Gauging the Player: A One-Night-Stand Sports Romance (The Playmakers Series Hockey Romance Book 3), стр. 17
The closer time crept to six o’clock, the more it seemed to decelerate. Still on the indecent side of early to be calling, but Lily would bust a gut if she held out any longer. Taking slow, deliberate steps, she filled a water glass and plopped her butt back down before swiping her phone screen. Her older sister picked up on the second ring.
“Oh good!” Lily breathed. “You’re up.”
An exaggerated yawn on the other end. “Barely. What’s going on?”
“So … you remember the guy I met last summer? From the wedding?”
Ivy’s tone took a one-eighty into wide-awake and hyperactive mode. In other words, Ivy mode. “The hot hockey player you did? That guy from last summer? Did you finally look him up? Jump his bones and shake more rust off your poor, neglected caboose? Oh, please tell me you did, Lil.” An inhale. “I’m fixing myself a cup of coffee, so start talking.”
“I didn’t do him,” Lily hissed. Why had calling her sister seemed like a good idea?
“No, he did you,” Ivy hooted. “Like, three times!”
“Twice!” He’d only had two condoms with him.
Heat rose from Lily’s stomach, engulfing her chest, her neck, her entire face. She’d shared way too much information with her sister about that night. When would she ever learn not to supply Ivy with ammo?
The distinct slosh of pouring coffee sounded in the background. Ha! Like her sister needed the caffeine. So much already flowed through her system that she’d bleed coffee if she were wounded—probably a habit she’d never break as long as she kept her wacky nurse hours. An emergency room nurse married to an EMT, no less.
“Admit it, Little Sis,” the coffee addict said. “It was the best damn thing that’s happened to you in a loooong time. I was so proud of you! I was cheering from clear across town.”
“Yeah, and I can still hear you.”
“Okay. Back to the good stuff, namely Pucking Hot Hockey Guy.” Her sister let out a noise that Lily presumed was meant to be a tiger growl but more closely resembled a cat coughing up a hairball.
“Pucking Hot Hockey Guy? Seriously?”
“It’s what you’ve reduced me to since you won’t tell me his name.” A noisy slurp. “I keep picturing some big Russian dude named Sergei who’s sporting a monobrow, by the way.”
Lily dropped her forehead into her cupped palm and stifled a groan. “This is precisely why I am not telling you his name. I’m regretting kissing and blabbing as it is.”
“Telling me doesn’t count as kissing and blabbing. Besides, you are the last person to blab about a romp. Hell, you’re the last person on this planet to actually romp. You do understand humans have sex because they enjoy it, right? It’s not just about procreation.”
“I saw him last night,” Lily blurted. “Actually, I just left him a few hours ago.”
A long beat of silence was followed by a squeal. “Omigod. Hyperventilating here. No, I’m good. Was it as hot as last time? How did you hook up with him again? Deets, Lil! Oh, sweet baby Jesus, it’s January thirty-first, and my little sister already got laid! Happy New Year!”
“Ivy, stop! We didn’t hook up. By sheer coincidence, I bumped into him outside, er, in a parking lot.” No need to give her sister the exact location—it would just turn into more ammo Ivy could fire at her later.
“Oh shit, Lil! You plowed into him? Did you damage his car? He’s probably got a really expensive car. All those guys do.”
Four years her senior, Ivy reminded Lily of a tornado: lots of wind blowing stuff around and causing general mayhem of the batten-down-the-hatches variety. When the chips were down, though, Ivy was as steady as a flat tide.
“No, I didn’t hit his car. He saw me and … stopped to say hello.” Lily filled her sister in on breakfast at IHOP.
“So you guys ate breakfast? That’s it? No sexcapades?” Ivy’s tone was shot through with disappointment; Lily almost felt sorry for her. Almost.
In spite of herself, Lily laughed. “No, just talk.” Nor was Lily planning on anything more. Furthermore, in the off chance she wanted to rekindle their fling, he’d closed that door tighter than one leading to a vacuum-sealed meat locker, judging by his chilly vibe. Not that she could blame him for his obvious resentment over her exit last summer. Funny thing about that, though. She’d been surprised by his reaction because it was, after all, a guy move—sneaking out before the awkward wake-up scene. Not that she had personal experience, but she’d listened to other women lament.
And a handsome pro athlete like him? His nights had to be filled with oodles of opportunities to execute the “guy move.”
Lily grudgingly admitted—to herself only—that Ivy was right on one score. Being with Gage had reminded her that her lady parts still functioned normally, even if her heart didn’t. And the real deal hadn’t matched the fantasies that had fueled her for years—it had blown them away like the buildings in the final scene of V for Vendetta.
She shook her head to dislodge her dirty thoughts.
Her sister’s voice jolted her back to reality. “There’s no such thing as coincidence, Lil. This was meant to happen. So no horizontal bop for you last night, but you’re seeing him again, right? Please tell me you are. Your vibrator called and begged for a night off.”
“God, you’re … That’s … Ugh!”
“Just calling it like I see it. And you know I’m right. Your tied tongue always gives you away. So when do you see him again?”
“How do you know I’m seeing him?” Out came