Attached to You Read online

  And it’s absolutely the best sex of my life.

  However, I can’t have her fucking things up for me. My new mantra should be Say no to Deanna.

  My focus is hockey. Always has been. I’ve never been able to find a balance between hockey and my life when hockey is in season. It’s why I’m in my thirties, single as they come, and my last serious relationship was over five years ago. I want to bring this team further in the playoffs. I want to hold the best trophy in all of sports over my head, and I want my teammates to be able to do the same. The last thing I need is a woman to distract me from my goals.

  And Deanna is the kind of woman who could knock me flat on my ass and destroy everything around me in the process.

  “Damn, I’m ready to get home,” EJ says as he sits down next to me with a plate of food. “I miss my princess.” His princess is his infant daughter who he learned about at the end of last season.

  “Did you ever find a nanny?”

  He scoffs. “Bree goes through nannies like they’re diapers.”

  “Bree does or you do?”

  He glares at me while he stabs his fork into his pasta. “My mom hasn’t liked any of them either. The search is being tabled for the moment. I’ll know the perfect nanny when I meet her. You still seeing your karaoke girl?”

  That’s what they’ve decided to call Deanna since I won’t reveal her name. I shake my head.

  “Something happen?” EJ asks. He’s brave to ask, but we’ve become a bit of friends. Not to say my teammates aren’t my friends, but we don’t normally hang out if hockey isn’t involved in some way. My mom was a single parent and EJ is raising his daughter with the help of his mother. I’ve offered to babysit. He’s never taken me up on the offer, but he’s invited me over to hang out and his daughter kind of likes me. So, we hang out some, which is why he probably feels he can ask.

  “Season started,” I answer.

  “So? You don’t fuck during the season?”

  “Leave me alone, EJ.” I don’t like talking about this shit and I’m not talking about it with him, especially when so many of my teammates are around. No wonder my friends are few and far between. I keep to myself too much.

  “Okay, okay. Want to see the latest picture of Bree that Ma sent me?” He’s already pulling his phone out, and his daughter is a more enjoyable topic of conversation than I am.

  Soon, we’re on the ice for a game against Detroit. Our season is off to a hot start, having won four of our five previous games. I try not to think too much about past games or future games. Only the here and now. Only what’s right in front of me.

  Right now, the puck is on my stick. We’ve had a few opportunities to score so far, but no one has slipped the puck past either goalie. I want to change that. I don’t have an opening, so I pass to Nathan O’Donnell, who is waiting. He rears his stick back, the puck flies through the air, hits the arm of a player, but still makes it past the goalie.

  One to zero.

  We work hard, once spending almost two minutes in Detroit’s zone peppering their goalie with shots and keeping them from clearing the zone. It also wouldn’t truly be the start of the season if I didn’t hook one of their players. It’s my first hooking penalty of the season. I don’t know why I have this bad habit or why I can’t seem to rid myself of it, but I hate it. It’s like the same way my muscles are familiar with skating, they’re familiar with reaching out and hooking someone.

  I’ve been able to reduce the number of times I do it a season, so there seems to be hope that I can eliminate the habit altogether. My team is able to kill off the penalty with only a few close calls. Once I make it back to the bench, Marco slaps my shoulder.

  “Thanks.”

  “For what?”

  “We placed bets on when you’d get your first hooking penalty and a few of us, myself included, had this game.”

  “Fuck off.” I shove him away. He’s the exact type of person who can be distracting during a game. That’s fine...if he’s distracting our opponent.

  I get onto the ice for my shift, happy to focus on the one thing that matters the most to me. This is all I have and it won’t last forever. I plan to give it two hundred and ten percent, which means I don’t have room for anything, or anyone, else.

  “My birthday is coming up.”

  I laugh. “Yeah, Mom. I know. I’m shopping for your present today.”

  She gasps, but it’s all for dramatic effect. “You’re just now shopping for my present, Brayden?”

  “Cut me some slack. I was on the road for the past two weeks.”

  “Which is the perfect time to find me something while you’re traveling.”

  “Too late for that now. Is there anything in particular you want?” I ask.

  “Oh,” she starts and I can picture her waving her hand. “You know I don’t need anything.”

  True, but... “Not what I asked.”

  She’s quiet for a moment before finally admitting that she would like a new clock for her mantel. That’s my mom; the most exciting thing she can ask her son for is a clock. She doesn’t like asking for anything, though, after having raised me on her own with little help. She’s stubborn, too. When she gives in and tells me what she wants, best believe that’s what she gets.

  We talk while I drive, but hang up once it’s time for me to shop. My mom doesn’t ask if there is a woman in my life. She gave that up a few years ago. Should it mean something when a mother doesn’t ask her only son about any potential wives and, by extension, grandchildren? It seems as if she’s given up on that idea. It’s not that it’ll never happen, but it’s not my current focus.

  And yet...

  I can’t help but be reminded of the last time I was shopping. I haven’t heard from Deanna since the last time I saw her, but then, when she gave me her number the morning after I first met her, her words were, “Use it if you want to see me again.”

  She never texted me wanting to have sex. It’s not surprising that she hasn’t texted. She did spout something about how she had a fuck buddy, so she’s probably been satisfied by him the past two weeks. Meanwhile, I can’t stop thinking about her. This is exactly why she needs to stay out of my life. She’s already fucking with my head. The only time she’s out of my head is when I’m on the ice.

  I spend the next hour shopping for a clock and avoiding thoughts of Deanna. I find the clock, but am walking around the outdoor shopping center when my feet lead me to the door of the fucking quilt shop. I really don’t know what it is about this woman. We mostly fuck. She likes to talk some after sex, but not in a getting-to-know-you kind of way. The only personal question she asked was the night we met. She asked me again about my job. She wanted to know what I did and I froze. I blurted out that I was a financial analyst. That’s my normal go-to lie if I’m lying about my job. Girls think it’s boring and they don’t ask questions.

  I’m about to return to my car, but stop short when I see Deanna, smiling and laughing as she stands behind the counter, chatting with a customer. She works here? Before I can think twice, I storm through the door. Her eyes widen when she sees me. Luckily, the customer is walking away.

  “What the fuck, Deanna?”

  She takes my hand, calls someone to take over the register, and leads me back to the break room. “Okay, so surprise,” she smiles, “I own this place. We were never going to get caught, but it was fun to think you might, right?”

  What? “You’re fucking crazy.”

  That causes her to grin. “You’ve been worried about it, haven’t you?” She laughs, covering her mouth with her hand. “I’m sorry, Brayden, really, but I wanted to push you a little without actually putting us in any danger. My employee that day happened to be my best friend, so it all worked out.” Her fingers walk up my chest.

  “I hate you.”

  “Yet you still want to fuck me, don’t you?” She smirks.

  I grab her hand when she starts walking her hands downward.

  “What’s in the bag?�
� she asks when I don’t reply because yes I want to fuck her, but I’m having a hard time remembering why I don’t want to.

  “A present for my mother.”

  Deanna plucks the bag from my hands and peers inside. “A clock?” she asks with curiosity.

  “It’s what she asked for.”

  She hands the bag back to me and glances around the room. “So, it’s been two weeks.” Her eyes flick up to mine and I grin.

  “And?”

  She shrugs. “You barged into my shop. Just making conversation.”

  “I got an explanation, so it sounds like I can leave.” She frowns, and I add, “Unless there’s something you want to ask me?”

  Deanna folds her arms over her chest. I have a feeling she’s never had to ask her fuck buddies for sex; they’ve always reached out to her. She wants me? She can ask for me. I grab her hips and pull her flush against me.

  “You like to play games with me, Deanna.” I lean forward to press a kiss to her jaw. “I don’t like playing your games.” That makes her laugh and I kiss her neck. Her back arches as my mouth travels to her chest to place a kiss on what cleavage she has exposed. A breathy moan catches in her throat and she grabs the back of my head. “Sounds like you want me to fuck you again. Do you?” I bring my mouth up to hers, but I don’t kiss her yet.

  “I don’t like your games.”

  I chuckle. “We’re even then.”

  Her hand tightens in my hair before she breathes her answer, “Yes please.”

  I kiss her finally. Kissing her is never enough. I’ve only been with her a handful of times, but I know that already. There’s too much tension, her mouth a source of too much pleasure, and the woman doesn’t know how to keep her hands to herself or in relatively safe zones. I pull away before her hand gets too close to the waistband of my jeans. “Come to my house tonight.”

  She hesitates for a moment. “I have plans.”

  “More important plans?”

  “I can be swayed to cancel if you’ll feed me.”

  I shake my head. “See me tomorrow.” At her frown, I add, “I’ll feed you then.” I don’t like the idea of being responsible of her canceling whatever plans she has. I give her one more kiss and leave. It’s not until I get to my truck that I groan with mild regret. I was doing just fine until I saw her again. Without trying, the woman draws me to her.

  One more time can’t hurt, right?

  ***

  I watch Brayden storm off with a smile on my face. I was seeing him pretty regularly for a little while and then poof! Nothing from him. I won’t lie; I was pretty bummed about it. Things with him are so...explosive. It’s addicting and I didn’t want it to end. Who would? I almost wish I hadn’t promised myself to Zane tonight. He’s back from his trip and wants to see me.

  How odd that I find myself in such a situation where I’m seeing two men, both are physically fit, but Zane is that way because he’s a professional hockey player. Brayden must work out because he’s only a financial analyst. Zane has asked me to come to a game before, but I’m too busy for that. Besides, I’m more of a college football fan if I do watch sports.

  “He didn’t look too happy with you,” my best friend and co-worker, Rose, says when I come to stand behind the counter.

  “He’s happy with me.”

  She snorts, clearly not believing me. “Is that your latest conquest?”

  I shrug. “I’m seeing him tomorrow.”

  Rose shakes her head. “When will you settle down?”

  “When it doesn’t feel like I’m settling for the man.”

  She sighs as she straightens the fabric on sale. “Deanna, I love you—”

  “But?” I prompt.

  “You’re so high maintenance with these ridiculous standards.”

  I ignore her. I don’t have but one standard, really. Make me feel as if I can’t live without you. If I can do without, then it feels as if I’m settling for less than I deserve. If I don’t miss you, then I’m settling. If I can still sleep with other people and I want to sleep with other people, then I’m settling. I don’t want to settle. That’s all. What’s so crazy about that?

  The day passes rather quickly as I help customers and teach a few classes. By the time my workday is over, I have enough time to grab a quick bite, shower, and drive to Zane’s house. He greets me at the door with a smile and a kiss.

  “You cooked?” I ask when he leads me to the kitchen instead of the bedroom. Red flags pop up all over my mind. We normally kiss our way straight to his bedroom. He never cooks.

  “I wanted to talk to you first,” he says, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

  Oh, god. That can’t be good.

  “I ate before I came.”

  “Oh.”

  Zane doesn’t seem to know what to do now that I’ve thwarted his plans. I step forward and run my hands over his chest. “Do we need to talk?”

  “Do you ever change your mind?”

  I frown in confusion. “Um, sometimes? Depends.”

  He takes my hands in his, his thumbs moving over them in soothing motions. “What if I don’t want to be your fuck buddy anymore?”

  “Then I don’t know why you called me over here because I could’ve been elsewhere.”

  He flinches at that and I wish I wasn’t so forward. “That’s not exactly what I meant.”

  “I’m confused.” What else could he have meant? We’re either fuck buddies or we’re nothing.

  Zane huffs and shakes his head, releasing my hands. “Never mind.” He turns away from me to open the fridge. “You should go.”

  With him studiously avoiding me, I quietly walk out of the house. I’ve never seen Zane in a weird mood before, but there’s a first for everything. I also try not to get close enough that I would know his moods. I wait until I’m sitting at a stop sign a few miles away before I text Brayden.

  Me: My plans canceled on me.

  He texts me back by the time I reach the next stoplight.

  Brayden: Come on over then.

  An excitement I haven’t felt in a long, long time races through my body and thrills me. There’s this electric heat between Brayden and me, and it’s irresistible. I haven’t felt a connection like that in, well, never if I’m truly honest. I’ve had fantastic sex before, but just thinking about it with Brayden makes me want to turn the A/C on in the car.

  I knock on Brayden’s door. He opens it within seconds, as if he was standing on the other side waiting for me. His hand strikes out to grab mine, yanking me inside. My back slams against the door and my shirt is off within seconds. He kisses me hard, pushing up my skirt as my legs wrap around his waist, and groans when his hands brush bare skin. Brayden may not like to step out of his comfort zones, but he sure as hell likes to take charge and be in control. It’s why I was so eager to catch him off guard in my quilt shop.

  Brayden’s mouth moves to my neck and up to my ear where he whispers, “First, I’m fucking you the way I want. Then, a punishment is in order.”

  My entire body shivers. Brayden chuckles. His mouth returns to mine, dominating control, stealing my every breath, and weakening my knees. My heartbeat pulses so loudly it’s a roar in my ears. Brayden teases me just once before slamming home.

  “Oh, fuck.” It feels so good that I momentarily forget there’s a door behind me and bang my head against it.

  Brayden keeps thrusting into me, but with a hand cradled behind my head. This is what I need. A powerful man fucking me senseless while managing to take care of me at the same time. A girl could get used to this.

  Later, we’re lying in Brayden’s bed when he asks, “How did you come to own a quilt shop?”

  For a moment, I hesitate. Telling him would require me to get personal, which could lead to a string forming and attaching. But the question is innocent; he’s probably only curious. “My grandmother owned it. She passed when I was eighteen, and she pissed off the whole damn family by leaving the shop to me. Her instructions specifically
were for me to take over and run it. I already knew how because I helped her here and there.”

  “Are you happy she did that?” he asks.

  “Yeah. I was pretty wild back then and she gave me stability by forcing me to take over. There was no way I would let her down.”

  “So, no college?”

  “Nope. I had a business to run. Plus, the last thing I needed was to go to college and have a chance to get even crazier and be stupider.” I prop myself up on my elbow. “Why are you asking me all these questions?”

  “I’m curious.”

  “Does that mean I’m free to be curious too?”

  “Do and be whatever you want.” He shrugs. How he can be laid-back in moments like this yet so tense at almost every other moment? Maybe it’s because of the sex.

  I also find that I am a little curious. I blame the fact that I knew he was shopping for his mother today. “Does your mom live close by?”

  Brayden shakes his head. “She lives back in Michigan in my hometown.”

  I didn’t realize he wasn’t from here, though it makes sense. He doesn’t have the accent except for when he called me darlin’. He must pick it up here and there. “How did you end up here?”

  “I liked the weather better.”

  Such a simple reason to move, but I suppose people leave northern states for that reason all the time. “What have you been doing for the past two weeks?”

  Brayden laughs. It’s an amazing laugh. He should do it more often. “Is that your way of asking if I fucked someone else? Or if I missed you? I don’t know you well enough to know which.”

  I roll my eyes. “We were asking questions and that was the only one I could think of.”

  “That doesn’t answer my question,” he points out.

  “Neither,” I answer. Obviously he can fuck someone else if he wishes. He doesn’t need to miss me either.