Breakaway (The Rule Book Collection)

by A. M. Johnson

  “I will.”

  Reagan kissed me on the cheek before she left, and I assured her again I’d text her sometime in the morning. Once she was gone, I assumed Mark would take her seat, but instead he threaded his fingers through mine, pulling me from the bar stool onto dizzy feet. His arms wrapped around my waist as my greedy lungs gathered his scent, soap and ice. I let it crawl down my throat as I breathed deeply, leaning my head back enough that I could see into his eyes.

  “Did you have fun tonight?” he asked before pressing his lips to the hollow below my ear.

  I shivered. “Yes.”

  He left kisses on my neck and jaw, trailing a scorching path of heat along my skin as he made his way to my mouth. My heart was thoroughly spent, beating and bucking like a bull stuck in its pen by the time he freed his lips from mine.

  He spoke with a smile against my mouth, “I liked having you there.”

  His fingers eased under the hem of my shirt, brushing indecent lines along my stomach and ribs. His large hands gripped my waist offering me an illusion of fragility. The skin-to-skin contact puckered my flesh into goose bumps as he painted tiny pictures with his thumbs on my hips.

  “You ready to leave?” he asked.

  “You just got here.”

  “And?”

  His dimples appeared and I shook my head with a laugh.

  “Don’t you want to celebrate with your team?”

  The corners of his mouth twitched with humor and he shook his head. “I see these idiots way too much.” He was close enough I could see the different flecks of yellow and ginger that bled into the chestnut color of his eyes. He kissed my forehead, and the gentle confidence of his smile matched the deep and sure sound of his voice. “I want to be alone with you.”

  Alone.

  With me.

  It was safe to say my heart had plunged into my stomach, stirring the already frenzied butterflies into mass hysteria.

  “You look a little scared.” He was teasing me, his smile was more of a half-moon, lifted only on one side. It was more of a boyish grin, sexy regardless, and also, I’d decided, my favorite.

  I eased into my own breath as I shouldered the strap of my purse. “I think it’s finally hitting me.”

  “What?” he asked and wrapped his arm around my waist pulling me closer.

  There was no distance to hide behind as I admitted the truth. “Tonight… the game… Mark, you’re...” I tipped my head back to gauge his expression. His eyes danced with humor, his smile pulled into dimples.

  “I’m what?” The whispered question was laced with mirth and confidence.

  He brushed his knuckles softly against my cheek. His touch was gentle, but the rough feel of his skin billowed down my spine, covering me in a blanket of warmth. Overcome by the thundered pace of my heart, my voice was unsteady when I answered, “You’re amazingly talented, every person was on their feet for you tonight, an entire sold-out arena…” I paused waiting for him to say something, to figure out how mundane I actually was compared to what he could have. But he stared at me, and if I hadn’t been looking, I might’ve missed how his brilliant smile lost a bit of its wattage. “Overwhelming…” I stammered. “It’s overwhelming, Mark. I watched that game on television but… it wasn’t the same. I had no idea.” I laughed and his arm tightened its hold around me. “You’re kind of a rock star, and I’m just… an accountant.”

  He chuckled. “Sexiest accountant I know.” My cheeks flushed. “Stevie, remember what I said? I don’t want this shit to get to you. I’m a guy who’s good with a puck and—”

  “A guy who runs after said black dot, on ice, with a stick, and has at least twenty girls waiting for him in a bar, all I might add, wearing his name on their shirts.” I shrugged. “No big deal.”

  “The only girl I care about right now is you.” I was sure my face was as red as a tomato based on how hot my cheeks felt. He lowered his arm and rested his hands to my hips. The noise in the bar a distant hum. “I get paid to play a game, and you’re right, I fucking slay it. It’s in my blood, and I love every minute I’m healthy enough to be on the ice; but I’m also a guy who wants to take you home tonight, introduce you to his dog, and make you a grilled cheese.”

  I laughed. “A grilled cheese?”

  “Fuck yeah, I make a mean grilled cheese.”

  My laughter shook my shoulders and the nervous energy dissolved as I leaned in. I inhaled the masculine scent of him, and instead of self-doubt, I focused on how those strong fingers sank perfectly into the flesh of my hips. My hands moved lazily up his chest, finding purchase around the back of his neck, and I pressed a quick kiss to his lips.

  “I am kind of hungry.”

  When I dropped my arms, he took my hand in his, lowering his gaze to our linked fingers. “I get it, I really do. It’s still surreal to me at times. The fans, the media, and the fact I not only get to do the thing I love every day, but I also get paid damn well to do it. You’re the first person in a long ass time who’s met me and wants to be with this Mark. Not Mark the famous hockey player. It’s refreshing.”

  My head was in the clouds, watching him breeze across the ice, take hits that would injure any other normal man, make goals that seemed impossible, but his light brown eyes found mine, and I could see the quiet plea inside them. I scanned the bar, watching as the girls moved in on their prey, and even though the guys probably loved it, how would it feel to be wanted for your title, your money, and not your heart?

  “Just Mark.” I repeated the sentiment I’d promised him on our first date and was rewarded with my favorite smile again. “I do believe you owe me a grilled cheese.”

  “Let’s get out of here.”

  Mark waved to a few of his teammates, some of them smiled and others regarded me with curious stares. One of the guys, a tall beast of a man with dark hair and a thick and equally dark beard, stood from the bar stool he’d been perched on.

  “Wait up, Melo,” he shouted over the heads of the small mob of girls he’d been surrounded by.

  I heard Mark sigh before he stopped and turned. “What’s up, Jensen?”

  “You’re leaving?”

  “Got plans.” Mark squeezed my hand.

  “A fucking hatty, man, you can’t leave until you have three shots.” The man gave me a playful smirk.

  “No shots.” Mark chuckled. “We’re taking off.”

  “I don’t mind, Mark. You should celebrate,” I said with an encouraging bump of my hip into his.

  “I’m Bryson, apparently this rude motherfucker forgot his manners.” He held out his hand, well, more like a paw, and I took it.

  “Nice to meet you. My name’s Stevie.”

  His smile was impish, and I could see why the congregation of women had flocked to him. He was all bulk and rugged and charm and I’d be lying if I didn’t say handsome.

  “Stevie.” He clapped his hands. “Well, shit, it’s nice to put a face to the name. This asshole was just telling me about you today.”

  My heart stuttered and jumped and took my breath away. He’d told his teammate about me? I lifted my eyes to Mark’s and smiled when I noticed the shade of pink that highlighted his cheeks.

  “You did?” I asked and Mark’s smile split wide across his face.

  “Don’t listen to him. He’s an idiot.” Mark punched Bryson in the shoulder.

  “Three shots.” Bryson raised his hand lifting three fingers. “Then you may be dismissed.”

  “Don’t you have a bunny to corrupt?” Mark asked with a laugh.

  “A bunny?”

  Bryson’s dark blue eyes twinkled. “A puck bunny, you know, a girl—”

  “And that’s why I never take you anywhere, Captain. As nice as those shots sound, I’ll have to take a raincheck.”

  Bryson chuckled, his eyes sweeping over my body, making me feel kind of dirty, before he knocked his fist into Mark’s shoulder.

  “You owe me,” he promised.

  Mark huffed out a short laugh. “U
m, okay.”

  “I’m serious.”

  Mark turned and tugged on my hand, moving us toward the door.

  I heard Bryson laugh before he said, “You might want to take the back door. A couple media trucks have been sitting out there since we arrived.”

  “Shit,” Mark muttered and the word sank in my gut. I wasn’t afraid of cameras per se, but I wasn’t ready for that kind of attention. “Where did you park?” he asked.

  “Right out front.”

  “You mind riding with me? I’ll bring you to your car later.”

  “I don’t mind,” I answered him with a calm smile and the strict line of his shoulders relaxed.

  Mark kissed my cheek and whispered, “Just stay close, alright?”

  “Alright.”

  He nodded his chin at Bryson before he turned us toward the hallway that led to an exit by the bathrooms. Bryson’s jovial mask slipped and I saw actual concern in his eyes. These men were bigger than life, everyone wanted a piece of them, and as Mark snuck us out the back door into the dark, balmy October night, his arm draped over me like armor, I felt grateful for the pieces I’d already had. Parts of him maybe no one else knew about, or might ever see, had been reserved for me.

  “Sorry about that.” Mark glanced at me as he pulled onto the main road.

  “Media is a part of your life,” I said, infusing every last drop of nonchalance I could muster into the sentence.

  “It doesn’t bother you?”

  I watched, gathering my thoughts as the street lamps shuttered light across the black dashboard.

  “I wouldn’t say bother… It’s weird, and I can’t imagine how intrusive it must feel to be at the end of a lens all the time.”

  “It’s not usually too bad, but…” He looked at me again and swallowed. “Stevie…” He swore under his breath. “Someone took a picture of me kissing you at the rink the other night, and it popped up on a few gossip sites.” My stomach lurched and the first thing that came to mind was what if Ben saw it. It was a knee-jerk reaction, a stupid reaction, but Mark read me like a book. “Your face is hidden…” He gave me a sad smile that made me feel like an ass for even caring. “No one will know it was you.”

  I didn’t want him to think I was ashamed, or cared if we were spotted together. If we did become a serious thing, our picture—my face—was bound to end up on the Internet eventually. I inhaled a deep breath and pushed Ben to the far recesses of my mind.

  Mark spoke before I had the chance to. “I’m sorry, I should’ve thought—”

  “Don’t be sorry.” I found a bit of bravery in my pulse as I reached across the console and placed my hand on his thigh. “It’s a reality, Mark, and I either have to suck it up if I want to be with you or tap out.”

  The car rolled to a stop in front of a parking garage gate. Mark pressed a button on his key chain and the gate opened, granting us access.

  “I don’t want you to feel that way. The media will die down. I haven’t been seen with a woman in a while. To them… you’re fresh meat.” He laughed when my lips tipped into a frown. He pulled into a parking spot and turned off his engine. “They’ll sniff around for a bit, speculate, but I ignore it, and most of the time they go away.” He rested his hand on the top of mine. “Don’t tap out, Stevie.”

  “I didn’t plan on it.”

  His smile spread slowly as he leaned across the console, his hand holding mine pleasantly hostage against his leg. “Good,” he whispered along the curve of my bottom lip. “I wouldn’t have let you anyway.”

  His mouth coaxed me into thinking about all of this later, kissing me into submission. When my limbs felt as if they’d been stuffed with cotton, and the heat between my legs had turned into an unbearable ache, he pulled away with a satisfied smile.

  “Ready to meet Atlas?”

  My giggle was more of a dazed school girl than that of a thirty-three-year-old woman and, as I opened my eyes, the spark in his own made me melt that much more. “You really love this dog.”

  He grabbed his keys and opened his car door. “He’s family.”

  We held hands as we rode the elevator up to the tenth floor. Each floor we passed made it harder for me to concentrate on anything other than the feel of his hand in mine, and the electric pulse, organic and alive, between us. The doors finally opened and we stepped out and into the hall. My heartbeat was palpable, thrumming, as he said, “This is me.”

  A booming bark greeted us as Mark opened the front door. The clatter of heavy paws slapped against the wood floors, matching the irregular beat of my heart. Mark kneeled down in front of me, taking on the full force tackle from the horse he called a dog. His laughter was honey. Thick and sweet, and the light tone of it made a home in my belly.

  “Be nice,” he warned Atlas as he stood to his full height.

  The cutest dog I’d ever seen regarded me with perked gray and white spotted ears. Light blue eyes, surrounded by even more gray polka dots, stared as he took a few guarded steps toward me. I held out my hand and he stuck his wet nose against my palm. He tickled my skin as he sniffed and wagged his tail. Before I was prepared, he hopped up, almost pushing me to the ground. His giant paws rested on my chest as he licked the side of my face.

  “Atlas. Get down.” Mark’s command went unheeded.

  He groaned as he pulled the oversized dog off of me.

  I giggled. “I think your dog just felt me up.”

  He playfully smacked Atlas on the hip. “Good boy.” Mark’s eyes raised to mine. “I taught him well.”

  “Mm-hmm, I bet.”

  “Make yourself at home, grab a beer if you want, I’m gonna run him outside, it’ll only take a few minutes.”

  Mark grabbed a leash off the hook by the door and kissed me once before leaving me to my own devices. I inhaled a much-needed breath as I took everything in. I’d purchased a small, older home, in a newly renovated, hipster-type area, nothing too fancy. And in Richmond, Ben and I had no children, not even a dog, but we’d rocked that white picket fence. Mark’s place though, it was lived in.

  It didn’t look like a bachelor pad, despite the huge television that hung on the wall above a well-stocked entertainment center. He’d decorated the place, or maybe he’d hired someone to do it. The floor plan was open and painted in homey shades of brown, and crème and beige. Colorful images were framed along his walls. Mostly hockey-related photographs, I noticed, and his family. I lingered over the images of what I assumed were his mom and dad. A few of his sister, I guessed, and her family, too, as I made my way into the kitchen that sat to the right of his living room.

  The earth-tone theme of the apartment flowed into the backsplash behind his stove and countertop. A variation of worn brick. My smile spread as I stood in front of the fridge. The stainless steel had been covered on the left side door with a vinyl sticker. The number nineteen. I opened the door and grabbed two beers I’d never heard of, and I might’ve silently laughed at how empty his fridge was. Bottled water, beer, and a few preplanned meals in Tupperware. I closed the fridge and set the beers on the dark brown granite breakfast bar that separated the kitchen from the dining area. I used the term dining area loosely. Where a dinner table would normally be, he had one of those stand-up foosball tables. But instead of foosball, it was a hockey rink, with goalies and everything.

  The front door opened and I jumped when Atlas barked again. Mark gave me a half-smile and hung the dog’s leash on the hook by the door. Atlas galloped past me, grabbed a rope from the dog bed that was next to the couch, and dropped it by my feet. Mark laughed at my dubious stare. The rope was a muddied gray color and I had a feeling it hadn’t always been that shade.

  “I wouldn’t touch that. One, he’ll never leave you alone, and two—”

  “It’s disgusting?”

  He chuckled as he slid his arms around my waist from behind. “Precisely.”

  Mark pressed soft lips against the slope of my neck and I shivered. All the hair on my arms stood as he kissed his
way up and then back down again. Without overthinking it, I tipped my head to the side and fell into his embrace.

  “I can’t believe you’re here.” The rough gravel of his voice scratched at the need building inside me.

  I closed my eyes, let my arms lay loose at my sides as his hands moved under the fabric of my t-shirt. Could he feel how fast I was breathing, could he tell I was slowly falling apart as his fingertips grazed the surface of my belly and dipped below the waistline of my jeans? The heat of his breath soothed the chills breaking against my skin as he nipped my earlobe.

  He spoke in a rumble, a low pressure that pulsed between my legs. “I thought about you, more than I probably should’ve this past year… since that first night.” He gripped my hips and pulled me closer.

  “Me, too.” I kept my eyes shut, my quiet admission burning its way down my spine.

  I could feel him against the curve of my backside. He was hard and his breath hitched when my back arched, my body seeking friction, a friction I hadn’t known I desperately needed until now. Thirteen years I’d been with the same man. A man who never once took the time to discover what made me tick. Mark had found several of my buttons already, and he played them like he’d known me all my life.

  The promise of dinner forgotten. My empty stomach filled with anticipation, and raging butterflies as his left hand cupped my lace-covered breast.

  He bit my neck and I stuttered his name.

  “I want you, Stevie, so fucking much.”

  He was asking permission. His lips on my skin a persuasive argument. That pulse between us became a drum. It had started a year ago, and tonight I could hardly hear over its resounding beat.

  Starting over was about taking chances, letting myself feel and become something more than the drab life I’d made for myself. I turned my head one precious inch and his mouth covered mine. He sipped from my lips and tasted my tongue with long strokes I could feel all the way down to my toes.

  His thumb circled the raised peak of my nipple and my soft moan stilled his kiss.