The Romance Line (Love and Hockey Book 2)

Max

Ten out of ten do not recommend driving with a boner.

Don’t ask me how I get home. Pretty sure I drive, but my mind is not on the road. At last, I peel into the parking lot of my building, turn off the engine, and march into the elevators. Swiping my card key for the penthouse, I’m damn grateful no one is in the lift.

I breathe out hard, trying to think about anything but the desire that’s got me in a chokehold. An interminable forty-five-second elevator ride later, I’m on the top floor, stalking down the hall, and unlocking the door to my home.

I’m too amped up to make it to my bedroom. The second the door clangs shut, I’m undoing the buckle of my belt and crossing the living room to the couch. I sink into the suede cushion as I unzip my pants and take out my demanding dick.

I can’t think .

I can’t focus.

I don’t even turn on a goddamn light.

I can’t do a thing but replay those twenty minutes up against the wall in Everly’s home. I grip my cock, stroking it with purpose. There are no lazy tugs here. No test strokes to see if I’m in the mood. I am nothing but in the mood right now.

As I curl a fist around my cock, I jam my other hand into my pocket and take out my prize.

My reward. But these I want to see, so I bark out, “Hey, Alexa, turn on the living room light.”

The helpful hub complies, flicking on the overhead.

Yes. Fuck yes. They’re light aqua with a delicate rose embroidery thingy all over the sheer fabric, and barely anything covering the ass. Just a fantastic thong that goes to the victor. My pulse pounds as I bring the still-wet panel to my nose. “Fuuuuuck,” I rumble, inhaling the scent of her desire.

I jerk faster, my dick throbbing ruthlessly in my hand as I close my eyes and let the flavors of her fill my mind. She smells fucking incredible—like lace and longing. Like all my dirty dreams. Like her , turned on by me.

I shuttle my fist faster, from base to tip, squeezing out a drop of pre-come at the head, using that liquid to ease the path.

My jaw ticks with all this pent-up tension as I fuck my fist and inhale Everly’s panties. I can’t stop sniffing them. Don’t want to stop inhaling her arousal as I take care of this insistent erection that’s been begging for attention for the last hour.

My thighs tighten. My head spins with lust. My bones shake. I stroke faster and faster still as a filthy, beautiful loop plays in my head .

Her fantastic fucking lips. The sweetness of her mouth, the flowery perfume on her collarbone, the way she melted into my kiss. The soft, tempting taste of her lips as I held her in my arms.

The way she fucked my hand as much as I fucked her.

I bring the damp panel of her panties even closer to my nostrils, catching another intoxicating whiff of her.

Heat roars low in my stomach. This is so fucking necessary. I can’t last another minute without this release. I’m too wound up with want. And I can’t stand how much I want her.

One more inhale . “Fuck it.”

Letting go of my dick for a second, I switch the fabric to my right hand, turning them inside out. Then I grip my dick with the cotton panel.

They’re still a little wet from her, and the idea of getting off with her arousal fries my brain. It short-circuits my entire body. It sends me spinning. I fuck my fist harder with the sheer lace and cotton, jerking and stroking till my thoughts blank out and my vision blurs.

I’m grunting as sparks burst before my eyes. Then punching my hips and spilling all over my hand and her expensive panties.

It’s so wrong.

I can’t even catch my breath for a long time.

After, my eyes float open finally, and I reconnect to the earth. I swing my gaze down to my hand. I’ve ruined the lace. But I smirk at the mess.

Worth it. Fucking worth it.

Then, I blink. “The fuck?”

Athena’s perched on the coffee table across from me, staring sharply with unblinking green eyes.

“Don’t judge me,” I mutter .

She turns the other way, lifting a haughty, furry chin.

“You saw nothing,” I tell her.

She twitches her tail more. Judging me. Fucking judging me.

But then again, I’m sitting on my couch with my pants down, my dick out, holding a pair of the world’s sexiest panties covered in my come.

I’d judge me too.

Fifteen minutes later, I’ve showered and cleaned up. After I hang up the fluffy bath towel next to the rainfall shower, I pad across the soft carpet in my bedroom suite and enter the walk-in closet. I grab a pair of black boxer briefs from a drawer and pull them on, then head to bed. I sink down on the soft gray duvet on the king-size bed.

I yawn, relaxed at last. But even though we have a game tomorrow, it’s not bedtime yet.

Settling onto the pillows, I grab my phone, the lights of the city flickering from beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows.

Time for some detective work. There’s no brand name on the tag. Just a size. No way am I going to ask Everly what brand that was. Instead, I google aqua sheer panties covered in roses and visit seven different lingerie shops online before I find one that looks right.

“Bingo,” I say. Then I place an order for rush delivery tomorrow afternoon.

I close the browser and hop over to my text messages, opening the thread with Everly. I start to tap out a message, letting her know to be on the lookout for a package.

But then, screw it. I’d rather surprise her.

I set my phone down, blow out a very satisfied sigh, and park my hands behind my head. I’m sated .

Well, for now.

There’s a soft sound, and I turn to the right. A quiet furball slinks across the bed, and curls up next to my neck. In seconds, she’s purring and I’m forgiven.

In the morning, I’m pouring a cup of coffee in the kitchen while texting with my dad about bagels. He’s started sending me daily pics of them, and I don’t know why but I fucking love pics of bagels from my parents. Looks delish , I respond to today’s so-called Bagel of the Day, when a new text blinks up at me from my phone. A damning text.

Everly: You took my panties.

I down some coffee, letting it wake me up before I dictate a reply.

Max: Is there a question in there?

Everly: I can’t believe you took my panties.

Max: That’s still not a question.

Everly: Why did you take my panties?

Well, that answer is easy, so I give it to her.

Max: Because I wanted them.

“What is that?” Asher asks as he slides into the passenger seat of my car on the way to morning skate.

“What is what?”

He tips his chin toward me, peering at…my face. “Is that…a smile you’re wearing?”

I scoff. “Fuck no.”

“Dude. I think you’re smiling,” he says as he buckles in.

“Watch it, Callahan,” I warn him as I pull into the light traffic on California Street.

“Did you find a lucky penny this morning? Wait. I bet you found a whole twenty in the dryer and now you’re gonna take us out to lunch?” He presses his hands together in mock prayer.

“You’re a cheap date. When was the last time you got lunch for one person for less than twenty bucks, let alone a crew?”

“So it was a hundo. Excellent. I suggest we get tacos. You, me, Bryant, and Falcon,” he says, then flashes me a grin.

I point at him before I turn at the light, like I’ve caught him in the act. “That on your pie hole? That’s a smile. Me? I don’t smile.”

“Right.” He lowers his voice to a faux whisper. “Your makeover is working. Admit it. This is Max 2.0. Watch as he helps little old ladies cross the street. Witness as he sings ‘ Happy Birthday’ at the old folks’ home. Grab a seat in the front row as he knits blankets for puppies at the shelter.”

I growl again, then stab the button on the console. Thankfully, this time a new tune plays from Wesley’s “take-no-prisoners pre-game warm-up” playlist—an Arctic Monkeys tune. I crank the volume to full blast. “Do I Wanna Know” shuts up Asher for the rest of the short drive to the arena. I pull into the players’ lot next to Wesley, who’s getting out of his vehicle at the same time as we are.

Asher calls out to him, “Dude, Lambert is happy. You know what that means?”

I groan, shaking my head. Asher is a relentless shit-stirrer. He’s also unfairly emotionally astute, so I’ve got to be on my guard. For Everly’s sake, especially.

Wesley looks from me to Asher, as if he’s assessing us. “The aliens took him yesterday, so we need a new goalie for the game?”

“Exactly,” Asher says, then claps my shoulder. “Or dude got laid last night.”

I won’t give him the satisfaction of a response. “Did you see the Cougars picked up Martinez after all? Dude wasn’t a free agent for long,” I say, dangling baseball trade talk to distract him, like he’s Athena and I’m waving a fake bird toy in front of him. Maybe he won’t put two and two together about my good mood. Don’t need the scrutiny right now.

Asher shoots me a smug smile. “So I was right,” he says, and dammit. He is smarter than a cat.

“Pretty sure you said you thought they’d lock him up,” I say, trying again since my poker face is tight.

Asher cocks his brow at me. “Nice try, Lambert.”

We head inside and down the corridor. Miles is a few paces ahead of us, so that’s as good a distraction as any. “Hey, Falcon,” I call out to the center.

He turns around, tips his chin toward us. “What’s up?”

“Question for you.”

“Sure.”

I scratch my jaw. “Do you know anyone who babysits?”

Miles furrows his brow. “Um, no. Is it for your nephew?”

I scoff, then point my thumb toward Asher, then Wesley. “No, it’s for these clowns.”

Miles waggles a brow, smiling, getting it now. “Speaking of clowns, I hear you’re going to join the circus when you’re done with hockey. Let me know where you wind up because I will heckle the fuck out of that.”

I groan, dragging a hand down my face. “Why are you guys looking at my social media?”

“Everyone needs a good laugh now and then,” Wesley says as we head into the locker room.

Hugo’s here, tugging on his jersey. Christian, the captain, is lacing up his skates.

When Miles reaches his stall, he looks back at me, tilting his head. “Looks like you had fun at the naked ride. But why didn’t you do the ride?” He asks it innocently, like he’s been educating himself at the Wesley and Asher School of Giving Me Hell. “Were you afraid of scaring everyone with your attire?”

I look to the ceiling in frustration, tossing up my hands. “Why are you all my teammates?”

“You’re just that lucky, man,” Hugo calls out.

“And don’t you forget it,” Christian chimes in.

“As if I could,” I say, then I grab my shoulder pads from the stall.

As I’m heading to practice ten minutes later with Asher, my gaze drifts up to the management levels. I picture Everly in her office.

A dirty grin returns to my face.

As we reach the gate at the ice, Asher points to me with a busted grin on his face. “Yup. It’s working. You’ve been made over into…a new man, and I know why,” he says, his gaze drifting pointedly to the management levels before he takes off and flies down the ice away from me.

I try my best to flip him the bird, but it’s fuck-all hard with gloves on.

Still, I really need to get my game face on, especially since nothing can happen with Everly again.

It really, really can’t, no matter how much I’m thinking about her and the delivery coming her way today.