While this exchange between us may be somewhat strange, it’s not all that weird. Donovan snatches the laptop from me, peeking up from the screen his eyebrows arched. “This isn’t porn. What the hell are you reading?”
“It’s a blog I heard about.”
“Long Sticks and Hard Shots.” He tilts his head back and laughs. “That’s a good one.” Scanning the page, his eyes glaze over, and his mouth opens wide as he continues to annoy me. “You’re reading articles about sex. Aww, man, I can’t wait to tell the guys about this.” Taking his cell phone from the pocket of his gray sweats, he types on the keypad. “Man, I need to tell Parker about this.”
“Don’t you fucking dare.” I steal the computer back from him, and he scoots closer to sneak another peek. “And it’s not like Parker will care now that he’s almost married to Coach.”
He nods. “Yeah, but what a score with that one.” Gripping the laptop with his bear hands, he tugs it away from me. “At least let me finish the article I was just reading. That shit was funny.”
‘Fine,” I snort, leaning over the computer as he places it on the couch between us.
Kennedy published an article this morning titled One-night stands: What the puck! She’s funny, I’ll give her that. Her use of hockey and sex to entertain her followers is much different from anything I have ever seen before online. Most blogs follow the same format, but her blog is original, unique—just like Kennedy. Based on her appearance alone on Saturday, I never would have pegged her as a funny, sporty, sex writer. Some people take you by surprise. In this case, it was a good one.
“Good morning, puck bunnies!” Donovan laughs at Kennedy’s use of the term for her followers and continues reading to me even though I have already read the post twice.
You know the joke that starts with a priest walks into a bar and the punch line is something stupid but still funny? Well, how about a puck bunny walks into a coffee shop and runs into her one-night stand? What do you do when that happens? Well, one of our bunnies had a run in with some hottie she took home one night, only to creep out of his bed in the wee hours of the morning to avoid the awkwardness later. But her plan backfired. Oh, yes, it failed miserably.
She bumped into him at her local Starbucks not long after getting it on. But what if you don’t live in a big city where the next Starbucks is only a few blocks away? What if you live in a town that has two restaurants and one coffee shop, and you’re stuck seeing this person every day? To be honest, I think you are screwed if that’s the case.
So, ladies, what do you do when you bump into a one-night stand? How about an ex-boyfriend? Exes are tricky because of the potential feelings that might still be there. Your feelings toward a one-night stand might be something along the lines of, Oh God he was horrible in bed or Why did I have sex with this idiot?
The worse is when you have a good buzz going, and the beer goggles are thick. Waking up next to a troll could give a girl a panic attack or maybe even a heart attack. That’s what happened to our bunny.
She woke up a few hours after their horrific sexual encounter, still drunk and disoriented, and ladies, he had a case of the baby dick. Need I say more? I don’t think so.
But our girl went through with it instead of pretending to have her period or making up an excuse. Anyway, so our bunny snuck out of his apartment, left her cell phone behind like Cinderella, and as if he were her Prince Charming, he somehow managed to track her down and find her at the local Starbucks where she gets her morning coffee. Her reaction was hilarious.
Our busy bunny told him to keep the phone and ran out of the coffee shop. But here’s the best part. He showed up every morning for three weeks until our follower had taken the phone from him.
If it were me, I would have done the same thing except I would have snatched up the phone. Is that the most mature response? No, probably not but it sure beats him asking you for another date. All I know is I would have been out the door faster than you can say, What the puck!
Donovan laughs and slides the computer back toward me on the couch. “Do you know this girl?”
“She’s the reporter we met a few days ago at Coach’s skills clinic.”
He raises an eyebrow at me. “The girl you had coffee with?”
“Yeah, her name is Kennedy. She’s beautiful, smart, and likes sports. I had fun with her.”
“You’re not into her.” It’s not a question, and his tone makes me a bit defensive. I feel protective for some reason.
I shrug against the couch cushion and lift the computer back onto my lap. “So what if I am. Do you have a problem with it?”
His mouth twists in disgust. “It’s just…she’s not your type. That girl is kind of homely, not a bunny or a model.”
“Really, dude? Homely? That’s harsh.”
Propping my feet up on the coffee table, I sink into the dark leather and scroll through Kennedy’s blog post, reading it one more time before I decide to do something crazy and comment, ignoring him as he speaks.
“You know what I mean. Just not the kind of girl you’d go for. That’s all I’m saying.”
Laughing to myself, I type out, You talk about cocks way too much for a lady on Kennedy’s blog and hit submit. I made the screen name Kanenoshame07, making sure to use my last name and jersey number, so she gets the hint. I would love to see her live reaction as she reads my comment.
“She’s different, but maybe that’s a good thing. Bunnies and models just want to be famous. A girl like that wants nothing from me. And it’s not like that between us. She intends to write a story on me. I’m pretty sure she can’t stand the sight of me, thinks I’m a pig, blah, blah, blah…”
“She wants something from you alright. What kind of story does she want to write about you?”
“About my personal life.” I cringe at the thought of exposing my life to the world, knowing I can never let her write the story she needs to make headlines. “She wants to come see my house and where I grew up. Not a big deal.”
His jaw drops in shock. “You’re kidding me. What did you say?”
Roxie licks my face, and I wipe away her slobber with the my hand, running my hand down her back to massage her thick coat. “I said okay. I like her. She’s…interesting. I don’t know why you are getting all upset about it.”
“Because…” He hesitates for a second, his gaze shifting to the pictures on the mantle above the fireplace just below the massive flat screen TV hung on the wall. “Are you going to tell her about Payton and Blake?”
Looking at Blake’s picture, I shake my head. “No way. I already told her Payton and my family are off-limits. The last thing I need is everyone feeling sorry for me over the past, and it’s also none of their damn business.”
“She might expect more from you, and when you don’t give her what she wants, she may end up digging for it on her own.”
“If no one else has been able to find it after all these years, I doubt she will. She’s not the first reporter to want an exclusive about my personal life.”
“All I’m saying is be careful around her.”
Feeling left out, Roxie climbs onto my lap and barks at Donovan as if agreeing with him, crushing my computer and forcing me to set it aside to make room for her. For four months old, she already weighs a ton.
“I’ll find other ways to keep her occupied,” I say with a wink.
He laughs, settling into the cushions. “I’m sure you will.”
Chapter Seven
KENNEDY
On my way into New Jersey, my father calls me for our weekly chat about how I should get a real job, quit wasting money on Sports Buzz, and find myself a news anchor position. Because Lockwood’s are winners. And winners don’t waste their time on silly things like online newspapers that don’t even break even each month.
“Dad, I understand what you are saying, but this is my paper, and I will do what I want with it,” I say into the speakers of my car, a dark blue BMW coupe my father had bought me before the shit
hit the fan.
“You are spending a lot of money to travel and maintain the paper, sweetie. I am trying to look out for you and your best interests.”
“Thank you for your concern.” I check the GPS, making sure I am heading in the right direction as I cross the bridge. “I can handle myself. If it becomes too expensive, I promise you I will shut it down.”
Funny how he squandered his own money and allowed his corrupt business associates to talk him into deals that bled his companies dry, forcing him to sell them off to the highest bidder. That bidder was Rinaldi Holdings, a global company with their headquarters in downtown Philly. Savannah, my younger sister, had tried to weasel her way into getting information on the people who had bought the company. She had found out that the Philadelphia Mafia had their hand in the entire thing.
Since then, my sister and I have been playing it off as if we still have money, mostly because of our clothes and accessories. But that charade will soon die off, and people will realize whatever money my father had is almost gone once we’re forced to offer our Fendi and Chanel bags on consignment just to pay rent. Not that anyone would feel sorry for us.
My mother still hasn’t accepted that we are soon to be broke, drowning her sorrows in the bottom of a wine glass until the bank comes to throw them out of the house I grew up in off the Mainline, an area outside Philly where all the wealthy Philly suburbanites live.
I was hoping my father was one of those tycoons who was smart enough to hide money in offshore bank accounts. Nope, my grandfather was the real brains behind Sentry Publications, and after he had died, my father was in over his head and desperate for help. Too bad he sought the wrong help. His business partners somehow squeezed every penny from not only our accounts but also those left in a trust from my grandfather.
“Have you spoken to Savvy?” My father sounds more upset than normal. “She hasn’t been answering my calls. They go straight to voicemail.”
“She’s fine, Dad. Just give her some time. This transition is not easy on any of us. She will come around.”
“You were always the tough one,” he says with pride. “Your sister was too spoiled and wanted everything handed to her, but you…you were always a hard worker.”
Irritated, I spit back. “Then why don’t you believe I can turn this paper around and make it a success? A little more faith in me would go a long way. It’s bad enough Savvy and Mom think the paper is a joke, but you, of all people, should understand what it’s like to try to make something from nothing. You’re starting over at sixty years old.”
He sighs, his heavy breaths carrying through my car, the speakers creating an echo. “I named you after a great man, Kennedy. You have never disappointed me. I’m sorry if I have been too harsh on you. I don’t want to see you fail the way I did. I am trying to protect you.”
“The only way to succeed is to let me try, Dad. If I never try, then I won’t know if I can make it work.”
“You’re right, sweetie. Well, your mother is calling me for lunch. If you hear from your sister, please have her call me. I am worried about her. Ever since graduation, she has spent most of her time in Europe or in New York, charging up her credit cards, and I can’t afford to cover her expenses anymore.”
“I’ll let her know, Dad. Like I said, just give her time. At some point, she will come to terms with everything.”
Following the navigation prompts, I turn down an empty street that appears to be a dead end, assuming the car is wrong until I see the monstrosity of a house on the corner, situated next to an even bigger house. Can I even call it a house? These mansions make the one I grew up in seem small in comparison.
“Have a good night, Dad. I have to run. I’m meeting a hockey player for the paper. Tell mom I say hi.”
“Will do sweetie. Love you.”
“Love you, too,” I say, before hitting the end call button on the steering wheel.
After I pull through the tall, wrought iron gates and drive up and around the spiral driveway, I have no idea where to park. Situated near the back of the house is a four-car garage, but without a single car on the property, I almost wonder if I am at the right house. It’s too desolate for anyone to live here.
The grounds are cared for, the lawn pristine, the hedges trimmed and sculpted, but it’s missing the personality that comes with the owner of a house. Every house has its own character. This one has…nothing. For someone full of life, Tyler sure lives in a sad house, despite its many architectural charms.
I park in the circular driveway, closest to the front of the house, sucking in a deep breath as I prepare myself for what may turn out to be a very long afternoon. Sydney had insisted I keep up the charade of dressing as if I rolled out of bed. So, I threw on the first outfit I could find that looked frumpy enough to wear for the interview.
Man, I’m slumming it today in this oversized jumper dress and matching black leggings. That part of my outfit is semi-normal it’s just not the boho chic look most people would expect when talking about a jumper dress. The pink and multi-striped UGGs are what make this outfit a real train wreck. You can spot me a mile away in these boots. I even paired it with a hot pink jacket with fur around the collar that was part of Sydney’s pimp costume for Halloween one year.
After seeing that Tyler had commented on my blog post the other day, I was afraid to write about our little experiment out of fear he would figure out that I’m testing this theory on him. I cannot have him back out of the interview. I need the money that could come from an exclusive too much to screw this up. My one-on-one with Dane Fisher saved my ass for the next few months with all the ad sponsors he drew into Sports Buzz. But that money will run out in no time.
Walking up to the door, I slide the messenger bag up higher on my shoulder and think of all the questions I want to ask Tyler so I can make this as painless as possible. If I’m lucky, the interview should last no more than an hour, and I’ll be home in time to eat takeout with Sydney and plot our blog posts for this week.
Before I can knock, the front door swings open. Looking hot and well put together, all ripped muscle and broad shouldered in a fitted gray tee and black track pants that hang from Tyler’s narrow hips, he is fucking perfection. I hate myself for thinking of him in any way other than a subject I am here to write about, but he is so damn sexy without even trying.
As our eyes lock, he smiles wide, revealing a set of perfect white teeth. His gaze lowers and travels down my body, a frown crossing his lips as he appraises my body. I feel exposed with the way he stares at me, not speaking a word until he takes in every inch of me.
“I have to say I’m disappointed you didn’t wear the bandage dress you promised. Instead, you chose…” He doesn’t even finish his thought, the disgust evident in his expression. “Somehow you still look kind of hot in this.”
I fold my arms across my chest, annoyed. “Are you going to let me in or stand there like a jackass and ogle me all day and make stupid comments about my clothes?”
The corner of his mouth turns up into a cocky smirk. “I like it when you’re mean. I’ll consider this foreplay for later.”
Moving my hands to my hips, I sigh in frustration. Tyler makes everything so much harder for me. “How about you just consider it me being mean and let’s get to the reason I am here. Sound good?”
“Sure thing, sweetheart.” He steps to the side, holding out his hand and allowing me to step in front of him and into the monstrosity of a house.
Tempted to yell something to see if it will echo off the vaulted ceiling, I hold back my childish instinct. I used to do the same thing in the house where I grew up all the time. My mother hated it, and once I started, my younger sister would join in on the fun, the two of us saying random things just to hear our voices reverberate through the house.
Tyler shuts the door and escorts me down the long white-and-gray marble hallway, the house as cold on the inside as it appears from the outside. No one lives here that much is clear.
“W
hat do you need such a big house for when you live here by yourself?”
“Who says I live here alone?”
We walk into the living room, the open space light and airy with an enormous flat screen TV hung above a brick fireplace. Several sets of couches and lounge chairs are scattered throughout along with a few tables containing electronic devices on them. It’s the ultimate bachelor pad.
“Considering we already established that you do not have a girlfriend over coffee, I assume you live here alone.”
“Well, you assume wrong. If you recall, I also mentioned Roxie lives with me.”
“Oh, right.” I nod and take a seat on the black leather couch closest to me. “You have a puppy.”
“Roxie,” he corrects.
“Where is she?”
“In my bedroom.” His eyes drift over to the black, fluffy doggy bed on the other side of the room. “I wasn’t sure if you like dogs.”
“I love them.”
“Wanna come up to my room and meet her?” He says this with a snicker.
I roll my eyes at his comment. “Um…no. Stop trying to trick me into sleeping with you.”
He moves closer, his body blocking my vision. “Is it working?”
I shake my head. “Nope.”
“Shame,” he mutters under his breath.
Setting my purse on the floor, I dig through my messenger bag for the tape recorder, notepad, and pen before looking up at Tyler who has decided to position himself in front of me.
Until now, I hadn’t had a good enough look at him, because, in these pants, I can see the outline of his dick, and it’s resting against his leg.
Does he wear underwear? Jeezus.
I am almost wet in anticipation. Scratch that. I am fucking wet from the sight of his massive bulge, which means I need to rush through this interview as fast as possible and get far away from him.
Kane (Face-Off Series Book 2) Page 6