Countdown to a Kiss

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by Piper Rayne


  I blink out of my thoughts of a what-if scenario. It’s not feasible anyway. I’ve tried and failed at plenty of relationships since I hit the professional level. Even in college, it was impossible. The women always became jealous and self-conscious.

  I slip off my shoes and stuff my socks inside, rolling up the bottoms of my pants. “Your screech from the temperature had me thinking you’d change your mind.” I join her near the edge and the water runs over my feet. It’s fucking cold, but I’m not telling her that. I clench my jaw and take it like a man.

  “Look at you, mister tough guy.” She points and laughs.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Really? That jaw of yours is pretty tight.” Her fingers go after my ribs. “Are you ticklish?”

  Fuck yeah, I am and the minute she’s able to get her hands on my ribs, I squirm to get away, trying to mask my reaction. She’s so close that the soft breeze floats her perfume right past my nostrils. Her laughter is infectious but still, I run away from her and the cold water.

  After I’m on safe ground, she bends over in a fit of laughter. “Why do men have to act so tough?” She walks, kicking the water up in the air. I’m not sure what it is about her. Maybe the carefreeness to kick around the ocean in a fancy dress or the way she calls me out on my shit, but whatever it is, I’m here for it.

  “Hey, I’m from Wisconsin, I was raised not to show emotions.” Not really. My mom always told me I could cry. It was my grandfather who said I couldn’t.

  “Wisconsin? Farm boy? Did you have to wake up early and milk the cows?”

  Typical stereotypes of my hometown state.

  “We’re the other Wisconsinites. We own a bar and serve a fish fry every Friday and brats every Sunday.”

  “Ah,” she says and nods knowingly.

  “Are you a Floridian?”

  She glances over at me. She was stunning inside the mansion, but out in the wild with the moonlight cast down upon her, she’s breathtaking. “Nope. I’m from Idaho.”

  “Oh, so you like potatoes?”

  She rolls her eyes again. “Hardy har, farm boy.”

  “What brought you to Florida?”

  She shrugs. “I stupidly followed a boy.”

  “Who’s not the same person as your date tonight?”

  She giggles and knocks her shoulder against mine. “Absolutely not.”

  “Sorry,” I offer.

  “For what? Are you the guy who got me down here only to cheat on me?”

  “No, but guys are jackasses. I guess I’m apologizing for the male species as a whole.”

  “What about you? Girlfriend?”

  “Hey now, if I had a girlfriend, I wouldn’t be here with you. I’m not a douche like your ex.”

  She stops for a second and stares at me. “What’s with you? You don’t seem to fit in up there.” She nods to the house.

  This seems like a good moment, so I step forward, closer to her and cup her cheek. “I told you, I’m here for work. And I’m having way too much fun with you to ever entertain going back in there.”

  “Aiden,” she says, stepping back. “I’m here with someone.”

  “Really?” I whisper, lowering my hand from her cheek.

  “Yeah, really. And I’m having a great time with you too, but that wouldn’t be fair to him.”

  I step back, the moment over.

  Her gaze shifts up and she points. “There it is! I was right.”

  She jogs down the beach and up to rows of trees with orange globes shining under the moon.

  Hell, I know she’s with someone, but it’s been so long since I enjoyed my time with someone like I am right now. I guess I’ll have to deal with being friend zoned. If anything, it keeps me out of that damn party. I follow her to the orange orchard, hoping we get lost for a little while longer.

  Chapter Six

  Saige

  “Looks like you’re going to have to get in that water, tough guy.” I turn around and face him, still pointing at the water.

  He casually strolls to meet me at the edge of the orchard then reaches up and grabs an orange, pulling it from the tree before he bites into it to start the peel. The whole thing comes off as manly and sexual. I realize that I’m turned on by a man who isn’t my date.

  It would’ve been so easy to kiss him back there on the beach. I’m clearly attracted to him and his laid-back attitude is intriguing. But I came here with Joran though it might not go anywhere with him after tonight. Maybe if Aiden wants my number, I’ll give it to him.

  That doesn’t make me super slutty, right? Then again, it’s not as though Joran has been attentive tonight.

  He nestles the rinds by the tree stump and pulls apart the slices of orange. “Do you want some?” He holds out a piece and I take it from him.

  It’s so juicy, it drips down my chin when I bite into it. “So good,” I say.

  He makes an animalistic noise in his throat that makes my lady bits buzz like I just flipped on my favorite vibrator. I clench my thighs together to dull the ache. “It’s funny, you know. I come down here and everyone stereotypes Wisconsin with cows, cheese, and Packer fans. While everyone from Wisconsin razzed me about being down here with oranges and sunshine.”

  I put out my two hands like I’m weighing the options.

  He chuckles. “Yeah, I know, but you have no idea what a fresh pack of cheese curds tastes like.”

  “Like my bowels blocking?”

  “Well Miss Idaho, how do you like your potatoes?”

  “Hey now, we have mountains, and we are called the Gem State because it’s the place to mine for gems.”

  “I’ll have to remember that. So, mining for gems while having an unlimited amount of starchy carbohydrates or eating oranges from a tree while hearing the ocean waves crashing on the shore?”

  “After a week, I felt like I was home,” I admit, although a month later when my boyfriend broke my heart, I could’ve upped and returned to my hometown. But I can be stubborn and bullheaded and I would never prove my parents right by admitting to them that my ex was a no-good loser.

  He nods. “Yeah.” His gaze goes toward the ocean. “I really like the water. I mean we have Lake Michigan, but it’s not the ocean.” He shrugs.

  “Okay then, answer this. Let’s say you have kids someday, where do you want to raise them?”

  “Kids?” His voice comes out all squeaky like I kicked him in the balls. “Things are moving so quickly. We haven’t even kissed, and you want to bear my children?”

  I laugh and steal another slice of the orange, walking down the orchard row.

  “I’ve never been orange picking. The trees are so high.”

  He holds out his hand and I take another slice. “Apple picking is big up in Wisconsin.” His neck cranes when he looks up at the trees and I catch sight of his Adam’s apple. “They are pretty tall.”

  We walk two more rows, talking about hometowns until we come to the end, the mansion in the distance. Aiden pulls his phone out of his pocket. “Eleven,” he says and tucks it back in.

  “Are you counting down the minutes?”

  “I was. This isn’t my scene.”

  “But walking in an orange orchard and along the beach with a woman you don’t know is?”

  He huffs. “Truth is, probably. I’m not a big crowd person.” He stops walking, so I do too and turn to face him. “I’m about to be real forward with you.” He reaches for my hip but then clenches his fist and it remains at his side. “I’d like to take you out sometime.”

  I bite my lip to stop my smile from spreading.

  He raises his hand before I can talk. “I know you’re here with someone, so I’m asking if it’s not serious, which I sure hope it isn’t if he’s letting you disappear from his sight for this long, then give me a shot at a date.”

  I blow out a breath and go with my first instinct. “Okay.”

  His eyes bulge out but then he tamps down his excitement and it’s the cutest, most adolescent boy move ever th
ereby charming as hell. “Great. Here.” He pulls his phone out of his pocket. “Can I get your number?”

  “Yep. Eight, one, three—”

  “Shamrock, what the hell?” A guy stumbles toward us with a girl hanging off of him. “Mr. Gerhardt is looking for you.” The guy stops cold when he sees me. “Hey, I’m Ford, who are you?” His eyes fall over my body like he’s committing every inch to memory.

  “Down, boy,” Aiden says and shoots me an apologetic look. “Who’s this?”

  The Ford guy looks to his left and cringes.

  “Seriously? Gretchen!” She slaps him on the arm.

  “Give me a break, you’ve been feeding me these shots all night.” He swings his arm around her shoulders and then realization dawns on me.

  “Wait? Shamrock?”

  Ford smacks him on the shoulder and squeezes his shoulder. “Not right now, right?” He laughs. “More like wilted shamrock,” he says, laughing.

  Aiden pulls on the back of his neck and shakes his head. “Shut up, Richie.”

  “I’m suddenly so confused,” I admit, staring between them, but neither of their looks give anything away. “Who’s Shamrock?”

  “Him.” Gretchen points. “Aiden.”

  Aiden looks at me from the corner of his eye.

  “I still don’t get it?”

  “I play for the Florida Fury,” he murmurs.

  “He doesn’t just play. He’s the captain and the center. Our lead scorer until…” Ford laughs and Aiden blows out a breath, then tucks his phone in his pocket.

  “Listen, I have to go if Mr. Gerhardt is looking for me. It’s been nice talking with you.” He walks off without another word, leaving me with a giggling Gretchen and Ford.

  I stand there stunned for a minute. What the hell just happened. Doesn’t he want my number anymore?

  “I should go too,” I say, already starting to walk back.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa. There’s enough of me for both of you,” Ford says.

  “Gross.” I follow Aiden back to the mansion.

  I stop at the step and dust the sand off my feet, sliding my heels back on. How nice of Mr. Gerhardt to have towels on hand, although sand still gets everywhere.

  Aiden’s rounding the top of the staircase just as I’m about to step up on the bottom stair when a woman walks down in sneakers, yoga pants, and a sweatshirt.

  “Excuse me,” she says, stopping me. “Have you seen Ford Jacobs?”

  I point her in the direction of the orange orchard and she sighs, rolls her eyes, and stomps in the direction.

  I raise my hand and open my mouth to flag Aiden down. I want to make sure to exchange numbers because once we go back inside, we’re likely never going to see one another again, but Joran’s appearance at the top of the stair surprises me and I tuck back into the shadows, so he doesn’t see me.

  “Aiden.”

  “Hey Joran,” Aiden says, shaking hands with my date before Joran pulls him in for a hug, patting him on the back so hard I can tell they’re friends.

  “Where have you been? Carl Gerhardt is looking for you. Let’s remember why you’re here tonight and it’s not to disappear.”

  Aiden nods his head a bunch of times like a nervous teenager. “I know. I just can’t get out of my head. I retraced everything I’ve done since the slump began. Nothing’s changed.”

  Joran laughs. “You gotta relax. I’ve gotten you this far, no? Let me do my job and make sure you’re not packing your bags and heading back home to dairyland. You’re too pretty to be milking cows for the rest of your life.”

  “More like filling beer mugs,” Aiden mumbles.

  But Joran never hears him because he’s already swinging his arm around Aiden and leading him into the house. “Come on, smile and act like you’re having the best night of your life.”

  I tiptoe up and watch them disappear into the house. Then I lean against the railing for a moment to make sense of the situation. Aiden is one of Joran’s clients?

  Just as I was thinking there might be some hope for my love life, someone smashes down the sledgehammer with a screaming ‘hell no.’

  Chapter Seven

  Lena

  I’m going to kill him. I’m going to kill him. I’m going to kill him.

  Having to get on a private jet isn’t a horrible thing. Having to do it on New Year’s Eve because some spoiled rich kid can’t keep his name out of the press doesn’t allow me to enjoy the fact I got all the elbow room I wanted, didn’t have to go through security, and enjoyed more than a bag of pretzels and Diet Coke on the ride.

  Mr. Jacobs, Ford’s dad, isn’t really a reasonable man. He wants his son on the straight and narrow and I’m not sure the kid’s ever drawn a straight line in his life. Never mind caring what anybody thinks of him. But Mr. Jacobs wants his son back up in New York tomorrow, so somehow I became the fetcher with the collar and leash. Good thing I have no social life.

  I walk into the party, already feeling underdressed. If he didn’t hang up on me, he would have known that I was at the airport and maybe had the decency to meet me outside. What am I thinking? Ford wouldn’t give me a leaf to cover myself if I was naked. The man is a Neanderthal.

  The minute I step in, Carl Gerhardt spots me and he happens to be talking to the Florida Fury PR rep, Tripp Newton. They break apart from the party, meeting me in the foyer. My eyes take in all the sequin gowns and sparkling jewelry. I tug my sweatshirt down over my yoga pants.

  “Lena?” Tripp asks like he might be seeing things.

  “Hey, Tripp.” I shake his hand. “Mr. Gerhardt.” I shake his hand. “Sorry for barging in here. I’m looking for Ford.”

  “Is this about two nights ago?” Tripp asks.

  “Partly. Mr. Jacobs wants Ford home and since he’s refusing to come himself, I’m here to get him.”

  Tripp laughs but sobers when Mr. Gerhardt’s nostrils flare.

  “I put out a statement about the fight,” Tripp tells me, but his idea of a statement was making it a joke that the guy Ford punched was a Georgia Blades fan.

  “I saw. Turns out Mr. Jacobs is on his last rope with Ford. I think he’s under a lot of stress.” I don’t mention that he’s trying to get a merger with another company and having an out-of-control son isn’t helping the situation. Especially when the son is in his late twenties. “Thank you for doing that. I’ll be putting another statement out from the family. That they don’t condone fighting and Ford will issue an apology himself.”

  “Can’t we just allow this to be swept under the rug?” Mr. Gerhardt asks.

  I shake my head. “I’m just the messenger.”

  “And apparently animal control,” Tripp says, laughing. He’s had his own hands full after Ford’s stunts.

  Mr. Gerhardt gives him an angry glare, and Tripp again sips his drink and says nothing.

  “Well, I don’t know where he is. I saw him earlier and we had our own talk about the fight.”

  “And was he receptive?”

  Mr. Gerhardt rolls his eyes. “I’m never sure. I’ve had a hard time figuring him out since I drafted him. If he wasn’t so damn fast, I might cut him.”

  Tripp and I both raise our eyebrows and Mr. Gerhardt laughs.

  “Yeah, probably not. Damn, I can’t lose my center and my right wing.”

  I tilt my head to why he would lose his center.

  “Drake isn’t performing,” Tripp whispers and looks around. Meaning that Aiden Drake is here somewhere, which shouldn’t surprise me because Aiden, Ford, and Maksim are practically joined at the damn hip.

  “Good thing I only have to deal with Ford.”

  “I think you drew the short straw,” Tripp says. “Ford’s enough to handle.”

  “I know it. I should go find him. Sorry for barging in,” I apologize to Mr. Gerhardt, who appears lost in thought.

  “No need. You can always borrow a dress from my daughter and stay awhile.” He smiles and winks. The man has always treated me nicely. Probably because I’m
trying to help him with Ford Jacobs’ off-the-ice behavior, although I’ve been unsuccessful so far.

  “Thank you. But I’m going to grab Ford and then we’re out of here.”

  “Call me if you need anything,” Tripp says as I walk down the hallway.

  Sliding by people, trying to make myself invisible, I reach the outside and slide by two men hitting the stairs. If I know Ford, he’s down by the water. It’s where I always find him at Jacobs’ parties and events.

  Just to be sure since I don’t want to hang around a fancy party looking like I came out of a yoga class, I stop a blonde who is wiping her feet off from the beach.

  She points me to the left and I say a small curse that I know Ford so well, I can pinpoint where he’d be at a party. Walking by the water, I don’t find him, so I head toward the orange orchard, which is awesome.

  The girl giggling is a clear sign I’m in the right place. I would hate to hear Ford Jacobs’ tally of how many women he’s slept with.

  “Ford Jacobs!” I yell.

  “Who’s that?” I hear a girl whispering and I follow the voice, my head hanging when I spot two bodies on the ground.

  “Ford, time for the fun to be over.”

  “You cannot be serious,” he says, and after some rustling, he comes out to the moonlight. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

  His shirt is untucked but only a few buttons at the top are undone. His suit jacket wrinkled and his slacks hanging low. I’d only ever admit this to myself, but the man was gifted with looks and a body, plus he skates on the ice like he was born to play hockey.

  “Want to snap a picture?” he asks, snapping me out of my exploration of his body.

  More rustling and a girl shows up next to him, hooking her arm through his. Nausea rumbles in my stomach. Ford unwinds himself from her. “Why don’t you head back to the party?”

  The girl looks at me and her eyes run down my body. “Who is she?”

  “No one,” Ford says, and I feel a quick tinge from the sharpness of his word.

  “Then send her away,” the girl says, trying to attach herself to Ford while he tries to politely move away from her. I have no idea why the guy does what he does.

 

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