Cocky Score (The Hawkeyes Hockey Series)
Cocky Score: Chapter 25

I didn’t like leaving Autumn at dusk this morning and the warm master bed that we both ended up sleeping in together last night, but getting the first win under our belt for the three games was a great start. I’m fucking tired, and after going through media tonight, the smelly bus with its cramped legroom and slightly worn-down chairs is a welcome sight. The only thing I want to do right now is get on board and get settled for the long drive ahead with my noise-canceling headphones. But first, I want to call Autumn and see how her day went.

I pull out my phone to dial her, but when I see it’s almost one in the morning, I think better of it. I don’t want to wake her up.

I reach back to slip my phone back into the pocket of my athletic sweats when my phone starts to vibrate in my hand.

Autumn calling…

Relief hits first at the sight of her name displayed on my phone.

“Hello.”

“Hi… sorry, is it too late to be calling?” she asks.

“No, not at all. We’re just loading onto the bus,” I tell her as I get in line behind a couple of other guys.

The driver starts grabbing our duffle bags from us to load them underneath the bus. “Thanks,” I tell him as he takes my bag from me.

“You guys played a good game,” she says.

“Did you see that slapshot I made?”

“Yes.” I can practically hear her smiling.

“Did you see me point to the camera?”

“Yes.” She chuckles.

“That was for you.”

“Really? Because I think the cameraman thought that the kiss you blew to the camera was for him. He probably fainted with desire.”

“Probably.”

Autumn breaks out in giggles at my simple agreement. “But he was about as wide as he was tall and hairier than my uncle Fred, who looked half chimp… not exactly my type.”

“Oh really? What’s your type?”

“Who’s asking?” I ask, flirting back with the girl I’m falling for.

“Every puck bunny on the planet.”

“Well, I don’t care about the puck bunnies, but I’ll tell you what my type is, if you’re interested.”

Reeves, who’s sitting one row ahead of me on the other side of the aisle, looks over at me with furrowed eyebrows. I give him a ‘get lost, asshole, I’m talking to my girlfriend’ look, and he shakes his head, puts his noise-canceling headphones on, and then pats his pillow into place so he can try to fall asleep.

“I might be interested. For research, of course.”

“Right, for research,” I say, watching as the bus finally pulls out of the parking lot of the stadium we’re leaving. “Turns out I have a thing for strong-willed brunettes who make killer chocolate chip cookies.”

“Oh, that is noteworthy information,” she says.

“Could you replace some use with that information?” I ask.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Good.” Now that question I’ve been waiting all day to ask. “How did your meeting with the Hawkeyes legal team go today?”

I hear her sigh. “All in all, it was a good meeting. They felt that the lead was promising. They’re going to dig more into the owner of the club, and they have their team out looking for the bartender to get a confirmation on his side of the story.”

“Thank you, Autumn.”

“I didn’t do much.”

“No. Thank you for everything. Not just chasing down Dixie… which, again, I want to make sure you promise you’ll never do again…”

“You can’t stop me,” she says under her breath.

I sigh briefly and then continue. “But… for just being here through this, having my back.”

“I’ll always have your back, Briggs. No matter what happens after…”

After… fuck.

“Thank you.”

There’s a short silence.

“How long til you get to the hotel?”

“Four and a half hours until we get to our hotel, but probably six hours before I’m asleep in my bed.”

“Can you sleep on the bus?”

“I’m going to try after I get off the phone with you.”

“Then I’ll let you get some rest.”

“Will you stay on the line for a little bit?”

“While you fall asleep?”

“Yeah… would that be okay?”

“Sure. I can do that. I’ll put my phone down on your pillow, and you can fall asleep to the restful sounds of my snoring.”

“You don’t snore.”

“I don’t?”

“No. But you do fart in your sleep.”

“What?!” she yells.

“I’m kidding. I’ve never heard you fart. But you must. Everyone does.”

“Go to sleep, Briggs, before I hang up on you.”

I chuckle, and then I can hear a small laugh on her end too.

Soon, the low lights of the bus, the rumbling of the road, and the sweet sounds of Autumn breathing while she’s safe in our apartment all work to lull me to sleep.

Four hours later, I’m abruptly woken up as the bus hits part of the curb on its way into the hotel parking lot, swaying the bus enough to jostle me awake. My phone drops from my ear where it was nestled between me and my pillow for the last four hours. The call is still running. She never hung up.

“Autumn?” I ask quietly, trying not to wake her but wondering if she can still hear me.

“Hmm?” she hums half a wake.

“I just got to my hotel. Goodnight. Sweet dreams.”

“Night,” she mumbles.

Then, reluctantly, I hang up.