Same Time Next Year

by Tessa Bailey

Sumner’s soulful brown eyes hold a distinctly Canadian apology,

ah the classic, hockey and canadians

“Thanks, Sumner,” I say, winking at him. Just so I can watch that blush ride up the thick cords of his neck. They match the ones on his forearms. Not that I’ve been studying him. He’s simply impossible to ignore, that’s all.

ooooooooooooo

“Sumner is getting shipped back to Canada.”

WHAT I WAS JUST WONDERING WHAT KIND OF PERSON HE WAS

I’ve got a teeny-tiny soft spot for the guy. He’s got a huge one for me, but it’s the opposite of soft, if you know what I mean. Unless my radar is broken, he has been nursing a crush on me for a while.

I work for tips, so flirting is an important part of my job, but flirting with Sumner feels . . . different.

Once you go hockey boy, you never go back.

I’m looking at Sumner, whistling under my breath when he eats his burger in two bites. Two.

do men even chew their food???

“I’m sorry, Bryce. I’m sure it’s hard to lose a teammate.” My half brother goes quiet, looking at me funny. “Maybe we don’t have to lose him.” “What do you mean?” “He could marry an American girl.”

this book literally stole from my mind. I literally was just thinking this

I never know where to look when Britta is standing in front of me. Or what to do with my hands. I mean, I know what I’d love to do with them, but I’d have to get her permission first, and she’s never going to give me that.

The fact that Britta is four million miles out of my league hasn’t stopped me from threatening my teammates with certain death if they ever asked her out again, however.

My mother raised me to be an unholy terror on the ice but a gentleman as soon as I take off my skates. Like a fucking Canadian should be, she’d say.

her butt shifting side to side in those tight black shorts and making me feel winded. I’ve had a lot of dreams about tucking that ass into my lap while my fingers are busy down the front of her shorts. Rubbing her panties until she’s wet and wiggling around—

That fierce protectiveness is probably what I love about her most. Today anyway. Tomorrow it’ll be something else.

My husband is ripped to shreds. And thick with it. Uhh. Daddy? questions my brain.

I use the moment to look at her tits. Fuck. The way I want to suck them. Just ride my tongue all over those nipples and draw hard on them when she least expects it. I’d get two fingers inside her pussy and keep them tucked in extra deep, too, so I could feel her getting wetter right at the source.

“I can listen and absorb everything you’re saying and still hope your shirt accidentally rips and they come popping out of your bra.”

“Can you please try and piece together what you’re feeling and communicate it to me?”

How can I honestly believe this attraction doesn’t run both ways when I catch her staring at my throat so often, I would develop suspicions that she’s a vampire if we weren’t out in broad daylight?

“Say the word, and I’ll stay, sweetheart. We can pretend we’re still studying for this interview. Take pictures together and pretend we’re only interested in each other’s lives so we can answer some questions. Even though we both know that’s bullshit. We just like being together.”

My God, we’re not going to make this interview, are we? I’m going to drive us to a rest stop and ride her pussy in the bed of my truck, aren’t I?

“If it makes you feel better, I’ll even pretend we’re just friends while I’m nine deep, ringing your bell.”

I bite my tongue to keep from asking again if she wants me to stay. I will. In a heartbeat. Doesn’t she realize I’m dying for a chance to prove myself to her? Can’t she feel it?

Mainly, the interviewer’s words continue to ring in my head as we go through the process of the interview, nailing every question. I know the real deal when I see it. And I wonder . . . what if Britta never does?

Once every two weeks, I send a bundle to Edmonton, and even writing his name on the package makes me feel . . . regretful. Like I should have asked him to stay.

I don’t think about the way he drew me up off the ground with his meaty forearm and offered to pretend we’re friends while he was nine deep and ringing my bell. Like I don’t think about that on a nightly basis. At all.

How is everything in the world not canceled right now? Are people still traveling, going to work, and eating in restaurants when my wife looks this hot?

Now all I see are surfaces. Places where I could set her ass down, kneel in front of her, and get my tongue between those thighs. I’m obsessed with eating her out. And I’ve never even gotten the opportunity. Yet I’ve thought about it day and night for the last two months. Spreading her legs open and spitting on it, rubbing my face against all that softness, and gobbling her up like dessert. I swear to God, I wouldn’t even ask to fuck her. I wouldn’t dare be that greedy. I could die happy if she just let me kiss and lap at her cunt while she squirms around and pulls my hair.

Can you not see that I’m starving to death for you? Can’t you tell I missed you so horribly that my family couldn’t even make me smile?

“Yeah?” Let me hold you. “How do you know?”

Because thanks to my sprained wrist, I haven’t jacked off in three days, and if Britta enjoys being called my wife, I’m going to do something embarrassing, like hump the arm of her couch.

“Do you want to be in trouble with the hockey gods?” I press my mouth against her ear. “You’ve got one right here, sweetheart.”

I will not get through the night without begging for a horizontal workout from this thunder god of hockey who loves his grandma.

“Made you off limits, Britta. It’s a rule that is rarely invoked among the group. But once it’s done, it’s fucking done.” He leans over until our foreheads are a breath apart. “If you don’t like it, then stop being my dream girl.”

“I should be angry at you. Calling dibs on me like I’m the last french fry.” “You’re more like filet mignon, sweetheart.”

I’d been thinking about you all fucking day with your big beautiful eyes and the way you treat customers like they’re family. The way you mother some people and give tough love to others. How protective you are of the other women, how they look up to you. How your laugh is better than any music. And the words just came out of me. ‘Touch her, and I will end your life.’

“You’re right, I’d use a lot of finesse with you, if given the opportunity.” My head falls back, the agony in my nether regions still very much alive and kicking. “But there wouldn’t be any finesse tonight, believe me. I’d probably snap your headboard in half.”

I think the idea of monogamy appeals to her more than she’ll ever admit. But maybe she’s scared to hope for it or believe in it. And maybe it’s about time I make her.

“You don’t have to stop me from looking at anyone but you, because I don’t want to look in the first place. Put parental controls on my phone, my laptop, block porn sites. Track my location. Lock my dick in a cage. I’ll do whatever it takes to make you realize I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying right here. I’ll make you feel secure until you realize it’s only ever going to be you.”

Put parental controls on my phone, my laptop, block porn sites. Track my location. Lock my dick in a cage. I’ll do whatever it takes to make you realize I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying right here. I’ll make you feel secure until you realize it’s only ever going to be you.

“You like the reassurance, Britta, so why shouldn’t I give you something that’s so easy? I’ve got nothing to hide, and I never will.”

“I’m going to eat your pussy until you scream. Just lie there and take it.”

“Sumner, you’re going to do these things with me . . .” She wets her lips, her words releasing in a harsh exhale. “Because if you do them to someone else, I will have to murder them with my bare hands.”

But tonight, I’m barely going to hold it together long enough to give you head. And I really, really need to get my tongue in it. If you think I’ve been fantasizing about doing filthy things to your tits, it’s nothing compared to how nasty I’ve been licking this pussy.”

I’m running out of time, and there is no way on God’s green earth that I’m leaving this bedroom until she’s not only satisfied but convinced she just had a religious experience.

“Do I need a condom, sweetheart?” I ask raggedly in between rough kisses of her mouth. “No. I’m good, I’m good,” she pants. “And I’m on the pill.” “Me too. I mean . . . I’m good health-wise. Not on the pill.”

“Learn to love me too,” I demand, in my own vulnerable state where my head and heart and lust are in a jumble, and I have zero control over what comes out of my mouth. “Love me like I love you.”

I want Sumner’s family to know I made an effort. I want them to know that I think their son is worth an effort. Because he is.

In case that wasn’t clear, I need to get her underneath me. Or on top of me. Or bent over something, just anywhere and any position, goddammit. It has been one hellish week since the last time I was inside this girl, and I’m about to lose my mind. Coming inside her once wasn’t even enough for one night, let alone a week.

Even if Britta slept in my bed and we locked the door, the sounds would travel. Especially considering I plan to fuck her like the survival of the planet depends on her having an orgasm.

I’m sweating, ladies and gentlemen. Will there ever be a time when I’m not a desperate, lust-fueled mess for my wife? Nope. Definitely not.