Behind the Net: a grumpy sunshine hockey romance

THE NEXT MORNING, Daisy and I are just getting home from her morning walk when we run into Jamie in the hallway outside his apartment.

“Heading out?”

He can barely meet my eyes as he shifts his gym bag over his shoulder. “Yep.”

“Have a great practice.”

“Thanks.” His gaze lifts to mine, and I think he’s about to rush to the elevator, but he doesn’t move. He clears his throat. “What are you up to today?”

I can’t say the first answer that comes to mind. Riding my new toy while I think about sitting on your lap, grinding against your huge erection.

Definitely can’t say that. My face heats, and my body tightens in anticipation.

I’ve been using that toy nonstop.

I’ve never owned one, so I didn’t know how incredible they were. On the tour, there was no privacy, so it’s not like I could have used one. And even if I had one, I’m sure it would have fallen out of my bag at the worst time, in front of everyone.

“We’re going hiking with Hazel.” I hesitate. “And I might play my guitar for a bit.”

His gaze goes soft and warm, and a funny feeling rises in me. I like that look on his sharp, handsome face. I like him looking at me like that.

“That’s great, songbird,” he says, and the corner of his mouth curves up.

My heart flutters. I’ll do anything to make him smile again. His eyes hold mine, and the flutters in my chest intensify.

“Send me a picture on your hike.”

I nod, smiling. He just wants to know how Daisy’s doing throughout the day, I remind myself.

After we say goodbye, I head to my room and pull my guitar out. I play around with it for an hour, strumming and hovering with my pen above my notebook, ready to write lyrics, but nothing shows up. That’s how I used to write music—I’d get a few parts of the song, maybe one verse, the chorus, maybe just an opening line, and then I’d fill the rest in, but today, nothing feels good enough. Nothing sounds worthy of creating a song around. I can’t stop picturing Zach and his manager.

I blow out a long sigh of frustration. Some musician I’d make. I can’t even do this as a hobby without seizing up in self-doubt.

“They’re opening up that marketing position next week for internal applications,” Hazel tells me on our hike that afternoon.

“That’s great.”

I picture myself in meetings to discuss brand partnerships, campaign strategies, or a logo redesign. Compared to the insane hours on a tour, an office job will allow me to have a normal life. Maybe I’ll even make friends there. And if someone makes fun of me or laughs at my ideas? I’ll be fine, because a marketing idea isn’t a piece of my heart the way songs are.

Something makes me pause. If I work for the marketing department, I won’t get to see Jamie or Daisy anymore.

My good mood pops like a balloon.

It’s for the best, though. I think about trying to write music this morning and how paralyzed I was by the idea of negative criticism. I’m not like Zach, who was always able to ignore the bad stuff.

“You don’t have to apply for it,” Hazel says quietly. “Just because it’s what Mom and Dad want—”

“I want to,” I cut in. “It’s what I went to school for.”

Her gaze lingers on me, wary. She doesn’t buy it. Hazel has always been able to see right through me.

I can already hear how happy my parents will be that I even applied. They’ve been asking nonstop about it.

Besides, I’m just starting to play music again. I don’t want to put pressure on myself to make it everything in my life. I just want to love it again.

“Oh, I meant to thank you for the gift,” I tell Hazel, changing the subject and shooting her a cheeky smile. “Did it cross boundaries? Absolutely. Do I care? Not really.”

She tilts her head, frowning. “Huh?”

“The toy.”

“What toy?”

My eyes narrow. “The one you sent me.”

She stares at me. “I didn’t send you anything.”

I blink. “Yes, you did. The Satisfyer.”

She chokes out a laugh. “I didn’t send you that. Although, that’s a great choice. Everyone always goes for the vibrator, but they’re like bzzzzzz!” She makes a noise like a buzz saw. “It’s too much sometimes.”

I stop walking. “You sent it to me.”

“No,” she says slowly. “I didn’t.”

Then—

Oh god. My mouth falls open. He’s the only other person who knows my address. Even the team office still has Hazel’s address on file for me, even though they know I’m living at Jamie’s.

“What’s that look?” Hazel asks.

I’m staring at nothing. My face is the temperature of the sun, and I’m going to die of embarrassment or horniness or shock.

Jamie Streicher sent me a sex toy, and I’ve been using it nonstop while thinking about him.

The image of him standing in the kitchen, staring at me with discomfort as I walked out in a post-orgasm haze, appears in my head. I press my hands against my cheeks. I’m going to die. Any second, my whole being will just poof into the air.

“Oh god,” I whisper.

“What?”

“I think Jamie sent it.”

She crows with laughter. “Awesome.”

“No,” I protest, wincing. “Not awesome.”

Her eyes are bright with excitement. “He liiiiiikes you.”

“No, he doesn’t.” My voice is weird again. “He doesn’t.”

She gives me a look that says otherwise.

He can’t. You’re my assistant, he said. I glance at Hazel, worry furrowing on my brow. My pulse picks up. “He pretended to be my boyfriend at a party Zach was at and got a boner when I sat on his lap,” I blurt out.

Hazel’s jaw hits the ground but her eyes are smiling. “Tell me everything.”

When I’m finished recounting that night, she shakes her head.

“He wants to fuck you.”

My skin prickles, and I can’t get a full breath. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Do you want to fuck him?”

The ultimate revenge would be fucking you. I can’t believe I said that.

“Yes,” I squeak out, blushing. “But we can’t.”

She sighs. “You know how I feel about hockey players, but if you want to, and he wants to…” She gives me an encouraging look. “Why not?”

Because I already like him as more than a friend. What if I fall for him, only to move out in a few months and never talk to him again? What if I start to like him too much, and he pulls a Zach on me?

I’ve already been crushed once this year. I can’t go through it again. Jamie’s so insanely hot and so out of my league, it isn’t even a possibility that he won’t break my heart.

“Pippa,” Hazel says, “just keep it casual with him. Guys are only as faithful as their options, especially these guys.” She shrugs. “Don’t forget who he is. And leave your emotions out of it.”

Easy for her to say. Hazel always keeps relationships temporary and uncomplicated, but I don’t know how to do that.

I live with Jamie. I work for Jamie. We text and talk about our day. His dog is basically my best friend. I hang out with his mom.

Nothing about this is uncomplicated. My emotions are already fully involved, and if I let it go any further, it’s going to hurt like hell.

That afternoon, I get home earlier than expected, and Jamie’s shoes are in the front hall closet, but the apartment is quiet. Daisy’s tired after our hike so heads to the couch to nap, and I wander up to my room to charge my phone.

As I pass Jamie’s door, I hear my name in his low voice, barely above a murmur.

My heart stops. Is he talking about me on the phone? I frown and lean in, listening. This is totally wrong, but if he is, I have to know what he’s saying. My skin prickles as I press my ear against the door.

“Fuck,” he mutters in the same tone as when we were kissing. A low, needy groan.

My eyes go wide. My skin heats as I imagine what he looks like on the other side of the door, fisting his cock and wincing with pleasure.

“Pippa.” I hear his low moan through the door and feel a rush of wetness between my legs.

My hot hockey player boss is jerking off while moaning my name. A thrill shoots through me, and I picture us together, all the hard planes of his body while he touches me, urging me on.

Jamie would be so, so different from Zach in bed. You can do it, Jamie said when I was uncertain about performing in the bar.

I bet he’d say that in bed, too.