I shake my head. I like Noelle. She’s fun. However, her entertainment value isn’t making this easier for me. Especially now that Spencer is glaring my way once more. I can see the no-sex warning in his eyes, but I quickly look away.
“What part does Amber play in this?” Ellie asks Spencer.
While Ellie continues to discuss this with her brother, I can’t help staring at her again. I get lost in the way she moves, the way she smiles, the way she speaks … even the way she rolls her eyes when she finds something ridiculous. Based on how many times that has happened thus far, she’s finding my situation ludicrous.
But still I hold out hope.
“She’s gonna do it, you know?”
I look at Noelle as she fills a mug.
“Do what?” I’m a little lost.
“She’ll be your pretend girlfriend.” Noelle leans forward, lowering her voice in a conspiratorial whisper. “In fact, she’ll probably be your real girlfriend if you play your cards right.”
Once again, I shift my attention to Ellie. I like the idea of something real between us more than I’m ready to admit to myself. My fantasies over the years haven’t merely been sexual in nature. Back when Ellie found out she was pregnant, I dreamed about being the man she wanted, the one who would be honored to raise a child with her. I might’ve even endured a little bit of jealousy over the fact that another man got her pregnant. Not that I’ve ever let anyone know that.
Of course, I’m also willing to take the chance if I can get her naked a few times because … fuck … the woman makes my dick want to do a celebratory dance, and she doesn’t even realize she does it, either.
And there it is… I’m instantly fantasizing about Ellie covered in chocolate while I lick it off her. Slowly.
Once more, I find myself staring at her boobs when Spencer calls my name.
Reluctantly, I slide my gaze to my friend. “What?”
“She’s agreed to do it.”
I cock an eyebrow, momentarily imagining Ellie naked and covered in chocolate.
“She’s gonna be your pretend girlfriend.”
Right. Pretend girlfriend—which means no chocolate.
And no sex.
And no boobs.
Damn.
My loss.
“Under one condition,” Ellie says, coming to stand directly in front of me, the icy flecks in her eyes sparkling.
“What’s that?” I notice my voice is a little deeper than usual. Did she notice?
“You have to dance on my bar. On a Saturday night.” An evil smile follows her words.
Noelle squeals, obviously on board with that idea, too.
I jerk my attention back to Spencer, finding my best friend grinning and shrugging as though he didn’t have any part in this. I glance back at Ellie. “What exactly do you mean by dance?”
Ellie’s grin is slow and wicked, and I wonder just how dirty this sweet girl actually is when no one is looking.
“I mean, you hop up on my bar”—she pats the hard wooden top to clarify—“and strut your stuff.”
I’ve seen women dance on this bar, strutting their stuff, as Ellie refers to it. From what I understand, it’s often on a dare, sometimes to put them on the spot for their birthday. Hell, I’ve even seen some guys do it. I’ve always assumed they were drunk and not usually that stupid.
But me…
I shake my head. “Ain’t happenin’,” I say, mocking her drawl. That slow Texas twang is a hell of a lot easier to do than my Boston accent, though that doesn’t stop Ellie from trying from time to time. She butchers it, by the way. And that makes it all the more fun to fuck with her.
Ellie’s grin widens. “Then I won’t be your girlfriend.”
“Seriously,” Spencer says with a huff. “It’s just one night. How bad could it be?”
How bad could it be?
I’m not sure I want to know.
Ellie
I sneak in the house a little after three. I’m not really sure why I’m sneaking. After all, I’m a grown woman, I’ve been working all night, no one is waiting up for me, so technically there is no need to tiptoe around like I’m going to get caught. But that is exactly how I feel.
Because I know Bianca will be asleep since it’s a school night—or morning, whichever—I tread lightly through the house, turning off the lights before heading for the stairs.
Since we live less than four minutes from the bar, I’ve already been home three times tonight to check on her. One of those times we ate dinner together. It’s the agreement that we came to when Bianca insisted shortly after her twelfth birthday that she no longer needed a babysitter to watch her while I work. So, every night, I come home at random times to check in. Not once have I caught Bianca doing anything she shouldn’t be, so I consider myself lucky. The pink hair notwithstanding.
Poking my head in Bianca’s room, I see that my kid is sprawled across her bed, arms akimbo as she snores softly. I can’t help but smile.
“Girl, you’re a mess,” I whisper as I step into the room and pull the blanket up over her.
Bianca rolls over, clutching the blanket. “Love you, Mommy.”
“Love you too, kiddo,” I mumble back, knowing Bianca is still out cold.
After closing the lid on Bianca’s laptop to eliminate the soft glow in the room, I step out into the hall, close the door, and traipse back downstairs.
God, I’m tired.
Once in my bedroom, I fish my cell phone out of my back pocket, then drop onto my bed and pull my boots off my feet, massaging my achy toes as I do.
It’s been a good night. Long but good. Busy, something I’m familiar with when all of the major league sports are underway. With baseball season ending, football and hockey season starting, basketball season coming up, the bar is noticeably busier. My feet will be the first to tell you.
My gaze slides to the bathroom. I really need to shower because I smell like chicken wings and beer, but I want nothing more than to lie back on my bed and close my eyes. Sleep until it’s time to get up and make sure Bianca is getting ready for school.
The notification light on my cell phone flashes, catching my attention.
Grabbing my phone, I fall back onto the bed, thumbing the password as I do. I pull up the text app to find I have one message from…
“Oh, Lord.”
Pressing his name on the screen, I quickly skim the text I received nearly three hours ago.
Kingston: Want to meet up tomorrow to discuss this whole relationship thing?
I laugh. Relationship? Really?
I start to respond but then pause. He could be asleep by now. I know he sticks to a very rigid schedule, and since training camp has officially ended and he’s setting his routine for the rest of the season, he’s probably out already.
Eh.
I type a message back anyway, not caring if I wake him up. He deserves it simply for giving me shit.
Ellie: It’s a favor, not a relationship, so nothing to talk about.
I let my hand drop down onto the bed at the same time my phone vibrates. I lift it to my face again and glance at the screen through tired eyes.
Kingston: Are you setting out to break my heart early on? Not sure I’ll survive that.
The man is a ruthless flirt. Most of the time—unless, of course, he’s touching me—it’s easy to ignore him because he’s my friend, but ever since I realized it’s been three years since I last had sex, I’m having a hard time not fantasizing about him. Oh, and it doesn’t help that I’ve signed on to be his pretend girlfriend. When he was dating Cheryl, or the long string of others who came before her, I didn’t think twice about him. Mostly.
Ellie: I’m changing your name in my phone to pathetic.
Kingston: Good. And I’m changing yours to sexual deviant.
Ellie: Sexual deviant? *snort* Not even close.
I go to my contacts and actually do as I said I would, then go back to the text message app as another text comes in.
Pathetic: So what do you say? Meet up tomorrow to go over a few things? Like what kind of lingerie I prefer you to wear.
Ellie: I doubt you’ll have a problem with the lingerie I choose to wear.
Aww, crap. I totally didn’t mean that the way it sounded.
Pathetic: Mmm. Is that an offer to show me?
Of course Kingston took it that way, though.
Ellie: Not in this lifetime.
Pathetic: Now I’ll spend the rest of the night thinking about your underwear.
Ellie: You’re incorrigible.
Pathetic: I saw how long it took you to type that. You were erasing sexy, weren’t you? Replacing it with a big word.
Ellie: Sexy? I can think of a million adjectives to describe you, but sexy isn’t on the list.
It is definitely on the list. At the top, in fact.
Pathetic: One day, little girl, I’m going to bend you over my knee for lying so easily.
Okay. My bedroom suddenly grows warm, and that makes absolutely no sense because the air conditioner is set to arctic since it’s only October and the summer heat still lingers in the humid Texas air. This conversation has gone off the rails, and I need to end it before I get in over my head. If I’m not there already.
Ellie: Good night, pervert.
Pathetic: Keep it up. I’ll show you pervert. Good night, little girl. I’ll see you tomorrow.
Rather than continue to argue with him, I toss my phone on the bed and stare up at the ceiling fan slowly turning above me. I narrow my eyes.
Is that…?
Aw, hell. It most definitely is.
There, coating the blades of my ceiling fan, is about two inches of dust.
Damn.
I should probably clean that.
I briefly wonder which occurred more recently: the last time I had sex or the last time I dusted.
Not that it matters. I haven’t had sex in so long my vagina is probably dusty too.
Gross.
I should get up and clean. (My house, not my vagina.) Or maybe I’ll just up the speed on that thing (the fan, not my vagina) and then no one will notice.
Glancing at the clock, I sigh. It’s almost four in the morning. I need to shower and check Bianca’s homework. Then, if I’m lucky, I’ll still be tired and I can sleep for a couple of hours before my daughter has to be up.
And if not, I’ll mainline some coffee and … go through the house and turn up the speed on all the ceiling fans because, like sex, I don’t see dusting in my future.
9
Kingston
Tuesday, October 11th
Last night, after I received Ellie’s text response—which I honestly didn’t expect—I found that I couldn’t sleep. My thoughts pinged back and forth between the fuckup that has become my life in recent months and what the future holds for me. The immediate future, mostly. And the few minutes that I did sleep, I dreamed about Ellie wearing chocolate syrup (and absolutely nothing else) instead of the lingerie she teased me with.
If it wasn’t bad enough that I dreamed about her, I didn’t remember that dream until six miles into my run. That led to some rather uncomfortable miles to follow, then ended with an intense session with my soapy hand while I was in the shower.
But I’m a grown man. My dick isn’t in charge of me or my day. I have responsibilities and I’m no longer thinking about Ellie naked. Or chocolate. Now I’m gearing up for practice, which will allow me to focus on the most important thing in my life. My job.
“Whaddup, Mount Rushmore?”
“Aww, yeah! The big man is back!”
“Rush!”
I know the guys are trying to psych me up for the day because that’s what they do. After our last shitty season, it appears we’re all doubling the effort, and I honestly can’t complain. I need to stay focused if I expect to get ice time rather than being benched while Locke takes my place. No doubt, the kid’s pretty damn impressive in goal when he wants to be, but I’m not ready to be second-best just yet. Hell, maybe not ever.
It’s my job to prove my worth, to show what I’m made of, and just like everyone else, I have something to prove to the team. They need to know they can rely on me. And me on them.
So, with determination on my side, I pull on all my gear and head out to the ice.
After a half hour, taking shot after shot from two forwards who volunteered, making save after save, I’m drenched and sore. Coach interrupts our shootout, announcing we’ll be doing a scrimmage before we call it a day. That’s all good and fine because I don’t plan to leave for a while, but before that can happen, I need a break. As more of the team comes out, I make my way to the bench, finding a water bottle. After chucking my gloves and pulling off my mask, I drench my head in an attempt to cool off, glancing into the empty bleachers.
I snatch a Gatorade bottle and pause, holding the thing halfway to my mouth.
Is that…?
“Hey, Kingston!”
I look over to see Ellie’s daughter bounding down the steps toward me, her backpack slung over her back, short hair bobbing around her face. Which means that’s definitely Ellie talking to Spencer, just as I thought.
“Hey, kiddo.” I make my way off the ice to the hall that leads to the locker rooms so I can talk to her. She maneuvers through the seats to the railing that separates the fans from the team. When she gets close enough, I offer up my fist for her to bump, which she does with a huge grin. “What’s up? Why’re you down here?”
“Uncle Optimus wants to talk to Mom,” Bianca says, referring to her uncle as she always has. “I don’t know what he wants, but Mom said it was important. She said it had to do with Operation Scale Mount Rushmore. I don’t know what that means.”
Scale, huh? I wonder briefly if Ellie means that the way it sounds. I damn sure won’t mind if she scales me. I grin to myself, then remember there’s a twelve-year-old kid standing only a few feet away. I shouldn’t be thinking about Ellie climbing my body while Ellie’s daughter is anywhere in the vicinity. There’s probably a law against that or something.
“I didn’t know your mom was a climber,” I tease.
Bianca cocks her head and purses her lips, dropping her backpack into a seat. “I’m pretty sure they were talking about you.”
Okay, so this kid picks up on way too much.
“When she was on the phone with him, I heard Optimus say she needs to talk to Amber, whoever that is. And that she should also go shopping for a dress or something. Mom didn’t seem too happy about that. I think that’s why we’re here.”
I frown. A dress? What the hell could they possibly be talking about?
“Oh, my gosh! Is that...? It is!” Bianca peers out at the ice, drawing my attention to the net at the opposite end.
I chuckle and pretend not to notice that she’s taken a keen interest in Josh Locke. It doesn’t surprise me one bit. Bianca has been infatuated with hockey since she was a munchkin. Seems she might’ve developed a real live crush on one of my teammates. Not that I want her to confirm that. I want to believe that I will always be her favorite goalie, even if that is no longer the case.
While Bianca watches the action on the ice, I stand there, remembering I have to get back out there soon.
“Did you know my mom and her friends call you the goalie god?”
I pause in the process of downing more Gatorade, casting a sideways glance at Bianca. “Is that right?”
“Yep.”
Interesting. I want to ask who came up with the name, but I don’t dare. It’s one thing to flirt with Ellie, something else entirely to question her daughter. The last thing I need is for Bianca to tell either Ellie or Spencer that I’ve been snooping for details.
The goalie god.
I like that.
“She was telling Noelle that she even tweeted about it one night.”
Good to know. I make a mental note to check her out on Twitter.
“Please tell me you’re not filling my kid’s head full of more hockey
stats.”
Bianca turns, and I look up behind her to see Ellie walking toward us, a gorgeous grin on her succulent mouth.
I stand up straight, swiping my hand over my disheveled hair, hoping I look relatively decent. Packed inside all this gear, I’m sweating profusely, and I can’t imagine how bad I smell. When I’m out there on the ice, I’m immune to it. Others, not so much.
“Of course not,” I lie, grinning. “I’m pretty sure she knows more than me at this point.”
Bianca snorts. “I’ve always known more than you.”
I reach through the bars, trying to grab Bianca’s ankles. She dances out of the way, laughing.
“I thought you were going to start on your homework,” Ellie says to Bianca, pulling the kid against her in a one-armed bear hug.
The two of them look so much alike. Both have golden-brown hair, though Bianca’s is a tad darker. The same with their eyes. Ellie’s are jade green, Bianca’s closer to emerald. Soon to be thirteen, Bianca is almost as tall as her mother, which she likes to complain about. Apparently, five foot six is not an appropriate height for a soon-to-be teenage girl. Being that I’m six three, I’m quite fond of Ellie’s height.
As for why Bianca doesn’t like it, I don’t know. Admittedly, I don’t know the first thing about preteen girls, or teenagers, for that matter. Well, other than what I’ve learned being so close to Ellie and Bianca due to my friendship with Spencer.
Bianca pulls away, laughing. “I am. In a minute. Hey! Where’d you get that sucker?”
My eyes lock on to Ellie’s face just as she wraps her lips around the end of the red sucker.
I do my best not to watch.
I fail.
Apparently my dick has witnessed it, too, and since I have a cup on, that’s not a good thing.
Fuck.
“Can I have one?” Bianca asks, seemingly oblivious to the fact that I’m having a hot flash, something I didn’t think men actually had.
“Find Optimus,” Ellie tells her. “He’ll get you one.”
“Okay. Did you talk to him about scaling Mount Rushmore?”
The Season: Rush (Austin Arrows #1) Page 8