“I can’t go to a restaurant dressed liked this—unless you want to hit a crappy diner. Then I’ll fit in with the bums and potheads. We’ve got lots of those downtown.”

He looks me over. It lights all my special parts on fire. “You look great.”

I glance down at my old hoodie and my pilly, holey sweats and then back up at him. “You didn’t take a hit last night, did you?”

“What? No. Why?”

“You do see what I’m wearing, right? I can’t go out in public like this. Especially not with you looking all—” I motion to his hotness.

“Me looking all what?”

I give him the cut eye. “Are you seriously fishing for compliments? Like you don’t already have a huge hockey-star ego. You need me to stroke it now, too?”

His tongue peeks out to touch the scar on his top lip, the one I like to run my tongue across before I stick it in his mouth. I am so sexed up right now. I need to get a razor and fix my forest-style legs. Beyond that, I need to make out with this man again. I’m so busy thinking about what I want to do to him, I almost miss his snappy response.

“I have things that need stroking more than my ego.”

I shouldn’t want to launch myself at him for being such a cocky bastard, but I do. I manage to keep it together enough not to offer to eat his cock for lunch.

Instead I fire back with some snark, because it’s more acceptable. For me. “Would you like me to leave you alone for a few minutes so you can take care of that?”

Randy grins. “I’m good. I can wait until after lunch. Why don’t we stop at your place and you can change, if it isn’t too far.”

Nothing in Guelph is far away. Everything is twenty minutes, give or take. But there’s no way in Satan’s hairy ball sac I’m letting Randy see where I live. I’m not ashamed of my apartment—but I know exactly how much a professional hockey player makes a year. It’s a lot of money. Randy wears nice clothes. His underwear is expensive—I ruined them knowing this. And I bet he drives a sweet ride with leather seats.

I don’t need him to know my life isn’t as easy as his. Then he might feel like he needs to “save me” or “take care of me” or something like that. It’ll make things weird. Well, weirder than this casual-sex thing that apparently includes lunch dates. I need to learn more about how this works.

If I start telling Randy about my life and the crappy stuff, it’ll be less about having a good time. I don’t need that either. Also, I have no idea if my mom’s at home, and she definitely cannot meet Randy. Ever. And the fact that I’m almost twenty-two, have finished university, and still live with my mom is another reason we won’t be stopping to get me a change of clothes, even though I could use one.

I make a face I hope is convincing. “I live on the other side of town. It takes forever to get there. Plus there’s construction, and you’d have to go the long way around. I’m not even that hungry.”

Randy taps on the headrest beside my ear. “We could go back to my hotel room and order room service.”

“You have a hotel room?”

He shrugs. “I figured maybe you’d wanna hang out again after your other shift, so I got a room.”

“Hang out? In your hotel room?”

I can’t tell whether his grin is sheepish or smug. “We could have a sleepover, with a naked pillow fight and everything.”

“Those are my favorite!” I clap my hands together and bounce in my seat.

“Awesome.” His smile widens. “Mine, too.”

But seriously, if he wants to have a naked pillow fight with me, I’m all over that. After my legs are shaved.

Randy fiddles with his phone and the GPS, and we hit the road. I’m super nervous. This is different than spontaneous bathroom make-out sessions followed by sex. This is planned. On his part.

I ask him to stop at a Shopper’s Drug Mart, the Canadian equivalent of a CVS. I buy a three-pack of the nice razors, soap, oil for my sensitive parts, deodorant, gum, a Listerine pocket pack, a toothbrush, a pack of those insanely huge condoms he uses, a hair brush, and some candy, just because. If they sold underwear, I’d be all set. I pass the Depends and consider, for a second, if they’re better than going commando. No. Never. Maybe I can wash my dirty pair in the sink and let them dry overnight.

Oh, God. I’m having a sleepover with Randy. I doubt there’ll be much sleeping. I rush back to the Jeep, my purse filled with important junk.

“Got what you needed?” he asks as I climb back in the passenger side.

“Yup.”

“Awesome. Let’s hit the hotel.” The way he says that, combined with the way he’s looking at me, makes me think room service is going to be last on the to-do list.

Guelph isn’t a big place. It doesn’t boast much in the way of quality hotels, so the best he can do is the Hilton, but Randy’s managed to secure the nicest room. It has a huge king bed and a couch I’m not sure we’ll need, considering the bed is enormous and there’s a TV on the wall across from it. We can watch while we take breaks from our sex-a-thon.

The second the door closes, Randy has me pressed against the wall with my face in his hands. His mouth crashes down on mine, tongue sliding along the seam. He groans, the sound deep and needy. Sweet mother of wet vagina, these sweats are going to need a wash after we’re done.

As is typical with Randy, his knee goes between mine, and he immediately starts with the slow hip circles. If I don’t stop him, he’s going to take off my clothes. I’d be totally cool with this if I didn’t need to manage my leg issues first.