The Keeper (Playing to Win #1)(6)

“Easton,” she breathes out but doesn’t push me away. “That was rude.”

I bend my knees and toss her over my shoulder. “Then I guess I’m sorry about this.”

“Easton,” she calls out, laughing. Damn, I love that sound.

“What’s going on, brother?” Pace asks with Everly glued to his side.

“We’re getting the hell out of here, man,” I tell him and start walking, knowing her whole crew, including my sister, is following behind.





LINDY





I’m not sure what wakes me up first . . . the throbbing in my head or the obnoxiously loud alarm I don’t remember setting on my phone. I yank the pillow over my face to drown it out, but it’s no use.

Wait . . . I think that’s a ring tone.

Who the hell is calling this early?

I swing my hand out, trying to silence the phone and smack my wrist against the corner of the nightstand instead.

Ow. That hurt. Not enough to stop the pounding in my head, but enough.

I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to be able to feel your pulse behind your eyes.

This is not normal.

I lie with my eyes closed, trying to piece together why the hell I feel this way, but last night is fuzzy. Almost as fuzzy as my mouth. Eww. The last thing I remember was . . . Shots. Dancing. More shots. Then what?

“Relax, princess. I got you.”

That voice . . . Oh my God. I’ve heard that voice more times than I can count, but it’s never sounded quite that good. Deep and gravelly and so fucking sexy that heat pools in places it has no business pooling at the moment.

A big, warm, deliciously callused palm wraps around my waist and presses flat against my stomach. My very bare stomach. Butterflies take flight, and every nerve-ending in my entire body stands alert. And that’s before I’m pulled back against an incredibly firm chest, and the man that chest belongs to groans.

A man who shouldn’t be in my bed.

Why is he in my bed?

Wait . . . is this my bed?

“Unless you don’t want to sleep,” Easton murmurs as he buries his face in my hair as that question hangs in the air. Fuck me.

Wait. No.

This has got to be a dream. I’m on a girls’ trip in Vegas.

I’m rooming with Everly.

Nowhere in my plan was I supposed to end up in a bed with anyone this weekend.

Especially. Not. Him.

No . . . I press the pillow down against my eyes.

This can’t be happening.

It’s a dream. You’re still dreaming.

Hips press against my ass, and any doubt that I might actually still be dreaming quickly vanishes because in my dreams, Easton Hayes doesn’t feel this good. Of course, my dreams usually end before I get the chance to enjoy his ridiculously large erection pressing firmly against my ass.

I shift a little, and Easton’s hands grip my hips. “Lindy,” he warns.

This. Cannot. Be. Happening.

“Yeah, princess, it is.”

Huh?

Who’s he answering?

“You, baby. Now stop thinking so loud and go back to sleep.” Easton pulls the pillow off my face and tucks it and his arm under my head, positioning me so I’m snuggled between the crook of his neck and his bicep.

Just where I always wanted to be, only I have no idea how the hell I got here.

How many times have I wondered what this would feel like? And now that I know, how am I ever going to live without it again? Easton’s mouth presses against my neck, and a small moan slips past my lips.

Stupid, traitorous lips.

This isn’t right.

Maybe nothing happened.

Maybe he just fell asleep next to me.

Or maybe I finally indulged in the one thing I’ve always wanted to do but never had the lady balls to grab for myself.

Okay, time to be a big girl. Roll the fuck over and face the music.

I take a hot fucking second to cringe at the poorest excuse for a pep talk I’ve ever given myself, and I’ve given myself plenty. I’m a goddamn gold medalist. I can do pep talks. They just usually happen on the ice or in the locker room. Occasionally in a car. Once while lying in the wet grass when I fell running and had to convince myself to get the hell back up and finish the run. But never in my wildest dreams did I think I’d be giving myself one in bed.

Stalling done, I try to carefully roll over without exposing any of my bits in the process, and two things happen at once. First, I say a quick thank-you to the one-night-stand gods because as I roll over, my panties go straight up my ass in the most uncomfortable way possible. Sleeping in a thong is not fun. But I’m pretty sure if I had sex with Easton last night, my panties would have been incinerated in the process. I’m hoping this means I didn’t finally give up my virginity when I was sloppy drunk to the man I’ve been half in love with since before I started shaving my legs.

The second I look up, any thoughts about how my thong is permanently wedged up my ass like dental floss or about how drunk I must have been last night evaporate into thin air. Because Easton is looking at me with the sexiest smile I’ve ever seen. Wow. That smile promises wicked things. “Mornin’, princess.”

He presses his lips to my forehead, and I’m pretty sure I melt into a puddle of goo, right here on the thousand-count Egyptian cotton sheets on the massive hotel bed. My headache forgotten, I bring a shaky hand up to his neck and dig my fingers into the back of his hair.