If You Want Me (The Toronto Terror Series)

“This is my literal nightmare.” I slam my thumb against the button until the elevator arrives. It feels like my soul has left my damn body. I throw myself inside and struggle to calm my breathing as the numbers climb to the penthouse floor. My stomach is flipping, my mouth is dry, my palms are sweating. “You have time to get rid of the evidence. It’ll be fine.”

The team never comes back from an away series this early. Except today they are. I thought I’d have hours after my class meeting. The sheets still need to be washed. I need to get rid of the evidence. And I left my freaking vibrator behind. How the hell could I have left it behind? In all the months I’ve been taking care of Hollis’s cats, I’ve always stayed on the right side of the infatuation line. Until now. And look at the mess I’ve gotten myself into.

I pace the tiny steel box as the elevator ascends forty-four stories. It takes an eternity. The doors finally slide open, and I launch myself into the hallway.

I will never do something this stupid ever again. The sensor on Hollis’s door turns green as I pass the fob in front of it. I’m immediately accosted by Postie and Malone. I ignore them while I key in the alarm code.

Once that’s taken care of, I give the needy orange tabby rescue cats a quick head scratch. “I need to take care of a few things, and then I’ll give you a treat. Your dad will be home soon.”

The floor creaks from somewhere in the penthouse. The cats’ ears perk up. I freeze for a moment, then peer over the back of the couch as Hollis steps around the corner.

This is worse than bad. This is emergency-level holy shit. I cannot erase the evidence if he’s already home. My eyeballs nearly pop out of my head and roll across the floor. Because he’s fresh from the shower, running a towel over his face. Another towel is wrapped around his waist. It’s ratty and smaller than the usual huge bath sheets he uses. Because the clean ones are in his laundry room. And so are the dirty sheets.

I should cover my eyes, or turn around, or announce my presence. But I’m too busy having a freaking panic attack. I can barely breathe. The rapid drumming of my heartbeat is all I can hear. Also, the possibility that I might die of embarrassment is real. Apparently, I can still appreciate the visual delight that is a mostly undressed Hollis Hendrix, though.

His jacked-up hockey body is a sight to behold. His biceps pop, highlighting his half-sleeve tattoo as he runs the towel over his dark, wet hair. It’s a cool piece of art that’s impossible not to admire. On his biceps, a hockey player skates across a frozen lake, the sun shining down on him. In the background, huge pine trees frame the edge of the water. As they rise to his shoulder, the winter scene changes to fall. The evergreens turn into maples with their boastful yellow, orange, and red leaves. Single vibrant leaves flutter over his shoulder and across his chest. Muscles flex and ripple, water droplets cascade over his drool-worthy pecs before he swipes them away.

I’m in so much trouble right now. So much trouble. From his spot across the room, I’m obscured by the couch. But freaking Postie, the noisy asshole that he is, gives me away by meowing obnoxiously.

I shoot to my feet.

Hollis startles and holds the towel in his hand to his chest. “What the fuck?”

“I’m so sorry!” I shout.

Postie meows and hurdles over the couch like an Olympian. Malone’s tail puffs up, and he hustles his chonky butt across the room and disappears into Hollis’s bedroom. The corner of the bed is visible from where I’m standing. I consider following him, but I’m not as fast as a cat, and there will be questions.

“What are you doing here?” Hollis growls as he adjusts his towel, securing it around his waist. I’m still shamelessly staring at his glorious chest and abs and bulging biceps, as well as the other exciting bulge hidden by the towel.

I attempt to avert my gaze, but my eyes keep darting in his direction. “I, uh—uh I…I thought I had time…” I can’t be honest. “I didn’t know you were coming back early. I need to throw your sheets in the wash. The cats were all over them. I meant to do it this morning. I can do it now.” If I can get to the laundry room, I can wash away the evidence.

Hollis holds up a hand, and my gaze darts back down to the bulge at his waist. “I can take care of it.”

I lick my lips, desperately searching for a reason to run to his bedroom that doesn’t include throwing myself at him, which I would really love to do, but haven’t, for obvious reasons. I come up empty. “Right. Yeah.” I nod, and my eyes dart around the apartment before they come back to his naked chest.

I’m so hot right now. And sweaty. There are so many highly inappropriate thoughts running through my mind. Scenarios I’ve fantasized about more times than I’d like to admit—like Hollis closing the distance between us, taking me in his arms and kissing the hell out of me before he carries me to his bedroom, where he strips me naked and tells me exactly what he’s going to do to me.

“I should go.” I thumb over my shoulder and take a step toward the door. “I’m going to go.” I’m still staring at him as I grope behind me for the doorknob. My fingers wrap around it. “I’m so sorry. So, so sorry. I should have knocked.” I escape into the hall.

Hollis’s confused expression and his hot-as-fuck body disappear as the door closes. I hustle over to the elevator and jam my thumb on the button until it opens. “Crap, crap, triple crap.” I practically yeet myself inside and hit the button for the twelfth floor, gripping the back of my neck while I tap my foot furiously. “Maybe he won’t notice. Maybe he won’t do his laundry, and I can sneak in tomorrow morning and throw a load in and grab my…” I can’t even finish that statement.

Maybe Postie or Malone knocked my vibrator off the nightstand, and it rolled under the bed. Those two are forever knocking shit off the counter. This is the one instance where their mischief would be welcome. The elevator stops at my floor, and I step off, my stomach churning with anxiety as I return to my apartment.

I let myself in and lean against the door, feeling like I might pass out, or vomit, or both.

My roommate, Rix, is in the kitchen. Her long dark hair is pulled up in a ponytail, and she’s wearing a pair of leggings and an oversized hoodie. She’s the sister of Toronto Terror’s center, Flip Madden, and she’s dating his best friend, Tristan Stiles, who also plays for the team. “Did you get everything sorted out?”

“Hollis is already home. I couldn’t handle anything. And he was fresh from the shower. I saw him mostly naked,” I say.

Her eyebrows shoot up and her mouth opens and closes twice before she asks, “How was that experience?”

“It was…he was…he has a significant bulge. Like, really significant. And I stared at it. Probably for longer than I should have.” I run a hand down my face. “This is so bad. So, so bad.”

“Shit happens. I’m sure it’ll be fine,” she assures me. “You’ve seen him in a bathing suit after he and your dad get out of physio. It’s not much different, right?”

“Right. Yeah. Not much different.”

“At least you didn’t get an eye-full of dick.”

“Yeah. No dick.”

She tips her head. “Did something else happen?”

I bite my lips together to keep the truth in my mouth, but I blurt it out, anyway. “I forgot to put his towels and sheets through the wash.”

Her eyebrows rise. “Why is that a big deal?”

I chew my bottom lip. She’s my roommate and my friend. I can be honest about this. I can tell her what happened, and maybe she can help me figure out how to fix this.

“Did one of the cats poop on his bed?” she asks.

I shake my head. “Worse.”

A slow smirk curves the right side of her mouth. “Did you have a nap in his bed while he wasn’t there?”

I hide behind my hands. “It’s so much worse than that, Rix. So, so much worse.”

Her smile drops. “Worse than when your dad accidentally walked in on me and Tristan? Roman gave him dead eyes in the locker room for a week after that.”

I drop my hands. “Actually, it might be pretty close.”

“Oh, shit.” She grips the edge of the counter. “What’d you do?”

“I tested out my new vibrator while I was there earlier. And I left it on his nightstand,” I whisper. “And I couldn’t get it back, and he’ll find it.” I throw my hands in the air. “I’ll die of embarrassment. I’ll never be able to look him in the eye again.”

“Oh, girl.”

My phone buzzes in my pocket, scaring the shit out of me. “Oh my God. What if he’s found it? What if that’s him and he wants to know why the hell I was masturbating in his goddamn bed?” I might faint from the mortification.

Rix snaps her fingers. “I knew you had the hots for him!”

“What? How the hell did you know that?”

She waves a hand around. “It was a feeling.”

I don’t know how to deal with that, so I let it go for now. “What am I going to do?” I pull the phone from my back pocket. “Oh, thank God. It’s just my dad.” I open the message with shaking hands.

DadoBelongs to (N)ôvel/Drama.Org.

Pancake House in fifteen with me and Hollis!

Of course he’s joining us today of all days. “Hollis is coming to the Pancake House,” I tell her. “Maybe he hasn’t seen it yet, and you can grab it for me while I’m there.” Otherwise, things are about to get even more awkward.