Wednesday, June 29, 2011


That’s my arm.

Cary had to blink a few times to focus her vision, but the long arm that swam into view looked very familiar.  She concentrated all her energy on her index finger and it twitched, slightly.  

Yup, my arm.

But, unless she’d forgotten becoming a contortionist, whatever lay heavily across her lower back, ending in a hand that palmed her ass, was not her arm.

Bits and pieces began to assemble, swirling as if drawn together by gravity.  Details emerged.  She had come to Pittsburgh on a girls’ road trip.  They had gone out after the hockey game last night, some dive-y place where Yuengling pitchers were $7.  Yes, for the pitcher.  She’d never forget that.  Less clear was the impression that a midget had run across the bar several times, doling out jungle juice from a bottle with the label peeled off.  Possible hallucination.  Sara had been using a support beam as a stripper pole, but that was no different than any other night on the town.  There had been shots.  Oh, and... shit.


There had been Pittsburgh Penguins.

Under normal circumstances, that is the first thing Cary would remember.  Of course under normal circumstances, she didn’t have a staring contest with her own wrist to determine ownership.  Whatever or whoever lay behind her was big.  And heavy.  And breathing much too deeply to still be asleep.

Double shit.

Cary did a quick inventory of the rest of her body.  All accounted for.  And all naked.  She lay on her stomach, head turned toward the edge of the mattress. Judging by the hand below her Mason Dixon line, she wasn’t the only one.  But that hand belonged to someone, someone who was in what she believed to be her hotel room.  He was awake, and he wasn’t scrambling around for discarded clothes.  

Great, we’ve got a clinger.

But wait.  Presumably the hand had been places other than her right butt cheek.  And it probably wasn’t alone.  The finger she’d worked so hard to move earlier had probably touched things too.  Cary might remember nothing about the night, but she knew one thing for sure: simple math.  There was one capacity where her body and brain would never fail.  If she’d gotten smashed in a bar full of Pittsburgh Penguins and gone home with someone, he had to be a Penguin.  She would fuck half that team on auto-pilot.
All this thinking just served to enlarge her headache.  There was only one thing to do.  Cary carefully lifted her head and slowly began to turn.

Please don’t let it be Tyler Kennedy.  I mean, he’s cute and all but...

She couldn’t hold her head up.  With eyes closed, Cary lay her other cheek down on the cool sheet and blinked as she had before.

She saw blond.  She was right about big.  And looking back at her from the same sprawled out position was one very, very blue eye belonging to Jordan Staal.

Jordan had a problem remembering.

Well, he had a problem drinking too much and taking home random girls, something he’d been trying to be better about lately.  Not the drinking or the taking home part, just the order they came in.  

Jordan’s plan of a night was this: find the girl.  Make sure she was hot, easy and at least consider whether or not she was psycho.  Get her on board for extracurricular activities later, then proceed to get wasted.  At least then he could open his eyes confidently on waking.  The plan had some success, but not nearly enough.  There were mornings when he congratulated himself, and others when he realized he’d been drinking out of the dog bowl.

He woke this morning in a hotel room.  That was fairly unusual, as he was pretty sure he’d gone out in Pittsburgh.  But a quick survey revealed no huge black duffel bags or suits hanging in the open closet.  This was not his hotel room.

Okay, still in the ‘Burgh.  

That meant the girl next to him was not local.  She was dark blond, the natural kind, and the sheet twisted around her revealed a long expanse of her shapely back.  That view and the firm half an ass in his huge hand said he might have done okay for himself last night.  Maybe.

Her face was turned away.  Not wanting to wake her, Jordan lay there considering an escape strategy, and whether or not he wanted to escape.  It was an off day.  He was really tired.  And there was a chance this chick would wake up thrilled with her conquest and want to go for round two in the sack.  

She can’t be that bad.

And he’d already banged her at least once - no matter how drunk, he always did.  Performance engineering.  So even if she wasn’t light-of-day material, he’d already been there and might as lie back and think of Canada.

Her finger twitched.  On the far side, extended above her head in what looked like an uncomfortable position, the index finger on her left hand moved slightly.  Beneath his arm he felt her breathing even and deepen: she was awake.

Big money, no whammies.

Jordan had no poker face.  What she saw when she turned around would be the truth.  A few times he’d even gasped at the sight of what he’d brought in the night before.  He pressed his cheek to the bed, attempting to hide at least half his expression, just as she slowly lifted her head.

In profile he saw she had a straight nose that perked up slightly at the end and her perfectly kissable Cupid’s bow lips came into view.  Then he looked right into her brown eyes.

“Thank God,” he said out loud.

Cary was so relieved to see his face that she almost fainted.  She’d never met him before - well, that she remembered - but she was such a fan that the players seemed like people she knew.  So Jordan... well he seemed like a pretty good guy to wake up next to.

And he seemed pretty happy to see her.

“Were you expecting someone else?” she asked.

Jordan rolled his face into the mattress, shifting his body and with it the hand on Cary’s ass.  He had no attempt to remove it.  He just smiled, she could see the side of his wide mouth.

“I had no idea what to expect.”

That did it.  Cary burst out laughing.  She lay there next to a stark naked power forward whose name she’d probably said a hundred times in the throes of passion, and laughed.  Jordan lost it too, and they were howling.

“I was so worried you were going to be TK!” she squealed.

Holy shit I had sex with Jordan Staal and I don’t remember.

Jordan slid his hand from her ass to her hip and pulled her close.  It was a very natural move, like leaning against someone when you laughed in a movie theater.  Except they were naked in bed and had no idea what had really gone on the night before.

“I’m Jordan,” he said.  His head was still on the sheet, but now she could see a matching set of baby blues above a big, goofy smile.

How much does hypnotic regression therapy cost?  Because I’m pretty sure I forgot the best night of life.

“I know.  I’m Cary.  With a Y.”

“Like C-A-R-R-Y?”

“Like C-A-R-Y.”

“Like Cary Price?”

“His name was an E in it, C-A-R-E-Y.”

Jordan made an exaggerated face. “Thank God.  It would have been weird saying that.”

“It probably was weird.”

“What do you mean?”

Cary pushed up onto an elbow.  Her suitcase was still on the floor, next to two others.  A few clothes were draped on the table and chairs.  A potted plant, thankfully fake, was upended, the knocked-over lamp hung precariously off the bedside table and the phone receiver hung at the end of it’s cord, beeping in futility.  Three cocktail glasses were spilled across the dresser.

“Oh,” Jordan said, following her eyes.  “Looks like somebody had fun in here.”

And that somebody was me.

He’d almost missed the carnage, because he had something better to look at.  The sheet had slipped from Cary’s chest, exposing an absolutely perfect pair of breasts.  Just heavy enough to round at the bottom, topped with sweet-looking pink nipples that Jordan bet he could make hard with a single sweep of his tongue.

But the evidence was hard to ignore.  He swung the phone back into it’s cradle and righted the lamp.  If only they’d thought to order breakfast while they were wrecking the place.

Cary sat  up fully now, showing Jordan the back he’d admired upon waking.  A tiny pale line crossed the center of her rib cage: an old bikini top tan line.  Jordan loved those.  He also loved that he could see just the top of the crack of her ass when she leaned forward.

Fuck, I love naked girls.

“What happened last night?” he asked.  It was risky - most girls expect you to remember every word they’d ever said, including their full name, hometown, first pet and drink of choice.  Forget one thing and you were getting the riot act at full volume, whether you were their boyfriend of not.  But he’d already tipped his hand.

Cary shook her head, blond hair trailing past her shoulders.  “And where are my friends?”

Sure enough, there were three suitcases lined up against the wall.  Jordan double-checked - just one bed.

“Were you all sleeping here?”

Where indeed are your friends when they could be here with us?

“Yeah, the hotel screwed up our reservation.  But this bed is huge, so we were fine.”  She turned now, leaning down next to him again.  They were quite close for her to be topless and hovering.  “Until I had to make room for you.”

He touched her arm, the one supporting her, just inside the elbow.  “I bet someone else made room for them.”

If they are anything like you, there was probably a fight over who got to take them home.

Cary looked at his finger where it made a gentle depression in her skin.  His hands were enormous.  She shuddered to think of them doing anything more than grazing her arm - hell, even that made her shudder.

Big hands... under this sheet...

She had no idea where Sarah and Jen were.  They could be sleeping in the hallway outside the door for all she knew.  But she doubted it.  They were as resourceful as she was, maybe even more so.  If one of them had landed Crosby it would be the only story she told for the next twenty years.  Though as she considered the staggering width of Jordan’s shoulders, the miles of chest on display above the white bed sheet, she thought she’d come out a winner.  There were just too many blanks to fill in.

“Can I ask you a question?”

He looked up at her, those dazzling eyes completely unfair to someone who didn’t remember staring into them from underneath.  His lips were quite full and parted just slightly, waiting to answer.

“Was there a midget last night?”

His smile blinded her.  The dimple in his chin got even deeper and he rolled his eyes.

Jesus Christ on a...

“Yeah.  There’s a midget.  He has a little house at the end of the bar and every time the bell rings, he runs out with that shit punch they pour all over people.  His name is Man Boy.”

Cary lost it.  Surely that had been a drunken figment of her imagination.  But Jordan was telling her his name!  She fell back laughing, landing shoulder-to-shoulder with the boy in her bed.

“Man Boy... oh my God.  What is wrong with this place?”

“Hey!”  Jordan said in mock defense.  “If he wants to live on the bar and give people free drinks, that’s up to him!”

“Please,” she gasped, “please please please tell me there’s a picture of you and him somewhere.”

Jordan rolled onto his side, towering over her, and paused. “Yeah, actually, there is.”
He climbed right across her prone body.  The sheet slipped off and his bare ass hung in midair as he reached to the foot of the bed, where apparently his pants had caught the blanket on their mad flight from his body.

Mother of God.

His ass was huge.  That is to say completely proportionate for a man built like a tree.  His thighs were the length of her torso and the same width too - she wondered if he’d ever tried kicking down a door for fun.  He yanked, trying to untangle the mess of clothing and bedding, and Cary couldn’t resist.  She raise a palm and smacked him.

“Hey!” he said, finally getting his pants free.  But he just dropped them a bit closer and spun around more quickly that she’d have thought possible.
Then he pounced.

Well if it’s gonna happen...

Jordan really wanted back in between this girl’s legs.  She was pretty and funny and seemed strangely fine with the situation they’d found themselves in.  And she was fair - she didn’t remember anything, didn’t expect him to.  Plus she was smoking hot and not at all shy.

So Jordan dropped the sheet and got comedy naked; not threatening, just reminding her that he was Jordan-fucking-Stall and there had been entirely too little fucking since whenever they fell asleep.  Cary knew who he was, so she must have known what she was doing.  He wanted her to do it again right now.  Then she slapped him.

There it is.

Jordan whipped around.  He was hanging out all over the place and watched as Cary’s eyes, just for a second, didn’t know where to go.  She was as drawn to the sight of him as any other woman had ever been.  Jordan might be a goofball and bit of a slut, but he was built like a God and he knew it.

Cary’s eyes finally stopped, her gaze meeting his.  And so he went for it.  He wrapped around her, pulled her in and over and on top all at the same time.  In less than a king bed they’d have landed on the floor.  Jordan rolled again just for fun and came to rest on top of her.

As predicted, the mood changed in an instant.  Her dark eyes flashed and every nerve ending in his body registered smooth bare flesh pressed between him and the mattress.  So Jordan kissed her, hard, and tasted what he wished he could remember.