by Avery Flynn
January’s chin snapped to attention, along with some of her more southerly parts. “What are you waiting for?” she asked, half kidding, half serious as a heart attack. “Hurry up and grab your tool belt so we can knock this porch down as fast as possible, hockey boy!”
Letting her gaze linger on his ass for just a second as he descended the porch boards with a cocky “yes ma’am,” January turned back toward the sledgehammer she’d left leaning up against the house.
And let out a yelp of surprise when she came face to grinning face with Kennedy in the window.
“Girl.” Her friend’s jet black hair swung over the straps of her tank top and her tattooed shoulders as she shook her head, her grin morphing into a laugh. “You two are so frigging cute together, I can’t even tease you and enjoy it.”
“Eavesdropping isn’t polite, you know,” January groused, although the smile poking at the edges of her mouth probably erased any zing the words could’ve carried.
Not that Kennedy would have been deterred either way. “Okay, first of all, I think we can agree that proper etiquette has never been in my fucking wheelhouse,” she said. “Secondly, I can’t help what I hear if I’m on paint duty and the window is open.”
January folded like a bad hand in a high-stakes poker game. “Fair enough. But what’s going on between me and Finn is totally casual. We’re far from cute.”
“Au contraire.” Kennedy pointed her paintbrush at January with a less-than-ladylike snort. “You and Finn are ridiculously cute, and I’m not the only one who thinks so. Shae and Quinn agree. You two are totally the ‘it’ couple right now.”
“You talked about this with Shae and Quinn?” January asked, but only after she’d picked her jaw up off the porch boards. Okay, so she and Finn hadn’t been hiding what was going on between them, but that was only because there was nothing serious to hide.
Her expression softening, Kennedy lowered both her paintbrush and her voice. “Only in passing this morning. I didn’t realize it would bother you. I mean, you really do seem happy with Finn.”
“I am,” January said, hearing the words before she’d realized she was going to admit them out loud. “But really, we’re not the ‘it’ couple. We’re not any sort of couple. It’s just some great sex and short-term fun.”
“Are you sure?” The question arrived without judgment—Kennedy had never been the type—and for one bold, delicious second, January wanted to say no. They’d spent every possible minute together since his day with the Cup, and each one had made her want the next one all the more. But the condo she’d bought last year, the job she worked hard at and loved, the friends and family she loved even more, all of those things were in Remington, where she not only lived, but had wanted to live for her whole life.
Where Finn hadn’t wanted to live for the last seven years, to the point that he’d come back to cut his last remaining ties once and for all.
“Yes,” January said, nodding to hammer the word home. “Finn lives in New Orleans for part of the year, and travels all over the country—not to mention half of Canada—for the other part. And it’s definitely no secret that I belong here.”
Kennedy looked through the window, her normally tough demeanor whittled down to a tiny, honest smile. “That you do. I couldn’t imagine the firehouse or the bar—hell, anyplace in the city without you. Still, that doesn’t mean you two couldn’t give a long distance thing a go.”
January’s heart stuttered at the suggestion, but she took a deep breath to wrestle it back in line. She’d known the score ever since Finn had taken her to dinner at La Lumière. Whatever was going on between them was temporary, and she had to be okay with that.
After all, they really were having a great time together, and temporary was better than nothing.
“I don’t think so,” she said, giving her head a firm shake. “Long-distance relationships rarely work out, and even if this one did, eventually, one of us would have to move to be with the other. Finn’s about to sign a new contract which would keep him in New Orleans long-term, and my whole life is here. Keeping things temporary is just for the best.”
For a minute that felt ten times as long, Kennedy said nothing, just examining January with a sharp, bright green stare. But just when January was certain Kennedy would push back in that balls-out way of hers, her friend reached down to reclaim her paintbrush with a nod.
“Okay, girlfriend. If you say temporary is for the best, then it must be for the best.”
“I do,” January answered.
Only the words tasted like a lie.
9
Finn picked up his glass of whiskey and took a nice, long draw off the rim. He relished the burn as the liquid hit his belly, and thank fuck for good liquor.
“What do you mean, Babineaux’s still playing hardball?” he grated, pushing up from the sofa to pace a swift circuit through the living room in January’s condo. He’d had the place to himself ever since she’d (begrudgingly) left for work five hours ago, which as it turned out was just as well. At least she wasn’t here to witness Finn’s suddenly surly mood or the rare but warranted day drinking he’d started doing the minute he’d seen Marty’s text saying they needed to talk.
“I mean exactly that,” Marty said, a surprisingly apologetic tone laced over his answer. “He’s been dodging my calls since our last meeting. Although with how quickly we rejected his lowball offer, I can’t say I’m all that surprised.”
Adrenaline combined with the irritation already free-flowing through Finn’s veins, and the combination did nothing to lower his normally stellar blood pressure. “Babineaux has been jerking me around with slow responses and shitty offers for nearly three weeks now, Marty. I’m starting to lose my patience.”
“Sadly, kid, I think that’s what he wants. Smug son of a bitch,” Marty added, showing off some irritation of his own. “But rumor has it that on top of being a sanctimonious prick, he’s also not exactly thrilled with your extracurricular work over there in North Carolina.”
Finn threw back the rest of the whiskey in his glass, middle of the day be damned. “I’m not exactly wasting my time with a bunch of hookers and blow over here. I spent a couple weeks fixing my old man’s house up to put it on the market. The realtor listed the place today, for Chrissake.”
With the help of everyone from Station Seventeen, he’d been able to get the repairs done nearly a whole week ahead of schedule. Not that anything Finn did on his own time was any of Babineaux’s business—as long as it was legal, anyway.
“Right.” Marty cleared his throat. “Actually, I was talking about the fundraiser thing you’re doing for the fire department.”
Finn laughed for a full five seconds until he realized his agent wasn’t sharing the sentiment. “Seriously? Babineuax’s got to be a special sort of jackass to take exception to his players doing charity work. Especially on their own time.”
“I’m not denying the guy’s a douche bag,” Marty said. “But from a purely business standpoint…the PR you’re doing might be for a good cause, but it’s not for a good cause in New Orleans.”
Oh for the love of… “These guys are firefighters, Marty. They run into all the places everyone else runs out of, which means they deserve decent gear no matter where they suit up. And anyway, Remington’s my hometown.”
The silent hum on the other end of the phone line told Finn in no uncertain terms that he wasn’t going to like what came next, and Marty’s next words definitely held up that end of the bargain.
“Maybe, but it’s a hometown you denied even having until a handful of weeks ago, Donnelly. Look, I’m all for this fundraiser. I really am. But you didn’t do a breath of PR for the Rage when you had the Cup three weeks ago, and believe me when I tell you, you’re the only guy on the team who’s kept that thing on the down low. Now you’re making news outlets by asking your teammates to participate in a charity event that isn’t for the home-team community. On top of the high-dollar deal you’re asking for and the
fact that Babineaux has decided to dig his heels in…this deal is just a really hard sell right now.”
Finn hauled in a deep breath, walking his empty glass to the sink in January’s kitchen before trusting himself to answer. “I outscored nearly all the centers in the goddamn league this season, and I haven’t even reached my prime. There’s no good reason for Babineaux to hold out this long on a deal we all know I deserve. Not one.”
“That may be true, but it doesn’t change the fact that he can, and he is,” Marty said quietly. “I know you said you don’t want to go this way, but I think we should reconsider a different—”
“No.” Okay, so cutting the guy off had been a little harsh, especially since Marty was on Finn’s side. But he’d earned this deal in New Orleans. He’d busted his ass for it for three long years.
Unless maybe he wasn’t the player he thought he was. The player Asher had thought he was.
“Finn.” Despite Marty’s still-soft tone, the word brought him back to reality with a startling slap. “You should know that the Charlotte Rogues have made you an offer.”
His pulse pounded so hard that for just a second, all he could hear was the white noise of his blood pressing against his eardrums. “What?”
“I didn’t lead with it because the offer isn’t as competitive as what you’re asking for from the Rage. In fact, it’s not even close.” Before Finn could argue, or even get in a word edgewise, Marty added, “It’s quite a bit more than you’re making now, though, and there are some incentive options that could bump the number up significantly.”
“Give me facts, Marty. How much are we talking about?”
As soon as Marty answered, Finn wished he hadn’t asked.
“No.” He jammed a hand through his hair before pacing back over to the sofa. The deal had to be better than that. He’d worked too fucking hard for anything else. “Babineaux’s just got his shit in a twist because he hates to lose. Once he sees the great PR this fundraiser will give the Rage as a team and he realizes how big of a hit he’ll take without those forty-six goals I scored this season, he’ll fold.”
“As your agent, I’ll do what you tell me to,” Marty said, and the lack of hesitation in his voice marked the words as true. “As someone who knows you better than most, I feel compelled to point out that you don’t seem unhappy over there in Remington. So I’ve got to ask. Are you sure this is what you want to do?”
No. Yes. No. Finn looked around January’s condo, and for the first time, he wasn’t sure of his answer. But Christ, he’d thrown everything he’d had at being the Rage’s star center for the last three years. He’d earned every single thing he was asking for.
He had to be the player he thought he was.
“Yes.” Finn straightened his spine, his shoulders locking into place. “I’m one hundred percent sure.”
But the second he ended the call, he headed for the door.
“Hey, J! I found this guy loitering out front. He says he’s with you.”
January looked up from the stack of paperwork on her desk, her surprise at Kellan’s words quickly turning into a shot of pure happiness at the sight of Finn standing next to him in the space leading in from Station Seventeen’s main hallway.
“Hey! Oh my God, what are you doing here?” Work forgotten, she stood to clack-clack her way over the linoleum, giving her next thought an immediate voice. “And more to the point, how did you get here?”
“I came to see you,” Finn said, hitching one shoulder in a brief shrug before lifting his chin in thanks at Kellan, who gave them both a mock salute before slipping out the door. “Thought I’d work in a run while I was at it.”
She realized, just a beat too late, obviously, that Finn was decked out in a snug-fitting compression T-shirt and a pair of basketball shorts, and wait… “My condo is almost eight miles from here and it’s got to be, what”—she paused to look at the window behind him, through which the sun was shining like crazy—“ninety-two degrees outside?”
“I don’t mind the heat. Anyway, the off-season doesn’t last forever. I’ve got to stay on top of my workouts.”
He capped his answer with another shrug, this one even more haphazard than the last, and the gesture stirred something odd in January’s gut.
She tipped her head to look at Finn more closely, proceeding with care, but proceeding nonetheless. “That ice time you logged with Alec and Trey at the Rogues’ facility yesterday wasn’t enough for you?”
After he’d reached out to his old buddies to ask them to attend the fundraiser, they’d been all too happy to invite him out to the Liberty Center for some drills. Three hours’ worth, to be exact. The thought of it alone had turned January’s legs into Jell-O, but Finn had been so jacked up afterwards, telling her story after story of the time he’d spent with both guys in the minor leagues and actually admitting that the Rogues’ facility was state-of-the-art. The grueling physical exertion hadn’t put so much as a dent in his upbeat mood.
Unlike whatever was bothering him now.
“Yesterday’s workout was okay, I guess, but I really should be stepping up my game,” Finn said with all the enthusiasm one might reserve for a root canal, and yep, her red flags were officially whipping in the wind.
Time to cut to the chase. “Okay, what’s bugging you? Because last night you were nine kinds of happy at having finished your dad’s house and gotten back on the ice for some practice, and now you look pissed enough to spit venom.”
Finn’s muscles tensed, his mouth flattening into a hard line before he let out a breath in defeat. “I’m sorry. I’m an ass. I got crappy news from my agent about this new contract, and…I just wanted to come out here and see you. That’s all.”
January’s jaw unhinged. “You ran eight miles because you had a shit day and wanted to see me?”
“When you put it that way it sounds…” He trailed off, a laugh crossing his lips in a soft, self-deprecating huff. “Like the truth. Yeah, I had a shit day and I missed you.”
“I missed you too,” she said. Now that she heard the words out loud, she realized how much she meant them, and how little time she and Finn had left together before he’d go back to New Orleans, and she didn’t think. Just moved.
“What are you doing?” Finn asked, his dark brows creasing in confusion as he stepped back to look at her.
But God, she was so far from being confused. In fact, she was one million percent certain as she walked back to her desk and scooped up her laptop bag from its spot beside her chair.
“I’m taking off early. Now did you want a ride, or are you going to run back to my place and meet me there?”
Finn’s surprised nod paved the way for his reply. “Sure. A ride would be great.”
Falling into step beside her, he offered up a polite greeting to Captain Bridges as she made triple sure he’d be set for the rest of the afternoon without her, then some decidedly less formal ‘see ya later’s to all the firefighters and paramedics on A-shift as they made their way out the firehouse door. The drive back to her condo was as swift as it was uneventful, and January grinned as she tossed her keys to the side table and lowered her laptop bag next to them.
“Taking off early feels a little decadent. I like it.” She kicked out of her heels, and oooh, even better.
Finn looked at her from a few feet away, his expression impossible to read. “You didn’t have to leave work early, you know.” Emotion flickered through his stare, gone before she could label it, and something strong and deep and reckless made her close the space between them.
“I do know. But it’s Friday afternoon. The fundraiser is a week from tomorrow, and the planning is nearly all done. Plus”—her heart squeezed, but still, she held on to his gaze—“you missed me and I missed you.”
“I did miss you,” he said, his voice as quiet and rough around the edges as the rest of him.
January reached out, brushing her fingers over his. “Do you want to talk about the phone call with your agent?”
Finn leaned in, pressing his lips over hers. But where most of their other kisses were hard and hot and full of urgency, this one shocked her with its softness. He increased the pressure between their mouths in a slow sweep, tasting and testing as if he wanted to memorize every part of her. His tongue slid over her bottom lip, tracing the sensitive skin there for a long, languid minute before pushing past the threshold of her mouth.
But still, Finn didn’t rush. He explored in gentle licks and firmer strokes, finding the corners of her mouth, the spot where her top lip dipped slightly in the center, the very tip of her tongue. Each movement was so focused that January had no choice but to feel it without distraction, until finally, Finn pulled back to look at her.
“I really need a shower,” he said apologetically, but rather than stepping back to let him move down the hallway for a lightning-fast date with the spray and the soap, January turned on her heel and led the way to the bathroom.
“What are you doing?” Finn asked, his mahogany-colored brows lifting as she reached past the glass of the shower door to turn the water on.
“Well, I know it’s not the Plaza. But I’m pretty sure we’ll both fit in here, and since I’m suddenly feeling dirty, I thought we could just shower together.”
“Did you.” From his stare to his voice, nothing about the words was a question. A shiver rippled over her in response, making her breath catch and her nipples bead beneath her button-down blouse.
“I did.”
“Hmm.” He moved toward her until less than an arm’s length separated their bodies, and oh God, her heart was pounding so fast and so hard, surely Finn heard it. “Well,” he said, his gaze raking over her like a touch. “I guess if you’re feeling dirty, we should do something about that.”