today, he was filled with marginally less excitement.

  He was heading in to pick up some books he had on hold for one of his classes this semester. With hockey as a full-time job and the team’s travel schedule intense, he usually only managed two classes a semester. Which meant he was on the four-year plan for his master’s, but that wasn’t the worst thing in the world. It was the only way he was able to do both of the things he loved—hockey and learning new things.

  Plus, he was on his last semester.

  If he didn’t fuck up, he was going to have his master’s in psychology by the end of the year.

  What he’d do with it, he didn’t know yet.

  But he’d have it, and since earning his master’s had always been a goal of his—one that had sometimes been at odds with his career, with away games and playoffs and travel—he would be happy just to have the degree to shove in a drawer somewhere.

  Then he’d do . . . something.

  Maybe get a dog, although that would be tough since he was away for half the year. If he wasn’t single, if he had a partner like some of the other guys, he could rely on that girlfriend or wife to be on dog duty. Though, he supposed if he really wanted a pup, he could figure it out with a pet sitter or boarding or doggy daycare. But he’d never actually pulled the trigger because it just had never seemed fair to the pooch if he was constantly leaving and coming back. And dogs aside, it was hard to even find someone to date when he was currently hung up on a woman who traveled with the team, a woman he saw nearly every day who made every cell in his body stand up and take notice.

  Dani with her beautiful brown skin, those amber and russet eyes, with lips and curves he wanted to kiss—

  His cock twitched.

  And he forced himself to stop, his hand on the handle of the door leading into the library.

  One deep breath, Dani out of his mind.

  Another to open the door and go inside.

  Immediately, the smell of books wafted forward, drifting toward him, filling his nose and settling that itchy feeling inside him.

  The vaulted ceiling overhead was covered in translucent glass, each of the panels surrounded by green metal. The walls were a pale, institutional brown, the carpet industrial and a quite unpleasant combination of tan and forest green, but the bookcases in the distance took the majority of his focus, row after row after row of bottled—or papered, he supposed—knowledge.

  He wanted to explore.

  But he had more things to do today than just browse through books, as sad as that thought was.

  Averting his eyes from the temptation of all those books, Ethan headed to the hold desk and waited in line. A few minutes later, and with a swipe of his library card, he had received his stack of reference materials.

  And out he went, thinking about the next item on his list.

  Grocery store to pick up Nutritionist Rebecca approved food, the hardware store to pick up some samples of the new floor he was going to have installed. He’d bought it, now that he’d gotten the first long-term contract of his career—six years—and knew he’d be able to settle down in one place.

  Plus, the Bay Area wasn’t a bad place to live, even once his stint in the league was done.

  Whether he’d retire after the next contract (most likely), stay with the Gold, or move onto another team wouldn’t be decided anytime soon, but he was just happy to have found a team that he truly gelled with, even if he would never be good enough to be on that top line.

  Power plays and penalty kills were his specialty, and between them and with his position as left wing on the third line, he got enough ice time to not hate what he was doing, and to appreciate that offer of six years of stability.

  That was a lot more than other players.

  Including a lot more than he’d had in the past.

  Studying the books in his hands, leafing through the medical journal on the top of the stack, he went to push out the front door of the library when he saw her.

  Her.

  As always, his heart pattered, squeezing tight, and his fingers went all tingly.

  She had a stack of books balanced in one arm, was paging through another . . . as she strode right for him.

  He opened his mouth to speak, remembered the tablets, and thought better of it, shifting instead to be in a position to catch, and then snagging her arm. Her head flew up, and he saw that she was wearing turquoise-framed glasses, her hair wrapped up into a loose bun on top of her head, her lips painted a bright pink.

  The books tumbled free, but since he was ready, he caught them, pressing the stack between one hand and his side.

  “Ethan?” she said.

  “In the flesh,” he said then winced because in the flesh? Who the fuck said that? But he was struggling here, he’d never seen Dani in something that wasn’t jeans or sweats paired with a Gold pullover or fleece.

  This however, was different.

  Different as in incredible.

  Her sundress was giving him all sorts of Bridgerton vibes, even though it wasn’t remotely of the era. Rather, he just had all sorts of thoughts about tossing the hem up and losing himself in what was underneath. The fabric was white with large blue and turquoise flowers creeping up from the hem, its hem hitting right at knee level and giving him a view of slender calves, and when his gaze dropped lower, it stuck on pale blue sandals crisscrossing over toes that were painted bright pink.

  Fuck, the woman even had beautiful toes.

  “Wh-what are you doing here?” she asked.

  Since the books were unstable—and not because it would extend this interaction with her—he shifted the stack, tucking them under one arm. “Same as you, I suspect.”

  Her eyes met his, drifted down in what felt like a physical caress, halting on the stack of research materials he held under his other arm. “You read?”

  “I have been known to do so,” he said, lips twitching. “Occasionally.”

  Her teeth found her bottom lip, pressed into that plump, kissable mouth. “I . . . um . . . I didn’t mean that like it sounded.”

  “I know.” And he did know that.

  Her eyes held his. “I’m sorry.”

  “Nothing to be sorry for.” He started to nudge open the door with his hip, but she slipped past him, held the metal and glass panel wide so he could pass through. “I’m just teasing,” he said once they were outside in the courtyard filled with bronze statues of people reading, trees interspaced, their leaves just beginnin
g to change color for the fall, yellows and greens mixing with an occasional orange and red.

  They continued walking, this time on the path winding its way to the parking lot. “What did you pick up?”

  “Some research material.”

  She frowned.

  “I’m finishing up my degree,” he told her, surprised she didn’t know, considering the team teased him about it frequently.

  “Oh, your bachelor’s?” she asked, and he sensed the air around her relax for the first time. His heart thudded. Maybe she was warming up to him. “That’s really cool. I know sometimes it’s hard for you guys to finish school when you get drafted young.”

  Ethan spied her car and started walking toward it. “No, actually,” he told her. “I was a late bloomer as far as hockey went, so I finished my bachelor’s degree before I ended up playing in the league.” Which was a good thing. He’d needed those extra years to build his skills, in addition to the additional time to earn his undergraduate studies.

  She froze, sandals making a scraping sound on the pavement.

  “A master’s then?” she asked, brows raised. Her shoulders rose, and though he could only see the side of one cheek, since she was now deliberately looking down at the ground, he knew that she was embarrassed again.

  “Yes,” he said gently.

  Brown eyes sparked when her gaze jerked up to his, and he was reminded again that she didn’t like that tone. He couldn’t help it, though. There was something about her that made him ache to soothe whatever hurts were inside her, to draw her close and cuddle her tight.

  And not in a sexual way.

  Though, that was there. That was always there.

  He just wanted to keep her safe and then spend the rest of the time making love to her. Also, this just in, he was embracing that feeling from the shower earlier.

  He wanted her.

  She was here.

  He was in deep.

  That was just . . . fact.

  “I’m a weird one who can’t stop going to school.” He laughed, mostly so that his cock wouldn’t get any harder and he’d embarrass himself.

  “No, seriously,” she said. “That’s awesome. What are you studying?”

  “Psychology.” A shrug. “Mostly because I want to be able to use my powers to ask all the girls to lie on my couch.”

  He froze, mortification clawing up his throat, stealing his words. Who in the fuck would say something like that?

  Maybe some dumbass frat boy.

  But not a grown-ass man, who was trying to somehow win over a woman who wasn’t interested.

  She reacted exactly as he’d expected, given he’d said something incredibly gross and creepy, and in the simplest of terms, the precise wrong thing to say to anyone, most of all a woman he liked. “Wow, that’s really . . . something,” she said, striding past him, those bare legs gleaming in the sun, the hem swishing back and forth along the backs of her thighs.

  “Dani, wait,” he said, catching up to her. “I’m sorry, that was . . .” He trailed off, made a face. “I just really fucking like you, and for some reason, I seem determined to put my foot into my mouth every time I open it.”

  Her eyes studied his.

  “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I really didn’t mean that thing about the couch. I don’t even know what I’m doing.” He shoved a hand through his hair. “And the degree is just some piece of paper, some goal I’ve been working toward. I don’t even know what I’m going to do with it, aside from shoving it in some drawer somewhere.”

  She stilled, those pretty eyes continuing to hold his. Then one corner of her mouth twitched. “It’s a good goal, all things considered.”

  “What’s one of yours?”

  A flicker of an emotion he couldn’t decipher sliding across her face. “I’m boring,” she said. “My life consists of testing the latest editing software, pretending to attempt to clear off my TBR, even knowing that’ll never actually happen, and eating leftover pizza as much as possible.”

  God, he wanted to know everything about her. “Is leftover pizza like this Bridgerton thing?”

  Her brows drew together. “What do you mean?”

  “I watched like three episodes last night.” He grinned. “I know what you like.”

  She spun toward the lot. “No,” she said. “You really don’t. Not if you haven’t seen episodes six, seven, and eight.”

  Okay, now this was getting interesting.

  “What’s in six, seven, and eight?”

  A flick of her eyes toward his, then back toward the cars. “Leftover pizza is better than regular pizza because the flavors have a chance to meld, and then when you pull it out from the fridge and chow down on it, those flavors just explode on your tongue.” She moaned. “I buy it for the week and have it for dinner cold every night. It’s the best.”

  Cock twitching as he cataloged that moan away for probable shower time later and attempting (and failing) to ignore the whole exploding on the tongue thing, he needed to revisit the ordering pizza for the week, only to store it in the fridge.

  “You don’t eat it hot?”

  She shook her head. “Nope. Put it straight into the fridge and wait until the next day to eat it.”

  “Wow,” he said. “You either have incredible self-control or you’re—”

  “Incredibly weird?” Her brows flicked, and he got the sense that amusement was tangling with a sliver of old pain. Then she shrugged, and her lips twitched. “Or maybe it’s just both, and I should embrace it.” With that, she took off across the parking lot, calling over her shoulder. “I’ll see you at the rink.”

  He waited a moment to see if she’d realize she only held the one book she’d been leafing through, that he had her huge pile of—he glanced down, studied the spines—cozy mysteries, thrillers, and romances, but she just kept walking and after a moment, he trailed after her.

  She was whispering something under her breath when he caught up, something he couldn’t distinguish, but also something he really didn’t like the tone of.

  “That’s why the guys call me Big, Juicy Brain sometimes,” he blurted.

  Dani nearly jumped out of those sexy, strappy sandals, clasping a hand to her chest and squeezing it tightly. “Will you stop doing that?”

  “Doing what?”

  She plunked her hands on her hips, glared up at him, and Ethan had the distinct thought that when she got mad, she forgot to worry about being shy, forgot about all those things that had her whispering disparagingly to herself. “Sneaking up on me,” she snapped.

  And yup.

  Had definitely forgotten about shy, at least for the moment.

  Also, yup, he really, really liked it when she forgot to be shy.

  “Just saying”—his lips twitched—“I didn’t think nearly barreling you down counted as sneaking up on you.”

  “Ugh.”

  Sparks in those brown eyes, and hell if that didn’t make joy coil up inside him.

  She turned away again.

  He followed. Again.

  She spun back to face him. “What?” she snapped. “What do you want? Why are you bugging me in my happy place when all I want to do is enjoy my day?” Her eyes narrowed. “With peace and quiet.” They narrowed further. “Peace and quiet that doesn’t involve certain annoying hockey players.”

  “How about certain hockey players with your books?”

  He tilted his head down, lifted the stack of paperbacks he held under one arm.

  “Ugh.” She reached for them.

  He held onto them, stepping back out of reach. “This is your happy place?”

  She froze again. Then shook her head, turned away, and sighed. “You’re not going to give those back, are you?”

  “Of course, I am.”

  A glance over her shoulder, and he finally registered something other than sleek bare legs. The turquoise sweater she was wearing was fucking adorable, especially when paired with those glasses and sandals. He was so used to seeing her in c
asual clothes—sweats, T-shirts, hoodies—that he’d always pictured her in something similar. To see her so girly gave him another intriguing insight. Well, that along with her choice of reading material—which as he glanced over the titles again, he could approve strongly of, even the trio of historical romances that he assumed were inspired by her recent foray into Bridgerton.

  “What do you mean, of course you are?”

  “I mean,” he said, “that I’ll give them back after I walk you to your car.”

  Her eyes narrowed.

  He nodded over her head. “Let me rephrase,” he said. “I’ve been walking you to your car, and now it’s less than ten more feet, sweetheart,” he said, “and then you can get rid of me.”

  More narrowing, more sparks.

  And so much less shy.

  Months ago, Ethan had already slid down the slippery slope of being infatuated with this woman, but that fire beneath the surface, the sass she was—rightfully—throwing his way . . . well, he was no longer gripping at the hillside, trying to crawl back up. He was plummeting right down into the crevice below and not giving a damn in the least.

  He was happy to keep falling.

  She twisted to face him again, the fabric of her skirt brushing his bare knees, exposed to the warm fall air by a pair of cargo shorts. But he wasn’t thinking of his fashion choices when she stepped close, her chin lifting. “I’m not your sweetheart.”

  “But you could be,” he murmured.

  Her breath escaped on a long, slow exhale. He smelled mint and coffee in the air, was fascinated by the bright pink color of her lips. Had she intended to match her toes? Did she always wear dresses and cute little sandals? Why didn’t she ever wear glasses at work? What other lipstick colors did she have? Would she let him kiss all the colors off?

  “Ethan,” she whispered.