The girl whose name starts with M roots through her bag-purse and pulls out a shirt. I assume she’s going to put it on over her bikini. That’s not what happens. Instead she pulls the tie around her neck and the one at her back, and the material drops to her lap. I glance at her and then back at the road, holding the wheel tight. I knew driving this chick home was a bad idea.

“What’re you doing?”

“Getting changed. You don’t mind, do you? My bathing suit’s still a little damp, and I don’t like the way it feels.”

I try to keep my tone even. “Again, I’m driving. You can’t be naked in my car.”

“The windows are tinted. No one can see.” She pulls the shirt over her head. It’s almost see-through, but it’s better than looking at her nipples. My dick starts to get the wrong idea about what’s going to happen here and begins the process of inflating.

Next my passenger shimmies her bottoms off. Now there’s naked pussy in my truck. Directly on my seat. She roots around in her bag some more—looking for shorts, maybe. I have no idea. Not like it matters. Normally this scenario wouldn’t be a problem, but I’ve been texting Lily this week, and she’s been messaging me back. I’m seeing her next weekend, and based on the content of our texting, I’m almost positive she’s willing to get naked and have some fun. She’s already made it clear to me and a good portion of my clothing that she doesn’t like to share.

Now here’s the thing: I don’t get into serious relationships. Based on what I’ve seen happen with my teammates, and my own damn asshole father, all relationships do is cause bullshit.

I travel all the time, and my entire life I’ve watched long-distance relationships fail. I had a front-row seat to the shitshow that was my parents’ ruined marriage. My dad was a professional hockey player—decent enough to be farm team and play a couple pro seasons. But he couldn’t keep his dick in his pants when he was away from home.

Apparently I’m exactly like my dad where hockey is concerned, except I’m a better player. At twenty-four, I’m in my sixth season with the NHL. He managed three seasons, but never first line. Still, it’s been hammered into me that I’m just like Randy Senior. We have the same personality, the same face, the same skill set, the same style on the ice, the same everything. And I’ve spent enough time with him to know it’s true.

So that means one thing: there’s a good chance I’m going to screw someone over the way he screwed over my mom. It might not be intentional, but it’ll happen. So I don’t get involved. Usually I’ll hang out with the same girl for a while, rather than bunny hop. We have fun until it gets too involved and isn’t working anymore, and then we part ways and do our own thing.

Most of the time it works out okay. But some girls get invested way too fast. There’ve been a few bunnies along the way that wanted more from me, but I make it abundantly clear that’s not how things are going to roll. It’s not my fault they read more into it than they should. There was one who got a tattoo of my face on her tit—and that was after I cut ties. As soon as I see it happening, I bail. I don’t want to hurt feelings or break hearts; I just want awesome sex and some sleepovers.

Except that’s actually a load of BS, because in all honesty, if I wasn’t at risk of fucking up someone else’s life, I might want an actual girlfriend. I can see the appeal. But definitely not this chick currently taking up space in my truck.

With Lily, I have to be even more conscious of what I’m doing and who I’m doing it with because she’s connected to Miller and Alex. I don’t want to mess shit up and make my life or theirs more difficult. She’s a lot of fun, though, and she’s clearly on the rebound, so I’m thinking we can spend some time getting to know each other without clothes on.

I chuckle at the memory of Lily’s expression when she saw my underwear in that bathroom last weekend. I plan to pull them out next weekend to see how she reacts again.

M Girl must mistake my chuckle for some kind of green light to get all up on my dick. She’s still pants-less. She adjusts her seatbelt’s shoulder strap and leans over as far as she can. Her hand lands on my upper thigh and moves to my slowly inflating, traitor dick.

I glance down and then at her. “What’re you doing?”

“I thought maybe I could thank you for the ride.”

“By holding my dick?”

“I was thinking more along the lines of a blow job.”

I exhale heavily through my nose and move her hand off me. We’re less than two minutes from her place now. “I don’t really have time for that.”

“I can be real fast. I give amazing blow jobs.”

I want to tell her that’s not something she should be bragging about. I take the next corner a little too fast, almost fishtailing. She slides across the seat and bumps into the passenger door.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” She moves back into position as I turn another corner. I need both hands on the wheel, so she takes the opportunity to slide her hand into my shorts.

Her building is two hundred feet away. I screech to a stop in front—it’s a nice place—and throw it in park.

“No!” I bark, gripping her wrist.

Her eyes go wide, and she retracts her hand like she’s been bitten.

I close my eyes for a second and breathe. When I look at her again, I’m calm. I’ve given this speech a bunch of times, so it’s nothing new. “Look, you’re a nice girl, and we had fun, but the new season’s about to start, and I can’t get into anything right now. I gotta keep my head in the game, you know?”