“I’ve got a plan for the gym,” he finally conceded. “Picked that out myself. Should be a good replacement for the off days away from the team.”
I wished the thought didn’t make me so sad.
Here I was, offering Adrian the chance to change his entire world, and he could only obsess over the game.
“We’ve both focused so much on our careers,” I said. “You might be okay with it, but I need something more. Can you understand that?”
“Yeah.” He tried. He really did. “That’s why I signed with the expansion team.”
I would’ve had more luck talking to his dirty laundry. “Do you realize your only happiness is found on the ice?”
“Do you think you can run away from your problems by getting pregnant?”
“A baby will solve those problems.” I shrugged at him. “Especially if it’s your baby.”
“And you wanna trust me with a job like that?”
“Why not? I trust you with everything else.”
He went still. The man was at a loss for words, which was fine. Adrian was always a man of action and conviction. He acted on what he thought was right.
And I prayed he realized how right this was.
“Starting a family with you doesn’t scare me,” he said. “What worries me is making the baby.”
That was easy. “I can guide you through it. Pretty sure I know how it’s done.”
He smirked. “Gonna draw me a map?”
“I’ll even color-coordinate it.” I smacked my hips. “These are the boards.” I pointed lower. “The net, obviously.” I jerked a thumb behind me. “But if anything comes near my tush, you get the penalty box.”
Adrian noted my warning. “Let’s be real. What happens if I refuse?”
“I’m offering a self-declared bachelor a night of wanton, dirty sex with me, and he’s gonna refuse?”
“No.” Adrian wagged a finger at me. “You’re propositioning me in the ass-end of an airplane at thirty thousand feet in the middle of the night. A man has a right to be skeptical.”
I reached for my blazer’s buttons. “Then take me now, stud. Right here, on top of the refreshment cart.”
“I just want to know if you’re serious.”
I dropped the smile, the jokes, the pretense…everything but the panties.
“I’ll be fertile in two weeks,” I said. “That’s how serious I am.”
He wavered, retreating to the jump seat. Adrian’s gaze narrowed on me.
Wondering.
Imagining.
Fantasizing.
And he must’ve enjoyed the same tempting thoughts as me.
My petite body resting beneath his strong, flexing muscles.
My tiny hands gripping his powerful shoulders.
My legs struggling to wrap around his solid hips—those hockey legs thick like tree trunks and solid like steel.
His consuming, devoted thrusts filling every inch of me…
And demanding more.
The prickle of sweat teased my brow. I shook off the fun shivers and rummaged through the cart for a second tiny bottle of whiskey.
If he only knew the strings I pulled for him…
“We’re talking sex and sperm here, Clover.” He refused the drink. “Don’t you think we’re beyond a shot of alcohol?”
“No. Because this is us. No matter what happens. If it stays just you and me, fine. But if there’s a baby on the way?” The thought warmed me. “It’s even better. It might change our relationship a little, but nothing will ruin this friendship.”
His voice lowered. “How can you be so certain?”
That was easy. “Because I love you too much to lose you.”
The man seized a powerful breath. Wasn’t sure if he needed another whiskey, an airsickness bag, or a private place for us to get started.
His eyes met mine—a dark promise of intensity that nearly stole my breath.
“I need to think about this.” He was too damned cute.
“Oh, don’t worry, Adrian.” I leaned close and kissed his cheek. “You can pretend, but I know you. Think all you want. Fantasize a little too. Because I can guarantee it…in two weeks, you’ll be in bed with me, and we’re gonna make a baby.”
3
Adrian
Why did the universe attempt to castrate me right when my best friend demanded I prove my fertility?
I’d always considered myself a respectable gentleman. Said my pleases and thank yous, held the doors for ladies, tried not to bash an opposing player’s face into the boards too hard. A little blood was fine, but I avoided knocking teeth out. Real simple stuff.
But, I was still a man. And, at any given time, men were usually thinking about, and with, their dicks. When presented with the opportunity of a lifetime—the chance to bed and pleasure one of the most beautiful women I could never touch—sometimes that fascination with sex became more of an obsession.
An obsession that had not only rivaled but exceeded my dedication to the game of hockey.
Clover was a gorgeous woman, pint-sized yet bursting at the seams with raw intensity and repressed sexual energy.
But it wasn’t my place to take her.
Before this insane proposition, I’d never once let myself fantasize about her baby bunny eyes, the way she’d nibble on her bottom lip, or those ferocious curves that packed spice into a sweet booty.
It was a crime against nature to consider fucking my best friend. Too many complications, too much drama, and too great a risk to the only relationship that meant a damn to me.
But now she wanted a baby.
And I was the bastard who got off on the thought of rolling her in the sheets, spreading her legs, tasting that forbidden sweetness…
Clover had no idea, but my desires were particular in the bedroom. A woman had her place—and that place was under me, thanking me, begging me, all while taking a relentless fucking. And yet, I’d never indulged in my darkest, most primal need: coming inside a desperate and submissive woman.
The idea was more than intriguing. It burned through me, tightening my cock and ruining an entire night’s worth of sleep.
Not many guys would refuse a girl like Clover. Even fewer men were strong enough to resist the image of her, naked and wanting, legs wrapped around their waist, eager to be taken hard, fast, and bare.
Son of a bitch.
These weren’t thoughts to have of my best friend—a girl so gentle and sweet that the very thought of dropping her to her knees, mounting her from behind, and drowning her womb with my seed should’ve shriveled my cock.
No such luck.
My balls were nearly torn apart once, but the fantasy of a night between her thighs would finish the job.
I was used to that region swelling since the injury—but this was a different sort of inconvenience. Not just for our friendship, but for the packed waiting room outside of the urologist’s office.
I positioned a Sport’s Illustrated over my lap.
Good enough.
Didn’t help that I’d shoved the picture of my new teammate, the superstar rookie Beau Beckett, into my crotch. Not exactly the way I’d envisioned meeting the new lynch pin of the team, but it was better than introducing myself to the receptionist with a healthy appreciation for my new doctor.