When Aria Monroe lands her dream job as the new photographer for Los Angeles's professional hockey team, the last thing she expects is to work with the cocky, arrogant center Connor Holden who rocked her world five years ago during a one-night stand...
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When we landed in New York, I didn't have the energy to be embarrassed when Connor nudged me awake with a puddle of drool from me on his sweatshirt.
I had gotten a straight six hours of sleep, which allowed me some sort of sanity rather than remaining in a manic state. Truthfully, if it hadn't been for the possibility of Brian spotting us together cuddled up, I would have remained asleep with him to get a few more hours of shut-eye. With the comfort his arms provided, I didn't even care about needing to deplane the jet. They could all go to hell.
Sadly, that isn't how the world works. I have a job to do, and so does Connor. It required us to head our separate ways before we had the chance to talk about my meltdown before falling asleep courtesy of Levi, who started talking game strategy as soon as Connor's arm slipped from around my shoulder.
The New York Predators are good, but we're better. The team's only lost two games so far this season, their best record yet, and the energy between the boys is electric. It'd be contagious, almost, if I wasn't so fucking exhausted and depressed.
Shifting uncomfortably from my stance on the ground, I curse myself for not wearing a thicker coat. It's the beginning of November, and it's already snowing here. My boots are covered in slushy mud and ice, and my toes are numb, but as soon as Connor steps off the bus, I'm suddenly an inferno.
I've never been blind to his looks, the man is a walking sex god. In a suit and tie, Connor Holden is a sight to behold, but I'm not only thinking about how hot he looks.
I'm remembering how compassionate and vulnerable he allowed himself to be with me on the plane ride here. The cocky, arrogant hockey star isn't who he portrays himself to be. Connor has depth to him. I wonder if others in his life know there's more to him than jokes.
"I'm so looking forward to round two with him."
After a few shutters from my camera, I glance over to the barricade where a perky blonde stands with two of her friends. She's wearing a tight jersey with Connor's number on it, batting her eyelashes at him as he strides toward us.
"He never answered my message on Instagram, but I'm sure he'll check it after the game," she continues. "I swear, I never thought I could be talked into having a threesome, but Connor can be very convincing."
My knuckles are white on the camera from how tightly I'm holding the damn thing. I accidentally take another photo, my back molars on the verge of cracking.
I'm...jealous.
I have no reason to be, and yet here I am, wanting to pull her damn extensions out when I don't even know the girl. I knew Connor was a flirt and had tons of prior experience, but hearing it spill from another girl's lips is a different story. It's a reminder that the man in a sinfully tight suit can have anyone he wants, and for whatever reason, he's focused on pursuing me.
