Joel hovered on the edge of my awareness, skirting my fantasies. What about him? I couldn’t imagine myself living with him. He was still so enraptured with his newfound wealth and freedom that any kind of relationship would be like living in a frat house. He was still young and immature, though not in a negative way. He simply wasn’t done growing yet.
I shuddered at the thought of bringing up ‘boyfriend material’. I had made that mistake before.
“No,” I murmured into my coffee. “I want a grown man. With skin the color of a caramel latte and eyes like a fairy-tale forest.”
I sighed happily, trying to ignore the nagging little worry in the back of my head. Dante had showed me two sides of himself, and I still couldn’t be certain which was closest to reality. He could be an ice-cold manipulator, or the warm, attentive three-dimensional adult I liked so much.
Both were probably true, somehow, but in what concentrations?
“Way to kill your own mood,” I admonished myself.
My coffee had gone cold as I’d pondered, and my pastry seemed to have lost its flavor. Nothing could be perfect—I knew that—but just how much imperfection was I willing to live with?
If he was only “Bedroom Dante” a fraction of the time, was it worth bearing the ice and the storm in between?
“You shouldn’t think so hard.”
Dante’s smooth, rich voice rolled over me like thunder. I looked up at him with a smile.
“Good nap?” I asked, scooting over to give him room to sit.
He was dressed in his jeans now, though his top half was still bare. I found my gaze stuck wandering over his masculine contours and ridges, basking in the aesthetic beauty of him. He wrapped an arm around my shoulders and kissed the top of my head, sending a pleasing warmth over me.
“I’ve never slept better,” he said lightly.
I snuggled into him, breathing in his scent. My worries rattled around in my brain, bouncing off of the bubbles of happiness which swirled there, building pressure up in my body. I released it in a sigh.
“What’s on your mind, darlin’?” he asked, stroking my shoulder.
“You,” I said vaguely, tipping my head up to kiss him.
“An excellent subject,” he said with a cocky grin.
I scoffed at that, amused. My amusement quickly flipped, making me question just how much of his cocky attitude was a joke, and how much of it was indicative of deep-seated insecurity. His behavior with Joel certainly indicated a level of insecurity, which…
“Or, maybe not,” he interrupted my thought, and I realized I was frowning.
“You…confuse me,” I explained slowly.
“Me? I’m a simple man, sweetheart. Simple wants, simple needs, simple pleasures.”
“Opera?” I asked with a dubious brow.
“I said simple, not cheap.” He grinned. “Ask me anything; I’m an open book.”
“Open, and incomprehensible,” I murmured. “All Greek to me.”
“That’s a little far north,” he quipped, squeezing me. “Give me a chance, darlin’. Let me illuminate the situation for you.”
The words caught in my throat. We weren’t really at that level in our relationship, were we? We didn’t even have a relationship—not really. But then, we never would unless I could figure out just who I was getting into a relationship with.
I cleared my throat with a sip of cool coffee, then set the cup and Danish down on the little table beside me. I arranged my words while examining my nails, wanting to be as clear as I possibly could.
“The morning after our night together. What made you behave that way?”
Too fast, I thought with a wince. I should have built up to that.
But he didn’t move away or tense up the way I’d expected him to. Instead, he lay a hand on my thigh and rested his cheek on my head, curling around me as if to cushion me from a blow.
“I woke up that night,” he told me softly. “Found you curled up in my arms, all innocent-looking and happy. I had the urge to keep you there, forever. I wanted to know your mind. Wanted to see you dance. You were the spot of color my home needed to feel complete.”
“I don’t understand,” I said, trying to follow the logic. “Did I do something after that?”
“Not a thing,” he said soothingly, kissing my head again. “I’m a flawed man, Livia.”
“Every man is,” I told him, my lips quirking.
“Yes,” he said seriously. “Every man, every human. No one’s perfect. But the thing about me, Livia, is that I’m very competitive.”
“Isn’t that a good thing?” I asked. “That competitive spirit kept you in the game for way longer than anyone expected.”
“That’s exactly it,” he said, squeezing me gently.
“The game. I couldn’t let Joel win, and I’d let him talk me into adding this stupid side-bet to the equation. I had two choices. I could follow my feelings and let our dinner date turn into lunch, then breakfast, then…you get the idea. Or, I could shut that down right then and there, pick a fight, and sour the whole thing.”
He sighed heavily, rubbing a circle on my thigh.
“I didn’t expect it to be so hard. I know it doesn’t make it better, but I beat myself up for days over that.”
“So, you went full asshole just to keep yourself free to beat Joel in your woman-bedding competition?” I asked, my eyes rolling.
A headache was growing between my eyes, and he kissed it. I could have sworn he was psychic.
“It was a dumb thing to do,” he said regretfully. “I had a great time talking to you that night. I had a hundred places I wanted to take you after that, a hundred experiences I wanted to share with you.”
He sounded wistful, as if those possibilities had blown away on the chilly autumn breeze.
“You still can,” I told him. “Once you beat the pants off of Joel, of course.”
The allowance sent a shock of pain through my heart, surprising me. Dante wasn’t mine to claim; I couldn’t demand that he call it off and focus on me. It was just till the end of the season, right? I could always pretend I didn’t know what he was doing. I was good at pretending.
“Who’s beating my pants off?” Joel entered the room, groggy voice first.
“Nobody,” Dante said pensively. “Sit down, kid; we need to talk.”
Chapter 17
Joel scratched his belly, yawned, stretched in nothing but his boxers, then finally flopped into my little cream-colored armchair. He scrubbed a hand over his face as if he was trying to rearrange it, shook his head, then squinted blearily from Dante to me and back.
“You two look good together,” he blurted out. “Like, balanced. All curves and muscles and stuff.”
He slapped his face with his hands several times, then shook the last of the sleep off. Re-energized, he grinned at Dante.
“What’d you want to talk about?” he asked.
“It’s time to call a truce,” Dante said authoritatively, stroking my hair. “I’ll stop giving you shit, you stop acting like you’re the whole team on the ice, and we call off the stupid bet.”
Joel shot him a sideways glance. “Why? Are you afraid to lose?”
“Joel,” I sighed, exasperated.
“No, really, I’m asking. Yesterday it was ‘I don’t care what coach says, I’m wiping the floor with you’, and today you want to call a truce?”
Dante sighed and nuzzled my head. He really was affectionate when he wanted to be. I hoped that he would want to be for a very long time.
“We’ve been acting like kids,” Dante said. “I should have put a stop to the hazing before it started affecting your performance. I certainly shouldn’t have participated. I was pissed off because I thought you’d been handed the golden ticket without doing any work for it, and I let that get the better of me.”
Joel frowned thoughtfully and nodded, running a thumb along his jawline.
“I guess I should have been trying to learn from you instead of trying t
o outdo you,” he said. “Probably should have come to practice.”
“Yeah, you should have,” Dante said with just the slightest hint of frustration. “The only way you’re going to make it is if you have the team behind you. The whole team, respect and all. Can’t get that if everybody thinks you’re passed out, hungover in a gutter somewhere while they’re skating their asses off.”
“Yeah,” Joel said ruefully. “I mean, that makes sense. But…”
He shook his head and looked out the window, brushing a hand over his short crop of hair. Dante waited patiently for him to speak, absently running his hands over my shoulder and thigh, sending a curl of sleepy desire twisting in my belly.
“They’re going to hate me,” Joel finished finally. “They’ve been waiting for me to get kicked off the team for months. Longer than that, maybe. I don’t think anybody wanted me there to begin with, and I think I’ve kind of screwed it all the way up.”
“Doesn’t work that way,” Dante said, shaking his head. “When you’re part of the team, you’re part of the team. The Harriers are family. Beyond family. We’re a single living, breathing organism. You’re part of us for as long as you’re with us, period.
“It’s going to be a little awkward at first, and you’re going to get hassled. Be straight with them. Clear up the rumors they’ve been spreading around. Don’t take any shit from any of them. I’ll back you up.”
Joel whipped his head to look at Dante, surprise written all over his face.
“You will?”
“Yeah,” Dante said with a slightly uncomfortable shrug. “You’ve got the most potential of any player I’ve ever seen…apart from yours truly, of course. I would be betraying the Harriers and the game itself if I didn’t bring you up right.”
He spun his words with deflective, humorous pomposity, but his intentions were clear. Joel’s surprise faded into a pleased grin.
“Well, all right,” he said. “If I’ve got the legend at my back, I figure I can do pretty much anything.”
“Good,” Dante said with a satisfied nod. “So the bet is off.”
“Nah,” Joel said with an evil grin.
I snapped my head around to glare at him, words of fury ready to launch in my throat. He held a hand up quickly.
“Hold on, hold on,” he laughed. “Okay, the bedding bet is off. Bedding bet…that’s fun to say. Bedding, betting, bed bet. Anyway. Yeah, that’s done, that’s over, no bet. However…” He crossed his arms and lifted his chin, his eyes flashing a challenge at Dante. “I still say I can hit more goals than you can this season.”
“Oh, really?” Dante laughed, straightening his shoulders. “You’re on. Preferred terms?”
Joel started to shrug, then stopped.
“All right, here. Better than some humiliating forfeit thing. Loser buys lunch for the team.”
“Oh, come on—that’s not even an incentive,” Dante protested.
“At Thai Palace,” Joel finished.
“Ah,” Dante said, drawing the syllable out in understanding. “You’re after my spot on the wall!”
“Maybe,” Joel joked, leaning back in his chair with a grin. “Can you imagine the look on the poor guy’s face when he sees you come in, head hung in shame, with me marching ahead of you as the new reigning king?”
“Not gonna happen,” Dante shot back.
He unwound from me to crack his knuckles and neck, as if he were ready to prove himself right there and then. I never thought I would be glad that I didn’t have an ice rink in my building. I never thought I would be thinking about ice rinks in my building, for that matter. This article had turned all of my expectations upside down, and I was loving every second of it.
“Then we have a deal?” Joel asked, putting his hand out.
“Deal,” Dante agreed, shaking his hand.
They held the grip for a long minute, each of them turning darker shades of red with each passing moment.
“Oh for the love of God! Enough, enough,” I scolded, slapping their linked hands. “How are either of you going to play with a broken hand? Men, I swear.”
Dante laughed and kissed me, and Joel furtively massaged his aching hand. It occurred to me that I should probably feel self-conscious or something, hanging all over Dante with Joel right there, but I didn’t. Nor did either of them seem to expect me to. Maybe we had all miraculously managed to land on the same page.
I probably shouldn’t rock that boat, I thought. But I needed to know where, if anywhere, this was going. With both of them.
Before I could say anything, though, a powerful knock sounded on my door. Frowning and irritated at the thought that it might be Luis again, I walked to the door. Dante and Joel exchanged a look and followed me; something in the rhythm or force of it sounded like danger, and the two of them must have picked up on it as well.
“Livia Ramos?” a strange voice said from the other side.
“Yes?”
“Portland P.D., open the door please.”
Chapter 18
Joel took several steps back, and Dante frowned a question down at me. I shrugged, but slipped the chain off its lock and pulled the door open.
Three officers stood on the other side, beefy and intimidating with impatience etched on their faces.
“What can I do for you?” I asked, channeling every ounce of professional ice I could manage while clad in nothing but pink silk.
“We received a report about illegal business activities,” the biggest, baldest one said as he removed his sunglasses. “Excuse me.”
He pushed into the room and glanced around suspiciously.
“Whoa—hold on, you can’t come in without a warrant,” Dante said.
At the same time, I asked, “What’s this all about?”
The officer didn’t answer either of us. I looked around for Joel, but he seemed to have disappeared completely.
“Nice place,” the officer said. “How many of these parties does it take to pay for it?”
I couldn’t process what he was asking me. Unable to come up with any kind of response, I just stared at him. Dante turned to me and I shook my head, bewildered, silently asking him what was going on. The officer turned to me after a long moment, slicing through my soul with his piercing blue eyes.
“Well?” he asked.
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand what you’re asking me,” I said in a rush.
“Well, this place must run you, what—a grand a month with utilities? How many clients do you take on to pay for it? Fifty? More?”
“Fifty…what? No. One to five a month, depending on the assignments,” I replied, still confused.
The confusion on Dante’s face deepened, and he turned to the officer.
“Sir, there was no transaction here today, just some mutual fun.”
The officer looked at Dante, blinked, and looked again.
“You’re Dante Drake,” he said, surprised. “It would serve you well to get out of here before the press get wind of this. We know where to find you if we need you.”
The officer’s grin was ugly, but it didn’t cut as deep as the look that Dante shot me as he grabbed his keys and jacket, then strode out of my apartment.
“This will make for some killer headlines,” the officer said gleefully. “Jess, call Jimmy at the Crier. He’ll love this.”
“Wait, what?” Panic made my mouth run dry, shoving my heartache down into the pit of my stomach. “No, don’t call Jimmy, please. If he knows I was here with him like this he’ll end the contract! Please don’t do that; Jim’s my first big client…”
I was babbling—I knew I was, but I couldn’t help it. I was watching the carefully woven strands of my life unravel before my eyes, and I didn’t even understand why.
“Hold on, Jimmy at the Crier? He’s your client too?” The officer frowned.
“What do you mean?” I wailed. “He’s my only client right now; the job pool is bone dry unless you have a reputation. I don’t have a reputation yet; I need
one or I’ll never get any more clients…”
“So, wait, you’re new to this? How did you manage to land Dante ‘the Legend’ Drake without a rep?”
“What are you talking about? Dante isn’t a client!”
“Okay, hold on.” The officer pinched the bridge of his nose and inhaled deeply, exuding exasperation. “Ms. Ramos. Are you or are you not using your apartment for illegal activities?”
“What illegal activities? What are you talking about?”
My panic was hitting a hysterical velocity. If somebody didn’t give me a straight answer soon, I was going to lose it.
“Bill, who called in that report?” the officer asked his colleague.
“Um…says it’s her ex-boyfriend and neighbor. Luis Greg.”
My head snapped up, instantly cleared by a sudden rage.
“Luis?” I repeated. “He filed a report saying that I was doing what, exactly?”
“Prostitution,” the officer said, looking suddenly uncomfortable.
“Go get him,” I hissed through my teeth.
“Excuse me?” the officer said, all arrogance once more.
I didn’t care. I was done with Luis’s crap. This went beyond annoyance; this was straight-up harassment, and I was not going to stand there and take it.
“He’s right next door,” I said, pointing. “You go get him, you bring him in here, and you look at him. Make him make his nasty, bullshit accusation to my face.”
I was trembling with fury now. The officer in charge nodded to one of the other officers still hovering by the door. He left, and I shivered as my anger turned my veins to ice. I didn’t say a word as we waited for the officer to return. I heard Luis’s slimy voice echoing in the hallway and felt suddenly nauseous.
“Need me to identify her? Why? Doesn’t she have an ID? It’s those two johns you need to identify,” he was saying.
The officer escorted him into the room. He leered at me, looking me up and down. I felt more exposed and filthy than I ever had before, which only stoked my temper. He came to stand beside me, his beady little eyes glinting up at me from his four-inch deficit. I barely spared him a glance, meeting the officer’s eye instead.
Wanna Puck? - A MFM Bad Boy Hockey Star Menage Page 8