That One Night: A Pucking Around Prequel Novella (Jacksonville Rays)
That One Night: Chapter 9

Iwake to the sound of my phone ringing. The ringtone is Tears for Fears. Caleb. Why is he calling so early? He must have forgotten about the time change. I’ll call the asshole back later. I snatch blindly for the phone, clicking the side to dismiss the call. I don’t want the sound to wake…fuck.

She still hasn’t told me her damn name. Well, I’m done playing games. I’m breaking her this morning. I swear to god, this girl is not getting away from me.

I roll over, ready to pull her sweet body tight against my morning wood. Hopefully we have time for a quickie before our alarms go off at 7:00AM.

God, I can’t remember the last time I had so much sex. And each time was more earth-shattering than the last. That last time, we fucked against the window. She screamed, clenching me so goddamn tight, and I came so hard I saw white spots.

Never in my life have I seen a girl literally dripping with my cum. Now I get why some guys have a breeding kink. I wasn’t lying before. If this was Vegas, I’d be ringing down to the front desk asking for an Elvis minister.

We rinsed off in the shower, both of us standing sex drunk under the spray. Then we crashed in the bed. I think I was asleep before my head hit the pillow.

No way in hell am I letting her slip away. I’ll be riding with her to the airport. Heck, I’ll try to pull the I’m-a-famous-NHL-player card to get through security with her. If I’ve only got Seattle, I’m gonna milk every last second. I’m not giving up until the gate agent closes that door.

And I mean to play dirty. Anything to win. It’s not like there’s a penalty box she can shove me in. The first four words out of my mouth are about to be ‘My name’s Jake Compton.’

I reach for her, my hand snatching at the cold sheets. She’s not in the bed. My eyes dart open, and I wince. Weak morning light streams in through the windows. I’m instantly on edge.

Something’s wrong.

I roll over, twisting up in the sheets as I scramble for my phone. I tap the screen and my heart drops out of my chest. 8:37AM.

“No! No, no, no—fuck!”

She turned off my phone alarm!

I stumble my naked ass out of the bed, my gaze darting around the hotel suite. I already know what I’m going to replace. Her suitcase is gone. Her discarded heels, her sexy black jumpsuit—gone. Her kindle was on the beanbag thing and there was a small pile of jewelry on the side table and an extra phone cord. All gone.

She’s gone. Mystery Girl is gone.

She didn’t even wake me to say goodbye. My heart cracks open in my chest.

I stumble across the suite into the bathroom and turn on the light. My breath catches as I see that she’s left something on the counter. Oh god, it’s a note. It’s going to be her name and phone number!

I snatch up the piece of hotel stationary, but a quick scan has my heart sinking. No hint of a digit. No name. I lean against the sink and read:

Dear Mystery Boy,

Thanks for last night. You have no idea what it meant to me to share this perfect moment. I’m sorry I’m leaving without saying a proper goodbye, but it’s better this way. As I packed, I thought of a poem by Rumi:

“The minute I heard my first love story,

I started looking for you, not knowing

how blind that was.

Lovers don’t finally meet somewhere,

they’re in each other all along.”

Maybe we’ll meet again. Maybe not. Either way, we’ve been in each other all along.

XO,

Mystery Girl

I glance back down at the sink. She left me something else. I set down the paper and pick up the thin vial of travel-size perfume. I unscrew the cap. One whiff and I’m groaning, dick twitching. It’s her perfume. It’s not a clue to her identity, but at least it’s something, some piece of her, some proof that this was real. It happened. We happened.

I’m not giving up. I’m replaceing my Mystery Girl if it’s the last thing I do. And when I replace her again, I’m never letting her go.

To be continued…

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