The Season: Rush (Austin Arrows #1)

by Nicole Edwards

  I smile, peering around to find the person attached to the voice. “Yeah, we are!”

  A round of yelling sounds, and just like that, I’m smiling again.

  Somehow, I manage to get a few drink orders filled, but my attention is continuously drawn to the big-screen television mounted over the bar. There are a dozen other televisions spaced throughout, most of them broadcasting the Arrows game tonight. The bar is filled with Arrows fans, and this is the shit I love. It’s like being at a game with your neighbors.

  “Come on, Mount Rushmore!” someone hollers.

  On the screen, I watch as Kingston dives and shifts, covering the goal so perfectly. I’m instantly reminded of that kiss we shared. God, the man is so damn sexy. I’ve always thought so, but now … after that kiss … I can’t stop looking at him.

  While on his knees, Kingston lifts his glove and grabs the puck in midair, bringing it down to the ice and holding it there. The whistle blows and the play is stopped. I release a breath.

  “He’s kickin’ ass,” someone at the bar says.

  “That he is,” I reply, turning around and grabbing a glass. He’s a completely different goalie than at the end of last season. He’s confident and it’s fucking beautiful.

  “And your brother doesn’t look too shabby, either.”

  I laugh. “I’d say he’s doing all right.”

  “Doesn’t Rush’s brother play for Colorado?”

  I nod. “He does. First line, right wing. Number fourteen.”

  I grab a bottle of Bailey’s and the butterscotch schnapps.

  “Rumor is you’re dating Mount Rushmore. That true?”

  I look up into the face of the man sitting across from where I stand. I have no way to gauge whether he’s a reporter or not, but in the past couple of days, I’ve had a few questions tossed my way regarding my relationship with Kingston. I have no interest in talking about it. That wasn’t the deal, so I shrug. “I prefer not to talk about my personal life.”

  “Got it.”

  Okay, clearly not a reporter.

  “Not sure why she’d date that asshole. I hear he beats on women.”

  The snide remark came from my left. I opt not to acknowledge it, but the rage starts bubbling in my veins almost immediately. If Noelle were here, she would’ve blasted the asshole right out of the bar, but I try to keep the peace.

  “Ignore that shit,” the guy in front of me says.

  I offer him a smile but say nothing.

  “See, she doesn’t even deny it.”

  This time I lift my head and make eye contact with the asshole running his mouth.

  “You’re more than welcome to take your business elsewhere,” I say smoothly, trying to rein in my temper.

  The guy lifts his beer. “I’m good right here.”

  Swallowing hard, I return my attention to making drinks. The game is back on, and I turn around to watch the television. It’s down to the last three minutes of regulation, and the Arrows have held it at two to one.

  The group starts getting louder as the minutes play out. Colorado brings some heat down on Kingston, but he holds his own. There is so much pride in my chest I think I might explode.

  “Come on, come on, come on.” Less than a minute. The seconds tick by faster, and I’m holding my breath, my hands balled into fists as Colorado makes their final push. One guy steps into the crease, and I grin when I see Kingston push him back with his stick. It’s a subtle move that reflects his dominance of his space. I love that about him.

  The buzzer sounds and the bar goes nuts. Cheers and screams sound from behind me, and I feel lighter all of a sudden.

  “Beers on the house!” someone shouts.

  We offer one round of beer on the house when the Arrows win an away game. Julie comes around to help me, and I suddenly wish the game was at home because I have the urge to celebrate.

  With Kingston.

  Naked.

  Ellie: Great game tonight. Watched from the bar. Thanks to you, I gave out more free beer.

  Kingston: It was close there for a while.

  Ellie: Close doesn’t count.

  Kingston: True. So, we still on for study group on Friday?

  Ellie: I don’t know. I might have to wash my hair that night.

  Kingston: Didn’t you hear? That’s part of study group? Your study partner will help wash your hair.

  Ellie: LOL Is that right?

  Kingston: Of course. It’s all in the name of learning.

  Ellie: I thought the goal was to become an expert on kissing.

  Kingston: It is. You have to try out the kissing technique in various places. Showers can be tricky. They’re slippery, so it’s imperative that we study in there as well.

  Ellie: But my clothes will get wet.

  Kingston: No they won’t.

  Ellie: Why wouldn’t they?

  Kingston: Didn’t you read the rules of study group?

  Ellie: No. I guess I didn’t get that memo.

  Kingston: First rule: Show up on time.

  Ellie: That sounds easy enough.

  Kingston: Second rule: Study group will continue until both parties are experts on the subject.

  Ellie: That makes sense.

  Kingston: Third rule: No clothes.

  Ellie: Well, I guess if it’s in the rules…

  15

  Kingston

  Friday, October 21st

  Traveling with the team isn’t as glamorous as people believe it to be. In fact, it isn’t glamorous at all. Far from it. But we all know it’s a necessary evil, so we somehow make it work. For me, the best part of traveling is coming home. Being away, sharing a hotel room, flying, driving … it all makes being home that much sweeter.

  The week went by as I expected it would, the only hiccup being the newly garnered interest in my personal life that started because of my big fucking mouth after last Friday’s game. Although I’m getting pretty good at deflecting the questions, I’ve heard that Ellie’s having a much harder time. I’ve got a couple of friends keeping an eye on her, and so far, they’ve told me she’s holding her own, but I hate that she’s having to deal with it.

  Because of the away games, I haven’t seen her since breakfast on Sunday, which is the reason I’m at the Penalty Box tonight. Our next game is tomorrow night, but then we don’t have another until Tuesday. Although I should be at home resting, I can’t seem to stay away from Ellie. Not seeing her for almost a week… It’s honestly killing me. And the text messages aren’t helping.

  While she’s taking care of her customers, I’m patiently sitting at a table with a couple of buddies, drinking water and watching Boston play L.A. on TV, when one of the waitresses comes by and informs me that someone wants to talk to me. I try to wave her off, but she says it’s important.

  Excusing myself from the table after laughing at something Seg says, I follow her across the bar. That’s where I find the mayor of our booming town, Jefferson Withmore, and his wife, Margret, seated at a table, smiling brightly when I walk up. I have to cover a groan behind a cough, hating that one of the most prominent men in this small town makes me want to turn tail and run. It actually has nothing to do with him but rather the reason he’d taken a liking to me in the first place.

  “Kingston,” Mayor Withmore greets kindly, his grin growing wider. “Nice start to the season. Very impressive.”

  I hear a slight hint of condescension in the man’s tone. It doesn’t surprise me. Hell, nothing about this wealthy, powerful, looking-out-only-for-himself man does. For example, the fact that I was accused of manhandling a woman never stopped the jackass from liking me. Not once. Apparently, for the good of his fair city, the guy is willing to look the other way. Doesn’t matter that the allegation is false—he didn’t even care to hear my side of the story. Those are mere semantics to this man.

  “Thank you, Mayor Withmore,” I say with an acknowledging nod. “Mrs. Withmore. What brings you out and about tonight?”

  “Just one of thos
e impromptu date nights,” Mrs. Withmore says, a twinkle in her light brown eyes. “As always.”

  Although they seem very out of place in this sports bar, I happen to know that they come here often. Because the sports teams generate a lot of revenue for the city, it benefits the Withmores to be engaged with the people who enjoy the games. Not to mention, businesses like this one help promote the local teams, in turn benefiting the mayor.

  “Very cool.” I have no idea whether or not I’m supposed to carry the conversation, so I stand there, waiting, wondering what they could possibly want to talk to me about. Then suddenly, Mayor Withmore’s expression turns pensive, and I can hear the stopwatch in my head begin ticking loudly. I know what’s coming in three … two … one…

  “We wanted to talk to you about the benefit dinner on November twelfth. It’s less than a month away and we’d be grateful for your attendance. Have you given it any thought? I know things have been a little awkward lately, but we’d really appreciate if you’d make an appearance.”

  Awkward? That’s an interesting way to describe the incredibly uncomfortable situation I find myself in.

  And yes, I’ve given their request some thought, actually, but my thoughts probably don’t coincide with the answer they are hoping for. The problem I have with turning down their invitation to the charity dinner that benefits the children’s hospital is the fact that I don’t want to let the hospital down, knowing that this event would bring in some much-needed dollars. However, as I’ve recently learned, that sort of charity comes with a price. At least where Mayor Withmore is concerned.

  “We’d love to have you there,” Mrs. Withmore chimes in, her smile fake, her eyes probing.

  I’ve been rehearsing my rejection for nearly a week, hoping I’d be able to come up with something clever to get out of it. Although I don’t want to do anything that will upset the mayor and his wife, I don’t particularly want to endure the dinner, either.

  Regardless of my answer, this is a no-win situation for me. I can refuse and let the hospital down. Or I can agree and hope for the best. I know I’ll opt for the latter because when it comes to those kids, I’ll do damn near anything.

  “I’ll definitely be there,” I find myself saying, wanting to kick myself in my own ass. It’s not the function I have an issue with. The problem I have is that they aren’t simply inviting me to a charity dinner; they want me to be their daughter’s date.

  Did I mention Mayor Withmore is Cheryl’s father?

  And technically, they want me to be their daughter’s husband, but there’s no sense hashing that out. Ever.

  “We’re so happy to hear that,” Mayor Withmore says. It’s a lie; I know it is. “And I’m sure Cheryl will be pleased. I know the two of you had your differences…”

  Funny. Differences to him mean something totally … well, uh, different to me. I happen to know that Cheryl was happily letting another guy drill her into the mattress when she decided to end things between us. What she told her parents wasn’t quite along those lines. I could easily shut down the conversation and tell them what she’d done, but truthfully, I really don’t give a fuck.

  Unfortunately, I do owe them a small measure of gratitude. When the press got the details of the allegation wrong—claiming I had abused Cheryl during our relationship—they did come to my rescue. I don’t think it was because they particularly like me, but more so because they don’t want to cause a rift between the city and the team. Again, only looking out for himself.

  Before I have to commit to seeing Cheryl—the conniving bitch—again (something I absolutely have no desire to do), I turn when I hear loud voices coming from the far side of the restaurant. “It was great to talk to you. I’ll see you at the benefit dinner.”

  I make a beeline for the ruckus only to find Ellie trying to insert herself between two grown men. Although she isn’t necessarily short, she isn’t all that big, either. And up against those guys, she looks pretty damn small.

  “What the hell’s going on?” I ask, pulling Ellie out of the fray. Having to lay one of them out for touching her is something I don’t want to have to deal with right now.

  “It’s nothing,” she notes, calm and cool as ever. “These guys were just leaving.”

  “You heard the lady,” I say, keeping my tone firm as I draw their attention toward me.

  “Holy fuck. You’re Kingston Rush!”

  For the record, I fucking love when people tell me who I am. It’s as though one day I might forget.

  “Everything okay over here?” Noelle asks, stepping into the mix.

  “It’s good,” Ellie informs her, nodding toward the door. “These gentlemen were just heading out.”

  One of the guys sneers at me. “You sure you want us to go? You might need us to stick around to keep this asshole from knocking you around.”

  My hands ball into fists, but I manage to control my temper. Barely.

  “Man, you don’t even know what the hell you’re talkin’ about,” his buddy says, shaking his head.

  “Oh, I heard it on ESPN.”

  Well, then, by God, it must be true.

  I glare at him.

  “Man, shut up,” the friend says again.

  “No way. This dickhead knocked some girl around last year, then paid her off to keep her quiet.”

  Before my fist can make contact with his face, Ellie is standing between us, her back against me. “I suggest you go. Now.”

  “You better watch yourself, sweet cheeks.”

  She leans in and lowers her voice. “You’ve got thirty seconds before I let him loose on you.”

  The other guy grabs his friend by the arm and looks contrite as he starts dragging him toward the door. “Man, you’re a fucking idiot, you know that? That’s Kingston Fucking Rush.”

  Ten minutes later, the hotheads are out the door, and I’m standing at the bar while Ellie burns me with her angry glare.

  “I can handle myself, Rush,” she hisses.

  Her fierceness turns me the fuck on.

  “I know you can. But I figured with the mayor and his wife in here, it’s probably best to keep the bar fights to a minimum tonight.” That was probably the main reason I hadn’t let my fist fly earlier.

  Ellie’s eyes widen. “The mayor’s here?”

  I nod toward their table.

  “Holy crap. Did you talk to him?”

  “He reminded me of a benefit dinner he wants me to go to.”

  “Benefit dinner?”

  “For the children’s hospital.”

  Ellie nods as though that makes complete sense, but I know better.

  “It’s in a few weeks, so you’ve got time to find a dress.”

  Her gaze slams into mine. “A dress? Why am I going?”

  “Because you’re my girlfriend,” I say in a loud whisper. The mere thought of taking her to the charity event makes the idea of going not so bad. In fact, I’m almost looking forward to it now.

  “That doesn’t mean I have to go to stuff like that,” she mutters, her hand going to the back of her neck. She’s rubbing the muscle as though it bothers her.

  “Come here.” I motion to the empty barstool beside me.

  “Why?”

  “So I can rub your neck.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re my girlfriend.” I decide that’s now my favorite answer.

  Ellie moves around me, an air of caution surrounding her as she does. Is she nervous? What does she think I’m going to do? Jump her right here in her bar? I consider that for a second. The idea does have merit.

  When she moves closer, I guide her to an empty barstool and spin her away from me. Moving her ponytail over her shoulder, I start kneading gently, feeling the tension in her muscles.

  “Oh, God, that feels good,” she moans, tilting her head forward.

  It never occurred to me that I may not be able to survive listening to her like this.

  I try to focus on rubbing the tension from her neck while I gl
ance around the room, ignoring the way my dick stirs to life. Touching her is proving to be something far more exciting than I thought it would be. And don’t get me wrong, I thought it would be fucking perfection.

  This is better.

  And it is completely innocent.

  Though my dick doesn’t seem to realize that.

  “Right there,” she moans, tilting her head to the side.

  Aww, fuck. Does she not even realize what she’s doing?

  “Don’t stop.”

  Suppressing the urge to groan in frustration, I shake my head, closing my eyes. The woman makes an innocent massage seem like foreplay. I can’t imagine what actual foreplay will be like.

  “Spencer texted me earlier,” she states. “Said something about you going to the children’s hospital tomorrow afternoon. Thought maybe it would be a good idea if I tagged along. I don’t think I can go, but maybe you can take Bianca. I know she’d enjoy it.”

  Because we’ve been on the road, I wasn’t able to get by there this week, so I’m opting to go tomorrow with a couple of other guys from the team.

  “Yeah. He messaged me, too.” When I saw the text, my first thought was to put my hand through the wall. I really wish Spencer would butt out of my fucking business. Sure, I get that this was his idea, and yeah, Ellie is his sister, but shit. I’m a grown man; I know how to handle my own problems.

  Not that Ellie is a problem.

  The opposite, in fact.

  Ellie peers at me over her shoulder.

  I raise my head, my eyes raking over her face briefly. There are a lot of things I want to do to and with this woman during our pretend interlude, but the one thing I don’t want is for Spencer to dictate how that will go down.

  “We’ll talk about it later,” I tell her, still not sure how I want to handle this situation.

  For some reason, although I made the pseudo-relationship public, I haven’t yet figured out how to go about handling this and getting Ellie to see me as something more than a favor to her brother. Based on our text conversations, we’re naturally progressing in the direction I’m hoping we will, so I keep reminding myself that it may not require too much convincing on my part.

  However, I do have every intention of working my magic on her.