The Playmaker

by Cathryn Fox

  We’re quiet for a long time, then I break it and whisper, “Want to hear something messed up?”

  He nudges me with his shoulder, and I’m relieved to see him coming around. “Always.”

  “When I was a little girl, I liked getting sick. Jess had the flu once, and I was determined to go to her place to catch it.”

  He chuckles, and rests his head back on my shoulder. “Yeah, that’s messed up.”

  “It was the only time Mom was nurturing. She would stay home from work, put cool cloths to my forehead, make me my favorite kind of soup, and even snuggle me on the sofa. Tomorrow, I’ll make your favorite soup,” I say, but he goes completely quiet.

  “Will you snuggle me on the sofa, too?”

  There is a new strain in his voice, and I fear he’s going to be sick again. I angle my head to see him, and his eyes are squeezed shut, like he’s working hard not to fall apart. Gone is the Cocky Cole Cannon the world goes crazy for. In his place is another version of him, one who, on a few occasions when he didn’t think I was watching, I glimpsed in my youth.

  I have no idea what’s going on, so I simply link my fingers through his and give him a moment. Silence falls heavy, the only audible sounds in the bathroom our breathing, and I try to quiet mine even more, not wanting to disturb him as he takes a few deep breaths. Unease and apprehension weave their way through my blood, and I want to ask if he’s okay, but his lips open and his gaze meets mine.

  “I’m sorry you had to get sick for attention, Nina. That’s…not right.”

  My throat tightens at the somber way he’s looking at me. “It’s okay. I know Mom and Dad loved Cason and me, they were just busy with their careers. If I ever had kids, I’d want to be more involved on a daily basis, not just when they were sick. Not that I plan to have kids. I don’t, but still…”

  There’s a strange hardness in Cole’s eyes as she stares at me, and I clamp my mouth shut, wishing I hadn’t just said that. Cole doesn’t need to know those kinds of details about me. Why is it I don’t seem to have any filters around him?

  “Did they take care of you after your injury?” he asks, his voice a little rough.

  “Jess mostly did. Maybe because I was older and they thought I could take care of myself.”

  “I wish I could have been there,” he says quietly, and spreads the rag over his whole face, so I can’t see his expression.

  I take deep breaths, fight against the way my heart is slamming in my chest. “When you were little, did your dad take care of you and your sister like this when you were sick?” I ask for lack of anything else.

  “Yeah, something like that,” he answers.

  I don’t miss the strain in his voice, and can’t help but think all this talk about my mom has him thinking of his own, and how she walked out on them when they were young? From what I know about his dad, he was very doting. Cason said he was at every single hockey practice and game, which makes me wonder why his dad isn’t helping him now when he really needs it. Cole might have a million fans, but in situations like this, he’s truly alone, and that guts me.

  Deciding to change the subject, I say, “Next time we have sex, we need to take it easy.”

  He slowly slides the cloth from his face, and his lips quirk at the corners. “There’s going to be a next time?”

  “I think we have a lot of childhood hate issues to work though, don’t you?” I say.

  “Yeah, tons.”

  I nod and snuggle against him. “Good, then it’s settled. While you’re recuperating and I’m getting hockey lessons, we’ll keep doing this. But next time we need to set a slower pace.”

  “Not sure that’s possible,” he murmurs softly, quietly, exhaustion clearly overtaking him

  We go silent again, just sit in the dimly lit room for the next ten minutes, both comfortable enough with each other that we don’t need to fill the space with words. Odd, really. How did we get here so fast when it was just the other day I was telling Jess how much I hated him?

  Every few minutes, I turn to check on him and when his body cools, I push to my feet and hold my hand out.

  “Let’s get you back to bed. Get a few more hours’ rest before morning.”

  He stares at my hand. “If you try to lift me, we’re both going to end up on our asses.”

  “I’m stronger than I look, you know.”

  “I know you are,” he says quietly, sadly, and I suddenly get the sense that’s he’s no longer talking about my physical strength.

  He pushes to his feet, and I slide my arm around him to help him to the sink so he can brush his teeth and rinse his mouth. Once done, I guide him to the bed and my mind goes back to our childhood. Cole was at the house a lot, but I guess I never realized how much he’d been observing, knowing I had to do the bulk of the cooking and cleaning, while Cason took care of other chores, like the lawn and garbage. I didn’t even realize he could hear Jess and me in my bedroom. I never really thought the self-centered hockey player had paid that much attention to me. I always thought he was too much into himself to notice, but now I’m not so sure. Maybe he’s a little more complex than I ever realized.

  I help him to the bed and he slides in. As I fix the blankets around his body, he tugs my hand. “If you keep taking care of me like this, I might start faking sick, too.”

  I laugh. “I’m pathetic, aren’t I?”

  “No, Nina. You’re actually all kinds of sweet.”

  “You’re just saying that so I’ll take you to the doctor’s and make you your favorite soup tomorrow.”

  He snuggles in. “Yeah, you’re probably right,” he says, and falls asleep just like that. I stare at him for a few minutes, and his hands slips from mine as his soft snoring sounds fill the room. I consider leaving, and going back to my room next to his, but decide against it. If he wakes up sick again, I’d hate for him to think I’d abandoned him.

  I slide in beside him, careful not to wake him, and snuggle close, offering him my body heat.

  The next thing I know, the light slanting in through the curtain pulls me awake.

  I blink, rub the sleep from my eyes…and turn to find Cole watching me. He looks wide awake and his hair is wet from a shower. The fresh scent of soap reaches my nose.

  “How long have you been awake?” I ask.

  “Maybe you should be asking how long I’ve been watching you sleep?”

  “Creeper much?”

  “I’ve been called worse.”

  “I’m sure.” I look him over. “I’m glad to see you’re feeling better.” I steal a glance at the clock to see that it’s nearing eight. “Why are you up so early though?” I prop up on my elbows and look him over.

  “I was sleeping well, until I woke and heard you snoring.” He puts his hand to his forehead. “All that loud noise was bringing on another headache.”

  “I do not snore,” I say, and lift my pillow, threatening to hit him, but I won’t. He was too sick last night, and I don’t want to do anything to bring the nausea back.

  “I thought someone started my Mustang and was backing it out of the driveway,” he says, continuing to goad me. Clearly, now that he’s well, Cocky Cole is back, ready to duel.

  “Fine, you can make your own breakfast and drive yourself to your appointment.” I roll over, and put the pillow over my head. “I guess you haven’t changed at all,” I mumble to myself.

  “Ah, come on, Pretty BallerNina,” he says.

  “Cole…” I warn, a tightness in my gut. “I thought we were past the name-calling.”

  He takes the pillow from me and pulls my hair from my neck. The second he presses a soft kiss to my flesh, a shudder races through me.

  “But you are pretty, Nina.”

  He thinks I’m pretty.

  OMG, get over yourself, Nina. You’re not twelve.

  “I was never a ballerina,” I counter.

  “I know, you were just as graceful as one, though.”

  “I hated you calling me that.”

&nbs
p; “I know.”

  “Asshole.”

  He grins at me “How about tonight, when we’re back in this bed, you can tell me all the names you secretly called me. Work out some of those hate issues.”

  I slide onto my back and he smiles down at me. “I like the idea of that,” I say, wanting to do it right now.

  As if reading my mind, a sexy, crooked grin that bring back some of the more pleasant memories from last night spreads across his handsome face. But then I remember the consequences—Cole over the toilet, sick.

  “We need to get you ready for your appointment.”

  He looks me over. “But there are so many other things I want to do right now.”

  Yeah, me too.

  “We’re not doing anything until you see your doctor.”

  “Hey, you’re the one who said we’d be doing it again.”

  “I didn’t mean right now. You need a good breakfast, and rest.”

  “But these are the only things I want to put in my mouth right now, and I promise to pace myself.” He pulls my blankets down and places the softest kiss on my nipple. A groan catches in my throat.

  His chuckle curls around me. “Like that, do you?”

  “Of course I like that.” I sink into my pillow as he licks and nips at my nipple until it’s rock hard. His hand finds my other breast and gently massages it. He pushes against me, and his arousal brushes my outer thigh. I slide my hand down and capture his long length, and his deep groan fills me with satisfaction.

  I know better than to be doing this, and by rights I should put a stop to it right now. And I will, in just a minute.

  He draws my nipple deeper into his mouth and runs his tongue around it.

  “Cole,” I groan as my entire body lights up. “We need to stop,” I say, and move beneath him, my words contradicting my actions.

  “I know,” he says around my nipple, and the vibration of his voice goes straight to my sex. When he finally breaks the contact, he grins and says, “It’s just that I never got to spend enough time with these last night.”

  “Boob man, are you?”

  “Only when it comes to you, Nina,” he says, and when I meet his gaze, I expect to see humor—but what I see instead surprises the hell right out of me.

  How is it with one look he can make me feel so special? Believe me, I’ve seen the big-breasted women he goes out with. Mine certainly pale in comparison. Like I said, I have the body of a twelve-year-old boy.

  “But mine are…”

  “Are what?” he presses

  “I’m just…small.”

  He makes a sound, a snort of sorts. “Jesus, girl. Do you have any idea how perfect these are?” He cups my breasts, brushes his thumbs over my puckered nubs. “The way they fit my hands and mouth…Christ.” His lids fall slowly as he gives a slow shake of his head.

  I stare at him. Is he messing with me or is he serious? I’m going with the former, considering he’s The Playmaker. I’ve seen the way he acts around the bunnies. A guy like him knows all the right things to do and say to get the results he wants—a woman in his bed.

  Doesn’t matter. I’m in this for me, too. Some more excellent sex until hockey season is over and I have my plot.

  He shifts beside me, and a flash of red on his nightstand catches my attention. I look past his broad shoulder, pitted and scarred from years of hockey, and what I see has my heart jumping into my throat.

  My jaw drops open and heat crawls into my face as I sit up, moving a little away from Cole as I press my back against the headboard.

  “What?” Cole asks.

  My gaze goes from the nightstand to Cole back to the nightstand again. I shake my head and my hair tickles my breasts as it falls forward and brushes over my flesh.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I say, never more mortified in my life. I grab the sheet and cover myself, but the point is moot. Cole has been inside my body. And from what I see on his nightstand, he’s also been in my…head.

  He turns to see what I’m looking at, and then looks back at me. “Oh, yeah,” he says, his expression neutral, like he reads romance books all the time.

  “Oh yeah? That’s it? That’s all you have to say?” I question, my voice rising, getting far too close to hysteria. “You have every single book I’ve ever written on your nightstand, and all you have to say is, ‘oh yeah’?”

  He angles his head and looks me over, his eyes—which I wouldn’t mind gouging out at the moment—full of confusion. “Why are you so upset?”

  “Because…because…” I stumble as my mind races at what feels like a personal invasion. Did he buy them so he could make fun of me? I know how everyone laughs and makes fun of the romance industry. So help me God, if he says one derogatory word, or throws a sex scene in my face, I’m leaving and never coming back. Hockey series be damned. I don’t need to eat that badly.

  “You already said everything is fiction,” he begins. “Sex isn’t that good, and no guy is that good, right?”

  I glare at him as past hurts come back to haunt me. “You shouldn’t have bought them.”

  “Why not?”

  “They’re not for…” Oh, God, none of this is coming out right.

  “Guys?”

  “Right, they’re not for guys. Especially guys like you.”

  He sits up straighter, clearly offended. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Desperate to escape before he does or says something that will cut deeply, I tug the sheet and stand, looking around the room for my clothes, and realizing we discarded my shirt on the kitchen floor when Cole pushed me to my knees.

  Oh, my God. I search my mind, trying to remember if I ever wrote something like that in a book. Was he fucking with me? Having fun and wanting to recreate a scene, so he could mock me later? I could never go through that humiliation again.

  I hurry to the bathroom and lock the door behind me. No way do I want him barging in. I need a moment to pull myself together and figure if writing a hockey series is worth it. I turn on the shower and climb in. Steam fills the room as I grab Cole’s soap and rinse my body, washing away all traces of him on my skin.

  I stay under the spray for a long time, hoping Cole is gone from the bedroom when I emerge. When the water turns cool, I wrap a big fluffy towel around me, and gingerly open the door.

  When I do, I find Cole sitting on the bed, a coffee cup in his hand.

  I lift my chin an inch, even though I don’t feel an ounce of confidence. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to get dressed.”

  I make my way to the door, but he holds the coffee cup out to me. “I thought you could use this.”

  I eye the coffee, and the need for caffeine overrules common sense, and I graciously accept it from him. He watches me as I blow on it, then take a much-needed sip.

  “Thanks.”

  “Want to talk?”

  “No, we need to get ready or you’re going to miss your appointment.”

  “You’re still taking me?”

  “I’m not going to just abandon you, Cole.”

  He takes my elbow and leads me to the bed. “Sit,” he says.

  I lower myself and glance at his nightstand. The books are gone, and I’m grateful that he was considerate enough to remove them.

  “I put them in the library.” I nod, wishing he’d tossed them out. “I’m not sure I understand what the big deal is.”

  “It just is.” With tears pricking my eyes, I turn from him. “I write under a pseudonym for a reason,” I say. I pinch my eyes shut, hardly able to believe Cole went trough the trouble of finding out my pen name, so he could purchase my books. It had to be so he could tease me, mock me.

  “I know you don’t like me much, let alone trust me, but I didn’t buy them for any other reason than to support you, and for what it’s worth, I think you’re an excellent writer. I used to read your skating blog, too.”

  “You…did?”

  “Yeah. I didn’t mean to embarrass you. I never even thought to put t
hem away last night. To be honest, I never thought we’d end up in my room.” I nod. He cups my chin and lifts it. “I’m smart enough to understand what you write isn’t who you are, or what you do privately. Crime and horror writers don’t go around killing people.”

  Something inside me softens, the knot in my belly uncoiling at his sincerity. “Maybe I overreacted. It just took me by surprise, and I didn’t want you to tease me about it.”

  He lets loose a long, slow breath and shakes his head. “Jesus, I was such a prick to you.”

  I feel a laugh catch in my throat. “I wasn’t all that nice to you either, Cole. And that’s why we have to keep having sex. I have so much anger to work through. But this…” I glance at his empty nightstand. “It wasn’t all on you,” I admit.

  “What do you mean?”

  “There was this guy,” I begin, and swallow down the lump gathering in my throat. “He…humiliated me.”

  His jaw tightens as he brushes my damp hair from my shoulder. “What did he do?” he asks between clenched teeth.

  I don’t look at him. I can’t, and for God’s sake, why the hell am I telling him this?

  “I was set up on a date, and he really paid attention to me, you know? Most guys don’t.”

  He frowns and looks down, like he knows something I don’t.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Nothing, keep going.”

  “He was a bartender, but apparently his brother was a cop, so I guess he must have gotten him to do a search on me or something, and found out my pen name. He read my books, Cole, and he…” A hiccupping sob catches in my throat as my mind dredges up that painful memory. “I guess he thought it would be fun to recreate some of the scenes.”

  He scrubs his chin, a new look of understanding in his eyes. “Shit, I get it now.”

  “I didn’t even realize it at the time, but he made a big joke out of it when it was over. I was mortified. It actually made me ashamed of what I write and made me feel dirty. Actually, I felt like a whore.”

  “This is on him, not you. What you write is romance and people falling in love. Sex come naturally from that, and you should be proud of yourself. I sure as fuck am proud of you.” Anger backlights his eyes and his fingers curl into fists. “Fucking pig. Where can I find him?”