He paused. “Because I want to see you again.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Seriously? You snuck out of here like a thief in the night, I don’t hear from you all week, and now you want to see me again? I’m not interested in being your hometown booty call, if that’s what this is about.”
“Booty call…” His voice trailed off. “This is not that.”
“Then why did you leave without saying goodbye?”
“I left because I did not want to wake you and I had to go to the gym. Then we left for road trip. We return to St. Louis tomorrow. Are you angry?”
I sighed. “No, I’m not angry. I’m just…surprised. Usually, after you spend a wonderful night with someone, you call or text or give some signal that you’re interested. You ghosted me so I assumed…well, obviously I thought I’d never hear from you again.”
“I am sorry. I thought it polite to let you sleep, but I want to see you again.” He paused. “Do you want to see me again?”
My brain almost short-circuited from a combination of confusion, excitement, and concern.
It was supposed to be a one-night stand.
He’d disappeared for almost a week and I’d been okay with that.
But now he wanted to see me again.
And I wanted to see him.
Shit.
This was a mistake.
It was.
Right?
Going on a date with Lars had been risky. Even though I wanted to spend another night with him—badly—I knew better. I couldn’t afford to have the news get out that I was seeing someone, because trouble would literally come to my doorstep if it did.
“I want to, but I can’t,” I said, wishing things were different.
“Why not?”
Huh, I hadn’t been expecting that question.
“Well, there are a lot of reasons.” Lie. There was only one reason. “I’m just getting back to work after being gone for a long time after my accident, and that takes most of my time and energy. I’ll be traveling again soon, and then I’ll be even busier. I also like to keep a low profile, and you’re anything but low profile.”
“What is low profile?”
I smiled. “It means you attract attention.”
There was a pause on the other end of the line, and then Lars said, “You enjoyed the sex.”
It wasn’t a question, but a statement. My smile widened.
“I did, yes. And you did, too. But adult responsibilities call. Maybe when things settle down for me, we can get together again.”
Another pause. “Okay.”
“Bye, Lars.”
“Goodbye.”
Chapter Six
Lars
* * *
Mavericks Group Text
Nash: First home game tonight, bitches. Be ready.
Drew: Wait, that’s tonight?
Nash: Haha dumbass.
Drew: You’re the dumbass for reminding us about the game.
Wes: You’re both dumbasses. See you at the rink.
* * *
I’d never get used to ice baths. Sinking into the freezing cold tub of water shocked my system every time.
That was the point, though. It woke my entire body up after my pregame nap and had been part of my routine since before I went pro—ice bath for ten minutes followed by my pregame meal.
“Lars!”
I opened my eyes to see a red ball flying toward my face. I reached up to catch it just in time and then turned to see who’d thrown it.
It was Ross Camden, a second line forward. He was grinning and I was scowling.
“Good reflexes,” he said.
“I will hurt you if you throw anything at my face again.”
“What should I throw it at then?” he asked, grinning.
“I will shove this ball up your ass until it comes out of your mouth,” I said, dunking it in the ice bath. “I am rubbing it all over my balls right now.”
“Dude.” He furrowed his brow. “Disgusting.”
“Do not talk to me on game days. Or look at me.”
He put his hands up in the air. “Fine. You don’t need to be a dick about it.”
I held the ball up and asked, “Do you want it back?”
He cringed, grabbed a towel from a stack nearby, and held it out. “Just put it in the towel. I’ll disinfect it later.”
“What’s that for?” Nash asked as he passed by after taking a shower.
A long, hot shower was part of his pregame routine. I didn’t know why he did that—it would relax me, and that was not how I wanted to be when it was game time.
“It was just for fun, but then Lars rubbed it all over his balls because he’s an asshole,” Ross said.
I sank back down into the chilly water, ignoring him.
“I haven’t forgotten about your date with the supermodel,” Nash said. “I’m going to keep asking you how it went until you tell me.”
I sighed heavily. He’d been nagging me to tell him about the date since the morning after, and I was getting sick of him asking.
“I do not want to talk about it,” I said, not looking at him.
He cackled. “You were yourself, weren’t you? You barely smiled, looked indifferent the whole time, and then wondered why she didn’t want to jump into bed with you.”