Once again, doubt clouded her thoughts. Up until now, this thing with Callan had been on her terms. No contact info exchanged. Just one casual, hot-as-motherfucking-hell hookup.
No muss, no fuss.
Now things were about to change. Was she making a mistake for the sake of her finances?
Or was Callan Murphy the career kick-start she’d been praying for?
Chapter Thirteen
Callan climbed into his car a few minutes later and started the engine. He looked back at the door leading into Roxy’s building and blew out a pent-up breath.
What a fucking mess he had made of that.
He plugged in the address of the coffee shop where he was supposed to be having his breakfast meeting right that moment and noted that the projected arrival time was only eight minutes away. Considering it was still rush hour, that timing was questionable. He sent a text to the person he was meeting to apologize and share his expected arrival time before backing out of the parking spot.
As he eased onto the congested surface streets of the city, his mind returned to the moment he awoke in Roxy’s bed. For the first time in over two weeks, he woke naturally rather than in the throes of a tormenting dream.
In fact, with Roxy’s scent surrounding him, his dreams had been stimulating in an entirely different way. He’d woken up hard and ready to repeat the previous night’s performance.
Actually, hoping to improve upon it.
He shook his head at himself as he remembered how things had gone. How desperate he’d been to taste her. How eager he’d been to see her gorgeous body and feel it pressed against him. How impatient he’d been to take her. How mindlessly he’d pumped himself into her.
And then, after coming longer and harder than he ever remembered, he’d fallen dead asleep.
For ten fucking hours.
Everything about the experience was both humiliating and completely unlike him. He was always fully in control of himself, especially with sex. He prided himself on taking his time with a woman. He enjoyed exploring the nuances of her body and figuring out what brought her the most pleasure, then doing everything he could to blow her mind. If things went well and the woman was game, he was always up for a round two after a little breather.
And he never, ever did overnights.
If things were reversed and he’d been in Roxy’s shoes, faced with a subpar sexual partner snoring away in his bed like he belonged there, he would have made a point to wake that person and get them out the door. And he was pretty damn sure Roxy felt the same way. She’d just pitied him enough to let him stay.
God. What was wrong with him?
He’d been grateful for the few minutes of privacy he had to face his embarrassment as he got dressed and cleaned himself up as well as possible in the short span of time he had. He’d almost forgotten about his morning meeting. It had been the reminder chiming from his phone in his pocket that finally nudged him awake.
He was meeting with Garry “Grizzly” Gerard, a retired NHL coach he had played for in Dallas. Grizzly was born and raised in the Atlanta area and returned to his family home in Stockbridge after retiring the year before. Callan and his grandfather had met Grizzly for drinks a few times since moving to the city. Grizzly had been the first person Callan thought of turning to for advice when he set his new goal for the coming season.
Thanks to some aggressive driving and catching a few green lights, Callan was only six minutes late to his meeting. He saw Grizzly sitting at one of the outdoor bistro tables at Steamy Beans, the coffee shop he’d suggested. Since Grizzly was currently chatting up the apron-wearing server standing next to his table, Callan made his way directly to the table rather than going through the shop itself to place an order.
“Here he is now, May,” Grizzly said to the attractive brunette holding a round tray and order pad. “Late, as usual.”
“Sorry,” Callan said with an automatic smile. “At least I’m predictable, right?”
Grizzly issued a snort of humor. “There is that. You know what you want, Murph?”
Callan turned his attention to the woman. “Coffee black, please. Your house blend is fine.”
“Sure,” she said, jotting it on her pad.
“You should eat something,” Grizzly said. “They’ve got incredible pastries here.”
“I’m sure they do, but I already ate.”
Despite the unpleasantness of the morning, the memory of sharing his first Pop-Tart with Roxy brought an unexpected smile to his face.
Grizzly gave him a knowing stare. “All right. We’re good here, May. Thanks.”
“You got it, Grizzly. Be right back.”
They both watched her walk away with a purposeful stride and a smile for everyone she passed. It made Callan think of Roxy again. She always looked so sexy just walking across a room.
“Now I’m gettin’ stood up for sex, huh?” Grizzly said. “No sense denying it, kid. I’m real familiar with the whole ‘wearing the same outfit from the day before’ look. It’s a classic.”
Callan instinctively tugged on his (only slightly) rumpled shirt and ran a hand through his lingering bedhead. Guilt had him hunching his shoulders.
“I really am sorry I’m late,” he said.
“It’s not like I’m doin’ you a favor by drivin’ all the way out here or anything,” Grizzly continued dryly.
Callan lifted his hands in a show of surrender. “Okay, okay. I’m an asshole. Enough of the guilt trip. Truth is, I haven’t been sleeping well and last night I fell asleep in the bed of the sexiest woman I’ve ever met. I overslept and had to execute my first ever Walk of Shame, which I fucked up big time. It’s been a rough morning.”
“Oh, yeah. Wakin’ up in the bed of a sexy woman is a real hardship.”
Callan’s eyes narrowed.
Grizzly finally let his stern expression ease up. “Sorry. Givin’ you a hard time is just a reflex, kid.”
It didn’t matter that Callan was now thirty years old. Grizzly had started calling him “kid” during Callan’s rookie season when they first worked together and the nickname had stuck. It had been Grizzly’s guidance and hard-love coaching style that had whipped Callan into shape for his NHL career. Callan was certain if he had started with any other coach that he would have washed out by now.
“I’m real sorry about G-Man,” Grizzly said when Callan didn’t reply. “How are you holdin’ up?”
The instinctive response of “I’m fine” almost crossed his lips. But Grizzly had become an extension of Callan’s closest inner circle.
“It sucks,” he said, leaning back in the metal café chair and rubbing his hands over his face. “Every day I think of something I would’ve called or texted him about. I’ve picked up my phone a few times without even thinking about it, only to remember that he’s gone. Each time is like a fresh stab in the gut.”
Grizzly reached over the small round table between them and gave him a couple of hard thwacks on the shoulder with his huge hands, the large man’s way of showing understanding. “It does suck, kid. And it’s gonna hurt for a while. But one day, you’ll wake up and realize that the memories you made with your grandfather bring you more joy than sadness. It’s all about gettin’ through to the other side of your grief.”