I’d toured several gallery programs after graduating but hadn’t found a place I’d felt at home in. Here? I could learn from the best in the state and work my way up until I was able to run it or open one of my own. The distant dream pulsed at the back of my mind but Lettie wiggled in my arms.
“Can we see the green one again?” She asked, her body leaning in that direction. “Please.”
“Of course.” I handed the brochure back to Gage. “They probably wouldn’t take me anyway,” I said, shifting Lettie on my hip. “Besides, I have my hands full at the moment.”
Gage pocketed the paperwork, following me as I hurried to the piece Lettie had quickly donned her favorite. “They’d be crazy not to. You have a knack for this. It’s in your blood,” he said. “And you know we could make the schedule work.”
I glanced at him to see if he were joking, shocked to see he not only had full confidence in my abilities but was completely willing to support the endeavor too. I smiled at him. “You may be the best boss I’ve ever had.”
A shudder rippled the muscles threatening to burst out of his thin blue t-shirt. “Don’t call me your boss.”
“What am I supposed to call you? Mr. McPherson? Baby-Daddy?” I clenched my eyes shut the second the word popped out of my mouth. Seriously? Could you be more obvious?
Lettie giggled and I popped my eyes open. Gage licked his lips and cleared his throat.
“Gage suits me just fine. Always has.”
I nodded, quickly focusing on the painting in front of us in an attempt to hide the blush heating my cheeks.
Didn’t matter what I called him. He was still setting off every hunger nerve I possessed and I hadn’t even lived with him for more than a day. If this kept up it would be weeks before I was ravenous, and I knew only one thing would slake that need.
Gage McPherson.
My best friend, Seattle Sharks’ best grinder, and my boss.
Gage
Chapter 3
Low and fast, I flew across center ice toward my target.
Time to learn your lesson, asshole.
I met the rookie with the gentle kiss of crushed gear against the boards. The sound was almost as satisfying as watching the arrogant kid crumble at my feet.
Almost.
“For fuck’s sake, McPherson,” coach called from the bench.
I shrugged with a grin as the kid stared up at me, clearly having had his bell rung. Then I passed the puck to Rory just as the final whistle blew.
“You okay, kid?” I asked, skating back over to offer my hand.
“Yeah…” he mumbled, getting to his feet and shuffling toward the bench.
“Still think you’ve got my starting spot on lockdown?” I laughed as he flipped me the middle finger.
“You could have taken it a little easier on him,” Rory said, slapping me on the back.
“Fuck that, you would have made him bleed,” I tossed back.
“Truth,” he admitted as we skated off the ice.
“I was impressed you waited this long,” Warren added. “I figured you’d have laid him out a month before now, the way he’s been running his mouth.”
“Nawh. I had let his ego grow just big enough to really hurt when he crashed back down to earth.” I threw open the locker room door and sailed through, my two best friends right behind me. Rory Jackson, Warren Kinley, and I were unstoppable on the ice, a line no one could compete with, and we were just as tight off the ice.
“Feeling okay, kid?” I asked as I passed the rookie’s locker.
He looked up from where he sat on the bench and gave me a sarcastic thumbs up. I shook my head and kept walking until I reached my spot between Rory and Warren. Maybe there were only six years between that twenty-two-year-old and me, but there was a shit ton of experience packed into them.
“McPherson,” Coach called from the doorway to his office as I pulled off the last of my gear.
“Coach?”
“My office.”
Fuck, that was not his happy face. “Sure thing,” I said. “Shower first?”
“Hell yes, you smell.”
His grin was all I needed to know that at least I wasn’t getting cut. The matter of starting when the season began in the next month was another issue.
“Hey, want to head out with us tonight?” Warren asked as he hung his chest protector to dry.
Not that I didn’t want to get laid, but yesterday morning had been a close call. The last thing I needed was one of those girls saying something to Lettie. Jesus, she was getting too old for me to be bringing them home. Fuck, maybe she was too old for me to be doing it. Maybe Bailey was right, and I needed to watch what Lettie saw, and the example I set.
Being a grown-up fucking sucked.
“Gage?” Warren repeated.
“Nawh, man. I need to head home to the girls.”
Rory laughed.
“What?” I asked as he shook his head.
“You. For someone who fucks anything in a skirt, you’re about as married as they come.”
I scoffed. “I am not. Bailey is Scarlett's nanny, plain and simple.”
“Nothing else is going on?” Rory prodded.
“Nothing,” I snapped. “We are as G-rated as they come.” But my fantasies were R-rated. How the hell could they not be? Her ass was round and tight, always showcased in those leggings she liked, and every time I turned around she was bent over to pick something up...or climbing on the kitchen counters, or doing yoga with Lettie. And that was only one her body parts that turned me on faster than a fucking slapshot. Her mass of chocolate-colored hair, that exquisite face, those hazel eyes, her gorgeous mouth… Jesus, if I didn’t watch it I’d be sporting major wood in the locker room.
She’s been your friend since you were in pre-k, tell your dick to stand down.
“So if you guys aren’t involved, does that mean I can—”
“Hell no!”
Every gaze in the locker room swung toward us, and I took a deep breath as Rory lifted a blond, knowing eyebrow.
“Look, she’s Lettie’s nanny, and she fucking adores her. It’s mutual, and my life is finally working. Everything is stable and shit, so I’m not about to let you and your wandering dick into my—”
“If my dick is wandering then yours is a professional tourist.”
“Whatever. Point is that after what happened last time—”
“With the Swede,” Warren interjected.
“Ah, sweet, sweet Katrina,” Rory added with a wistful look on his face.
“Right. She fucking left after you never called, and I’m not going through that shit again. Don’t come near Bailey. Don’t talk to her. Don’t look at her. Don’t breathe in her general direction. She’s not available.”
“Oh come on. You didn’t trust Lettie with Katrina, anyway. Did you or your mom ever let her out of your sight with Lettie?”
“Not the point.” And hell no. Bailey had been the only person besides Mom that I trusted with Lettie. “Just stay the fuck away from Bailey.”
“You calling dibs?” Warren asked, referring to our wingman system. Any girl who’d already had dibs called on couldn’t be hit on by anyone else but the dibs caller. It was our cave-man way of saying to back the fuck off, the kindergartener equivalent of licking your snack so no one else ate it.
And Bailey was a fucking delicious little treat.
“Lettie is calling dibs.”
The two groaned. In our little circle, there were three things you didn’t mess with: our puck, our dibs, and my daughter.
“Fine. So that’s a no on going out with us later?”
I thought about finding a sweet piece of woman to get into, but I truthfully just wanted to get home. “That’s a no.”
A shower and fresh set of clothes later, I leaned back in the chair across from Coach Harris’ desk, watching the clock as it approached five p.m. If this didn’t take too long, I’d make it home to eat dinner with the girls before Lettie needed to get to bed.
D
inners together were my favorite part of the day, listening to Lettie tell me about her day, no doubt enchanted by something Bailey had thought up for them to do.
Bailey…how had we survived without her for the first couple years of Scarlett’s life? Even when her witch of a mother had been in the picture, we’d still been missing the kind of easy teamwork I had with Bailey. Lettie was happy, and though our situation was domestic as fuck, so was I.
With no sign of coach, I took out my cell.
Gage: Hey, whatcha thinking for dinner?
I rolled my shoulders, trying to relax the muscles while I waited for her to respond.
Bailey: Lettie has opted for mac & cheese with a side of….you guessed it—mac & cheese.
I swore that girl was going to turn orange if she didn’t get over this Kraft kick she was on.
Gage: How about I pick up some steaks for us on the way home?
Bailey: I could definitely go for that.
Gage: Sounds good. See you in a few.
I put away my phone as Coach Harris came in, and all the nervousness I’d shed while texting Bailey came roaring back.
“How’s the shoulder feeling?” he asked as he took his chair.
“No issues,” I responded.
“Excellent,” he said, flicking through some papers on his desk. “Complete reconstructions like the one you had are hard to come back from.”
“Good doctors, good support, good rest,” I repeated my mantra.
“I saw it paying off out there. You could be a little easier on Bentley.”
“Kid’s after my spot. I’m not giving him any excuse to think I’m weak.”
Coach nodded. “Yeah, well the starting line-up for the pre-season game next week is going up in a few, and we’ll see how he handles it.”
My grip tightened on the armrests of the chair. “Do I need to worry?”
“Hell no, you don’t. I knew it was a gamble to keep you on the roster last year with you out injured all season, but it paid off. You’re the best grinder in the league.”
I exhaled, relief flooding me. I might not put the points on the board, but without me pounding assholes—grinding them against the boards to get the puck out—Warren wasn’t scoring. “So is that why I’m in here? So you can tell me my spot’s safe?”
He shook his head and handed me a piece of paper.
I took it, my eyes glancing over the dates and locations. “The schedule?”
“Look at November.”
My eyes scanned down the page. “Ottawa.” Fuck, it’s the same weekend as Lettie’s birthday.
“We’ve got one series here, and one there before Christmas.”
I nodded, my mouth suddenly dry. “Is that all?”
“Yeah, I just wanted to give you the heads up.”
I nodded again like my head was on autopilot. “Yeah, thanks.” I stood, my legs slightly shaky and walked out, my fist crumpling the schedule.
“Oh shit, you didn’t lose your spot did you?” Rory asked as I sat down.
I sat mute as a general chaos erupted in the locker room.
“Coach posted the list,” Warren muttered.
I vaguely registered that they both got up to look at it, too damn lost in my head to care about anything else.
Ontario. My shoulder let out a twinge of pain like it knew that the player who’d destroyed it—and almost us—was coming back for it.
Lettie. God, what was I going to tell her? Could the timing be worse?
Rory and Warren sat back down, flanking me as they came back. “You’re starting,” Warren said.
“Yeah,” I answered.
“So what’s the drama?’ Rory asked.
I handed him the schedule. “November.”
Warren leaned over so they could both look, and they hissed out their breaths at the same time.
“Ontario,” Rory mumbled. “Fuck a duck.”
“Adkins still playing for them?” Warren asked.
I nodded.
“Shit. And where he goes—”
“Helen follows,” I answered. Like the fucking bitch she was. But I’d be damned if she got near Lettie.
“Are you going to tell me what’s bothering you? Or just toss dishes around like they’ve done something to offend you?” Bailey asked as she rescued the plate I nearly dropped.
“Nothing,” I answered.
“Right,” she said, slipping the plate into the dishwasher. “Nothing was wrong when you stomped in here like you were on a mission. Nothing was wrong when you snapped at the reporter on the phone about the lineup announcement. Nothing was definitely wrong when you murdered your steak at dinner, and nothing is wrong now,” she finished, grabbing a glass out of my hand.
My fingers flexed on the edge of the counter. She was right. I’d been an asshole since I got home. “Think she noticed?”
Bailey’s small, delicate hand covered mine, and a shot of desire raced up the same veins that were laced in anger, the combination dangerous to the lines I’d drawn. “I think she noticed that you weren’t quite as into the book, but that’s it.”
I nodded slowly. “Damn. I need to be better.”
“She’s allowed to see you have bad days.”
“We’re playing Ontario the weekend of her birthday.”
Bailey blinked, understanding dawning in those deep hazel eyes. “Adkins.”
“Yeah.”
“Helen?”
“Yeah.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah.”
Her fingers laced with mine, and I had a primal urge to lift it to my mouth and gently suck her fingers inside. Fuck. I moved my hand away, hating the way that she flinched.
“We’ll deal with it. It’ll be fine. You’ll be fine.”
“Right,” I said, sarcasm dripping from my voice. “It’s not me I’m worried about. Sure, Adkins can get ahold of me and fuck me up again, but Lettie…”
“She’s your daughter,” Bailey said. “She’s got your strength and ability to judge character. Don’t stress.”
The way she looked up at me, all soft and trusting—fuck, it did things to me. I wanted to pick her up by her luscious ass and lift her to the kitchen counter. I wanted to spread her thighs and feel her cradle my dick as I took her mouth to see if she tasted as good as she looked. I wanted to palm her breasts through that tank top she was wearing and then suck on her nipples once I had them free from her bra.
I wanted things I had no fucking right to, not when we’d been friends this long, and most definitely not while she was Lettie’s nanny.
“Gage?” she asked softly, gripping my bicep lightly and stroking her fingers over the skin.
Fuck, I loved the way she said my name. Half sigh, half prayer. I bet it would sound even better when she was screaming it, my face buried in her pus—
Oh shit, I have got to get out of here. I stepped back like she’d burned me.
“You know, I told the guys I was meeting up with them tonight. I need to blow off a little steam.”
“Of course,” she said quietly, her head dropping a little. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
She gave me a soft smile and left me standing in the kitchen, watching her ass walk away.
I met up with the guys, had a few, picked out the first petite brunette I saw, and had her home and naked under me in record time. Her curves were wrong, hard where Bailey was soft, enhanced where Bailey was natural, but she’d do.
I used those few moments like I always did—to forget.
I just had to get the woman out of the house before Lettie woke up—before Bailey had anything else said to her about our living and employment arrangements.
Shit. Jessica? Jane? June? What the fuck was her name?
It wasn’t Bailey, and that’s all that mattered.
Her throaty moans were fake, but her orgasm wasn’t, and that was all they wanted out of me anyway—well, all they got. I focused on my own orgasm, trying to forget the way she didn’t feel right, didn’t smell rig
ht—and thinking of the one person who did until everything else faded away.
Getting her out of the house before seven wasn’t going to be an issue. She’d fled, yelling what an asshole I was about thirty seconds after I’d come.
Turns out her name was Joan...at least that’s what she’d been screaming at me as she threw her clothes on.
She yelled the entire way out of the house, and I followed, a blanket wrapped around my waist in case Lettie woke up. Joan slammed the front door and rattled the light fixture in the entry hall.
Just my fucking luck, Bailey came into the foyer, her hair a sexy, tousled mess, and her nipples showing through the silk of her pajamas. Jesus, were those shorts or underwear? How could she possibly look so fuckable at 2 a.m.?
“Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, it’s great,” I snapped.
“Right. Well, you enjoy your toga party, I’m going back to bed.” She turned and left me standing in the entry hall with a raging hard-on despite the fact that I’d just come less than ten minutes ago.
As my feet grew cold against the marble floor, I came to two conclusions. One, women didn’t like to be called Bailey during sex if their names weren’t Bailey, and two...my body knew the difference between the fantasy and the real thing, and it was one tug away from dropping the blanket and finding out if the skin of her hips was softer than the silk she slept in.
And three—I always did suck at math—I couldn't bring any more women home because I was living with the only woman I wanted...who also happened to be the only woman in Seattle that I couldn't have.
Fuck. My. Life.
Bailey
Chapter 4
I set the video monitor down on my nightstand, thankful for Lettie’s soothing white noise machine blocking out the sounds of half the Shark’s team playing poker a floor above her. Jeannine followed me into my room, somehow managing to balance three perfectly salted Margarita glasses and hold the door open for Paige. She came in last with a full pitcher and I quietly shut the door behind them.
“Get to pouring, Paige,” Jeannine demanded once she’d set the glasses down on the oversized desk which sat—mostly unused—in the far corner of my huge room.
Enforcer (Seattle Sharks Book 2) Page 21