by Pippa Grant
“Not anymore. Seriously. It was just a side thing. For spare cash. Started with faces, devolved to dicks, which I charged more for. For the record. But I’m done with it. And not because princesses don’t bake dick cookies. I’m just so tired of dicks.”
“Aren’t we all,” I muse.
Though I’m not tired of Ares’s dick.
I just know I shouldn’t touch it.
Or think about it.
Because my brother is a dick. Who does things like order gajillions of dick cookies to be delivered to my—oh, lordy.
I start laughing.
Gracie Diamonte ran a dirty cookie business. She made all those cookies that got delivered to Doug’s doorstep. And she thinks that was Nick’s dick she printed on all those cookies.
And I’m not about to correct her.
Brothers are assholes. He deserves this.
She lifts her brows, but she doesn’t ask.
I turn back to the bar to make sure Ares is comfortable—no wonder he was laughing, he probably knew too, and— “Son of a bitch.”
He’s gone.
Of course he’s gone.
He’s Ares. That’s what he does.
He disappears. And he has completely and totally disappeared from the suite.
“Where’d he go, Loki?” I ask the monkey.
Loki shrugs. He’s found another bag of Gracie’s cookies and he’s munching on them while he peers out the suite window at the pre-game entertainment on the ice below.
He’s set.
Gracie gestures over a tall, quiet guy in a plain suit. I missed him sitting at the end of the row of stadium seats the first time, but I recognize him from the one night I played board games at Manning’s apartment. One of the royal guards. They have a quick conversation, and he departs the suite.
He’s gone about thirty seconds before he returns with Ares.
Along with a slender woman in an ivory business suit.
She has pearls in her ears, a wedding band on her hand, her brown hair twisted back in a knot at her nape, perfect makeup, and her hazel eyes seem to take in everything about the suite with one quick glance.
Her gaze wavers between Gracie and me.
“Talk,” Ares says to me.
“Sit,” I reply.
He rolls his eyes. At least he’s using his crutches.
“Don’t take attitude with her, mister,” I vent as Lucy. “She’ll put peas in your eggs. Don’t think she won’t. And I won’t be able to stop her.”
Gracie giggles. “I freaking love you and your voices,” she whispers to me.
The woman in the business suit eyes Ares.
“Sit,” he tells her.
We all have something of a stare-down. Ares needs to sit, but he’s clearly not going to sit until the woman sits.
“Hi,” I say to her. “I’m Felicity Murphy. This is Gracie. We’re bunnies.”
Ares growls.
Gracie chokes on a snickerdoodle.
The suits eye us thoughtfully.
“Nick Murphy’s sister?” the woman asks.
“We all have our burdens,” I answer cheerfully as Lucy.
Yeah.
I’m that freak. I introduce myself by talking without moving my lips.
“I mean, yes,” I say quickly. As me. While moving my lips.
“Jenna Tucker. Video production manager for the marketing department.”
“Seriously?” I ask.
She nods.
Ares nods. He’s watching me. Like I’m supposed to understand something.
I pull my phone out of my back pocket. “This isn’t professional quality or anything, but have you ever seen Ares—”
My phone disappears.
Ares has it now.
He clamps it between his teeth, swings his crutches, lifts himself over the back of the seats—show off, he could’ve just used the break between every fourth seat—and settles into the middle one.
With my phone under his butt.
“What the hell?” I say to him.
He drops his crutches and scowls at me.
“Dude,” I say, because I can’t help myself. “That video of you and Alina is solid gold.”
He flips me off.
Loki jumps on his shoulder and squeezes his head and pats his hair while they both watch the Thruster Girls shake it on the ice below.
“We’re not interested in videos of Mr. Berger mooning your neighbors,” Jenna says dryly to me. “New York already has that with his brother.”
“You don’t know Ares at all, do you?” I vent as Tim.
Jenna looks at Ares, then back at me. “Does anyone?”
God.
How lonely must that be?
He’s on a new team, hundreds of miles from home, hundreds of miles from his twin, injured, and nobody even knows he sings.
They have to know.
There are videos all over YouTube of him and Zeus crashing their sister’s band’s performances in bars in New York.
What’s different about him singing with Alina? Why wouldn’t he want people to see that? The two of them this afternoon were magic. She cello’d up with the Backstreet Boys, Ares nailed every word, every note, and I got chills.
Plus, she’s Alina freaking Speros. The rock cellist. Couldn’t come to the game tonight because she’s playing a private charity fundraiser at the fanciest hotel in Copper Valley with the Swedish pop diva Xandria.
A video of Ares singing with Alina playing?
That’s huge. Huge for Ares, and huge for the Thrusters.
Maybe not as huge as if he was doing a duet with Xandria while Alina rocked out, but pretty damn big all the same.
The world would go nuts if they saw what Ares and Alina did this afternoon.
He’s so much more than just a hockey player.
He turns his head to look at me, and he’s telling me to drop it in no uncertain terms. Without saying a word.
Just using that haunted glare.
This definitely requires further investigation.
Later.
When he least expects it.
I smile at Jenna. “So great to meet you. If you need dirt on Nick for anything, let me know. I owe him.”
She smiles back. “I’ll remember that.”
I doubt she’ll call me—she’s supposed to make the Thrusters look good, not bad—but I made the offer.
I’ve done my part.
And now I can get back to figuring out Ares.
29
Felicity
By the time the game starts, the team suite is half-full. Sniffer and The Bear, the two guys who came over the other night, have joined us, and after some prodding from Sniffer and Gracie, I pull Lucy out and announce the game for the whole suite.
It’s fun.
Plus, the Thrusters are killing it tonight.
If Manning was any more on fire, they’d be skating on water. Nick hasn’t let a single shot in. Jaeger’s staying out of the sin bin.
“New Jersey might as well pack it up and go home,” I say to Lucy as the end of the second period nears.
“They still have a chance, Felicity!” she replies with her optimistic cheer, her blue cat eyes wide and earnest behind her glasses. “Your brother’s getting tired. And overconfident. And nobody deserves to lose by seven goals.”
“Lucy, they’re pros. If they can’t pull their shit together, they kinda do,” I tell her.
“Felicity Murphy, you’re a big old meanie! I can’t believe you said that!”
Loki screeches. “Send them all back to the minors!” the monkey says.
The suits freak every time I make the monkey talk. And his monkey voice is remarkably similar to his real shrieking voice, if I do say so myself.
Performing is such a trip.
The Thrusters leave the ice when the horn sounds, ending the second period, and I give Lucy a rest.
Jenna leans forward—she’s been in the seat behind me most of the game—and slips me a card. “Call me Monda
y. We need to talk.”
Ares cocks a half-grin.
He’s not even looking at me, but I can hear him. You’re welcome, Felicity.
Whatever. She’s probably just realized I’ll only give up the dirt that will embarrass Nick without making the Thrusters look bad.
What the hell would the team need with a ventriloquist?
I throw a cookie at him.
He starts and turns that attentive gaze on me.
“Monkey did it,” I say.
He doesn’t answer.
Not with his mouth.
His eyes, though—his eyes have a big, long, thick, hard message.
I’ll crumble cookies all over your chest and lick them off you, then bury my head between your legs and make you scream my name until even Gammy’s ghost can’t take it anymore.
Holy fuck, it’s hot in here.
And he still has my phone.
I don’t ask for it back.
That would be too easy. Instead, I ask Gracie if she wants my number, and I offer to program it into her phone for her.
And then I use her phone to call myself.
Six times.
“Is somebody’s phone vibrating?” The Bear finally asks.
Everyone looks around.
Everyone but Ares and me.
I’m watching him.
He’s watching the massive scoreboard, a muscle ticking in his jaw, his outstretched leg not entirely steady, hands covering his lap.
Like he’s hiding something.
Something big.
I’d smile, knowing I’m basically vibrating his cock here while everyone around us is talking hockey, except the thought of him getting hard is making me more than a little hot and bothered.
He pulls his own phone out of his pocket, hands still shielding any view of his crotch. Gracie’s phone dings with an incoming message.
It’s from Ares.
A gif of a cartoon hippo spinning in a ballerina skirt.
I tilt my head.
Is he trying to tell me his dick’s dressed up for dancing?
Or is he suggesting Harold is grumpy because he’s suppressing his inner feminine side?
Gracie slips her phone back with a laugh. “That’s totally lame,” she says to Ares. “I know you can do better. Is your ankle hurting?”
He grunts.
“Does he text you too?” she asks me. “You should see this one he sent me two days ago. It’s a unicorn cookie dunking in milk. Isn’t it hilarious?”
I glance at the gif, then look at Ares.
He’s looking back at me now. I’ll be the unicorn horn in your cookie.
That shouldn’t be delightfully dirty and intriguing, and yet…it is.
“Did you lose your phone?” Gracie asks. She frowns at her phone. “You called yourself…oh.” She glances past me, toward Ares, then grins. “Oh.”
“Felicity loses stuff all the time!” I vent as Lucy. Because Lucy is a great distraction and she can lie, whereas I cannot. Not right now.
“Me too,” Gracie says. “I lost my keys for six months once. Finally just had to replace the locks on my door. And I keep losing my prenatal vitamins too. Here, Ares. Did you want another cookie?”
I glance back at him. He’s looking at me.
Like he needs permission for a cookie?
Or like Gracie needs to give me back her phone so I can call mine and vibrate his wood a few more times?
Hello, imaginary orgasm causing my nipples to pucker and my panties to go damp again.
You’re bad, I mouth.
His lips settle into a smirk, my nipples pucker harder, and I squirm.
“How’s that ankle, Berger?” One of the suits steps into the small space between us where the row of stadium seats is separated in the middle. “Heard they’re keeping you out until January.”
Fuck. He doesn’t want to talk about that.
Ares doesn’t answer.
Just stares the guy down.
“I’ll be back on the fucking ice when I’m ready to be back on the fucking ice, Mr. Suit,” I vent in my Ares voice.
“Oh my god, talking monkey!” I vent in my Loki voice.
Like Ares is the talking monkey. Heh. I’m hilarious.
Ares tilts his head so he can see me around the suit.
You’re not as funny as you think you are.
Probably a good thing.
If we both thought I was that funny, he might want to tear my clothes off me when we get home, and I’d let him.
Oh, we’re still doing that, his gaze promises.
I shiver.
In the good way.
“You’re Murphy’s sister?” the suit asks me.
I smile. “Unfortunately.”
“That’s what he says too.”
“He’s such a copycat.”
Gracie chokes on another cookie.
“Stop that,” I tell her. “Half the team will kill me if you die on my watch, because you’re eighty-seven percent of the reason Manning’s on fire tonight, and we need him to stay hot.”
She downs half a bottle of water. “Plus, if you make me die laughing, you’ll spark an international incident,” she agrees when she can talk again. “Have you met my sister yet? Because if not, I have some epic plans for you the next time she comes to town.”
I shake my head. “Looking forward to it.”
“You won’t say that once you meet her.”
A cookie lands in my hair.
I look over at Loki.
He points at Ares.
Who grins.
My belly flips inside out, my pussy clenches, and for once, I wish the game was already over.
Because I’m ready to get out of here.
Now.
30
Ares
She’s a dick magnet.
“Want to grab a beer later?”
Ain’t no fucking way.
I growl and start to rise. I don’t know who this jackass is inviting Felicity to Chester Green’s after the game, but I know what he’s not doing.
He’s not taking her out for a beer after the game.
Especially not at Chester Green’s.
“I don’t think that’s a very good idea,” she says quickly. She leans around him and gives me the sit down glare.
Not a fucking chance.
“Just a beer, babe,” the guy says.
“Felicity!” she trills as her cat. “He just babed you! And he doesn’t even know you!”
“She heard, Lucy. Let’s just hope Nick doesn’t hear.”
“Oh, Tim, you remember what Nick did to the last guy who called her babe?”
“I keep trying to forget, Lucy, but you keep reminding me.”
Her eyeballs are shifting side to side like she’s watching a ping pong match, even though she’s doing all the talking.
“Can you talk like that while you’re giving head?” the dick asks.
Her face scrunches up, because she’s a smart woman. “Ares, please don’t—”
The dick yelps, because I’m grabbing him by the shirt and lifting. Felicity sighs. Sniffer and The Bear both leap to their feet from their bar table.
“Out,” I growl at him.
“Whoa, whoa, Ares, what’s the problem here?” McIntosh—the team dentist—leaps up.
“Your friend asked my friend to give him head,” Gracie says. “He needs to leave. And you need to get better friends.”
“He was joking.”
“Don’t joke about asking ladies to give you head,” The Bear growls.
“Especially not when she’s Murphy’s sister,” Sniffer agrees.
“You wanna keep your job, get these fuckers out of here,” The Bear adds.
I’m already taking care of one.
Viktor—Manning’s guy—holds the door for me while I toss him out and goes into stare-down mode with the other two.
Fucking ankle’s whining again.
Like Ambrosia used to when we’d give her baby dolls a swirlie.<
br />
We were shitheads.
Ankle needs to get over itself.
“Ares, sit down,” Felicity hisses.
She’s pink in the cheeks. But it’s the way she won’t look at me that bothers me.
She’s embarrassed.
Didn’t do anything wrong. Didn’t ask the dick to ask her for a beer. Was answering his questions about how long she’s been talking without moving her lips, if she likes hockey, and boom. Let’s get a beer and then you can blow me.
All because she’s friendly.
Smiles. Pretty face. Knows hockey. Funny as hell.
I glower at the dentist.
He says something to his two other friends, and they make excuses.
Leave.
Gracie’s saying something to Felicity.
Smart girl, Gracie. Big heart. Doesn’t take shit.
Got that naturally.
But Felicity’s light’s out.
She’s hiding.
I cut a look at Loki. Jerk my head at Felicity.
He steals a cookie and scrambles into her lap. Takes a bite.
Offers her the rest.
“Thank you,” she whispers to him.
He chirps, turns in her lap, twerks at her, and dashes back for more cookies.
She busts a gut. “Ares, you really need to get a handle on your monkey.”
I grunt.
Not going to make a hand-on-my-monkey joke.
Would if Z was here. Just look at him, and we’d both snicker.
But she doesn’t need monkey jokes.
She needs to be safe.
“No wonder Murphy’s such an ass,” Sniffer mutters while he and The Bear take their seats at the high table. “Don’t give him much choice, always hitting on his sister like that.”
And I’m no better.
I want to kiss her too. Touch her again. Bury myself in her heat. Forget the world, talking, injuries, hockey, all of it. Lose myself.
Just be.
Be with her.
Her phone’s on the floor. She snags it, checks the messages.
I sit.
Far, far away.
I can watch.
I can protect.
But I can’t touch her.
Shouldn’t have in the first place.
She’ll never be mine.
31
Felicity
After big home game victories, Maren, Kami, Alina, and I will often follow the crowds to Chester Green’s. Nick and a bunch of the single guys on the team are usually there too, celebrating and soaking up the love.