by Penny Reid
Buck pockets his phone. “The guys’ll be here in two—you cool if we rematch later?”
“You would’ve lost anyway.” I turn off the Xbox and flip through the channels, looking for some crappy reality television show to watch. Might as well turn my brain into sawdust seeing as I don’t have any other plans, because I’m sure as hell not waiting for Alex to call.
“Don’t forget to bathe in bleach later,” I say, just to get a dig in.
“Not all the chicks I hang out with are dirty.”
I drop the remote and slow clap. “Congratulations. You said it with a straight face.”
He flips me the bird on his way out the door.
After five minutes of reality television, I want to poke my eyes out. I surf through the music channels and stumble on a station dedicated to The Tragically Hip. I’ll have to tell Alex about this station since he seems to love the band. When he texts me. If he texts me.
Annoyed I’m being such a girl, I decide it’s time to change into jammies and prep for my meetings tomorrow. I give the Waters beaver a rub under the chin as I pass him on the way to my dresser. Of all the gifts I’ve received from Alex, the beaver is the most bizarre. It’s found a special home on my bed, between my pillows. I regret to admit I snuggled with it last night. The stupid thing is cuddly.
Once I’ve changed into boxers and a V-neck tee, I grab a stack of client portfolios and the box of Godiva and settle on the couch again. Two paragraphs into the report, I’m interrupted by a knock at the door. Buck probably forgot something, such as an industrial-sized bottle of hand sanitizer. He’ll need it after he sleeps with whatever puck bunny he’s called upon this evening. I shove my pen in my hair and push my ill-fitting spare glasses up my nose, ready to yell at him for making me get up.
I wrench open the door, scathing comment ready to fly. Except it’s not Buck.
It’s Alex. He looks like shit. Hot shit, but shit nonetheless.
Chapter 7
I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT I’M DOING
Violet
Alex has a nasty gash over his right eye with one of those tiny fly bandages holding the skin together. He looks like he hasn’t shaved since the last time I saw him. My mind immediately wanders to how his scruff would feel between my thighs. Combined with the slight slump of his shoulders, he looks cashed. I want to hug him and kiss his eyebrow better. I manage to control myself.
“Um, hi. What happened to your face?”
“Hey.” He touches the wound, looking uncomfortable. “It’s nothing. A little on-ice argument.”
“You didn’t get into a fight during the last game.”
A tiny grin appears. “So you watched it?”
Dammit. Now he’ll think I’m watching for him. I nod and shrug. “Yeah. I watch most of the games. That looks pretty bad.”
“It looks worse than it is.” His eyes dart below my neck.
I cross my arms over my chest. It’s cold, and I’m not wearing a bra. “Buck left a few minutes ago.”
“I saw Kirk pick him up. We’re supposed to discuss strategy tonight. I thought now would be a good time to return your glasses. I called last night after the game—did you get my message?”
I’m not sure what I’m supposed to say. Yeah, you sexy stalker freak, I must be some sort of rock star in bed and it turns me on that you seem a wee bit obsessed doesn’t seem appropriate. I go with the truth instead.
“I was out with a friend. I didn’t get the message until I got home, and it was late.”
His brows knit together. “A friend?”
“My bestie, Charlene. We watched the game at her place.”
“Oh. That’s good.” He ducks his head and peeks up. “Can I come in?”
It’s hard to believe he’s such a player with how sweet he’s being. “Yeah, unless you’re planning on binding and gagging me so you can take me to your lair. If that’s what you had in mind, I’d prefer you stay outside while I call the police and possibly a mental health facility.” And there goes my mouth, spewing crap again.
“Uh . . .” Alex stares for a few long seconds.
His eyes drop to my chest again even though I’m covering the girls. “Not very reassuring, Alex.”
“What?” He shakes his head, his eyes lift, then drop again. “Oh, oh right, no. I’m not planning on gagging you and taking you to my lair. I don’t even have a lair.”
“Good to know.” I half smile and motion him inside. “Come in before I get frostbite on my nipples.”
He looks momentarily ashamed. I can’t fault him since I’m braless again. At this rate, he’s going to think I never wear one. A gust of frosty air follows him inside, making me shiver. He might look as if he’s been sleeping in his car for the past few days, but he smells fantastic.
Alex shrugs out of his jacket. His short-sleeved T-shirt pulls tight across his chest and hugs his perfectly chiseled arms. He’s so built it’s disgusting. I might whistle-breathe as I openly admire his body.
“You look hot.” Alex’s eyes go wide. “Shit, sorry. Please don’t ask me to leave.”
I laugh; we’re two peas in a pod with our awkwardness. “Can I get you something to drink? I have beer, water, milk, and orange juice.”
“A beer would be great.”
I grab two bottles from the fridge, pop the caps, pass him one, and then motion for him to follow me to the living room. Alex sits in the middle of the couch, forcing me into close proximity. Couches aren’t safe where he’s concerned. It’s where we went from talking to making out to semi-naked. I still want to straddle him and grind all up on his shit.
“You’re listening to The Hip.” His scruffy smile is adorable.
It takes me a few seconds to clue into the music reference. “Actually I found a dedicated station. Crazy, right?” I’m so nervous, like a high schooler with a crush. On a guy with a dick the size of Canada.
“I listen to it all the time. I’ve seen The Hip in concert thirty-seven times,” Alex says proudly.
“Thirty-seven times? You must really love them.”
He nods as if it’s normal to see the same band so many times. His gaze sweeps over me. “No Spiderman pajamas tonight?”
“They’re in the wash.”
“Too bad. I liked them a lot.” He’s looking at my chest again. “I like this, too.”
“You liked getting me out of them.” I bite the inside of my cheek to stop from smiling.
I shouldn’t be flirting with him after all the media crap I’ve seen, but he’s sitting in my living room, smelling awesome, looking hot, and my beaver is excited.
His tongue peeks out to wet his bottom lip. The split has healed. “I liked that part, too.”
Silence stretches between us as memories of getting naked with Alex resurface. Being alone with him is unwise. My beaver is far too interested in a repeat of those events. In the past week, I’ve received more gifts from him than from all my previous boyfriends combined. Alex has money to throw around, so maybe it’s typical behavior. I’d be less conflicted if the tabloids didn’t paint him in such an unfavorable light.
“Is that why you came by?” I hope it’s not the only reason. I don’t think I’m cut out for casual sex.
“To get you out of your clothes? No.” He distracts me with his dimples. “Mostly I wanted an excuse to see you.”
“Oh. Well that’s . . . good.”
“I thought I was making it obvious.”
Alex does the thing guys do when they’re getting ready to make a move. His eyes drop to my mouth, and he leans in. Then he tucks a few errant strands of hair behind my ear. My hands seem to have a mind of their own. They move along his arms, feeling up his biceps.
I forget my inner turmoil and make it clear I’m okay with more contact by climbing into his lap. His calloused fingers curl around the nape of my neck, and our lips connect. I love his mouth.
His monster of an erection nestles between my legs, and dear Lord, does it ever feel awesome. It could bust a zipper it’s
so huge. I imagine it with little fists, punching its way out, and giggle.
Alex bites my lip. “Are you laughing?”
“No.” I stifle a chuckle.
“No?” His lips travel up the side of my jaw, his soft beard tickling my skin. He grips my ass as he lifts his hips. He’s so hard. Everywhere.
“What’s so funny?”
I moan, all loud and desperate. I’m so horny; it’s not funny at all. I wrap around him koala style, pressing closer. Sneaking a hand between us I palm him through his pants, excited by the low, primal sound Alex makes. I drag the fly down, ready to slide a finger—or my whole hand—into the opening.
While I’m busy working my way into his boxers, Alex’s palm moves under my shirt. I’m so glad I ditched my bra.
I freeze at a sudden knock. Only Buck sounds as if he’s sledgehammering through the door. With reluctance, I break the kiss. “Go away. I’m watching TV naked!”
Alex opens his mouth to speak, his hand still on my boob. I shush him with a palm over his mouth.
“Bullshit!” Buck yells. “That’s weird even for you, Vi. Open the door. I forgot my wallet in your bathroom.”
“You need to hide!” I jump out of Alex’s lap and pull on his arm, but he doesn’t budge.
He frowns. “My car’s in the driveway.”
“Buck’s not observant enough to notice.”
To prove me wrong, from the other side of the door, Buck asks, “Whose car is parked behind your shitbox, anyway?”
Alex arches his split brow. Goddamn him and his sexy face.
“Shitballs! What are we going to do?” I whisper in panic.
“Don’t worry. I can handle it.” Alex stands, rearranges his trouser monster, zips his fly, and runs a hand through his hair. He’s totally calm.
“I need to cover these.” I motion to my rock hard nipples.
“Probably a good idea.” He caresses one through my shirt with his knuckle.
“Hey!” I bat his hand away, nab my hoodie from the arm of the couch and yank it on. Rushing to the door, I adjust my glasses and take a deep breath. I’m so screwed. Buck is going to find out I slept with Alex, and they’ll have a throw down in my living room. Furniture will be ruined. At least most of it is owned by my parents, not me.
I open the door wide; no point hiding the six-foot-two, two-hundred-and-twenty-pound hockey player standing behind me. I prop a hand on my hip and sneer. “Leave your cock ring behind?”
“Ha-ha. I don’t need that shit. My wallet’s in your bathroom. Did Charlene get a new car?” Buck looks past me, his expression changing from amusement to confusion. “What are you doing here?”
“Hey, man. I didn’t get Kirk’s message until a few seconds ago. I thought I was supposed to pick you up.” Alex’s smile is easy. “I figured while I was here, I could ask Sidney about the kid he’s been scouting. Kill two birds.”
For a second, I worry Buck won’t buy it. Thankfully, he isn’t the brightest bulb in the box. “You mean the Evans kid? The one breaking all the records?”
Alex nods. “He’s golden. He’ll be drafted this year for sure.”
“For real. I think my dad’s going to see him play tomorrow night.”
“I’ll get your wallet,” I mutter since I’m not part of their conversation and head for the bathroom. My heart’s thundering with adrenaline after almost being caught by Buck. It’s also occurred to me that Alex is part of the group for which Buck called his bunnies.
The wallet sits on top of the toilet tank. To avoid direct contact, I use a tissue to handle it. I don’t want to touch anything residing in the proximity of Buck’s ass.
When I return to the living room the topic has changed significantly. Alex’s back is to me, and Buck is laughing. “This girl is pretty much up for anything, so I’m hoping her friends are, too.”
Neither of them has noticed me. I hold my breath, waiting for Alex’s response.
His laugh is hard, his tone cocky. “Gotta love the wild ones, eh? Especially when they come back for more.”
I want to vomit. We’ve been making out, and he’s discussing Buck’s “regulars.” I’m probably a stop on the way to the next bunny.
I hold up Buck’s wallet. “Forget anything else? Your biohazard suit?”
Alex spins around. I’m sure my expression tells him how much I’ve overheard. I can’t even look at him.
Buck smiles widely, expecting the insult. I wait for his not-so-witty retort, but he must have been waiting for a chance to use this one because he doesn’t even hesitate.
“You’re just jealous, Vi. You’re as dry as the desert. You might as well check yourself into a convent for all the action you get.”
It isn’t a half-bad comeback. Unfortunately, he’s doled it out in front of Alex, who may be looking to add me to his own list of “regulars.”
“Fuck you, slut-bag yeti!” I throw his wallet at his head and miss. It bonks Alex in the shoulder instead. He snatches it from the air. “I hope you get crabs and you scratch your dick off! Now get out, both of you. I have things to do, and your whoriness is stinking up my living room.” I spin on my heel and stalk off to my bedroom.
“It was a joke, Vi!” Buck calls after me.
I slam my door and lock it. Cranking the volume on my stereo, I blast the music, but it’s The Tragically Hip, so it’s not angry or aggressive enough. I choose an album with lots of heavy guitar riffs and loud drums. Stomping across my room, I punch the Waters beaver, which launches it into the wall. Then I throw myself onto my bed and scream into my pillow like a pissy preteen. I feel better, regardless of how juvenile I am.
Two minutes later an insistent knocking begins. I scream, “Fuck off!” but it’s Buck and he’s too dense to leave me alone.
I throw open the door. “Why are you here? Don’t you have a hooker to fuck?”
He kicks at the door jamb, shoulders slumped. “I don’t pay for sex.”
I don’t care if I’ve hurt his feelings. I’m so pissed at myself, and Buck, and Alex for my current predicament. I’m angry and more confused than I was before Alex showed up at my door. He was so sweet up until now and contrary to the media portrayal of him. Maybe that’s his thing. Maybe he gets off on messing with women.
“Would you like me to throw confetti for you?” Buck holds the door open. I lean against it and get nowhere. I hate Buck and his huge hairy arms and bulging muscles.
“I think Waters likes you.”
A useless blossom of hope forms in my chest. I tromp on it with tabloid images of other girls wrapped around Alex and his uncensored comment to Buck.
“I’m not interested in your disgusting friends.” Not anymore, anyway. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to be left alone. I have work to do.” I push on the door. This time he lets go and shouts when it hits him in the face.
As soon as Buck leaves, Alex calls me repeatedly. He must have me on redial. Annoyed, I turn off the phone and toss it on my bed. I’m not interested in anything Alex has to say.
Over the next several days, I avoid all contact with Alex. I make plans in the evenings and delete voice mails without listening and texts and emails without reading. I don’t empty my email trash, though. My lack of action is a problem because it means I can read them if I want to.
Chicago are playing a home game tonight. I’ve tried everything in my power to get out of going. Okay, I’m lying. I said I didn’t want to go. Buck and my mom pull the puppy dog and giant Sasquatch guilt trip, so I cave. It didn’t take long.
I put real effort into getting ready—something I don’t normally do. I don my rattiest sweats and my most stained hoodie. My mom refuses to let me get in the car.
“I told you I feel like crap. If I have to go, I want to be comfortable.”
“I don’t care if you have Ebola. You’re not going to the game in this.” She gestures to my outfit.
“Harsh. There’s nothing wrong with what I’m wearing.”
“Not if you’re homeless.” She
grabs my arm and marches me into the pool house. Then she holds me at flat-iron point until I put on makeup and change into something nice. My mom is well aware of all the gifts I’ve received from Alex. She’s perceptive enough to surmise this has to do with him.
I consider asking Sidney to stop at the pharmacy on the way to the game so I can buy Ipecac syrup as an emergency backup. With the way my stomach is rolling, I doubt I’ll need it.
Our seats are close to the ice again, only a couple of rows away from the bench. I can’t decide if I’m excited or not. Thankfully, beer helps calm the nerves. Puck bunnies cluck like chickens behind us, but they’re difficult to hear with my mom yapping away beside me. She insists Alex is a lovely young man and informs me I shouldn’t believe the tabloids because they’re full of crap. I snort into my beer and remind her everything they say about Buck is true. This shuts her up.
The butterflies in my stomach grow exponentially when Chicago take the ice. I slouch in my seat as Alex sits on the bench, his face set in a scowl. It’s a challenge to pay attention to the game while trying not to stare at him. He’s shaved since I saw him last, and he doesn’t look so beat up. My beaver drools in my underwear.
Some drama has taken place while I’ve been staring; everyone in the arena is on their feet, people either cheering or yelling. The whistle blows, and Alex jumps the boards. Moving with fierce grace, he snatches the puck from his opponent, pivots, and barrels across the ice.
A powdery cloud follows Alex as he comes to an abrupt stop. He raises his stick and brings it through with swift surety. Everything slows as the puck hurtles toward the goalie. Breath frozen in my lungs, I grip the armrests, waiting. Like every other die-hard fan, I shoot out of my seat, screaming enthusiastically as the puck races past the goalie into the net. Alex scores an awful lot of goals.