Speaking of… I glance at my watch. It’s almost two, which means we’ll be closing shortly.
“Good night, huh?” Noelle asks, coming to stand beside me at the bar.
“So far,” I tell her, grinning. We know better than to think we are out of the woods until all the patrons have dispersed. It’s amazing what drunk people can do in a matter of a few minutes if so inclined.
“I see your boy toy hung around all night.” Noelle nods toward the group of oversized men sitting in the far corner. “And he’s not even drinking.”
I follow Noelle’s gaze to the group in the corner. A gaggle of girls has gathered around them, smiling and laughing as though everything they have to say is the funniest shit they’ve ever heard.
“He doesn’t drink the week of their first game,” I tell Noelle.
Noelle’s eyebrow quirks and a smile forms. “Something he told you? Or something you noticed?”
I roll my eyes and laugh. “Something I picked up on long ago.”
“Right.”
Okay, so I know Kingston better than I’ll admit. Not that I know everything about him, but I do know a lot.
“I’m pretty sure that chick’s checkin’ out your man,” Noelle notes, nodding toward a particularly busty brunette wearing a tiny halter and even smaller skirt.
“He’s not my man,” I rumble absently.
“For all intents and purposes, he is.”
I glare at my best friend.
Noelle’s smile widens. “You better go show her whose boobs are bigger or things might get awkward.”
I’m pretty sure that girl’s boobs are bigger than mine, but I understand what Noelle means. Since it is my job to be Kingston’s girlfriend—at least for the foreseeable future—I really need to go stake my claim.
Not that I want to.
Okay, I kind of do.
Sighing, I toss the towel I’ve been using to wipe down the bar onto the shelf below and make my way out onto the floor.
Pasting a smile on my face, I stop at one of the tables occupied by a couple who are grinning as they chat quietly. “Can I get you anything else? We’ll be closing in about ten minutes.”
“Oh, wow. Time flies,” the woman replies, her gaze leaving her companion only briefly to look up at me. “I think we’re good.”
“Thanks for coming.” I gently pat the table, then move to the next one, this one with four women laughing uncontrollably. “Y’all good?”
“We are, thanks.”
Taking a deep breath, I head toward the rowdy section. Feeling incredibly self-conscious, I have to fight the urge to run the other direction. Instead, I shore up my resolve, straighten my shoulders, and walk right up to Kingston’s side.
He’s talking to one of the other players, seemingly oblivious to the women who are practically drooling over every word that comes out of his mouth. I won’t lie, the fact that he isn’t interested in the puck bunnies makes me feel good.
I tap his shoulder.
He turns, glances up, and I notice the instant he recognizes me. His face lights up like he’s actually happy to see me. A strange sensation takes root inside my chest, but I ignore it. This is pretend. He’s supposed to be happy to see me. After all, I am his pretend girlfriend.
“Hey, babe,” he greets, his arm sliding around me as he pulls me close.
“Hey.” I try not to notice how strong he is or how good he smells or how I really like the golden flecks in his dark eyes.
It isn’t easy.
And unfortunately, I don’t think it’s going to get any easier in the future.
Especially not if he continues to … squeeze my ass the way he is right now.
Kingston
I’ve spent the better part of the night ignoring the puck bunnies trying to catch my attention while still attempting to have a conversation with some of my teammates. More than once I’ve wished that the rumors of having a girlfriend had spread, but up to this point, no one actually knows about Ellie and me, and I doubt they’ll be finding out tonight.
In fact, I’m convinced Ellie has been avoiding me. Even when I’ve looked her way, she’s seemed to be purposely keeping her back to me. Or maybe I’m imagining that. Not easy to let the world believe you have a girlfriend when said girlfriend—pretend or not—keeps an entire restaurant full of people between you and her.
I’ve been trying to come up with a subtle way to change that, and—finally—Ellie provides the perfect opportunity when she steps up to my side, her hand on my shoulder as though she’s attempting to get close. It’s a fairly intimate move, and I have to remind myself that she’s only playing it up for appearances. Still, I have a good time pretending for a minute or two.
The first thing I notice is the impressive rack that’s almost eye level. The woman has great tits. Better than great, actually. Not too big, not too small. Just … fucking perfect. In the years I’ve known her, I’ve seen Ellie in a bathing suit on more than one occasion. I won’t lie and say I haven’t had some erotic thoughts about her during those moments. But never have I had those perfect tits quite so close to my mouth. My fantasies do not count.
The next thing I notice is how good she smells. It’s a mixture of beer and a subtle perfume that makes my dick hard because it smells like … her. I think Ellie has worn that same perfume for as long as I’ve known her. I want to strip her out of her clothes and sniff every inch of her body just to see which parts smell better than the others.
Not that she’ll allow that to happen, but fuck … a guy can dream.
The third thing I notice is how she doesn’t pull away when I wrap my arm around her and pull her into my side. And sure, when I daringly let my hand slide down and give her amazing ass a firm squeeze, I expect her to smack me upside the head.
She doesn’t.
Which I take as a good sign.
“You guys need anything?” Ellie asks the other players at the table.
She receives a chorus of responses, most of them waving her off. It’s closing in on two—they’ve already signaled last call—so most of the guys are gearing up to head out anyway. Personally, I don’t drink for a solid week prior to our first game, and during the season, I don’t drink the night before a game. I learned early on that alcohol and that kind of physical exertion don’t work well, especially the older I’ve gotten.
I look up to see Ellie smiling at me. Well, it’s sort of a smile. Though her lips are with the program, it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
“Can we talk?” she asks, her tone sweet, which is a direct contradiction to the ice darts shooting out of her eyes.
“Sure.” Turning to the guys, I say good night and get to my feet, ignoring the few girls still hanging around, hoping to wind up in some player’s bed tonight.
They damn sure won’t be in mine, and that is all that matters.
“What’s up?” I follow Ellie through the bar, past the few people who are still lingering, and then toward the hallway.
Just as we step out of sight, Ellie spins around to face me, and I damn near knock her on her ass when she abruptly changes direction. Grabbing her arms, I keep her upright, her tits crushing against my chest as I move her closer to the wall.
Then there we are, staring at one another, her eyes locked with mine, her mouth partially open in surprise. I can feel the rapid breaths she’s taking because her tits are pressed against my chest. Seems Ellie Kaufman isn’t quite as aloof to me as she pretends to be.
For a fraction of a second, I consider leaning in and kissing her, something I’ve desperately wanted to do for years now, but there’s a glint in her eyes that has me holding back. Based on that look, a kiss will likely get me a knee to the balls. So I refrain.
Ellie grabs my shirt and pulls me down to her, our noses practically touching. From an onlooker’s perspective—as well as my dick’s—it looks as though she is about to kiss the fuck out of me. My lungs take a brief hiatus, my breath backing up in my chest while my heart does some sort of ba
ss drum solo. I swallow hard, wishing like fuck she would move a little closer. Just a bit. Just enough so—
“Do not grab my ass,” she hisses softly, a cool smile on her lips.
Sliding my hands around her, I cup her ass and squeeze. “You mean like this?”
“You’re gonna need ice therapy for your balls if you keep that up,” she whispers, still fake smiling.
“But it’s such a fantastic ass,” I reply, pulling her to me.
Fuck. This is probably not the best idea I’ve ever had because feeling her body against mine… Let’s just say that sleep will likely have to wait until I’ve spent some intimate time with my hand.
I feel a shiver race through her as my dick wages a war in my pants, desperate to get out, but based on the way her eyes narrow on my face, I could’ve very well imagined that.
And because I have a preference to keep my balls where they are and not lodged in my throat, I slide my hands to her hips, then up to her waist.
I want to kiss her so fucking badly. I want to suck her tongue into my mouth and…
The overhead lights come on, and I hear a few grunts and groans from the remaining customers.
“Night’s over,” Ellie says, still smiling.
She won this round tonight, I’ll give her that.
However, I offer up a smile of my own, one that reminds her that I’m nothing if not competitive.
11
Kingston
Friday, October 14th
Pacing the floor, I keep my attention riveted on the stick in my hand and nothing else.
“Good luck,” someone says as they pass by.
I nod but say nothing because I’m focusing internally.
Focus. Puck, patience. React. Focus. Puck, patience. React.
The lights in the arena dim, then snap off—sound effects added to make it more dramatic.
A throbbing bass reverberates from the speakers overhead. Slow, steady. I take a deep breath and work on keeping my heart rate in time with the music.
Focus. Puck, patience. React. Focus. Puck, patience. React.
Suddenly, the lights flash off, then back on.
Off.
On.
Off.
On.
Faster. Brighter.
A few whistles sound from the seats.
Focus. Puck, patience. React. Focus. Puck, patience. React.
Strobes kick in, and the Jumbotron lights up with the team’s logo, then the image shatters as music pulses. The light show syncs to the music, bathing the ice and the fans in white and teal. Directly in front of us, a giant LED skull slowly descends from the ceiling. Three officials emerge onto the ice, skating back and forth.
I can feel the energy as it starts to pulsate along with the music. Excitement buzzes as the team prepares to head out. The fans are ready. Faces start flashing across the giant screen; one of them will be mine. I’m oblivious to most of it because the only thing I’m thinking about is the net and my place in it.
Focus. Puck, patience. React. Focus. Puck, patience. React.
For a brief moment, I allow myself to think about Ellie. Knowing she’s in the stands tonight makes this game different. Although she’s rarely ever missed a home game, tonight I know she’ll be rooting for me, cheering me on. I need that right now. I need to know that she’s on my side. I’ve decided already that I’m going to win this one for her.
The music comes to a dramatic, screeching halt, the lights go off once more, and a deep, rumbling voice comes over the speakers: Okay, hockey fans. Let’s give it up for your Austin Arrows!
I fall in line as we move forward, heading down the rubber mats that lead to the rink. It’s not easy maneuvering in all this gear, but I’ve got years of practice. A spotlight shines directly on the ice in front of where we’re entering. The crowd’s excitement intensifies as I watch my teammates emerge and then take off. The second my blades hit the ice, I’m in the zone. The players scatter and I go right for the pipes. I vaguely hear the voices calling out from behind the glass.
“Mount Rushmore!”
“We love you, Rush!”
“Go Arrows!”
I tune it all out. My mind’s eye narrows to right here, right now. For the past half hour, I’ve been warming up, and it’s time to block out everything except for the ice, the net, the players. Not even the loud music or the roar of the fans can pull me out of my mental zone.
My only focus is roughing the surface of the ice, which ultimately offers better control within the crease. I dig in my skates, drop to my knees, adjust my pads. I’m already loose and limber, but I stretch a couple more times for good measure. I’m aware of people moving by me in a blur, skating around and behind the goal, but they won’t matter until the puck drops.
I feel the eyes of the fans on me, and I know they’ll be watching to see what I do, how I do it. I try to forget the fact that every mistake I make will cause a red light to come on announcing my fuckup. Ultimately, I’m the guy who controls the direction of the game for my team. With a powerful offense, we’ll make goals, but at the same time, their offense will try to score on me. I can’t let that happen.
Focus. Puck, patience. React. Focus. Puck, patience. React.
From this moment on, my only job is to keep the puck out of the net.
And that’s what I intend to do.
Ellie
Okay, I’ll be the first to admit that I am a huge hockey fan. Have been all my life. From the time I was a kid and my dad started taking me to hockey games. Though he never made it out of the minor leagues, my dad was one of the best hockey players I’ve ever known. In my opinion, anyway. He was my dad, so maybe I’m a little biased. And I certainly got my love for the sport from him.
I’ll even go so far as to say I am one of those crazy chicks who goes a little overboard at a game. Yes, one of those people. The ones who scream and yell for bad calls and whoop and holler louder than most of the people in the arena. I’ve rightfully earned my fair share of glares.
Tonight’s game is no exception.
And it has nothing to do with the fact that I spent nearly two hours watching Kingston play one of the best games of his career, either. The man is fucking Mozart on the ice, guarding the goal like it’s the easiest thing in the world. It’s not. I know. My brother thought it would be funny to let me be the goalie once when we were kids. I ended up with a black eye. And that was from street hockey in the driveway—no skates.
But tonight’s shutout by the Arrows is proof that Kingston rules the ice. Personally, I can hardly manage a free skate without landing on my ass a few times, so watching him shift and dive, keeping that little rubber puck from getting past him, is quite impressive.
No, this isn’t the first time I’ve noticed how great of a player he is. Kingston Rush is by far one of the best goalies in the league. His stats prove it. However, he is also one of the hottest players in the league. The puck bunnies will be the first to attest to that.
So, after our interaction throughout the week at the bar and tonight’s on-ice performance, it’s safe to say I’ve got quite a bit of pent-up sexual energy all thanks to Mount Rushmore, but what sucks most is the fact that I have no way to release it. Pretend is pretend, no matter how you look at it.
While Bianca and I kill some time waiting for my brother to emerge from the locker room, I pull up my Twitter app on my phone. It isn’t that I’m Twitter famous or anything, but I’ve garnered quite the following. Probably more so because I’m Optimus’s sister. People love him. Oh, and perhaps because I own a bar that caters to hockey players. By association, I tend to get a little recognition. Not to mention, my tweets are funny.
For example, the one I posted before the game tonight: It’s good to reevaluate your goals from time to time. Climbing a mountain is still NOT one of my goals.
See? Funny.
But whatever.
It isn’t surprising to see that I’ve got quite a few favorites on my last tweet as well as several retweets.
What is surprising is the reply I received. The reply that has over three thousand retweets. Seriously. Three thousand. What the fuck?
Climbing mountains is good cardiovascular exercise. #isuggestscalingmtrushmore
Scaling Mount Rushmore, huh?
Although I don’t need to, I peek at the Twitter handle: @KingstonRush39
Imagine that.
“Mom?”
I glance from my phone to Bianca to see what she needs, and that’s when I notice there are several reporters coming our direction, determination on their faces as they trek down the long, narrow corridor that leads from the locker rooms. I glance over my shoulder to see if there are any players behind me, fully expecting to see someone who warrants this sort of attention. When I don’t find any, I turn back.
Shit fire.
It is in this moment that what I have considered a relatively normal life flips upside down and sideways.
“Ms. Kaufman, is it true? Are you dating Kingston Rush?”
“Were you aware of Rush’s response to your earlier Tweet?”
“How long have the two of you been together?”
“Do you think you’re the reason for his shutout tonight? Considering how off his games were last season?”
“Is the relationship serious?”
The questions are like slap shots, one right after the other, taking me by surprise. My brain can’t process them long enough for me to formulate any sort of response. I don’t know what to do, but when Bianca backs up against me, it occurs to me that I need to get her out of here quickly.
Turning around in the hopes I’ll find a place to sneak off to, I hold Bianca against my side, but before I make it two steps, I run smack into a wall of muscle. Okay, it’s a chest of muscle, covered by a really nice suit, actually, but same difference. That chest is like a brick wall. A brick wall that smells really good.
“No questions tonight,” the deep voice bellows as a strong arm wraps around me, the other going around Bianca.
“Rush! Is this serious? How long have you and Optimus’s sister been a thing?”
The Season: Rush (Austin Arrows #1) Page 11