2
BED > SEX
Carter
THE DOWNSIDE OF INTERNATIONAL TRAVEL is the brutal shock to your system when you return home to British Columbia in the middle of December after coasting through Florida and North Carolina for a couple of days.
We’re bordering on the edge of a deep freeze, and despite it being highly unusual for the west coast, it’s also technically not even winter yet. I live in North Vancouver where it tends to be just slightly more reminiscent of a typical Canadian winter, but nothing like this. It feels like a bad omen, but I typically choose to ignore obvious signs.
Still, it’s cold as balls, I’m recovering from a hangover, I spent ve and a half hours on a plane today playing euchre with my teammates, and I lost every goddamn game except one. Today’s one of those rare Saturdays where hockey doesn’t exist for our team, and instead of spending it at home in my sweats while I deep dive into a Disney marathon and an XL pizza, I’m walking through a blustery night, heading to a surprise birthday party.
“I’m fucking pooched, man.” I stu my hands into the pockets of my wool coat and tug my scarf up to my chin with my teeth.
“Fuckin’ same,” Garrett Andersen, my right-winger drawls, east coast twang slipping in like it does when he’s tired or drunk. Right now, it’s the former.
“Nearly bailed but thought better of it. I like my balls right where they are, thank you very much.”
His worry isn’t lost on me. The birthday girl has threatened to castrate us on several occasions for much tamer oenses. On her bad side is the last place I want to be on Cara’s twenty-fth birthday. She’s scary enough as it is, and now we’ve missed that part where you jump out and yell “Surprise!” I’m banking on her already being three drinks deep and happy enough with the glittery pink gift bag hanging o my forearm to forget she’s mad at us.
“I’m bailing early,” I tell him.
He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, okay.”
“What? I am. I miss my bed.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I can keep it in my pants for one night.”
He jogs across the street, dashing ahead toward the bar where he sneaks in ahead of me. “Doubt it!”
The bar looks as I expected it to: a fuckton pink and a shitload packed. I usually thrive on chaos, but tonight I just want to post up in the corner with my teammates and sip a cold beer or two.
In addition to the pink, there’s a whole lot of gold and oral. Thank fuck for Cara’s best friend, because we were nearly on décor duty until Emmett told us she had it handled. I haven’t met her, but she’s gotta be brave to willingly take on party décor when the birthday girl runs her own event planning business.
Disappointing Cara is never something I want to be responsible for; see the aforementioned castrating.
“Gare-Bear! Carter!” A body hurls itself into my arms, knocking the air from my lungs as long limbs wrap around me.
“Happy birthday, Care,” I singsong as the birthday girl slithers down my body before crushing Garrett in a hug.
Cara eyes the little pink bag in my hands, bouncing on her toes in her sky- high heels. “Oooh, gimme-gimme!”
“Ah-ah,” I tsk, holding the bag away from her. “Where are your manners?”
Her blue eyes roll as she pops a hip. “Gimme my fucking present, please.”
I snort a laugh as she tears it from my hands, wasting no time tearing the bag apart. Opening the small velvet box inside, she squeals. She pulls out the
platinum chain, the diamond-encrusted letter C hanging from it, and shakes it in my face. “Put it on, put it on!”
I watch her twirl, sweeping her silky waist-length golden locks over her shoulder, my eyes following the curve of her spine down to her round ass.
Backless dress. Nice.
Look, she’s one of my best friend’s girls. I’d never, ever touch her, but I’m a man with two eyes on my face. I can appreciate a good-looking woman without a desire to act on it.
Garrett lands an elbow in my rib cage, making me keel over with an oof. He snatches the necklace from Cara’s outstretched hand, fastening it around her neck. She bounces forward with a peck on the cheek for both of us before guiding us into the bar.
“You guys are gonna have the best time. My friends are amazeballs, ’specially my bestie. I can’t wait for you to meet her!” She levels me with a look that tells me to cut the shit before I’ve even started. “I need you on your best behavior tonight.”
I throw my hands in the air. “What the fuck does that mean?”
“You know what it means. Don’t try any funny business with Liv.”
“Who’s Liv?”
She scos. “Olivia! My best friend!”
“Ohhh, right, right. Her.” I’ve somehow managed to avoid meeting her for a year, which is probably for the best and denitely at the hands of Emmett. He’s mentioned something along the lines of me fucking her once and breaking her heart, which somehow ultimately winds up with Cara dumping him and it being all my fault. So I guess I’m not allowed to touch her or whatever.
Fine by me. I’ve got a handful of message requests on Instagram from Lacey reminding me exactly why I should take a week or two o from women. Hard to forget her name when she sends thirteen messages in a single hour, the exact amount of times she mentioned being on the cover of Maxim. Coincidence? I think the fuck not.
Cara leaves us with the promise of catching up later, and Garrett and I nd the rest of our unruly teammates huddled in the corner. By the looks of it,
they’re at least halfway in the bag already. There’s nothing like a Saturday o for my boys.
“How did you two manage to miss the surprise?” Adam Lockwood, our goalie, claps my hand before handing me a beer. “Lucky bastards.”
“Got stuck at my mom’s.” Almost always a mistake. My mom’s one of those people that suddenly remembers everything she forgot to say when it’s time for me to leave, and it can never wait until later. She never stops talking, a trait she denies both owning and passing down to me. It was seven when I nally left, and I still had to go home and shower.
“Eh, Woody.” I nudge Adam’s arm, noticing he’s missing the redhead who’s normally hanging o his arm. “Where’s your girl?”
He runs a hand through his dark curls, shifting uncomfortably. “Court had other plans.”
“Ah.” Seems it’s becoming a regular thing with her. Come to think of it, I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen her. Before I can comment further, a heavy hand claps my shoulder, sending beer sloshing over my hand.
I know it’s Emmett the moment he wraps me in one of his suocating bear hugs. And I know he’s drunk the moment his slurred words fan across my cheek.
“You’re late.”
“Sorry, dude.” I give his hair a quick rue, mostly because it’s fun to rile up such a big, burly guy. “Little drunk, big guy?”
He slaps my hand away. “You’re not allowed to sleep with any of Cara’s friends, FYI.”
A groan rumbles in my chest as my head rolls backward. “Yes, father.” My gaze roams the expansive bar, through the sea of people moving together on the dance oor. “Doesn’t matter anyway. I’m not feeling… uh, I’m not…” The words die on the tip of my tongue when my eyes settle on her. “Uh, not, um… tonight.” I gesture haphazardly with my beer, because that’s about all I can
manage.
“Pardon?”
I look to Emmett, then back to her. I forget what we’re talking about, but nothing can be as important as the petite, drop-dead gorgeous brunette dancing with Cara.
If I’m being honest, dancing is entirely too loose a denition to describe the way those two are moving together. I don’t know what to call it but, fuck me.
Something inside me sparks as I drink in this stranger, the stunning little thing tossing her dark hair over her shoulder, dragging her tongue over her top lip. She throws her arms in the air, head tipping to hear whatever Cara’s whispering in her ear. I watch with rapt attention as her head lolls backward, her face erupting with laughter.
I’m entranced, xated, obsessed. I can’t look away, and when Cara’s hands grip her friend’s waist, slipping in slow motion down to her hips, I ght a groan,
’cause I kinda think I wanna do that.
“Don’t even think about it, Carter.”
I manage to drag my gaze to Emmett. “What?”
He shakes his head. “No. Not her.”
Not her? Who is she? My eyes nd her again as a man tugs her into his chest.
Boyfriend? Fuck.
A triumphant noise vibrates in the back of my throat when she gives him a sheepish grin, shaking her head, her mouth telling him No thank you before turning her back on him, and me.
And sweet, holy hell, that backside. Creamy shoulders guiding the way down a milky spine beneath the strobe of the lights above. The dip of her waist softens into the sweet curve of her wide hips, her black leather skirt hugging her like a second skin. How the fuck did she get it on? How the hell will I peel it o later?
Serious questions I need immediate answers to.
Scissors, I decide. I’ll cut it o her and send her a new one.
Garrett touches his ngers to my chin, closing my mouth. “Christ, Beckett.
You good?”
I gesture in her direction. “Dude.” That’s all I’ve got. Aren’t they seeing this?
Garrett follows my gaze and hums appreciatively, but Emmett ruins it with an eye roll that’s, somehow, audible.
“I’m serious, Carter. Cara will feed you your balls if you touch her.”
“I can handle Cara.”
Emmett snorts, Garrett chuckles, and Adam hammers a st into his chest as he chokes out a cough. Nobody can handle Cara. Not even Emmett. Cara can’t
even handle Cara half the time.
“What’s her name?”
Emmett’s still shaking his head like a jackass. “No. Not telling you.”
I watch as she sweeps her dark curls over her shoulder, pressing up on her toes to whisper in Cara’s ear before strolling across the oor, hips bouncing back and forth as she goes. She hoists herself up on a bar stool and grins at the bartender.
When he slides a beer over to her with a wink, she blushes, averting her eyes.
Cute.
I’m oddly captivated by the way she slings one leg over the other and lifts her glass to her mouth, draining half of it in one long pull like it’s her day job, and when her gaze scans the room, I’m already planning my opening line. She skims
over me, then past me.
Then bounces back to me.
Crimson heat creeps up her neck and pools in her cheeks, so I ash her my signature grin, pulling my dimples all the way in, and laugh when her head whips around. She glues her gaze to the TV screen overhead and promptly begins to pretend like she hasn’t seen me.
“I’ll get her name myself.” I clap my friend on the back and wink at my teammates. “Excuse me, boys.”
“Good luck, Beckett.” Emmett drowns his exasperated laugh in his drink. “I guarantee she won’t buy what you’re selling. You’ll never land her.”
Never land her? Unlikely. I’m the captain of our hockey team and one of the highest paid players in all of NHL history. I can’t go to the grocery store without getting a phone number or a proposition, so I use a grocery delivery service now.
But then, I’ve never been one to turn down a challenge.
