by Avery Flynn
“Fordie.” Jax’s face crumpled, his eyes wide with shock. Did he think it was easy achieving a dream when his own brother resented every ice-eating stride? Did he understand for a second how alone he’d felt these last ten years?
Ford curled a hand around his brother’s neck, the closest they’d been to each other since that night of celebratory joy when they’d given each other sloppy hugs coming out of the bar. “You don’t know how many times I’ve wanted to give up. Pack it in. Lie down dead. With every ticket in your name left begging at the pick-up window, I wondered how I could go on.”
Jax visibly swallowed. “You do it for Paulie.”
He’d thought that once. He’d thought he was doing it for both of them.
“No, Jax, I do it for myself. Yeah, you might have been the hard-ass getting my lazy butt out of bed every morning for practice, and I might have grumbled at you and loved you all the same. But since that night, you’ve not been a brother to me. You’ve not given me a single sign that you’re proud. When you said it tonight, I almost believed it, but I think you’re just reciting it rote to make Marcy happy. Keep the peace. I don’t think you’ll ever see me the way you used to. Your little bro who had to train ten times as hard to keep up with you. Yeah, it should have been Paulie or you holding that Cup, but it’s not. It’s me, and I worked hard to get it.”
His brother was shaking, whether from anger or something else, Ford neither knew or cared. He’d yearned for his brother’s pride for so long, but now? Now it wasn’t what he wanted or needed.
“And you could have more,” Jax said, his voice a gutted rasp. “More Cups, more records, more glory. You wanna throw it all away for a piece of tail?”
“If I do, I sure as hell won’t be thinking of you or Paulie when I do it. I won that Cup fair and square. It’s mine. Just like Addy is.”
He released Jax, who slumped against the wall behind him in the narrow corridor, all fight gone. And Ford walked away, thinking he’d just made a bad analogy.
He might have won the Cup but it was only his for a day. He planned to hold on to Addy for longer than that.
11
Addison stood in the center of her living room, hands clenched on hips, her eyes greedily taking it all in. Boxes needed to be opened, pictures needed to be hung, and champagne needed to be uncorked—and then guzzled in celebration.
She was finally in her new home in Chicago, and tomorrow, she would check in on how the ad campaign for Beautiful by Addison was coming along. T & A shouldn’t be difficult to market, but she was in this business for more than the hard sell. She was promoting hope and possibility to women who didn’t always think they deserved to feel attractive. Sexy was more than a pretty bra and panties. Sexy was the confidence to rock what you’ve got.
Sexy was a guy who locked eyes with you across a crowded bar patio and made you want more than you’d ever wanted in your life.
Her phone buzzed.
Speak of the chocolate-eyed devil . . .
Ford: Hey.
Addison studied the screen, marveling at how thinking about him had conjured him out of the electronic ether. He was back in New Orleans, but they’d talked for several hours over the last week since the party at Jimmy’s Tap. Movies, music, food. Their lives before that night on the balcony. So many details, like an old-fashioned courtship.
Those words he left with her—I think we could be pretty amazing together—still resonated in her blood and were spreading their tentacles into her heart and soul. Their sexual chemistry was undeniable, yet she was beginning to think in terms that didn’t necessarily involve her hormones.
Or not just her hormones.
Perhaps they could keep it under wraps. He could visit when he had a few days between games. At least three times per season, he had to play the Chicago Rebels because they were part of the Western Conference. Their dirty little secret, their continued safety in the dark. It would be enough for her. It would have to be.
She refocused on his text message.
Hey? Typical man. God forbid he elaborate.
Addison: Hey, yourself.
Ford: What are you not wearing?
Addison: Really?
Ford: Can do this all day.
She laughed. Boy, she had missed him.
Addison: I’d like to hear your voice.
Seconds passed, each as long as an hour. Stupid, Addison. Stupid, stupid.
Ford: Then open up.
She blinked at the last message. Could he mean . . . ?
A knock on the door answered her question. The joy in her chest was really too much. Tamp it down. Don’t make a fool of yourself.
She bounded to the door. Less bounding, woman. Bounding is for dogs.
Tearing the door open, she tried to school her expression to bland but his big, goofy smile was the first thing she saw and it made hers erupt all over her face.
“Hey, Bright—”
She was in his arms before he could finish, her mouth on his hot and hungry.
“I can’t believe you’re here,” she gasped between blistering kisses. “I didn’t expect you.”
He hitched her up around his hips, no simple task given she was a big girl, but God, he made it seem so easy. He made this seem so easy.
“I had to see you,” he murmured. Hot kiss. “Been thinking about you all week.” Hotter kiss. “This okay?”
“Yes.” Hottest kiss of all.
He pushed her against the hallway wall, leaving the door to her apartment open. “Couldn’t wait. Had to have you.”
Her yoga pants made it halfway down her thighs and her panties didn’t even get that far. He just pushed them aside and pushed two fingers inside her.
“Addy,” he groaned as if it was more of his body and not just those fingers.
She tore at his zipper, needing to free him, because she knew he was suffering. Already, she knew he needed to drive deep and she needed him to do it. So badly.
Desire was their default setting but his words were like a balm to her healing heart. I had to see you. Been thinking about you all week. They hadn’t spent much time discussing who they were, what they wanted in life, whether they could really make it together, but there had been a quiet comfort with him from the moment they first spoke. He heard her. He saw her. Today, he came for her, and she had a feeling he always would.
A few times a year could never be enough.
Somehow, she’d fallen in love with a hockey player.
Afterward, they lay on the floor, panting back to normal, except in Addy’s case, normal had to be recalibrated. An already tricky situation had just become a hundred times more complicated. She had fallen for this big, beautiful, made-her-feel happy guy.
“I don’t recall giving you my address, Callaghan.”
“Haven’t you heard? Harper Chase is a good pal of mine,” he whispered against her ear.
“Do you think we might actually make it to a bed one of these days?”
“Clearly, our best work is done on rugs.”
The door was still open. “One of my new neighbors could walk by any minute. Quite an introduction.”
He nudged the door closed with his boot, but made no effort to move or cover himself. Baby Jesus in the manger, he was glorious, jutting proudly and still erect. She felt an urge to kiss him. So she did. Right on the still swollen, damp crown.
That’s when it hit her.
“We didn’t use a condom.”
He blew out a breath. “Baby, I’m sorry. I just saw you and the next thing I know—”
“I was there, Callaghan.” She scooted up and kissed him, long and luxurious on his lips. “I assume I have nothing to worry about.”
“I promise.”
She nodded. “And your lucrative contract is safe. No paternity claims in your future.”
Something shadowed over his face, a discomfort she hadn’t seen marring his handsomeness before. “Wouldn’t be the worst thing to happen.” He skimmed a hand over her belly, his previous un
ease now replaced by something that looked a lot like yearning. She knew she wanted children eventually, but Michael hadn’t been interested. He had told her it would ruin her figure, which was rich considering he didn’t want her to use that figure earning a living.
He merely wanted the benefits for himself.
Ford respected her and her ambitions. If it ever came to a point where they took this further, she knew they would work it out together. As a team. She had no reason for hope but it was here inside her, bursting to get out.
For now, she reined in those runaway thoughts.
“You hungry?” she asked.
“Starving. But like I promised before, after sex, I make the sandwiches.”
Addison’s phone rang on the nightstand, cutting into a very pleasant dream about Ford taking her hard in the executive box at the Cajun Rage arena while he wore a Rebels jersey and nothing else. Weird, because he with the Rajuns. Clearly her mind was trying to remove all traces of her ex from her dream consciousness.
Struggling awake, she smiled, her body feeling well-used and pleasure-sated. Ford was here in the flesh, had shown up last night and stayed. This was madness, yet somehow she didn’t have the willpower to throw him out. She wanted this, wanted to see if they could carve a path out for this thing they were building together.
She ignored the phone, not ready for the reality intrusion. It rang again. Another ignore, then the buzz of a text. And again.
Someone really wanted her to answer. She checked the screen.
Harper: We need to talk. Now.
With a smile over her shoulder at the naked god tangled up in her sex-rumpled sheets, she sidled from the bed and walked outside the bedroom (okay, hobbled). Ford’s résumé of marketable sex skills was getting longer and longer.
She called Harper back. “What’s so urgent?”
“Is Ford with you?”
As Harper had shared Addison’s address, that was really a dumb question. “Yep, he’s sleeping off my use and abuse.” She giggled, feeling silly. But happy. God, so happy.
“Michael knows.”
All that happy turned to sludge in her gut. “How? We’ve been so careful. How could he—?”
“My contact at the Rajuns says it came from Callaghan himself. Ford walked into Michael’s office yesterday and told him he wanted to date you.”
The sludge rose to her chest, clumping into a bright ball of fury. “Are you kidding me? Why the hell would he do that?”
Harper sighed. “He’s got it bad, babe. And he’s prepared to risk his spot on the team to make this work.”
“But, we hardly know each other. We’ve only just met and—” Her voice was climbing in panic. What the hell had he been thinking? He just waltzed in and told Michael? “What did your contact say? What happens now?”
“Michael is weighing his options. Nothing in Ford’s contract forbids him from dating the ex-wife of the team’s owner, but,” she gave a slight, embarrassed cough, “I can’t imagine Michael saying ‘Hey ho, that’s just swell, buddy. Bang away.’”
Neither could Addison.
But that wasn’t what had her muscles itching to pop from her skin. Granted, the fact Michael now knew was not preferred but more important was how he knew. What in all that was holy was Ford thinking in fessing up? He had gone over her head and outed them. And there was only one reason he would have done it.
To force her hand.
Not cool. A dick move, actually. This was the kind of behavior she’d expect from her ex, a man with an ego as big as all outdoors. Michael was fond of the executive decision, of treating their marriage like an asset in his empire where he called all the shots. She’d never felt like a partner. Never felt like his equal. To find that Ford would think nothing of treating her with such disrespect ripped the air from her lungs.
“He had no right to make this decision without consulting me.”
Harper’s sigh was world-weary. “And there’s that.”.
12
Ford extracted his ringing phone from his jeans, the ones that were halfway between the door and Addy’s bed. That made him smile but then the sight of his agent’s overly tanned face wiped the self-satisfaction clean off. Ford steeled himself for the inevitable fallout from his visit to Rajuns’ HQ yesterday.
His mind went back to his meeting with Babineaux. Only the second time he’d been allowed to contaminate the owner’s office with his presence and there was an excellent chance it would be his last. But he refused to sneak around like a kid on curfew.
Babineaux had stood up and rounded the desk, his hand outstretched.
“Callaghan, good to see you. Just back from Chicago, I hear. How’d it go?”
“Good.” Ford gripped the boss’s hand. “Saw family. Toured with the Cup. Plenty of nice media coverage.”
Babineaux nodded approvingly and gestured at a leather seat. He leaned against the antique desk, his long legs in gray charcoal wool. He always wore a suit to the games and even now, he looked so put together that Ford doubted himself. If this was the kind of guy Addison liked then why the hell would she want anything to do with a lug like him?
But this man didn’t make her happy, while Ford knew in his heart of hearts that he could. There was more than just sizzling sexual chemistry between them. The connection he felt with Addison was real and she felt it, too. Whatever barriers needed smashing, he would bring the dynamite. Starting now.
“What can I do for you, Callaghan? Not trying to negotiate for a bonus, are you?”
“I leave the dirty fighting to my agent,” Ford replied. His agent was not going to appreciate that Ford had gone to Babineaux without looping him in, but this was personal, not business. “I need to run something by you. I met someone in Chicago.”
Babineaux’s brows rose, likely wondering why Ford’s personal life warranted a cozy tête-à-tête.
“And you’re telling me because?”
“I want to respect you by letting you know before you hear it from someone else.” He inhaled a sharp breath. “It’s Addison.”
“What’s Addison?”
“The person I met. Addison Williams.”
Babineaux froze. His face, his body, the air around him.
“You’re in a relationship with Addison?” Clipped, lethal.
“Not yet, but I want to be.” Best to fudge that so the idea of Ford fucking the man’s ex-wife didn’t take root. At least, not immediately. “We met a few days ago and the attraction is there. She’s reluctant to take it further.”
“Why?”
Ford shrugged, though it locked up his shoulders instead of easing anything. “She’s worried you’ll retaliate. Against me.” At least he hoped that was her primary concern.
Babineaux smirked. “And there I was thinking that maybe she was worried about hurting my feelings.”
Pretty rich coming from the guy who had a different woman in the box every game. Maybe it was the classic gambit of hiding your pain in a haze of tail but that didn’t seem likely given how Addy had described him. Babineaux just didn’t enjoy losing. And that sure as hell wasn’t reason enough for Ford to walk on eggshells around him.
“I suppose she’s told you about me,” the boss said, sounding mighty uncomfortable.
Ford shook his head. “Not a word. I don’t need to know what happened between you. That’s your business. I just want her to be able to move forward without any threats to either of us hanging over our heads.”
That earned him a hard-nosed stare, no more than he expected. Ford was tired of living his life as an apology. He didn’t owe Jax a career served out as if he was doing time. He didn’t owe Michael Babineaux his balls served on a silver platter. The only person he owed was himself.
He wanted Addy. He wanted to see where this might go, and eliminating the obstacles up front was the best—the only—way to approach it.
“You took a risk coming here,” Babineaux finally said after a ball-shriveling silence. “Damn gusty.”
Ford he
ard admiration there, but he didn’t think it would lead him out of the woods. Men like Babineaux didn’t get to be men like Babineaux without playing a little hardball.
Ford merely nodded, preferring to let the boss lead. This was the trickiest part of the conversation. The moment held, suspended on the th-thunk of Ford’s heartbeat.
Babineaux thrust out his hand. “I think we’re done here.”
Ford hauled his brain back to the present and the phone call he needed to deal with in the here and now.
“Hey, Tommy.”
“Hey, Tommy?” his agent sputtered predictably. “Hey, Tommy? What the fuck is that? And what the hell are you doing having career-destroying chats with Michael Babineaux? Please tell me the rumors aren’t true.”
He played along. “The rumors aren’t true.”
“Thank God.”
“They’re not rumors. I’m seeing Addison, and Babineaux will just have to deal.”
Tommy made a choking sound. “Just have to deal? Just. Have. To—”
“Man, you are going to have to stop repeating me. I know what I said. This is personal between Babineaux and me, and there’s nothing here that concerns you.”
“Noth—do you know what he’s gonna do to you? You have two years left on your contract, and he’ll make those two years hell. You’ll be on the bench for most of it. You’ll never play in the Finals again. And then when you’re up for a trade, he’ll send you to some shitty team like the Rebels. Is that what you want? The prime years of your career spent with your balls riding the pine or skating for a bunch of losers?”
A nagging discomfort came over him as he sat heavily on the bed. Sure, Babineaux could do that but the man would have to eventually see reason. Ford was a valued asset. Businessmen did not allow their personal feelings get in the way of making money, and Ford on the ice made money for the Rajuns. Besides, the fans would crucify a team owner who screwed with a star player’s career because of masculine pride.