The Season: Rush (Austin Arrows #1)

by Nicole Edwards

  “Does he manscape?” Noelle asks, her eyes wide.

  I nod, still grinning. The guy quite possibly has the most beautiful penis I’ve ever seen. Not that I’ve seen all that many, but still. Granted, I’m not going to share all the deets with Noelle. A girl has to keep a few secrets to herself.

  “Where’d you do it?”

  “Shower.”

  “Oh, lordy. Shower sex?”

  “Mm-hmm. Fucking great shower sex.” Okay, I probably should lay off the wine.

  “Did he screw you against the wall?”

  “Yep.”

  Noelle is nodding her head as though she’s compiling the information into a plausible scene. “Then what?”

  I shrug. “Then we finished our shower, he grabbed his bag from his truck, got dressed, I walked him to the door, and he went to practice. I went about my business. We haven’t talked about it since.” Granted, we might’ve shared a few dirty texts since then. Since he had a game on Thursday and the team’s been on the road since Wednesday before that, it’s been our only option, really.

  “You just booted him on his sexy ass? Then ignored him all week? That’s cruel.”

  I didn’t exactly boot him out, and I definitely didn’t ignore him. It’s as though he sensed I needed a little space. Again, the traveling thing has helped. I’m not entirely sure what happened between us, but there has been a buzzing in my brain ever since that says whatever it was should happen again. Soon.

  “God, I love shower sex,” Noelle groans. “It’s been so long since I had shower sex.”

  “It’s better if you have a man for that,” I tell my single best friend helpfully.

  “Girl, I’ve got a drawer full of toys that keep me quite satisfied.”

  “Toys, huh?”

  Noelle nods, sipping her wine.

  “I’m betting those toys aren’t nearly as good as the real thing.”

  “It sounds to me like you might be gloating. Are you gloating? You shouldn’t be gloating. Not with sex-deprived best friends in the same room.”

  “I thought you were quite satisfied.”

  “I am,” Noelle declares. “I’ve got my super max dildo, a rather enticing clit vibrator, a—”

  I choke again. “I get it. You’ve got enough to fill every orifice.”

  “And then some,” Noelle says with a smirk. “But you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you? You’re so prim and proper, you think your vag was only made for flesh-and-blood cock.”

  “I do not,” I exclaim. I really do.

  Sure, I have a vibrator, but I rarely use it. No wonder I practically jumped the man.

  “Oh, cut the crap.” Noelle is laughing now. “You’re such a prude. It’s shocking that you have a kid.”

  “Hey, I’ve had great sex in my life. Just … limited.”

  “Tell me how many times a guy’s used a vibrator on you. Or a dildo. Or anal beads.”

  It’s a good thing I’m not taking a drink, because I would shower Noelle with it when I sputter and choke again. Shaking my head, I say, “That doesn’t mean I haven’t had great sex.”

  Noelle scrunches her lips together, then takes a sip of her wine. It’s evident she is holding something back.

  “What?” I’m too curious to let it go.

  “When’s the last time you had sex? Before the goalie god?”

  I shrug. “Couple years ago?” Three, actually, but who’s counting?

  “See, you even phrased it as a question. You don’t know.” Noelle shakes her head. “And then the goalie god goes and screws you against the wall and you kick him out on his ass. Such a waste.”

  Laughing, I dare to ask, “And what do you suggest I do?”

  Noelle points her wineglass toward me. “I say you let this man teach you a thing or two. You liked sex with him, he’s not asking you to marry him, so girl, go after it. Fuck his brains out and let him return the favor. Experiment. Invite a dildo into the bed with him there. Live a little. Shit. You’re only thirty-four, but you’d think you were sixty-four.”

  “Experiment, huh?”

  “Yep. You’ve already agreed to be his pretend girlfriend, so why shouldn’t you reap the benefits? We all know Mount Rushmore is kinky. Everyone says so.”

  “Everyone?” I don’t like the idea that everyone might know how kinky Mount … er … Kingston is.

  Noelle waves her hand as though that isn’t important. “Let him kinkify you. And then, if you can walk away from him after that … we’ll all know you’re irrevocably broken.”

  Great.

  Irrevocably broken.

  Just what I always hoped to be when I grew up.

  28

  Kingston

  Tuesday, November 8th

  “Fuck.” Grumbling to myself is the only thing I can seem to do as I sit on the bench and watch the shit storm that is taking place on the ice in front of me.

  I’m decked out in my pads, but rather than wearing my mask, I’m sporting an Arrows cap, supporting my team from the sidelines. Since Locke is in goal tonight, I have nothing to do except root them on and be available in the event that I’m needed.

  At this point, I’m not sure anything will help us.

  Unlike our last home game on Tuesday … let’s just say, knowing Ellie is in the stands won’t do anything to help this game. Since Coach wanted to give Locke another shot, it doesn’t matter.

  Tonight’s game has been brutal.

  Between the number of penalty minutes we’ve racked up, the fights that have broken out, and the crappy night Locke’s having in the net, we would’ve been better off just giving this game to Detroit rather than showing up.

  Even Spencer has instigated a fight or two, which is completely out of character for him.

  I watch the line change, keeping my eye on the puck as it moves once again to our end of the ice. Our shots on goal tonight have been pathetic. We’ve let Detroit dominate all fucking night, and it’s starting to piss me off.

  Not that I could’ve done anything differently had I been the one in net. It’s simply one of those games that doesn’t go your way no matter how much you wish it would.

  “One minute left in the period!” the announcer yells.

  One minute left in the game, to be accurate.

  With a sigh, I get to my feet, watching as the team gives it all they’ve got. The puck gets caught up right in front of our bench, and I watch as the players fight one another to get to it. At this point, it’s futile, but I appreciate the fact that they give it all they’ve got.

  I glance up at the Jumbotron to see the seconds rapidly ticking by.

  Forty seconds.

  The puck gets free, and Valeri takes control, moving it down to the other end. He passes to Benne, who then passes to Spencer. Holding my breath, I watch as Spencer rears back and…

  Twenty-eight seconds.

  He shoots and goes wide.

  Valeri is right there. He gets his stick on the puck, passing it back to Benne, who takes a shot…

  Goal!

  Holy shit!

  Fourteen seconds left and Patrick Benne has scored.

  The crowd gets excited, but we’re still down by one. Even with a miracle, we won’t be able to get another goal in that short of a time, but I watch as everyone gets into position, the lines changing again.

  The puck drops, we take control…

  The buzzer sounds.

  Game is over.

  We lost.

  It’s disappointing, but nothing can be done about it.

  I wait for Locke to make his way over, then I tap him on his helmet. He played a good game, although he gave up three. Had it not been the end of the third period when that third goal got by him, Coach would’ve pulled him and put me out there. I’m glad he didn’t. Locke looks pissed and I know how he feels. No matter how hard you fight it, you can’t help but be disappointed with a loss, but in the same sense, you can’t carry it with you for long.

  The team evacuates the bench an
d heads to the locker room. For the most part, everyone is silent, which is par for the course. Everyone—even those of us not on the ice—takes it hard.

  “What the fuck was going on out there?” Benne questions, his attention on Spencer.

  “Nothin’, man. Leave it alone,” Spencer counters.

  “Leave it alone? That asshole was talking about your sister, man. How the fuck do you leave it alone?”

  Hold up.

  What?

  I make my way to Benne. “What do you mean, talking about his sister?”

  The kid spins on me, anger flashing brightly in his eyes. “Talking about how Spencer lets his sister get fucked by a woman beater.”

  I glare at Spencer, and he shakes his head. I know he’s trying to blow me off, but it’s not going to happen.

  “It’s nothing,” Spencer says to no one in particular when I close the distance between us.

  “Nothing, my ass.”

  “Let it go, Rush. He’s a dick and he was just running his mouth.”

  “No, that’s bullshit,” Benne argues. “You should’ve laid him the fuck out.”

  Or told me about it and I would have.

  “It’s bullshit!” Spencer yells back at Benne. “Leave it the fuck alone. The guy’s a dick. He was trying to piss me off. In case you didn’t notice, it fucking worked.”

  Well, that explained the penalties.

  Ellie

  Rather than sit around and wait for Spencer or Kingston and what I assume will be their pissy attitudes, I go straight home from the game. I came alone tonight because Bianca chose to spend the night with Gabby since tomorrow is a teacher workday, which means teachers work, kids get to stay home. I originally thought about asking Noelle to come along, but I’m glad I didn’t.

  For some reason, tonight’s game put me in a sour mood.

  After washing my face and changing into an oversized T-shirt to sleep in, I make my way to the kitchen and pour a glass of wine. Grabbing my phone from my purse, I head over to the couch, but before I can sit down, it buzzes in my hand.

  I take a sip and stare at the screen.

  Goalie God: Be there in ten if you’re up for company.

  I don’t even have to think on that. I instantly type a response.

  Ellie: Bring it.

  I glance down at my attire, debating on whether or not I should get dressed. Since Kingston has already seen me naked, I really don’t see the point. I’m completely covered—all the private places, anyway—so it seems like too much effort.

  Before I drop onto the couch, I unlock the door and shoot a text to Kingston letting him know he can come in when he gets here.

  Sure enough, ten minutes later, he’s walking in the front door, and I peer away from the television long enough to take in the sight of him. He’s wearing a suit, which is a requirement after the games. I know I’ve said it before, but holy smokes, the guy can rock a suit.

  I swallow hard and force a smile.

  I’m a little nervous now that he’s here. We haven’t been alone together since the morning we got down and dirty in my shower. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to react to him or what I’m supposed to say, so for the past nine days (yes, I kept track, so what?), I’ve been trying to play it cool. Luckily, he’s been as busy as I have, so we haven’t been in this position.

  Except now we are.

  “Hey,” he greets, closing the door before pulling off his jacket and tossing it over the back of the couch. His tie goes next and part of me wishes he’d keep on going.

  He doesn’t.

  “I’ve got Sam Adams in the refrigerator,” I tell him before he sits down.

  I sneak a peek at his ass when he pivots and goes to the kitchen.

  His ass is phenomenal. Probably due to all that squatting he does out there.

  When he returns, I move over to give him room next to me. Although I didn’t change, I did snag the blanket off the back of the couch to cover my legs. It’s not necessarily cold, but it’s comforting.

  “The game sucked,” I tell him frankly. I’m sure he knows this already.

  I probably wouldn’t have come right out and said that if he’d been in goal tonight, but since he wasn’t, I feel like I can be a little more candid.

  “It’s my fault.”

  I sit up and turn toward him. “How’s that possible? In case you didn’t notice, you were keeping the bench warm.”

  His response is a sexy smirk. “The team we played was antagonizing your brother.”

  We played Detroit…

  I’m pretty astute, so it doesn’t take long to put two and two together. “Because of that woman who said stuff about you?”

  Kingston nods.

  “Want to talk about it?”

  He turns to look at me. “Not really.”

  I’m not much in the talking mood, either, so I nod my agreement. “Since we’re not gonna talk, you have any suggestions on what we can do?”

  Another smile curls his lips and I feel heat course through me.

  “I’m thinking we can sit right here and watch television.”

  Not necessarily what I expected, but okay.

  “Now come here.” Kingston pats the cushion beside him.

  With my wine in hand, I pull the blanket with me as I scoot close to him. He wraps his arm around my shoulder, resting his hand on my upturned knee, and we proceed to watch television.

  When he originally told me he was coming over, I had intended to watch the highlights of the game, but opted not to. I figure he’ll have plenty of time to do that later. So instead, we’re watching Jimmy Fallon. Or rather I’m trying to watch, but my body is hyperaware of how close Kingston is and how good he smells. I can feel his body heat through the thin T-shirt I’m wearing, and my nipples have already hardened. Thankfully I’ve got the blanket to disguise my lust, but I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be able to hide it.

  “This is nice,” he whispers close to my ear.

  “What?”

  “Watching TV together.”

  Right. Nice.

  It is nice, but my mind has already moved on to all the dirty things I want to do to him. For some reason, I don’t think he and I are on the same page, which is a little disappointing.

  I mean, seriously, he hasn’t even kissed me.

  Maybe I’m the only one feeling this way.

  But why would he have come over if that was the case?

  Glancing over at him, I try to read his expression. More accurately, I try to read his mind.

  He must sense me staring because he cuts his eyes to mine. “Something wrong?”

  I shake my head. “Just curious why you’re here.”

  Kingston’s dark chuckle consumes me. “You don’t want me here?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  I shrug. “Nothing. This is … nice.”

  Wouldn’t you know it, Kingston smiles again and his attention returns to the television.

  And for the first time in a really long time, I’m disappointed that the man on my couch isn’t going to ravish me. Instead, Mount Rushmore—the goalie god—looks completely content to watch TV.

  Which totally sucks.

  But at the same time, it doesn’t.

  29

  Kingston

  Saturday, November 12th

  Although I invited Ellie to this function weeks ago, I’ve had second thoughts ever since. Not because I don’t want to be with her. I do. I want to be with her as much as I can; however, I expect tonight to go a certain way, and it’s probably not going to be pretty.

  I’ve run into the Withmores at least twice since they cornered me at the Penalty Box and got my full commitment to coming to this shindig. Every time we’ve chatted, they’ve mentioned their daughter, and the last time they even informed me that Cheryl was looking forward to spending time with me. According to Mrs. Withmore, Cheryl misses me. It’s bullshit, I know. Cheryl is the type of woman who likes attent
ion, as are her parents. Doesn’t matter what sort, as long as people are looking at her or talking about her, it makes her feel good. It would be fine if it was innocent, but Cheryl is also the type who likes to make a scene. And I get the feeling tonight will be her perfect opportunity. Especially with Ellie here with me.

  But … even though I know how this will go down, I can’t imagine not being able to spend some additional time with Ellie, so she’s here with me as we walk into the monstrous ballroom where the event is being held. I picked her up an hour ago, and she floored me when I walked in her front door. The woman wears a dress like no other woman I know. Tonight’s is a white silk sheath that glimmers and clings to every glorious curve and accentuates her generous cleavage, her olive complexion, and her long legs. Let’s just say, it was damned difficult to leave her house.

  “Do you know all these people?” she asks, walking beside me with her arm looped through mine.

  “Not a one,” I admit. “Other than the Withmores, that is.”

  Her smile widens as she stares up at me. “Then this should be fun.”

  Because I want to get that part out of the way, I scan the room and locate the mayor and his wife talking to another couple. Figuring I should probably announce my presence so they’ll give me credit for showing up, I make my way toward them, keeping Ellie close to my side.

  When a waiter passes, I grab two flutes of champagne and pass one over to Ellie. I personally can’t stand the stuff, but beggars can’t be choosers, and nasty alcohol is better than no alcohol when you’re surrounded by people whose only goal in life is flaunting how much money they have.

  “Ahh, Kingston,” Mr. Withmore greets as soon as he sees me. He turns to the other couple. “If you’ll excuse us.”

  I notice Mrs. Withmore’s gaze zoom in on Ellie. A flash of what I can only describe as disapproval darkens her face, but she hides it quickly with another plastic smile.

  “Ellie Kaufman,” I begin by way of introduction. “This is Mayor Withmore and his beautiful wife.”

  Mrs. Withmore blushes slightly.

  Ellie holds out her hand to them both. “It’s so nice to see you again.”

  Mayor Withmore looks slightly confused, and I wonder how obtuse you have to be not to recognize the woman who owns the sports bar you go to probably once a week.