by June Winters
“Well, I'm not seeing it,” Piper shrugged.
“Luckily for you, ignorance is bliss.”
“And you know what else? Thanks to those guys, we turned a profit today.”
“Our first profit,” I grumbled.
And we owed it all to Beau Bradford. Talk about bittersweet.
Piper tried to hand me my half of the tip Beau left us. But I stared at the money as if I couldn't trust it.
“Aren't you going to take this?” Piper asked, waving the $100 bill at me.
I folded my arms and turned my nose up. “I don't want it.”
“Why not?”
“Don't you get it? That whole visit was a power-play by him. He came here to lord his money and celebrity status over me.”
Piper chortled. “Camille. No offense, but I think you're acting a little nuts. I think I can read between the lines, though … you guys totally used to bang, right?”
I almost choked.
“Ew—gross—no. Never.”
“Really? Because I was picking up on a serious 'banged like rabbits back in the day and yet still haven't got all that hot lovemaking out of their system' kind of vibe from you guys.”
That thought, that image, of me and Beau 'banging?' My throat squeezed shut like I'd just inhaled a cloud of cancer. I hacked and coughed until at last I could speak again.
“That is actually so objectively wrong and terrible, you don't even know how bad it is.”
“Oh yeah? So what happened between you two?”
“We hated each other, Piper.”
“I get that—but why?”
“Because—” I hemmed and hawed. “Because, reasons.”
Piper stared at me, waiting for an explanation that I wasn't prepared to give her.
“You realize you're not making a very convincing case here, right?” she asked. “And didn't you say you were like a shy bookworm type all throughout school? How the heck did you end up on that guy's radar?”
“I don't wanna talk about it, okay? And give me those!” I reached for the hockey tickets so I could tear them in half, but Piper pulled them out of my grasp before I could snatch them away.
“Oh no. We're going to that game.”
I laughed sharply. “No we're not!”
“You see this?” She pointed at the print on the ticket. “Row 1. Row 1! These are front row seats, Cammy.”
I shrugged. “Fine. Keep the tickets. You can go, but I won't.”
She pouted. “Well … what about the club?”
“I am definitely not going to that, either.”
“But just earlier today, you promised that you'd come out with me next time something came up.”
“I didn't promise anything.”
Piper stamped her foot. “Cam! C'mon! Have some fun.”
“Nope.”
“Okay then.” She shrugged and started to walk off. “I guess I'll be going to the club alone.”
I chased after her and grabbed her arm. “No. You can't.”
“Oh? Why not?”
“Because. Because he'll try to sleep with you, okay?”
She snickered. “So what if he tries? You actually think I will?”
I felt my face get hot and flustered. “Well—I dunno—maybe.”
“Camille. I would never fuck a guy that you're so obviously into.”
“I am not into Beau,” I huffed with outrage. Why didn't she believe me?
“But the thought of Beau hitting on me bothers you, even though you two have never slept together and you're not interested in him at all, right?”
“Exactly!” I knew it didn't make sense, but I didn't care. “And that's exactly why he'd do it, too. Because he knows it'd bother me. He thinks it'd be totally hilarious to fuck my business partner, to teach me a lesson about how great he is. Or something.”
“This is hilarious. And you two sound like one hot mess together,” Piper squealed. “But I love it. This guy is already way more exciting than Matt.”
I groaned. “Trust me. It's nothing like that.”
“So come with me to the club. Or don't, and I'll go alone, and you'll stay at home being driven mad with paranoia.” She leaned closer and lowered her voice. “But I'd rather you come with me.”
“Fine. Fine, I'll go. But only so I can protect you from him.”
“Perfect.” Piper smiled from ear to ear. “So you're really not going to admit it?”
“Admit what?”
“That, just a second ago, you two were staring at each other with those furious bedroom eyes. Like you couldn't wait to tear each other out of your clothes and sink your teeth into each other and screw like animals. Just go ahead and admit it, Cam, it's not hard! Once upon a time, there was something between you guys.”
I let out an ear-piercing laugh. “Nothing. There was nothing there. Now or ever.”
Piper's eyes sparkled. “You know he passes the bicep-calf test, right?”
“And yet his big, rippling biceps don't make him any less of a sleaze.”
Chapter 4
Gone Weak
Beau
Hunter and I left Camille's bakery and hailed the first cab we saw. The two of us climbed into the back and set the box of goodies between us.
I gave the cabbie the address, and we took off for the hotel. When I relaxed into my seat, I noticed Hunter was staring at me.
“What?” I asked him.
“I'm surprised,” Hunter said with a chuckle. “That was really, um, …”
Hunter trailed off.
“What? What?” I asked, as a pulse started throbbing in my neck.
“Weak.”
My jaw unhinged. “Weak?”
“You were like a puppy-dog back there. Never seen that from you.”
I leaned away from him. “A puppy-dog? The hell are you talking about, Hunter?”
“I've just never seen you get so flustered before. Hell, I've seen you try to start shit with six-foot-nine Zdeno Chara of all people. But a cute girl like that has got you all tongue-tied?”
“I wasn't fucking tongue-tied at all!” I snapped back.
“No? I thought you wanted to gloat over her about how amazing your life is and stuff. Instead, you ended up shelling out $300 for a couple boxes of cupcakes, hooked her up with tickets to the game tomorrow, and asked her out to the club tonight.” Hunter stifled a laugh. “It makes me wonder what you're going to do to get under Leroux's skin tomorrow night. Maybe you'll ask him for his autograph?”
“Fuck off,” I snarled.
Hunter laughed and back-handed my chest. “Take it easy, Beau. I'm just kidding you, buddy.”
But I knew he wasn't completely kidding.
“I'm not a completely heartless asshole, dude,” I said, pleading my case. “Me and Camille, we went to middle school together. What'd you think I was going to do? Make fun of her for trying to hack it as a small business owner?”
“Uh, I mean, I thought that's exactly what you wanted to do. That's what you said you were going to do, wasn't it?”
I blew a gust of air through my lips and muttered. “Shit.”
He was right. I did fuck it up, didn't I. I clenched my fists and ground them against my knee caps. God, what the fuck would that girl think of me now?
Suddenly, my esophagus began to tighten and no matter how much I tried to breathe, I couldn't quite get air into my lungs. My heart banged like a war-drum and, trying to stay calm, I held my palm over it.
Fuck. Anxiety attack.
Seems like every season I play in the NHL brings a new injury I have to battle all fucking year. This year, my ailment is the anxiety attacks. I haven't told the team doctors about yet—lord knows they'd want me to talk to somebody about it or put me on a pill.
Hunter put his hand on my shoulder and squeezed. “Hey bud, relax. I'm glad to see that side of you.”
Only problem, he sounded more amused than he did enlightened.
I brushed his hand off me angrily. “You don't get it.”
> “Apparently not.”
I turned away from Hunter and bust out my cell phone. If I'd learned anything about anxiety attacks, it was that you just had to try to breathe normally and ignore them until they went away.
So I fired up MeatMarket. Like I normally would.
Remember that message I'd sent out to all those girls on MeatMarket earlier? I thumbed through my messages and took a look at all the NYC girls who'd taken the bait.
“Umm, hello sexy. Sure, we can meet up.”
“LOL are you always this straight forward? But yeah okay I'm down.”
“Ur hot as hell. Tell me when and where and I'll be ur girl. All nite.”
“THE Beau Bradford? Normally I'm a nice girl, but for you? I'll do anything you want.”
Profile after profile of perfect 10's posing in their panties. But all I could do was look at them and grit my teeth. Usually, having some girls to look forward to got me going …
But today, for whatever reason, MeatMarket left me feeling spoiled. Without telling those girls where to meet up, I deleted the app and angrily stuffed the phone into my pocket.
I didn't get it.
Wherever I went, I had girls fawning over me. Girls who didn't know a thing about me, other than I was hot and famous and made it crystal clear that I'd never truly be interested in them. But that was enough to lure them over. In fact, that was like catnip to them—they couldn't get enough.
But then there was Camille. No matter how good at hockey I got, or how much more famous I became, or how much more money I had … none of that even mattered to her. In fact, it seemed to make her hate me more.
I just didn't get it.
You know what else I didn't get? Why the hell I thought she looked hot. Because I mean it, I can't stand her.
But it's true: she looked fuckin' great. Her Facebook pics didn't even do her justice—she was even hotter in person. I could tell she'd obviously been busting her ass all day at work, but she didn't sweat so much as she glowed. One look at her flushed, rosy cheeks? All I could hear, swimming around in the back of my head, was her orgasmic panting and moaning as I licked and slurped at her juicy pussy …
And those tits. Man. Rach had a nice pair. She had a great pair, actually, and she had 'em stuffed into a flirty, retro mini-dress that hugged the tight curves of her body. An apron went over that dress; but the apron was so tiny, it looked like it was more for show.
Mini-dress and tiny apron—dangerous combo. I had to be careful not to get caught stealing a peek.
Can't believe I'm actually thinking about Rach's tits, I thought to myself.
God—was Vinny right? Would I actually grudge-fuck her if I had the chance?
“Beau,” Hunter said. “Beau. Beau!”
“Huh?”
Hunter pointed out the window. The hotel was on our right. “Snap out of it, dude. We're here. Get out.”
“Oh, yeah.”
I opened the door and we slid out.
“Your head's in the clouds today, huh?” Hunter asked. “What're you thinking about? Camille, isn't it?”
“You're right. I am thinking about Camille.”
Hunter looked excited for a second—until I broke his heart a second later.
“And I'm thinking Vinny's got the right idea. I should try to grudge-fuck her, shouldn't I?”
Hunter smacked his forehead.
“Can you imagine how hot that would be? I bet she's a freak, too.”
Hunter groaned, but something else quickly caught his attention. “Uh oh. Look.” He pointed up ahead at an overweight bald guy waiting outside the hotel entrance.
I recognized him: Larry Graves, the beat reporter for the Scouts. He eyes lit up when he spotted us, and he pulled his digital audio recorder from his pocket.
“Guess he's looking for some pre-game quotes.” Hunter patted me on the back.
I nodded. “I'll give him what he wants.”
“Hunter, Beau!” Larry shouted as we approached. “What are your thoughts on playing New York tomorrow?”
“Hey Larry,” Hunter said politely as he brushed past the reporter. “Nothing from me today, sorry.”
I stopped for a chat. “Hey Larry.”
“Beau, what do you think of New York City?”
“I think it's awful.”
Larry's smile reminded me of a kid on Christmas morning. “Awful? What's awful?”
“This city. Every time I come back, the stench is even worse than I remember. Yeah, sure, I'm biased, because I'm used to breathing fresh mountain air. But this smell? Seriously, you guys gotta do something about it. It's unhealthy to live like this. You guys live like sewer rats.”
Larry could barely contain his excitement. He dug deeper for more controversy.
“Beau, you're slated to match up against Dave Leroux tomorrow. Any comments on his contract?”
“Was he wearing a ski mask when he signed it? It's a robbery.”
That's how the biz works sometimes. I give Larry a few controversial quotes, which will drive clicks to his articles. In turn, I get inside the heads of the Scouts players before the puck's even dropped.
I scratch his back, he scratches mine.
Chapter 5
The BBB
Camille
Upper East Side, 8:00 PM.
The second Piper swung her apartment door open and saw me, her jaw fell. Stunned, she ran her eyes up and down my body.
“Damn, girl! You look hot!”
Self-consciously, I held my clutch over my boobs. “Is it too much?”
Normally when Piper drags me to the clubs against my will, I protest in the only way I can: by wearing jeans and a t-shirt. But tonight I actually took a little time to do up my hair and face and wore a racy dress that was perfect for the upscale, snooty kind of club that I'm sure Beau and all his millionaire hockey buddies frequent.
“Too much? Hell no! Beau's going to be drooling all over himself when he sees you.”
I made a face. “Ew. First of all—that's not what I want.”
“Right,” Piper said with a wink. She waved me into her apartment and handed me an already-prepared mixed drink. The glass had been sweating while it waited for me. “Here you go. I'm already a couple deep, so you got some catching up to do.”
“Seriously though. I know what you're thinking. And you're wrong.” I took a sip of the vodka-cranberry. The dry tartness clawed at the back of my throat.
“And what am I thinking?”
“That I have this deep-seated need to impress Beau, all stemming from this unresolved sexual tension and conflict between us.”
Piper tapped her chin. “Er. No, but it sounds like you've put a lot of thought into this.”
I huffed. “I only dressed up like this to make sure I can get into that club. Getting rejected at the door because I'm not sexy enough? I'd be so mortified, I'd die. And that's probably exactly what Beau is hoping for.”
Piper bit her lip. “God, I am loving this timeline.”
“What timeline? What the heck does that mean?”
“The timeline in which you had a secret love affair with an athlete, who went on to become a famous NHL player, and he has now reappeared in your life, and you two are both totally about to screw and reclaim your love, but you're still stuck in extreme denial over it.”
I laughed. “Trust me, Piper, that's absurd. You don't know the story. If you did, you'd understand.”
With drink in hand, Piper curled up on her couch and patted the cushion next to her. “Come, child, and tell me everything. I've waited long enough.”
I sat on the leather couch next to her and sighed. “Nothing happened, first of all. So you can stop hinting that we dated or screwed or whatever.”
“Did you have a crush on him?”
I huffed and puffed. “Okay—I mean—look.”
Piper snickered. “He's hot, Camille, you can admit it.”
“Then yeah—of course! Of course I thought he was cute! Every girl in school had a crush on
Beau Bradford. And that was exactly the problem! It all went to his head. Before everyone started pumping his tires about what a great hockey player he was going to be, he was actually a sweet, shy boy, believe it or not. But hell, Beau was only 12 years old when the so-called experts in the hockey world started writing articles that he might be 'the next big thing' in hockey. Suddenly, you couldn't open the local newspaper without seeing his picture or reading about his conquests on the ice. Don't you know that all that hype and fame can turn a young boy into an egomaniac? And it's such a shame, too. He really was a quiet, nice boy before they got to his head.”
Piper's bottom lip jutted out. She saw my point, crystal clear.
“Then, in high school, he basically had a new girlfriend every week. The question on the tip of everyone's tongue was: 'who's Beau Bradford dating now?' Who cares, if you would've asked me. But whoever Beau dated, she became queen of the school … until he dumped her for the next one.”
Piper nodded. “I can imagine.”
“In fact, it got so bad, that all the girls in school formed the 'Beau Bradford Bandwagon'.”
She giggled. “What's that?”
“His so-called fan club. A few popular girls painted 'BBB' on their back-packs with white-out, and the rest was history. Before long, they built a website dedicated to him—a digital shrine, where girls could upload their candid pictures of him looking hot in class, or muscular and tan at the pool, or really sweaty during a work-out, or scoring goals on the ice. But the main draw of the site was the 'Girlfriend' section, where all the girls anonymously pooled their gossip about who Beau was dating and who he might be interested in next.”
Piper's eyes lit up. “So are you on that website?”
“Are you kidding? No way. I kept to myself. I was too busy focusing on my school work.”
“So, okay, you're not in the Triple B club. What happened next? There has to be a reason why's it so personal between you guys.”
“I dunno. Once he broke out of his shell in middle school, he became this huge jerk. It was almost like he went from being afraid to get in trouble to, well, looking for trouble. And yeah, that's when he started picking on me. He'd call me goody two shoes and little miss perfect and roll his eyes whenever I volunteered an answer in class. He made me feel like I should be ashamed because I was a good student, because it wasn't cool.”