Oblivious to me drooling over this sexy hockey player, one of the commentators said, “Dane’s rookie season is off to an impressive start. He logged an assist with Scott Deacon during the team’s recent victory over Dallas, and his first professional goal secured Thursday night’s home ice win for Seattle.”

  The screen switched to a replay showing Parker in slow motion. He chased the puck down the ice with another player hot on his heels, and the other player’s stick nearly took the puck from him twice. Then, in a series of maneuvers that must have happened lightning fast in real time, Parker broke away, swung his stick, and fired the puck into the net.

  The video switched to his teammates congratulating him, nearly bowling him over with fierce embraces, and that smile… Holy hell.

  I shook myself and took a deep swallow from my drink. He was a client. One I’d see again, yes, but he was just a client.

  A seriously sexy client with a side I hadn’t even imagined. It was like how I knew intellectually that Ethan was a hockey player, and that aggression was part of the game, but I struggled to imagine Ethan like that. With Parker, it was even harder. Or it had been. Now that I’d caught a glimpse, my mouth was watering and oh Jesus, I hoped he booked me soon, because he was even hotter to me now than he’d been the other night.

  Luca joined me on the couch with a bowl of popcorn. I had a habitual knee jerk urge to look at the bag and make sure it wasn’t oversalted and high-calorie, but I ignored it and defiantly tossed a few decadently buttered pieces into my mouth.

  I ran four goddamn miles this morning. Go away, intrusive thoughts, and let me enjoy some goddamned food.

  As we munched on popcorn, the game started. I still only vaguely understood what was going on, and Luca filled me in whenever the ref made some kind of call or the commentators started yammering on about…something. I could’ve been an actual expert on hockey, and I still wouldn’t have known what was going on right now, because the camera kept landing on Parker.

  He was only out on the ice for a minute or so at a time, just like the others, and I swore I needed the breather as much as he did whenever he switched out with another player.

  How was this the same man I’d been gently guiding through the motions the other night? Because he was a completely different animal on the ice. In bed, he was shy. He didn’t have any confidence, not yet. In this setting, though, he was aggressive and fearless. Some of the guys out there were twice as wide as he was, but he checked them and jostled for position with them like they were evenly matched. If I hadn’t witnessed for myself how nervous he was between the sheets, I never would’ve believed he was capable of fear.

  Parker and several players chased the puck around the end of the ice behind the other team’s goal. I couldn’t see who had control of it, but one of the bigger opposing players slammed Parker up against the glass. Beyond it, the fans jumped back, and the glass actually wobbled with the impact.

  My heart went into my throat and I gasped.

  Parker, though, shoved the guy back, sped away, and continued in hot pursuit of the puck as if he hadn’t just been squished by a human Mack truck.

  Luca chuckled. “That happens a lot.”

  I glanced at him. “Hmm?”

  He nodded at the screen. “The way that forward got checked? It happens all the time.”

  “Looks painful.”

  “Ethan says it’s not fun, but the padding helps.” He laughed. “He thinks I’m insane because whenever we FaceTime after I’ve watched a game, I tell him it’s hot, seeing him check or be checked like that.”

  I snorted, turning to him. “So it’s not just me?”

  “Hey.” He playfully smacked my shoulder. “You better not be ogling my man.”

  “Oh please. You know I am. So are half the people in that arena.”

  Luca just laughed. He knew damn well it was true, and I was happy to let him think I was drooling over Ethan—who’d also been checked pretty hard this period—rather than tipping my hand about another Emerald City client on the ice tonight.

  As we watched, players continued checking and shoving like they apparently always did. Someone else got slammed up against the glass the way Parker had. Minutes later, it was Parker checking someone like that, and I damn near had to adjust myself.

  The dichotomy between the soft, nervous virgin needing guidance in the bedroom and the fire-breathing dragon on skates was sexier than it should have been. No one had ever been able to push both of those buttons of mine—the one that wibbled over sweet, gentle guys, and the one that was a sucker for a bad boy who wouldn’t back down from a bar fight.

  And Parker was worried about booking me again?

  Oh, honey. You don’t even know. But my calendar is wide open.

  The game went on, and I tried to will my pulse to come back down. It wasn’t like me to get this turned on by a client when I wasn’t working for him. I’d run into clients on occasion, including some who’d been spectacular in bed, but they never did anything for me in the wild. However, just watching Parker on TV had my head spinning. I was tempted to refresh my Emerald City inbox over and over, as if he might somehow book me during one of his breaks from playing. I didn’t think I’d ever been this excited to see a client again.

  And when the hell had I randomly decided to watch a client’s game or performance, especially after he’d only booked me once? Never. That was when.

  Of course, I’d never had a client quite like Parker before.

  So how do I get this feisty side to come out when we’re in bed?

  I pushed that thought away, if only to keep from getting a badly-timed hard-on. The period ended. The next one started. Parker’s team was down by one goal, and they obviously knew it—the aggression was amped up, and every time the puck went anywhere near their goal, they seemed to get even angrier and more determined to turn the score around.

  Is it getting hot in here? Or is that just me?

  Someone made a play for the Breakers’ goal, but the goaltender caught it, much to the frustration of the home team crowd.

  Abruptly, the camera swung to the left and found Parker and another player. They were right in each other’s faces, lips pulled back over their teeth as they snarled at each other through their visors. The other guy went to shove Parker. Parker batted his hand away and gave him a shove instead, prompting even more shouting and flailing. A ref hovered nearby, watching them, but he didn’t step in.

  “Uh-oh,” Luca said with a grin. “Gloves coming off in three… two…”

  Right then, the other player tore off his gloves.

  Then Parker did.

  And just like that, fists were flying.

  The refs let it go on for maybe twenty, thirty seconds. Then they pushed Parker and the other player apart, and the furious shouting and gesturing continued even as the refs separated them.

  Luca chuckled into his drink. “That new rookie is a spitfire.”

  “Oh yeah?” I tried to sound casual. “He does this a lot?”

  He nodded. “Ethan says he’s totally chill off the ice. He’s kind of timid, actually. But man, put some skates under him and give him a stick?” Whistling, Luca shook his head. “Stay out of his way.”

  “Yeah.” I was not out of breath, damn it. I was not. “Looks like it.” Okay, I was. Jesus. What was wrong with me?

  The camera followed Parker as he skated toward the penalty box. Just before he stepped into it, he threw a glare over his shoulder, gestured sharply at someone—probably the guy he’d been fighting with—and snarled something. A ref skated up and motioned for him to get his ass into the box, which he did.

  The door shut behind Parker, and I exhaled as I sat back against the couch, trying not to let Luca catch on that I was about to break a sweat.

  What was wrong with me?

  Oh, that was easy:

  I was hot beyond belief for my new virgin-ish client.

  And dear God, I hoped he booked me again soon.

  Chapter 5

  Parker

  “So, hey, rookie? Pro tip.” Smitty gestured at my face and smirked. “It hurts a lot less if you don’t let the other guy hit you.”

  “Oh, really? Is that how that works?” I threw my icepack at him. “Eat a dick.”

  He cackled, caught the icepack, and tossed it back. “I’m just saying, man!”

  “Uh-huh. Whatever.” I gingerly pressed the pack against my tender cheekbone.

  “Would you hold still?” Doc grumbled, still messing with my other hand. “Unless you’d like me to reglue this?”

  “Sorry.” I winced as he put some more glue on my knuckle. I hadn’t thought it was that bad, but it had kept bleeding while I was in the sin bin. I’d managed to put some tape and gauze on it to tide me over until the game ended, and Doc had been pissy with me ever since I’d shown it to him. He was convinced that I’d cut it on that asshole’s tooth, which meant there was the danger of an infection, and Jesus fuck, my hand was still burning from the disinfectant he’d practically marinated it in a few minutes ago.

  “You’re lucky your tetanus shot is current,” he grumbled. “Or you’d be getting one tonight.”

  I rolled my eyes since he wasn’t looking at me and I could get away with it. “I don’t think he had tetanus.”

  “Might want to look into a rabies booster,” Welch suggested. “He was foaming at the mouth after you talked shit to him.”

  The guys laughed, and Doc just shook his head.

  “All right. We’re just about done here.” He taped some gauze to the cut. Then he let go of my hand and looked pointedly at me. “I want to see that tomorrow and each day after. You see any sign of infection, you call me. Got it?”

  “Got it.” I nodded sharply.

  “Good. Go get yourself cleaned up.” He clapped my shoulder and stood.

  I rose too, gingerly flexing my hand. The cut didn’t actually hurt that bad, though the glue made it pull uncomfortably. My knuckles were mostly just sore from decking that fucker in his fucking face.

  As for Doc’s ominous warnings, I wasn’t worried. I was too embarrassed to tell him or any of my teammates that I knew damn well I hadn’t cut it on that jackhole’s tooth. I’d been pissed at him and myself and the refs and the world, and I’d slammed my fist down on the bench inside the penalty box. My knuckles had already been raw from the punches I had gotten in, and apparently I’d hit the edge of the bench just right, and…oops. But letting Doc lose his shit and my team tease me about cutting my hand on someone’s tooth was better than admitting I’d lost a fight with the damn bench.

  On the bright side, while he’d been disinfecting my “bite,” he’d kept me out of sight of the cameras. By the time I was patched up, showered, and dressed, the reporters had mostly cleared out. A few stuck around to get a few sound bites from me about tonight’s game, and then they were off.

  Our next game was at home, so we were quickly herded onto buses to head for the airport. It would be a long night, but we’d end up in our own beds, so I didn’t bitch. Tomorrow, we’d have a day to chill, get a good night’s sleep, and be ready to rock the next night’s game.

  And is there anything that says I need to spend tomorrow night alone?

  That question bounced around in my head all the way to the airport and through security. Sitting at the gate, I looked down at my bandaged hand and wondered if maybe tomorrow would be a good time to have Cole over again. I could still use my hand, and the bruise on my face wasn’t too bad. The other guy had gotten in a smack on my jaw, too, though that hadn’t left much of a mark. My teeth were fine. I’d see how well I could move my jaw tomorrow. If it hurt, that might make kissing a challenge. Sucking dick would definitely be out if my mouth wasn’t in full working order.

  I still couldn’t talk myself out of it, though. Maybe I’d be limited in a few departments, but that wasn’t enough to convince me that I should take a raincheck with Cole. I’d been itching to see him ever since that first night, and I wasn’t about to let a few bruises and a sore jaw keep me away from him.

  “Hey. Rookie.” Wright nudged my arm. “We’re boarding.”

  I shook myself and looked up to see my teammates filing toward the gate. “Oh. Shit.” I grabbed my carry-on and jogged to keep up with him. In no time, we were settling into our seats on the team’s charter jet.

  I had to say, this plane was still a serious novelty. In college, we’d mostly gone by bus, and when we did fly, it was cattle class. Sorry—coach.

  This thing was like first class on steroids. Comfortable seats that were built with hockey asses in mind. Leg room. Amazing food. Like, food that was actually healthy and tasted good and was portioned so it wouldn’t leave a hockey player this close to hangry.

  The lack of screaming kids was nice too. I mean, look, I was sympathetic toward kids and parents. I got why babies screamed on planes. I’d been on a few flights where the pressure had hurt my ears enough to make me think, yeah, kid, I totally feel you. I liked kids, and I understood how much flying sucked for kids and parents, but I wouldn’t lie—a flight that was relatively quiet was sweet.

  Not that it was completely silent. Sometimes the really early or super late flights were, since a lot of us would be sleeping, but if everyone was still awake, then a certain amount of noise was inevitable. A group of conscious hockey players in a space for any length of time was bound to get loud. But the guys laughing and shit-talking was less piercing than an upset baby’s shrill cry. So there was that.

  It was a million times more relaxing than a commercial flight, and I loved it. Of course, as soon as I was situated, my mind went back to the same place it had been going lately—Cole. Whether I should reach out to him again. When I should. If I should wait until my face was more presentable. I didn’t look that bad, though, right?

  I could totally see him tomorrow night.

  The idea sent a jolt of excitement through me. I could, couldn’t I? I’d get home late tonight, sleep in, and then I’d have tomorrow free. The temptation to open the Emerald City app was overwhelming, so I finally gave in.

  Gnawing my lip, I stared at Cole’s profile. He’d said it was totally cool if we met up again. In fact, he’d insisted on it. Meeting up again meant we didn’t have to rush or try to do everything imaginable in one evening. This was literally his idea.

  So why did I feel pathetic and needy now that I was considering booking him?

  Maybe because I was pathetic and—

  Someone dropped into the seat beside me, and I immediately slammed my phone facedown onto the tray table. Fortunately, though, this turned out to be the one person on this plane I didn’t mind seeing that app on my screen.

  “So, how’d it go?” Smitty nodded toward the phone. “With the app?”

  I glanced around self-consciously, but no one was paying any attention to us. And like any plane, this one had its own noise that kept conversations from carrying very far, so I doubted anyone was eavesdropping with much success.

  Facing Smitty again, I swallowed. “Oh. Um. It was… It was great.” My face heated up as I added, “I think I might use it again.”

  I seriously expected him to give me shit, but instead, he grinned. “Nice. So it must’ve been good?”

  Good? That didn’t even begin to describe the night I’d spent with Cole.

  Moistening my lips, I nodded. “Yeah. It, um… It was. He was… I think I’ll do it again.”

  “Awesome. So no more shying away from guys at bars, either, right?”

  “Uhhh…” Fuck. The thought of actually hooking up like that still scared me.

  Smitty chuckled and elbowed me. “I’m kidding. But seriously—spend some time with those guys, and everyone else will be a breeze.”

  “Spend some—” I furrowed my brow. “So you… I mean, if I went back more than once or twice, that would be…”

  “Well, yeah.” He shrugged. “Dude, I’ve been getting ass for years and I still hit up the app whenever I don’t want to play games on Tinder. There’s no shame in it.”

  “Oh.”

  “And I mean, if you’re worried about being inexperienced? You’re not going to turn into a porn star in one night.” He nodded sharply at my phone. “I’d have given my right nut to have access to guys like that while I was figuring things out.”

  “Really?”

  “Are you kidding?” He snorted. “Look, you might’ve been frustrated going through your teenage and college years without ever getting any, but the silver lining there is that you didn’t fumble through it with another virgin who knew about as much as you did. That’s a level of awkwardness I do not miss from being a kid.”

  Considering how awkward I’d been with Cole, I was pretty sure the degree of awkwardness Smitty was describing would have been lethal to teenage me. Maybe this hadn’t worked out so bad after all.

  “Okay, sold.” I laughed nervously. “So am I supposed to tell them you referred me? Do you get, like, a referral discount or something?”

  “I wish. If they had referral discounts or punch cards, they’d be paying me at this point.”

  I laughed with a little more feeling this time.

  Smitty and I talked for a few more minutes, and then he went back to another row to try to grab a catnap.

  Alone in my row, I looked at my phone again. So there was no shame in it. Now that he’d described it the way he had, going back for more so I could learn from a literal professional didn’t sound like a bad idea at all.

  I pulled up the camera app and switched it to selfie mode. Inspecting my bruise in the cabin’s low light, I decided I was presentable enough. As long as Cole didn’t do that thing guys in pornos did where they smacked their dick against the other guy’s face—what the hell was up with that, anyway?—then I’d be fine.

  So I took a deep breath.

  Opened the Emerald City app.

  And booked Cole for tomorrow night.

  Chapter 6

  Cole