Rescuing the Receiver

by Rachel Goodman

  “Without the hard, how would I recognize the good?” he asked, peering at me as though he was well aware that we were having two conversations. “I’m all in, Hazel. Assuming you’ll sign off.”

  “Yeah, I will. Of course I will.” I swallowed heavily. “Olive loves you.”

  My words hung in the air, and I wondered if Chris could sense what I was feeling but couldn’t admit out loud. But then after a beat, he slipped on his megawatt smile and said, “All right, enough of this nonsense. Come over here. Get in on this fun with us.”

  Without arguing with myself about why it might not be a good idea, I just went.

  As I stepped onto the set, imitation snow swirling around me, Chris wrapped an arm around my waist and tugged me against him. “I’ve got you trapped under the mistletoe.” Tilting my chin up with his finger, he brushed his mouth against mine.

  Chris kissed me slowly at first, then parted my lips with his tongue, intensifying the kiss. His heartbeat sped up under my palms as my own tried to keep pace with his. For one perfect moment, everything outside the two of us faded. Then he broke away, a mischievous look crossing his face.

  “What?” I asked, still a little dazed and breathless.

  Chris bent down and snatched one of the fake snowballs dotting the ground. Before I could process what was happening, he flung the snowball at me, pumping a fist in the air and performing a little dance when it hit me square in the chest with a thud. “Touchdown!”

  For a second, I could only stand there. I heard the click of the camera and saw the flash, forever freezing in time the surprise plastered on my face.

  “It’s on now, Lalonde.” I picked up a few snowballs gathered around my feet, the synthetic fibrous material crunching in my hand, and hurled them in his direction, laughing as they bounced off his forehead, his shoulder, his stomach.

  Chris lunged for me, but I dodged his grasp, careful not to crush Olive, who was darting around our feet and whining, clearly confused as to what was going on. Plucking another snowball off the ground, I chucked it at Chris, cheering when it collided with the side of his neck and left a satisfying red mark on his skin.

  “Did you catch that?” I asked the photographer. He nodded, chuckling to himself, and raised the camera to his eye again.

  “Hazel, your aim is good, but mine is better,” Chris said, winding up and pelting me in the ass with snowballs, one after another.

  Then it was all-out war, snowballs flying everywhere, Olive jumping and barking around us, the photographer capturing our antics. Tony and Penny and Ben gathered around us, hollering and clapping each time Chris or I hit our intended target. Before long, tears were streaming down my cheeks and my stomach hurt from laughing so hard.

  Finally, when I had to stop short because Olive, bless the tiny tyrant, growled at me, Chris made his move, grabbing my wrist and drawing me in for a kiss.

  “Eww,” I said, leaning away. “My face is all wet and gross and puffy.”

  “You’re beautiful, Hazel Grant.” Dipping me, he pressed his lips against mine as the camera flash went off again and the audience yelled and someone—probably Tony—let out a long wolf whistle.

  And amid all that mayhem, in Chris’s arms and under his mouth, one realization rose above the rest: This was love. Loud and spontaneous and a little chaotic. Scary and risky and, like Chris, everything I never allowed myself to want but now had in vivid, blinding color.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Chris

  “ You don’t have a hunchback inhabiting a bell tower somewhere, do you? Because that’s taking your Disney addiction a touch too far,” Hazel said, leaning forward in the passenger seat and staring out the windshield at my house situated at the end of the long cobblestone drive.

  Moments ago, the sun had vanished behind the horizon, the moon now cutting through the clouds, a giant scythe in the sky. We’d been the last to leave the photography studio—it’d taken hours to clean up the calendar sets and return all the dogs to the shelter.

  “How do you not go missing in a mansion that size?” she asked as the iron gates closed behind us and my car passed under the canopy of willow trees leading to the front door.

  “GPS,” I said, flashing her a smile. “I consider it my French retreat in the heart of Cherry Creek.”

  The ink had barely dried on my rookie contract when I’d contacted a Realtor about touring the property. I’d stumbled across the listing online and the description had immediately suckered me in. With its slate roof, stone and stucco exterior, countless windows, and opulent amenities, this ten-thousand-square-foot residence masterfully blends beauty and grandeur with the luxury and conveniences of today’s modern lifestyle. And damn if it hadn’t hosted one hell of a party on multiple occasions. Plus the breathtaking views of downtown Denver and the mountains beyond from the terrace had made the exorbitant price tag worth it.

  “Chris, my uncle doesn’t even have a place this big and he owns the Blizzards,” she said, shooting me a shrewd look. “Not to mention he lives alone like you.”

  “No, I used to live alone. Now I’ve got Olive to keep me company,” I said, peering in the rearview mirror at where she was curled into a ball snoring inside the crate in the back seat.

  Hazel whipped around, as if searching for something, her eyes growing wide. “Did you grab Olive’s food and water bowl before we left the calendar shoot?”

  I chuckled. “I’ve got it under control.”

  “What about her leash and toys? Not that she plays with toys that often, but—”

  “Hazel, relax.” I gently squeezed her thigh in reassurance. I parked beside the circular fountain and killed the engine. “Ready?”

  I gingerly removed Olive from the crate, anchoring her small body against my waist, and escorted Hazel into the foyer, disarming the alarm and flicking on the lights. I set Olive on the large Persian rug so she could investigate the unfamiliar surroundings. Instead, she refused to budge from her spot, peering up at me with those big brown eyes that would someday be the death of me, and pawed at my shin.

  “The world is your oyster,” I said in encouragement, bending down to scratch her floppy ears. “A wingwoman’s gotta fly, remember? Go after it.”

  Olive stretched out her front legs and stuck her butt up in the air, then flopped onto her back to expose her belly. When I didn’t oblige her demands, she rolled over and, with a snort, trotted away.

  “So what do you think?” I asked Hazel, tossing my wallet and keys into a bowl on the console table.

  “Well, it’s certainly . . .” She trailed off, her voice echoing off the marble floors as she spun around the foyer, taking in the crystal chandelier suspended from the vaulted ceiling, the grand piano in the formal sitting room, the split staircase that curved up to the second floor.

  “Magnificent? Stunning? One of a kind?” I grinned.

  Hazel rolled her eyes, but a dimple had formed in her cheek that indicated she was holding back a laugh. “We’re still talking about the monstrosity that you sleep in every night, right?”

  “Oh, that.” I shrugged. “You know, a home is a reflection of the owner, so as I stated before . . . magnificent? Stunning? One of a kind?”

  Hazel shook her head, biting her lip as she continued to glance around, almost nervously, studying the interior as though she was a visitor in a museum rather than a welcomed guest. “More like intimidating. Imposing. Easy to get lost in.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll lay a bread crumb path for you,” I said, only half joking.

  For the first time, I saw my house the way other people did—large, loud, pretentious—which might have fit my personality when I’d initially purchased the property. But I wasn’t so sure anymore. Hazel being here made the space feel warm and cozy and inviting. Perhaps she was what had been missing all along.

  “I’m more concerned about Olive,” Hazel said, gazing down the hallway at where the little runt had disappeared. “She could hide while you’re away at practice. You wouldn’t
realize there’s a problem until it’s too late. And who’s going to watch her while you’re on the road?”

  “Way ahead of you. Follow me.” I rested my palm on her lower back and propelled Hazel through the house, past the great room, dining room, gourmet kitchen, and movie theater. “You’re gonna swoon over this.”

  “I don’t swoon, Lalonde,” she said, though the slight lilt in her tone and the quickness of her response betrayed her words. Hazel was only kidding herself anyway. All she’d done today was swoon—at the half-naked Blizzards players, at the adorable Rescue Granted pups in costumes, at the half-naked Blizzards players posing with the adorable shelter pups.

  I led her down a hallway and paused in front of the room adjacent to the laundry area that I usually used for storage, though I was certain Olive had already ruined the surprise.

  “What’s got her all riled up?” Hazel asked, frowning at the way Olive had her whole body pressed against the closed door, her freckled muzzle working busily at the crack in an attempt to sniff out the treats concealed on the other side, her tail wagging so fast it was practically a blur.

  I nudged Hazel forward. “Find out.”

  “So bossy.” She grinned and twisted the knob. As the door swung open and Olive darted inside, she gasped. “When did you do all this . . . ?”

  Hazel stepped into the room I’d outfitted into Olive’s own personal bachelorette pad, complete with a custom-made dog bed, surround sound speakers so Olive could listen to tunes, bins overflowing with toys and plastic bones, containers of specialty food I’d ordered just for cavalier spaniels, and a special grooming tub.

  “A couple of weeks ago.” I shrugged, playing it off as though it was no big deal, though secretly I loved the awe in Hazel’s expression. “Penny’s the one who suggested the Lady and the Tramp decor.” And given the way Olive was burrowing in the blanket designed to resemble the red-and-white-checkered tablecloth from the movie, she approved of my choice. “I even installed a doggie door that leads to an enclosed space in the backyard for her to handle her business without the risk of jail breaking, and Gwen agreed to watch Olive when I’m out of town.”

  Hazel faced me, hands on her hips. “So you’ve been planning to adopt Olive all along?”

  “Well, not all along, but for a while now,” I said. I couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment my feelings about owning and caring for a dog had changed—probably around the time Olive had treated me like I was the only person in her universe and the guys had started to accept me as a leader and Hazel had looked at me like I was more than a pile of career statistics, like I was someone worth investing in.

  She shook her head, as if at a loss for words, looking at me with an emotion I couldn’t quite read. Bewilderment? Delight? Adoration? Or was it something stronger . . . something deeper?

  “I . . .” Her voice cracked. “I need a minute.” Then with trembling fingers, Hazel retreated back down the hallway, leaving me standing there dumbstruck.

  “Where did I screw up, Olive?” I asked, still not understanding what had just happened. Olive stared at me, a Nylabone dangling from her mouth, as though she couldn’t be inconvenienced to care.

  I closed the door to Olive’s room so she could explore her new home while I figured out how I’d misstepped with Hazel. I thought she would have appreciated all the preparation I’d done, but it seemed like I had vastly misjudged my efforts.

  I found Hazel on the terrace, sitting in a lounge chair and staring up at the stars with her arms crossed over her chest—whether to protect herself from the wind or from something else, I wasn’t sure. At the whoosh of the glass door sliding shut, she stood and turned toward me. For a moment, the only sounds between us were the rustling of tree branches and the steady trickle of the waterfall flowing peacefully into my heated pool a few yards away.

  “Did I take it too far with the Disney theme?” I asked, approaching cautiously.

  I stopped close enough that I could touch her but kept my distance. The urge to wrap her in my arms, kiss away the walls she continued to build overwhelmed me, but I forced my feet to stay planted in place. Hazel had to be the one to make the first move.

  “That’s the problem, you take it too far with everything,” she said.

  “Meaning what?”

  She sighed. “Meaning you confuse me. I hate your swanky car and your ostentatious house and your expensive taste in clothing, because those things aren’t you—or at least not the you I’ve come to know. But every time I start to think along those lines, you go and do something so extravagant and sweet and weirdly self-serving yet charmingly kind that I end up all confused again. And I just . . . Ugh!”

  I stared at her, unsure how to process the pent-up rant she’d let fly from her mouth. On the one hand, it was one of the most honest and open things Hazel had ever granted me, but on the other . . .

  “So, should I be offended, or . . . ?”

  Hazel’s eyes flashed as she gazed up at me, a muscle working in her jaw that I found sexy as hell. “You know what? Shut up,” she ordered, then curled her fingers into the cotton of my sweater, tugged me flush against her, and pressed her lips against mine.

  The confidence in her statement, the directness of her action, caught me off guard. But I wasn’t complaining. Not even a little bit. When Hazel’s tongue ran along the seam of my mouth and slipped inside, it was as if an electrical wire snapped and left desire vibrating in my veins.

  I deepened the kiss, relishing in the moan that escaped from her throat. My hands roamed over her body, threading in her hair, traveling the length of her back, memorizing the curve of her waist. In that moment, I was both lost and found—lost in the taste of her and the sensation of her lips on mine, but found in her touch, her warmth, her passion. Hazel pulled away, and a feeling of disorientation swept through me, as though I’d awoken in a strange place and forgotten where I was.

  “What brought that on?” I asked, taking in her tangled hair and swollen lips.

  “Does it matter?” She stepped back, out of my reach, then unbuttoned her blouse, revealing a satin bra—black? Dark purple? No, navy—cut low over the swell of her breasts. The fabric glided off her shoulders and fluttered onto the paved stones of the veranda.

  I swallowed thickly. “What are you doing?”

  “What does it look like?” Toeing off her ballet flats, Hazel lifted a hand to the center clasp of her bra, watching the way my eyes followed the movement. My pulse began to thrum in anticipation, but rather than unfastening the hook, showing me what I so desperately craved, she trailed her fingers down her stomach—infuriatingly slow—to the waistband of her jeans.

  “You’re fucking killing my self-control,” I gasped, my voice ragged and raspy.

  Hazel shrugged, but a mischievous grin had spread across her face. “You’re the one who told me I need to erase my boundaries, embrace the wild and reckless.” Then in one fluid motion, she pushed the denim over her hips before flicking open her bra and letting it slide away.

  At the sight of her in nothing but lace underwear, I felt the breath rush out of my lungs, and my heart pounded so fast and loud I could hear it in my ears. Goose bumps covered her skin, her nipples pebbling, and the moonlight cast the outline of her figure in a silver glow.

  Hazel stepped back a few more paces, nearing the edge of the pool. Steam wafted off the water and licked up her calves. “It’s a nice evening for a swim, don’t you agree?” she asked.

  The raspy timbre of her voice nearly set me off, and I had to clench my hands to force myself not to lose all restraint. I started to reply, but coherent thought vanished when Hazel removed the last piece of material concealing her body.

  “You joining me, Lalonde, or do you plan to snuggle with Olive all night instead?” she asked, and with a wink, spun around and jumped into the deep end of the pool.

  Stripping off my clothes in record speed, I dove in after her. Warmth enveloped me, the heat of the water searing my skin, which still held a chill from being
outside. Chlorine stung my eyes as I searched for Hazel beneath the surface. I spotted her heading toward the shallow end, her feet kicking an easy rhythm. Her blond hair fanned out behind her like golden wings, the bright lights embedded in the sides of the pool making her appear almost ethereal.

  Breaking the surface, I swam after her. Hazel yelped when I grabbed her foot. “Not so fast,” I said, gripping her hips and wrapping her legs around my waist so her breasts pressed up against me. She felt weightless in my arms.

  “So you’ve caught me. Now what are you going to do—” she started.

  Before Hazel could finish the sentence, I tossed her in the air, grinning as she landed a few yards away with a splash. Hazel popped up, sputtering.

  “You don’t play fair.” She pouted, her bottom lip sticking out almost comically, and flicked water at me.

  I laughed. “I’m not paid to play fair. I’m paid to win.”

  “If you’re paid to win, then what do you call this?” Hazel put a hand around the back of my neck and leaned forward as if to kiss me, but just before her mouth grazed mine, she dunked me face-first under the water.

  Oh, hell no.

  After that it was a battle of splashing, dunking, the two of us wrestling for control. I never imagined being with someone could be this way—fun, easy, spontaneous.

  “Enough of this nonsense,” I said, lifting Hazel over my shoulder and smiling at the squeak she let out.

  I carried her to the hot tub connected to the pool, and Hazel hissed when I eased her body into the hot water. Switching on the jets, I settled myself on the bench, bubbles reaching my chin, and guided Hazel so that her legs straddled my lap. Her taut nipples brushed against my chest, and she sucked in a ragged breath.

  Her green eyes shined in the moonlight. Water droplets clung to her lashes, and the mascara smudged under her bottom lids made her look rumpled, like I’d already had my way with her. My stomach tightened at the thought.

  “C’mere,” I said, gripping the outside of her thighs and pulling her toward me to capture her lips. Her tongue slid against mine, and the taste of her nearly undid me. We kissed slow and languid at first, but soon the tempo changed from soft and teasing to frenzied and pleading. Our hands followed suit, transforming from seeking and stroking to grasping and unyielding.