Famous Last Words: A College Hockey Romance (Holt Hockey Book 1)

I had sex with Conor Hart, is my first thought when I wake up.

I had sex with Conor Hart.

I had sex with Conor Hart.

What the actual fuck was I thinking? I had sex with Conor Hart.

The hottest sexual encounter of my life—by far—was not supposed to be with him.

I can still feel him between my legs. Hear echoes of his dirty words. Taste him in my mouth. Smell him on my skin.

Landon’s half-brother. Hugh’s son.

Admitting my attraction to him was only supposed to ever happen in my head. Him overlooking my current home address and agreeing to it was not supposed to happen. But at the very least, sex was supposed to extinguish the heat between us. One of those experiences you overhype in your mind but then the reality falls short.

No such luck.

I glance at the clock on his bedside table. Then at Conor asleep next to me, only moving my neck and keeping the rest of my body completely still so I don’t risk waking him up. I have fifteen minutes before I need to leave for the marina. I usually set an alarm but forgot to last night for obvious reasons. I guess my body is trained to wake up early on Saturdays by now. Or maybe it’s some self-preservation instinct, to get myself out of this uncomfortable situation.

I’ve never slept in the same bed as a guy before.

And it’s weird, having someone asleep beside me.

But that strangeness is eclipsed by the fact it’s Conor Hart. He takes up more than half the bed, his presence impossible to ignore.

I had sex with Conor Hart.

No matter how many times I say it in my head, it never sounds normal.

I wanted it. I told him I wanted it.

He wasn’t supposed to say yes.

His hatred was supposed to be stronger than mine. And his willpower. Every girl on this campus has a crush on him. It’s not like I was his one and only option for getting laid last night.

I can make out the shape of his huge cock beneath the thin sheet. A traitorous throb starts pulsing between my thighs, reminding me how he felt inside of me.

All I’m wearing is one of his T-shirts. He offered it to me, and I accepted like some sex-addled idiot. Then, I also said yes when he suggested we watch a movie. Halfway though, his fingers crept under the hem of my—his—shirt, and it somehow happened again.

This is so, so bad.

For a whole lot of reasons, but especially that I still want it to happen again. Twice wasn’t enough.

I’m getting wet just looking at him. All messy hair and muscles, with a peaceful expression I’ve never seen him wear when awake. He’s usually intense and focused, not relaxed. There’s a purplish mark on his collarbone and some red scratches on his chest that must be from me.

Another hot flash. Conor is like a space heater, hot in every sense of the word.

I shift an inch to the right, closer to the side of the mattress. I’m not sure at what point I fell asleep, but it wasn’t a deliberate choice to spend the night here. I’ve never navigated a morning after situation and I have no idea how to.

I don’t regret last night, but I’m worried he will.

The sooner I get out of this bed, the sooner I can avoid him for the rest of my life. We don’t share any of the same classes or the same friends. We can easily go back to living separate lives, just like we did for three plus years. There are only seven months until graduation.

A few more inches, and I’m almost off the mattress. I decide to just grab my clothes off the floor and get dressed in the hallway. I can leave his shirt…somewhere.

“Sneaking out?”

My heart tries to leap out of my chest as my entire body jolts with surprise. I glance over at him, my pulse racing.

Conor’s gray-blue eyes are wide open and staring straight at me. His expression is smooth, no sign of emotion. And his voice is too raspy with sleep for me to detect any tone.

I decide to be honest. “Yes.”

There’s no reaction to that answer.

Then he sits up, tossing the navy sheet off. “I’ll walk you out.”

I swallow as soon as his dick is revealed. He’s not fully hard, and it’s still impressive. I can’t believe that fit inside me.

“You don’t have to do that,” I manage to say. Not moving, mesmerized by the sight of his naked body. It’s just…a lot. I saw it last night, but I was horny and nervous. The morning light creeping in through the window is a different sort of display.

Conor follows the direction of my gaze. Smirks. And then wraps a hand around his growing erection, stroking himself.

“See something you like, Hayes?”

God, I need a cold shower. Air conditioning. I don’t care that it’s November. Warmth is creeping across my skin like the lick of a flame, burning away all my inhibitions and any common sense.

He’s fully hard now, his cock jutting up toward his abs proudly. The flared tip is flushed purple, leaking pre-cum. My thighs clench together beneath his shirt, the throbbing pulse becoming more persistent.

“Yeah. I’m a fan,” I say.

It’s not like he doesn’t know I’m attracted to him, after last night.

I don’t think Conor was expecting me to answer him. There’s a flash of surprise, followed by heat. The sheet covering me gets yanked down, leaving me in just his shirt. His eyes darken even more when he sees how tightly my thighs are pressed together.

“Are you sore?” His voice is the consistency of gravel, low and deep.

I manage a “Yes.”

It’s a good sore. A satisfied sore. A stretched sore.

But I won’t be able to move for a while without remembering last night.

He’s stopped stroking himself, his warm palm landing on my left calf instead. His hand moves higher and higher, forcing my legs to part. I gasp when cool air hits the wetness leaking out of me.

“Holy fuck. You’re soaked.” There’s the thick rasp of lust in Conor’s voice. And a note of pride too, knowing he’s the reason.

His thumb rubs tiny circles around my pelvic bone, each sweep creeping closer to the spot where I’m swollen and aching for him.

Then his hand moves away. I whimper. Conor grins, reading the disappointment on my face. Then he’s shifting, down, his hands cupping beneath my thighs and spreading them wide. His lips land on the same spot where his thumb just was, and I realize what’s happening.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Stop saying that, Hayes. I don’t do shit I don’t want to do.”

The first swipe of his tongue is electric. I writhe beneath him, trying to get closer or away, I’m not sure.

It’s too much, just like when he filled me last night, an undiluted stream of pleasure stimulating everything. Overwhelming everything. My fingers push into his hair, fisting and pulling at the dark strands in an attempt to release some of the pressure rapidly building.

Conor groans around my clit, the vibration reverberating everywhere. His arm slides beneath my hips to bring me closer to his sinful mouth, his tongue tracing my entire slit before slipping inside of me.

I’m boneless, thoughtless. All I’m aware of is him, grinding against his face shamelessly. I’ve never experienced anything like this before. It’s never been like this before.

And it’s not just the sensation. It’s him.

His dark head hovering between my open thighs. Knowing it’s Conor’s teeth grazing my clit, his tongue tasting me. Watching his hips move against the mattress and knowing he’d rather I was taking his dick than riding his face.

He’s a selfish ass who’s prioritizing my pleasure over his.

That realization sends me over the edge. My pussy clenches as I press harder against his talented mouth, using his body to chase release. My hands move to his upper back, probably leaving marks there too.

Conor doesn’t seem to mind. His grip tightens on my waist, keeping me in place as his tongue continues moving against sensitized flesh. He doesn’t pull away until my inner muscles stop pulsing.

I slump against the mattress, the remnants of pleasure humming throughout my entire body. It feels like I’m sinking into a cloud. Lost in a mindless haze.

Last night was incredible.

I didn’t think it could get any better.

So bad, I tell myself. That’s knowledge I didn’t want to have.

“Show me your tits.” It’s a demand, more than a request.

I reach down and grab the hem of his shirt, pulling it up to my collarbone. Conor is on his knees now, fisting a painful-looking erection. It seems like my body should have run through all the arousal it’s capable of producing by now. But, no. My breathing quickens, watching the muscles in his forearm bunch he strokes himself, getting off to the sight of my naked body. Staring at his hand stroking himself from the base of trimmed hair all the way to the wet tip.

Seconds later, hot ropes of cum spurt from his dick and splatter onto my chest. No guy has ever come on me before. I can only imagine what I look like right now. I can’t figure out how me intending to sneak out ended up here—shirt pulled up like I’m flashing him, covered with his semen. Every time I’m around Conor, there’s some crazy domino effect. One thing happens and then I’m looking back at a long line of decisions I don’t remember making.

Conor grabs a couple of tissues and wipes his cum off me carefully.

“Sorry,” he rasps. “Got a little carried away.”

My chest tingles in every spot he just wiped, like there’s an invisible brand tattooed to my skin.

“I didn’t mind. It was hot.”

His gaze is intense—too intense.

I look away, right at the clock.

“Fuck.” My fifteen minutes to spare have turned into being five minutes late. I told Sam I’d be there today, so I’m going to hold the entire crew up.

I scramble out of bed, hunting around for my underwear. Putting them back on feels gross, but I don’t have another option. I’ll shower once I’m home later.

“What’s wrong?” Conor asks.

“I have a…Saturday morning thingy,” I say, focusing on the awkward shimmy slash jump I have to do to get these jeans on.

“A Saturday morning thingy? What does that mean? Church?”

I snort at that, pulling off his shirt so I can put my bra on. “I think most religious ceremonies are on Sundays, but this sorta is my version of it, I guess.”

A pause, then “Swimming?”

“No.” I yank my shirt on, grab my jacket, and then turn around to face him. He’s put on boxer briefs, which is slightly less distracting. “I—um, I’m going fishing.”

“What? Why?”

“I like looking out at the ocean,” I admit. “It’s my ice rink, I guess.”

Conor studies me for a second, then asks, “Can I come?”

I’m…stunned. “What? Why?”

He rolls his eyes, walking over to his dresser and opening a drawer. “Okay, never mind. Let me just get dressed, I’ll walk you out.”

“Is there a bathroom up here I can use?” I ask.

“Yeah, end of the hall. Just…Aidan and Hunter are probably home. Asleep, I mean. But home.”

“Got it.”

I slip out into the hallway, passing a closed door before I reach a bathroom. It’s bigger than mine, the floor a white tile that’s surprisingly clean. I pee, wash my hands, and then use the same soap to wash my face. Desperate times. I pat my face dry with the towel on the rack and then head back into the hallway.

Conor is waiting at the top of the stairs, wearing a matching pair of sweats that both have the Holt Hockey logo on them. I pull my jacket on as I walk, tired of carrying it around.

“All set?” he asks.

I pull in a deep breath. “If you still want to come, you can.”

He studies me. “You sure?”

My face flushes, recalling the last time he asked me that. And my answer is the same. “I’m sure.”

“Okay. Just let me grab my phone.”

Conor disappears back into his bedroom.

I like that he left it, that he didn’t presume I’d change my mind. Unfortunately, the general consensus ever since he approached me in that kitchen is that I like a lot of things about Conor. Too many things.

He’s back a few seconds later, and we head downstairs silently.

It snowed overnight. A light dusting of white covers everything once we’re outside. It’s beautiful, glimmering in the muted morning light.

“I’ll drive,” I say. My car is parked on the street directly in front of his house, obvious for anyone to see. I’m anxious to move it.

“Works for me.” Conor yawns.

“You sure you want to come?” I ask.

He—we—didn’t get much sleep last night.

“I’m fine,” he says.

“It’ll be a few hours,” I warn.

I’m not sure how to explain to Conor that I’m worried all the lines I drew around him are blurring, and that sharing this piece of myself I’ve never told anyone else about might erase them more.

“I want to come, Hayes.”

“Okay.” I head for my car, him right behind me.

Just as I feared, most of the slips are empty when I pull into the marina’s parking lot.

I climb out of the car and rush toward the gangway. Conor keeps up with me easily, shoving his hands into the front pouch of his sweatshirt and looking around with interest as I hurry toward Sam’s boat.

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” I blurt when I reach it. “And I didn’t have time to get coffee.” I cast Sam an apologetic look.

He’s not looking at me. None of the guys are looking at me. They’re all focused on Conor.

“This is Conor. Is it okay if he joins us?”

“Of course,” Sam replies. “The more the merrier.”

I exhale. “Great.” Grip the side of the boat and climb aboard.

Conor does the same, managing the move much more effortlessly than I did my first time aboard.

Sam holds a wrinkled hand out to him. “Samuel Prescott.”

He’s sizing Conor up the way a dad might, and there’s a silly squeeze around my heart.

Conor shakes it. “Conor Hart.”

Sam’s eyes widen. “Huh. Well, how about that? You’re having one hell of a season, son.”

“The whole team is,” Conor responds.

“He’s being modest,” I state, heading for my milk crate. Something I used to think he wasn’t capable of.

“Put that together myself, Harlow,” Sam says, looking amused.

The rest of the crew introduces themselves to Conor. Brent and his son Levi strike up an immediate conversation with him. Sam has to shout to stop socializing before we actually leave the dock.

Although it’s both smaller and older than most of the fishing boats that head out from the marina each morning, the barnacle-covered hull parts the churning, salty water effortlessly. Timmy and Brent move about the deck, tying lines and dropping nets. Conor helps drag the nets out, chatting with Timmy the whole time. Sam steers us along; an easier job today than on most. It’s turning into a brilliantly clear day, sunlight dazzling the surface of the sea and illuminating the snowy peaks of the mountains in the distance. It looks like a postcard.

I watch Conor with the crew for a few minutes, then focus back on the water. It usually takes about ten minutes until we’re far enough from shore to spot a pod. But I pull my phone out just in case, opening the spreadsheet so I can note any sightings.

“Whatcha doing?”

I startle when I hear his voice right behind me. “Uh, I keep track of the sightings.”

“Sightings of what?”

“Orcas. There are a few pods that live around here.”

Conor looks at the water. “How often do you see them?”

“It depends on the time of year. Peak season is the summer months, which I’m never here for. But pretty regularly.”

He takes the phone out of my hand, squinting at the notes. “Is this for an assignment?”

“No, just for me.”

“That’s cool.” He hands my phone back to me, and our fingers brush. Even now, that he’s touched me so much more intimately, my body reacts.

“If you’re regretting coming, we’re stuck out here for at least another hour.”

The length of Sam’s trips vary greatly. It depends what mood he’s in, what the weather is like. Whether we see any pods.

“You’re awfully worried I’ll regret this, Hayes. Did the last person who came out with you fall overboard, or something?” he asks. “Should I have signed a waiver?”

I scoff. “No. I’ve never told anyone I do this, let alone brought them with me.”

“Never?”

“I wasn’t exactly thinking straight this morning.” I try to make a joke, worried he’ll read too much into it otherwise.

“Me neither. Hottest sex of my life, Hayes.”

I still when he says it. Maybe it’s a line. Maybe Conor has said that a lot, to a lot of girls.

But my gut says he hasn’t.

I focus on the water, the same way he is. The mist that sometimes shrouds anything farther than a hundred feet is noticeably absent. The only limit to the scenery this morning is my eyesight. I try to focus on looking at everything I can, instead of at him. This has always been a place I can think, where distractions can’t reach me.

Conor is very distracting.

Sudden motion catches my eye.

“So, what is the—shit!”

The curse is practically a shout. It took the black and white body breaching the surface for Conor to spot what I noticed a few seconds ago; three orcas are nearby. One just came up closer than I was expecting. So close, a few droplets of salty water hit my cheeks.

“Holy…” Conor glances wildly to me, then back at the frothing water that’s the only evidence of what just occurred. “That was…wow.”

I nod eagerly. “Right?”

I’m thrilled by his reaction. By the awe and excitement on his face.

The ocean itself is a vast, powerful, fathomless force. Witnessing the animals who engineer that strength in streamlined speed is breathtaking. And it feels special, sharing this with him.

“You knew that was going to happen?”

“I saw a few dorsal fins, so I thought there was a chance.”

“A little warning would have been nice, Harlow. Holy shit.” Conor shakes his head a couple of times, but I notice he’s keeping his gaze on the water, like he’s reluctant to miss any more activity.

“Are they going to leap up again?” he asks.

“Not that group. They’re already headed back around the island. Probably to meet up with the rest of their pod. See?” I point at the tall, black fins cutting through the water like sharp knives.

Conor squints. “Maybe?”

I pull my phone out and mark the sighting on my spreadsheet. This is a spot I’ve had good luck before. Since it’s been a few weeks without any sightings, I’m excited. More for Conor than me, if I’m being honest. I’m happy he got to witness it.

“Not a bad show, eh?” Sam calls from the captain’s chair.

I shake my head and grin.

We don’t see any more whales, but it ends up being a good morning for fishing. All the boxes on board are filled by the time Sam steers his boat back into the marina.

Timmy jumps out from the hull when we reach the right slip and starts tying us to the metal cleats. Brent begins offloading the day’s catch so it can be repacked in fresh ice and shipped off for sale.

“Thanks, Sam,” I call out, climbing off the boat and waving. Conor is still talking with Brent. He heads my way a few seconds later, pausing next to Sam when he says something. Conor nods, then continues toward me. The rest of the guys call goodbyes this way as we walk along the shifting dock.

“What did Sam say to you?” I ask.

“He wished me good luck this season.”

He’s lying. I’m not sure how I know, but I do.

“Oh. That was nice.”

“Yeah. He’s a good guy.” Conor glances at me. “How did you meet him?”

“I’d hang around here freshman year, trying to see orcas from the shore. He took pity on me one day, invited me out on his boat. I’ve been coming back every Saturday ever since.”

He nods as we walk up the gangway and toward my car. The silence isn’t uncomfortable. It feels more like we don’t have to fill the quiet with unnecessary words.

Watching Conor fold his tall frame into my passenger seat is just as entertaining the second time as it was earlier this morning. I take more time to appreciate it now, since we’re not in a rush.

“Shut up,” he grumbles, as I make no attempt to hide my grin while he attempts to slide the chair back. It’s already as far as it’ll go.

“I didn’t say anything,” I tell him as I shift into reverse.

Just as I’ve pulled out of the parking lot, I get a call. Landon Garrison flashes across the screen display, and I freeze. I know Conor can see it. I feel the sudden tension humming in the air.

At some point, I forgot about the fact I’m best friends with the half-brother Conor doesn’t speak to. Doesn’t even acknowledge. It somehow became a secondary consideration. An uncomfortable connection I have to be reminded of, the way I’m being reminded right now.

I reject the call as fast as I can.

But the damage has already been done.

Now, the silence is uncomfortable.

A block from his house, Landon calls me again. Conor huffs an unamused laugh, resting his elbow on the car door and his head against the window. Literally leaning away from me.

I stop in front of Conor’s, not sure what to say to him.

He speaks first. “I had fun. Thanks.”

“For the fishing trip? Or the sex?”

A muscle in Conor’s jaw jumps. “What do you want me to say, Harlow?”

“Not thanks.”

Landon calls me for a third time, and I’m tempted to throw my phone out the window.

“Better get that,” Conor says, opening the door and climbing out. “Seems like someone really needs to talk to you. And one of the guys might see you. That’s why we took your car, right?”

He shuts the door without giving me a chance to answer, heading toward his house without glancing back once.

I smack the steering wheel with my palm, wince, and keep driving. Once I have my chaotic emotions somewhat under control, I call Landon back.

He answers on the first ring. “Hey.”

“Hi.”

“I’ve been trying to call you. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, sorry. I was driving back home from the pool, and I think there’s something wacky going on with my phone service. Your calls kept dropping.”

I’m a terrible person. An awful friend.

“Huh. That is weird. You can hear me okay now?”

“Yup,” I chirp. “Clear as a bell. What’s up?”

“Well, I was letting you know that we booked a gig near Claremont two weeks from today. It’s not a huge venue, but it’s legit. Not a birthday party or an open mic. We’re the openers.”

“That’s amazing, Landon! Congrats!”

“Are you free to come home for it? I know it’s really close to Thanksgiving, so the timing isn’t ideal. But we haven’t hung out since August, and I know Mom and Dad would love to see you.”

I hesitate, and I hate that I do. Because it’s not because I have plans with Eve that weekend or an exam the next day. It’s because of Conor, and my fear any progress we’ve made is being erased.

Landon has been there for me through everything. He’s my oldest, closest friend. We grew up together, many of the happiest memories I have with my parents including him and his. He was there for me when I lost my entire immediate family, helping me pack up my life and move it into his parents’. Supporting him should be a no-brainer.

And what did I do this morning? I woke up in bed with his least favorite person on the planet.

I’ve never asked for details on Landon’s relationship with Conor. His cutting comments about his half-brother have sometimes made me uncomfortable, because an unbiased observer would probably say that Conor has better reasons to resent Landon. Landon ended up with two happily married parents. Conor didn’t. Maybe it’s some warped sibling rivalry I can’t fully comprehend as an only child.

“Harlow?”

“Yeah, sorry. I was just trying to…think. I thought that maybe I’d promised Eve I’d do something with her, but that’s the weekend before. I’ll be there.”

“Are you sure? If you’ve already got something going on, don’t…”

“I’m sure. I’m excited to see you guys play!”

That’s true, at least.

“Okay, great. I’ll let Mom and Dad know.” He hesitates. “Mom said she hasn’t heard from you in a while. Everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s great. Just been busy.”

“Okay. Talk to you soon!”

“Bye, Landon.”

I hang up the call, then stare at the outside of my house for a minute. It’s not even ten a.m., and I feel like a whole day has passed.

When I walk inside Eve is snuggled up on the couch, eating a bowl of cereal. She scans my outfit—the same one I was wearing last night.

“Date went well?” She smirks.

I huff a laugh, shaking my head as I pull my jacket off. Eating dinner with Eric feels like a lifetime ago. “Uh, no. I mean, it was fine. He was nice. Dinner was nice. Everything was nice. But there was no spark. I think—hope he felt the same way. He took it pretty well when I said we should stick to being friends.”

I know what question is coming next.

“If you weren’t with Eric, where were you last night?”

I’m too tired—too confused—to lie.

“Having sex with Conor Hart.”

Eve’s mouth drops open. “Holy shit. Really?”

I nod.

“Oh my God.”

I nod again.

“Oh my God,” Eve repeats. “How was it?”

“Uh, good.”

“You’re blushing,” she teases.

“Fine, it was really good. Ridiculously good. He’s better at sex than hockey.”

“How big is he?”

I snort. “Big.”

Her nod is expected. “Yeah, I totally get that energy from him.”

I roll my eyes. “Whatever. I need a shower.”

“Does this mean he’ll be showing up at our door more often?”

All I can see is his hunched shoulders, walking away.

“No. I think it was a one-time thing.” Two-time. Three-time, if I count this morning.

“And you’re good with that?”

“Of course. I don’t like the guy.”

I’m trying to convince myself, as much as Eve.

She nods, looking like she believes me. “Okay, okay. I was just asking. I mean, he’s Hartbreaker, right?”

I scoff. “He’s not going to break my heart. I need a shower, then some food. Want to go to Holey Moley for donuts?”

“Yeah, sounds good.”

I nod, then head for the hallway.

“Oh, wait. One other thing, actually. Mary and I ran into Clayton Thomas last night.”

“Okay…”

“I mentioned that you and Mary go bowling every Saturday night.”

I raise both eyebrows. “Mary and I don’t go bowling every Saturday night.”

Eve offers me a sheepish smile. “Well…he wants to go with you two next weekend.”

“What? Eve!”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry. Mary wasn’t saying much and he asked if you were coming to the party he was having that night and it just kinda snowballed from there. Random stuff started coming out and next thing I knew there was a plan.”

“So, I’m supposed to, what? Chaperone their date?”

“Or double. At the time, I thought maybe you could bring Eric. Does he like sports?”

“No idea,” I say. “It didn’t come up.”

And even if Eric was some bowling afficionado, I wouldn’t drag him into this. It was one thing to go out with him with honorable intentions. But now that I know I’m not interested, I can’t stomach doing that.

“Please?” Eve pleads. “Maybe Mary and Clayton are soulmates. And also, if they go out and hit it off, I won’t have to hear about it anymore in class.”

“Uh-huh. Super selfless of you,” I state sarcastically. “I am not making any promises,” I warn. “But I’ll think about it, okay? Mostly how much you’ll owe me for this.”

Eve beams. “Okay.”

I head for the bathroom to take a much-needed shower.

Wishing it will be as easy to remove Conor from my head as it’ll be to wash him off my skin.