The Wingman

by Cathryn Fox

  “Do I know you?” While I might not know her, I know her type, and I know what she’s after. But what’s really bugging me is Jules and I were having fun, and I wasn’t ready for that to end. Honestly, I haven’t laughed or joked like that with a woman in…ever.

  The blonde gives a breathless laugh. “Not yet.” She runs her finger down my chest. “I’m Candy, by the way.”

  “Of course you are,” I say.

  “Want to get out of here? Go back to my place, or yours if you prefer.”

  Wow, how fucking rude to act like Jules doesn’t even exist. Sure, she’s not the kind of girl usually found on my arm, but still.

  “Candy, this is Jules. My fiancée.” I tap my leg, a gesture for Jules to take a seat.

  Without even missing a beat, Jules takes my cue, sidles closer to me, and extends her hand. “Candy, it’s nice to meet you.” Goddammit, a woman with beauty and brains. If I weren’t a one-night kind of guy, I’d hang on tight to this one. But I’m not into tomorrows, so that’s a stupid thought.

  Candy falters and stares at Jules’ hand like it’s about to grow a head and bite her.

  “Yeah right,” she fires back, her eyes narrowing as her head bobs back and forth between the two of us.

  “Why is that so hard to believe?” Jules asks in a voice so sultry and smooth it could churn butter.

  Candy’s head jerks back, her lips pursed so tight they’re beginning to turn white. “Rider Lewis, the NHL’s best wingman, does not date, or do commitments. Everyone knows that.”

  In a move that displays possession, Jules settles between my spread legs and sets her sweet ass down on my left thigh.

  She blinks innocently at Candy. “I guess I must have missed the memo.”

  2

  Jules

  As we maneuver through the bar, I angle my head and take in Rider’s cute dimple. “Why are you grinning at me like that?”

  “Like what?”

  “Like you hit the boards one too many times.”

  Rider opens the heavy front door and gestures for me to exit. “Hockey fan, are you?” he asks as he joins me on the wet sidewalk.

  I snort. “Not even a little bit.”

  “Are you serious?” He gives a slow shake of his head, and runs his fingers through his short hair. “I don’t think we can be friends any more, Jules.”

  “We’re friends now, are we?” I ask.

  He gestures with a nod. “It’s over, and I’m afraid you’re going to have to walk on the other side of the street.”

  I whack his stomach—damn, the man is hard—and he lets loose a loud oomph.

  “For the record,” he says, “I’m not a fan of nurses either.”

  “What could you possibly have against nurses?” I hold my hand out and test the skies. Looks like the rain has stopped. For now. I mean, this is Seattle and it could downpour again any second.

  “Last year I landed in the hospital—”

  “What were you in the hospital for?”

  “Nothing important,” he says quickly, and continues with, “As soon as I’d drift off, the damn nurses would wake me up. It was fucking annoying. Then they’d poke and stick me with things and I think they took great pleasure in it. Sadistic, all of you.”

  I laugh. “Aw, did the nurses upset the little baby with three nipples?”

  He scrunches up his face. “Funny girl.” He gives my ponytail a tug and the second he does, the air around us shifts, becomes a little more volatile…electric. My lips part, and his gaze drops, like he can’t take his eyes from my mouth. Okay, I must be imagining things here. Lindsay is the kind of girl who attracts guys like Rider and Kane. Where she’s adventurous, bold and always up for something wild, I’m the quiet girl, the caretaker, the good girl who always blends into the woodwork. Tonight, the fact that Rider chose Lindsay—not me—for his friend Kane, is a testament to that.

  “So…ah. Yeah,” Rider says, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “You never got to show me how it was done.”

  “How…what was done?” I ask, my mind careening off in an erotic direction, imagining all the dirty things we could show each other. Which makes me nearly laugh. What dirty things do I know?

  “You called me a rookie when I was trying to find you a guy, and said you’d show me how it was done. You never got a chance to be my wingman.”

  “Right, and it’s wingwoman.”

  He nudges me with his shoulder, and the intimate contact sends a ridiculous streak of heat through my chilled body. “What did you think I meant?”

  “That,” I say quickly. Too quickly judging by his smirk. With a little more confidence I add, “That’s what I thought you meant.” His grin widens, like he’s a cocky son of a bitch who knows my stupid brain had gone off in a dirty direction.

  “What would you have said?” he asks.

  “It was a gem. I’m going to save it for next time.”

  “Oh, we’re doing this again, are we? I thought you said you didn’t like hockey players.”

  I actually said I didn’t like hockey, not hockey players. Truthfully, I’ve never met a hockey player until tonight. But instead of pointing that out, I say, “And you don’t like nurses, so we’re even. And…you did ruin my date night with my girlfriend, so I feel like you owe me date.”

  “You want to go on a date?”

  “Not with you,” I say, and make a face like the idea is absurd. I pull my phone from my pocket, about to grab an Uber, even though it’s still early and the thought of going home to an empty apartment doesn’t hold the appeal it did an hour ago. Normally I love the quiet after a busy shift. Love to make a hot cup of herbal tea and whip up dinner for one in the kitchen.

  “What are you doing?” he asks, and cocks his head to the side as he stares at my phone.

  “Getting an Uber and going home.”

  He shakes his friend’s keys. “I can drive you. Seeing you home safely is the least I can do after setting your girlfriend up with my brother.”

  I lower my phone. “Wait. Kane is your brother?” My God, the two look nothing alike. I never would have put that together. But damn, their parents must be proud to have two professional hockey players in the family.

  “Not by blood, but yeah.” He quickly turns from me, but not before I catch the flash of darkness in his eyes. Why do I suddenly get the feeling that I touched on a sore spot? He holds the fob out, presses it, and in the near distance a car door unlocks.

  “Well, I have four siblings. I’m the oldest of five.” Why the hell did I just tell him that?

  He turns back to me, and he has the strangest look on his face. I’m not sure what to make of it, and I don’t know him well enough to call it, but for the briefest of seconds I get the impression that he’s all alone in this world. But he’s not. He has Kane, and his entire team, right?

  “That’s nice,” he says so quietly I have to strain to hear.

  Silence falls over us, and I suddenly can’t remember what we were talking about before I asked about his brother. When he shifts from one foot to the other, the keys rattle.

  Right, he’d offered me a ride home, before my brain went off in another direction.

  “I don’t get into cars with strangers,” I say with a lift of my chin.

  Humor is back in his eyes when he turns to me. “Friends with every Uber driver in Seattle, are you?” he teases, that sexy little dimple on display again.

  I give an exaggerated eye roll that seems to amuse him. “Well no. Of course not, but they have safety measures. You could be a serial killer, for all I know.”

  “I’m not and I don’t make it a habit of driving random women home either, you know. Maybe you’re not a real nurse.” He glances the length of me. “Maybe you only wear scrubs because you’re an organ thief and it saves time when you’re ready to harvest some unsuspecting dude’s parts,” he teases, as he cups his crotch.

  I burst out laughing. “You have a very wild imagination. I’m not after your organs, Ride
r.” I point downward. “Especially that one.”

  “Whew. Okay, what do you do for fun?” he questions, like he’s not ready for this night to be over any more than I am.

  “I like gardening, and art, and I like to repair and paint old furniture.” I’m about to ask him what he does for fun, but he slaps his head.

  “What a coincidence.”

  I fold my arms, and stare at him, wondering where he’s going with this, but entertained with his antics just the same. “What?”

  He jerks his thumb down the street. “I was actually on my way to get a whopper wiener at the Bad Art Museum. Join me. We can eat and look at art.”

  “Bad art, you mean.”

  “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, baby.”

  “And those wieners will kill you. Instead of whopper wiener, they should be called heart attack hotdog.”

  He laughs at the joke. “So you want one, too?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  He laughs harder and I join in as we start down the sidewalk. “After we eat, if you decide I’m not a serial killer, and my intentions are to get you home safely, I’ll drive you. If you’re still not comfortable, I’ll get you an Uber.”

  “Deal.”

  Light rain drops sprinkle down on us. “We better make a run for it,” he says. “This isn’t looking good.”

  He captures my hand, and we hurry down the sidewalk, but the light rain turns to fat drops and soaks our clothes before we reach our destination.

  We’re drenched and laughing by the time we step inside the Bad Art Museum. “I can’t remember the last time I was here,” I say, blinking against the glare of the orange wall, the color resembling that of a Cheeto. “Were you really planning on coming here tonight? Be honest.”

  “I’m always honest.”

  “I get that about you.”

  “And no, I wasn’t.” His head dips, and that’s when I realize my scrubs are drenched and stuck to my body. I pull on my top and it makes a sucking sound as it breaks the bond with my flesh.

  “Average size,” he says under his breath. “I think that’s my favorite.”

  “Rider!” I burst out and his eyes cut to mine. “Are you talking about my breasts?”

  “Yeah,” he says, not a hint of embarrassment about him.

  “You need to get some filters, my friend,” I say, even though I sort of like that he says what he’s thinking. There are no games with this one, and honestly, it’s a refreshing break. Not that I’m looking for anything more from him. I’m not looking for a relationship, and according to Candy, he doesn’t do relationships. Yeah, sure, he might like my average breasts, but I’m average all over, and that puck bunny…she was hands down, over-the-top gorgeous. No way can I compare to the women who throw themselves at him. Nor do I want to. Being his friend, however… that sounds nice.

  “Now let’s eat and look at art.” I follow him to the counter and let my gaze drop to take in the way his low-slung jeans cradle his impressive ass. I don’t think the man is a serial killer, but damn, he has a killer body. In my line of work, I’ve seen many naked men over the years, but I have a feeling I’ve not seen Rider’s kind of naked.

  He orders two whopper wieners and two drinks. I reach for my purse and he stops me. “This heart attack is on me.”

  “Fine, I buy next time, and I get to pick where we go.”

  “At least I know you eat meat, and you’re not going to force me to go someplace where they serve weeds and twigs.”

  “You don’t strike me as the kind of guy who can be forced to do anything you don’t want to do.”

  “I kind of get that same vibe from you, too.” As I bask in the compliment, he pays and hands me a can of soda and a hotdog. I grab two paper straws and make my way to the table, but he stops at the condiments. He pours so much mustard on his dog, it’s spilling everywhere.

  “Would you like a wiener to go with that mustard?” I ask, and make a face that showcases my disgust.

  He shrugs, uncaring. “What can I say? I like mustard.”

  “The bacon, cheese, chilis, and onions don’t cut it?”

  He swipes at the dripping mustard from his bun and puts his finger into his mouth. “Nope.”

  I give a slow shake of my head. “The things I’m learning about you tonight.”

  I slide into a puffy purple booth and he sits across from me. My stomach grumbles loudly, reminding me I skipped dinner. Rider arches a brow when the sound reaches his ears.

  “Work was insane tonight. Sometimes I don’t get a chance to eat.” I bite into my hot dog and as I chew, a moan crawls into my throat. I briefly shut my eyes and when I open them again, I find Rider staring at me, his hot dog poised in his hand, inches from his mouth.

  “What?” I ask and grab a napkin. “Do I have food on my face or something?”

  “Yeah,” he says, the black in his gorgeous eyes bleeding into that strange shade of gray. For the first time since I met him, I’m get the sense he’s not saying what’s really going through his brain.

  Deciding I want to know him better, I ask, “What do you do for fun, besides pick up women for your brother? Wait, why do you do that, anyway? Kane doesn’t look like he needs any help getting his own girls.”

  He causally rolls one shoulder. “He doesn’t.” He licks more mustard from his fingers, and my God, I’m not sure what is going on with me, but what he’s doing should not be one bit sexy. No, it’s an excellent way to transmit diseases and infections. While my brain fully understands that, the needy juncture between my legs doesn’t much care. Yeah, that damn traitorous juncture is quite enthralled with his mouth, the sucking sounds he’s making and how those lips of his would feel…

  “Fuck that’s good,” he says, and my thoughts come crashing back to the present. “And you’re right. Kane doesn’t need help with the ladies. It’s just a game we play.”

  “Does it work the other way around?” I crack my soda and slide my straw in. “Does he come in as your wingman?”

  “Not really.”

  “You like girls, right?” I bite, and chew and add, “I mean, it’s okay if you don’t.”

  He laughs. “Yeah, I like girls. I told you that already. I like all girls, all shapes and all sizes.”

  “But you’re not into hook-ups?”

  Mustard pools on his plate and he dips the end of his hot dog into it. “It’s hockey season. I keep my focus on the game. I don’t let anything distract me.”

  “Like alcohol or women.” He arches a brow and I continue with, “You ordered us both a soda at the bar after I said I was done drinking, and I’m guessing that’s what was in your glass before I arrived. And that woman, Candy,” I say drawing out her name. “She was an easy mark, Rider. I bet she had a bullseye right here,” I say, and twist in the stool to point to the small of my back.

  Rider laughs. “What about you? Are you into hook-ups?”

  “Not really.”

  “Then why did you want me to be your wingman?”

  “I can talk to a guy, but it doesn’t mean I’m going to go home with him, you know.” He frowns and takes another big bite of his hot dog, nearly devouring half of it already. “What? Is that a foreign concept to you, or something?” He looks upward as he chews, like he’s thinking hard on that. “Oh, I get it. Puck bunnies. God’s gift to hockey players.”

  He nods, and takes a drink of his soda to wash down his food. “What about you? Every guy’s fantasy is to walk into the bedroom to find his woman dressed in a naughty nurse uniform.”

  “Not yours, though, right?” I take a pull from my straw. “You know, seeing as you don’t like nurses.”

  “That’s right.” He’s about to take a drink and stops, his eyes widening. “Wait. Do you have one of those outfits?”

  “No, I don’t have one, and even if I did, I wouldn’t wear something so ridiculous.”

  “I don’t think it’s ridiculous. A lot of guys are into that kind of thing. You must have a ton of scrub bunnies afte
r you.”

  “Scrub bunnies? That’s not even a thing, Rider. You’re insane.”

  “What would you call them?” he asks as he kicks his legs out to get comfortable, his feet touching mine under the table. Why the hell does every touch feel so electric?

  “I don’t think guys are bunnies. Maybe hounds.”

  His cute grin is back. “Hospital hounds?”

  “Yeah, that’s more like it. Candy said you don’t do relationships,” I say switching subjects as I glance at the big velvet picture of Elvis adorning the wall beside me. “Is that just for hockey season, or are you a sworn bachelor for life?”

  “Aren’t you full of questions tonight.” Like we’ve done it a hundred times before, he reaches out and swipes his thumb over the corner of my mouth. “You’re the messiest eater.”

  “I am not. You are. You’ve got mustard all over your face. You look like a big Cheeto. You’re going to blend in with the walls soon.”

  He grins and, my God, I want to touch that dimple. “You think I’m big?”

  I laugh. Hard. “Really?” I shake my head. “That’s what you took from that?”

  “Sworn bachelor for life,” he admits. “What about you?”

  “Right guy just hasn’t come along yet?” Or maybe he has, and my regimented ways, the fact that I always try to control my emotions and my surroundings, sent him packing.

  Loosen up once in a while, will you.

  As my ex’s words ping around my brain—words he’d spoken to me in the bedroom—Rider looks at me long and hard. “Ever been serious?”

  I shake all thoughts of Jason from my brain. “Ah, not really.” With the long day taking its toll on me, topped off by the food coma I’m now suffering, a yawn I have no control over rumbles in my throat.

  Rider grins. “Am I boring you?”

  I cover my mouth and shake my head. No woman could ever be bored in his presence. I know I’m not. “No. Sorry. It’s been a long night.”

  “How about I take you home?” He pulls the keys from his pocket. “Kane owns a Ferrari 306 Spider, and I can get you home super-fast.” A fine shiver goes through me and he angles his head, those astute eyes of his assessing me. “Wait, I take it you’re not a thrill seeker like me.”