Van

by Sawyer Bennett

  So cute.

  "Okay," Jules says as she nudges my left shoulder and leans in closer. "Now that it's just us girls, we have got to have more details about Van."

  Stephanie leans in from my right. "I've been dying to know too."

  I smirk, because they were both shocked as hell when Van and I showed up at the cookout a few days ago holding hands. Apparently, Lucas hadn't bothered to tell anyone, and the devious fucker did that intentionally so it would be awkward. I guess that was his way of getting back at me for him walking in on me naked with Van and a butt plug on the bed.

  At any rate, Jules, who has never been one to hold her tongue, said something like, "Holy shit, are you two dating?"

  Max's eyes just bugged out of his head.

  "Yup," was all I said to Jules's question, and then we were grilling and having a good time. It was a group-type of thing, so there was no time for girl talk, nor any time for Max to try to poke his nose in my business. It was laid back, casual, and a pretty damn good time. Van wasn't overly talkative, but he never is. He seemed content to stay by my side and look pleasantly interested in the conversation.

  "What do you want to know?" I ask Jules and Stephanie as my head turns left and right. Both women take the hint and scoot to the edges of their chairs and then lean in closer so we are more in a circle.

  "Everything," Stephanie whispers excitedly. "He's such a scary motherfucker, but damn if he isn't like a lamb with you."

  I look around, determine we're relatively private, and when I do, I turn back to them with a twinkle in my eye. "Okay...so the short story is I decided I wanted him, but he didn't want anything to do with me."

  "Because you're Lucas and Max's little sister?" Jules asks.

  "I think that was part of it, but also because he's just a cranky fucker as well as a loner, and couldn't offer me anything but sex."

  Never in a million years would I ever tell them that the real reason Van kept me at arm's length was because of his fears and insecurities over having a serial killer for a father. That's our secret.

  "Sounds like Lucas and me," Stephanie murmurs. "That's all we said it was...sex."

  "That worked out well," Jules says with a laugh and a nod toward Stephanie's engagement ring.

  "Must be something in the air," Stephanie agrees. "Cold Fury players dropping like flies; babies coming."

  "So how cute is little Milo Evans?" I ask Jules. She and Max dropped by Ryker and Gray's house to see the newest addition to the Cold Fury family.

  "Well, you've seen the pictures and they don't do him justice," she gushes, and if I'm not mistaking...is that a little wistful look in her eye?

  The pictures were so freaking cute. The Cold Fury players and staff have a private Facebook group. I'm not a part of it, obviously, but Van showed me the pictures a few nights ago. And yes, Milo was beyond adorable, but that did nothing to make my ovaries ache. I'm years away from wanting children.

  Besides, I'd have to be with a man who wanted the same, and while I don't know Van's thinking on that or if we'll even survive until the end of the play-offs, I'm going to take an educated guess that kids aren't high on his agenda.

  And I don't want to even talk or think about kids, so I decide to get the conversation back on the original track of what they asked.

  "Anyway," I say to get the attention off babies and back on me. "I made it perfectly clear to Van I was okay with just casual sex...as long as it was hot."

  Jules chokes on the sip of beer she'd been taking and rasps, "You did not!"

  "I so did," I say with a dismissive wave of my hand. "Admittedly, I had to work on him a bit with some outrageous flirting and teasing, but he eventually gave in. And when he did, let me just tell you, Van has it going on between the sheets. I'm talking freaky-deaky in bed. He's an animal. Insatiable. I don't think I've walked straight--"

  "Enough," Jules says with a slight grimace. "I do not need to know that stuff.

  "Screw that," Stephanie says with a grin, and leans forward more. "I want details. These freaking hormones make me perpetually horny."

  I snort and Jules snickers.

  I could tell these women details for days because it's all been so new, adventurous, and exciting. Van still thinks I'm shiny and he said I'd always be that.

  But I can't tell them the things I want to. That yes, when it comes to sex, no one will ever do it for me the way he does, and he has fulfilled every sexual fantasy I've come up with so far and stands at the ready to give me even more.

  Yet while sex started out as my focus, it's definitely not the priority anymore where my heart is concerned. Because, oh yes, my heart has totally been captured by Van Turner. I think the uninhibited sex helped to open both of us up to more. I mean, I didn't just one day decide to let a man pop my anal cherry. It took a certain level of trust in Van, and that was before I knew the real him. I was even falling for the closed-off Van, and I guess my heart recognized something that maybe wasn't all that clear to me at first.

  After he exposed himself to me, baring his soul and his fears, it was all over for me. I fell in love with Van Turner while sitting on his lap, on the couch, and listening to him admit to me his true reasons for staying closed off stemmed from the horrible ways in which he was treated as a young kid. He was afraid of stigma, and that is a god-awful fear to have.

  It's why his secret is so important. I would say there could be some catharsis in revealing, but why should he? He's taken the step to open himself up with me, and isn't that the point of working past his fears? What will the world knowing that Van Turner's dad is a killer and rapist do to help him?

  Not a fucking thing.

  My attention is taken by the players' return to the ice. I lock my eyes on Van when he steps out, his frame so much bigger than everyone else's out there. God how I love it when that huge body is covering me, or fucking me hard, or holding me tight.

  The players all skate in a loose form to get their legs warmed up again. Van whizzes by us, and the first time he does so, he doesn't look at me. This doesn't bother me because he's in game mode, and that's exactly where his head needs to be.

  But the second time he skates by, I'm stunned when he looks straight at me and gives a half smile, then a wink. It's such a little token he's offering, but it knocks the breath out of me to know I'm on his mind while he's playing in the Stanley Cup finals.

  "Aww...that's sweet," Jules murmurs with a little elbow to my ribs. "He wasn't overly touchy-feely with you at the cookout, so I was wondering."

  That's true. Van and I may have held hands walking in, but after that, he mostly stood by me or sat next to me when eating. I think he just wanted to stay quiet and observe, and that was fine by me. Besides, he made up for it later when we got home, and when I say made up for it, I mean he was handing out orgasms like they were Halloween candy.

  "So it's more than sex now," Stephanie says after witnessing me practically swooning in my seat when Van winked at me.

  "Yeah," I admit softly as my eyes follow him around the ice. "It's definitely more."

  "Poor Malik is being left out in the cold," Jules observes. "He's the last Fournier that needs to fall in love."

  "Not sure that will happen," I say with a chuckle. "Malik is all about his career right now. When he's not working, he's off doing high-adrenaline shit like skydiving and swimming with great whites. It would take a special woman to keep up with him."

  The second period is getting ready to start as the players take center ice for the puck to drop. I lean forward to focus on the game, and Jules and Stephanie readjust themselves to do the same thing.

  Chapter 23

  Van

  I lean against the bathroom doorjamb with my arms across my chest, one leg crossed over the other. Just casually watching Simone put on some mascara.

  It's amazing what women do to make themselves pretty. Or prettier I should say in Simone's case, since she's pretty much stunning when she rolls out of bed, even with her hair all tangled up and slee
p gunk in her eyes.

  But over the last several days, I've noticed more and more about her routines. I've never lived with a woman before other than Etta, but there was a boundary there. I never hung out in the bathroom and watched her get ready.

  I have that luxury with Simone, though, and since looking at her is a better pastime than pretty much anything else, I've taken to hanging around like this. She doesn't seem to mind and we always have easy banter going. Lately we'd been arguing over classic literature. I was a huge reader in high school, and still try to read at least one book a month when I have some downtime.

  Simone is a math and science geek, though, so she pretty much hated anything to do with literature. I tried to have a discussion with her about Beowulf, which I had reread about a year ago, and all I got from her was that she hated the movie.

  I hadn't even known there was a movie.

  Fuck, Etta's going to love her. In fact, Etta's probably conspiring now to pick out our china pattern, a thought that causes some minor chest palpitations.

  I told Etta about Simone and me the day after Lucas busted us, and then pretty much forced Simone to bring me to a family get-together. I figured the least I could do was let Etta know about Simone, since it's like her dying wish to see me in a relationship.

  And I did it for Simone too.

  I knew it would mean something to Simone to have me open up my life a little bit more to her.

  Etta had called while I had been folding some laundry at the kitchen table and watching some game film on my laptop. Simone was flipping through a magazine on the couch, chewing on a piece of bubble gum and blowing huge bubbles with it that made me have very dirty thoughts about the power of her mouth.

  I knew Simone would be listening in, and I kept my eyes pinned on her the entire time. After I got through catching up with Etta, she asked the invariable "Are you seeing anyone?" question, and this time, I was able to say, "Why, yes, I am."

  Etta shrieked, but Simone didn't give any indication she was listening. That statement in and of itself was benign. But pursuant to Etta's demand for details, Simone's eyes came to me while blowing a bubble when she heard me say, "Her name's Simone and she's an annoying little brat, but good thing she's sexy as hell, or I would have kicked her to the curb a long time ago."

  Simone just rolled her eyes, sucked the gum back into her mouth, and went back to reading the magazine. But she had a smile on her face, and it stayed there the entire conversation as I answered all of Etta's questions about my girl.

  When I hung up, Simone attacked me and we had sex on top of the kitchen table. I took that to mean she was insanely happy I told Etta about her. I had met her parents as well as her brother Malik when they came for games one and two, and they were as cool as I'd imagined they would be. Everything with that family is low drama and pressure, and it made for an easier transition for me into this whole relationship thing.

  Since that phone call, Etta has probably sent me three dozen texts about Simone. I've been driving her batty by giving her short answers or not responding at all, but fuck, I'm in the play-offs here and I don't have time to be gossiping with my meddling aunt.

  Luckily I'm hooking them up for game three tomorrow in Vancouver. I talked Simone into going to the game. Well, I went ahead and bought her a first-class ticket so she couldn't refuse. Luckily she's got some cool coworkers and a cool boss who are letting her switch some shifts so she can go to the all the games. After all, it's not often a girl has two brothers and a boyfriend in the Stanley Cup competition.

  And yes, the word boyfriend comes easy to me. I may not have ever used it in the context of myself before, but I do know the definition, and well, fuck...I fit it now.

  So Etta will make the short flight to Vancouver from San Francisco. She's going to stay at the team hotel, and while I'm at practice, she and Simone are going to hang out.

  Simone actually flies out this evening, while I'm leaving in about three hours. I hate that she just got all fresh and shit from a shower, because she has to know I'm going to mess her up again.

  If she forgot, I better clue her in.

  Stepping into the bathroom that smells of fruity shampoo and hot-as-fuck woman, I step up behind Simone, putting my hands on her waist. She's wearing nothing but a simple gray cotton bra and matching panties. Some of her most conservative lingerie and it still gets me hard every single time.

  I press my cock into her ass and she smirks at me in the mirror as she closes up the mascara tube. Her voice is dry when she says, "You're not getting any, Mr. Turner. I just got out of the shower."

  "Then you'll have to take another one," I tell her with such conviction that I'm going to get laid that of course I smirk back at her. Simone has never said no to me before, but to ensure her cooperation, I slip my right hand down the front of her panties. My middle finger pushes through the lips of her pussy, dips into her, and then drags back up over her clit. I do this a few times and she's leaning back against me, moaning and hips rotating.

  "Just a little quickie, right here," I murmur into her ear. "Bend you right over that sink."

  "I like that idea," she breathes out in a raspy voice. "Hard and fast too."

  "Christ, you're the perfect woman," I mutter, but just as I move to drag her panties down, I can hear my phone ringing with Etta's ring tone in the bedroom.

  Grabbing Simone's hand, I bring it right to the front of her panties and guide her fingers inside the waistband. "Play with yourself while I go answer that. Want to make sure nothing's wrong with her flight today."

  Her response is a moan, and my dick thumps when I see her hand go to work under the gray cotton material.

  "Fuck," I curse as I adjust my erection, stomping across the hall to my bedroom.

  I nab the phone off the bed and turn slightly to see Simone across the hall, one hand locked down hard onto the vanity to support herself, the other working between her legs. It must feel good, because her hips are flexing and her head is hanging low as if she can't even support its weight on her shoulders.

  Christ.

  Clearing my throat so I don't sound like Etta just interrupted me getting ready to fuck Simone--but not taking my eyes off the sight across the hall--I answer, "Hey."

  "Van," she says and just the absolute fear I hear in her voice has my erection deflating.

  "What's wrong?" I practically bark into the phone.

  Simone's head rears up as she turns to look at me with wide eyes, the tone of my voice reflecting back some panic at Etta's fear. Her hand comes out of her panties and she's walking across the hall into my bedroom, her eyebrows pulled inward with worry. She comes to a stop right in front of me, resting a hand on my hip for support.

  "I just got off the phone with a freelance reporter," she says and I realize she's crying. "I didn't tell him anything but I think he knows."

  "Calm down," I tell her softly, trying to sound in control of my emotions. "Deep breath and tell me what happened."

  My head practically spins at the implications of just those few words she's said to me, but I need to know what I'm facing.

  I hear Etta suck in a massive amount of air, and she blows it right out into the phone. Her voice is quivery but stronger when she says, "This man called...identified himself as a reporter and doing a story about Arco."

  This was not anything new. Over the years his case would get dredged up in the media for certain events like the ten-and twenty-year anniversaries of some of the murders, and things like that. Etta always got a call. She never talked.

  "Apparently word got leaked that he's terminal and not doing well at all," she went on. "At least that's how he initiated the conversation."

  "But you doubt that's why he called?" I ask her.

  "I told him I wasn't going to comment about it, and the minute I said that, he started asking about you. I told him I wasn't at liberty to discuss. But he kept pushing with more questions like if I knew how you felt about Arco dying and where you were now. I didn't want to hang
up because I didn't want to arouse any further interest, so I just kept telling him that you've never wanted to discuss this and I was going to honor your request."

  "Okay," I say, because this also doesn't sound too bad.

  "Then he asked where you were living," Etta went on. "And by that time, I'd about had it with him. I told him I was going to hang up. And just as I was getting ready to, he told me that the story would be running soon and it was your last chance to make sure all the facts were right."

  "Fuck," I mutter into the phone. "Did he say where it was running?"

  "No, and I'm sorry, sweetie, I didn't think to ask," she says apologetically. I know my eyes are hard and calculating as I look down at Simone and I try to give her a reassuring smile, but I'm failing miserably. "I sort of thought maybe he was bluffing about that, trying to induce you to call him or something."

  "But he said it was my last chance to get the facts right?" I ask her.

  "Yes," she says in a small voice.

  "He knows," I say confidently.

  "I'm so sorry, Van," Etta starts crying again. "I should have done a better job--"

  "Hey," I cut in on her harshly, and then soften my tone when she goes quiet. "You did everything perfectly. Best mom/aunt/friend in the entire world. Don't ever let me hear apologies out of your mouth again."

  "Okay," she says quietly, but at least more calmly.

  "Now...everything good for your flight to Vancouver?" I ask her to get her further refocused.

  "Yes, it's fine," she says. "I'm meeting Simone tomorrow for breakfast while you are at team skate."

  "Then all three of us will do lunch together," I remind her, trying to sound as if life is still just going along merrily despite this fucktacular news.

  "Yes, I can't wait," she says, and then tacks on, "But Van...what are you going to do?"

  I look at Simone's concerned expression and tell Etta, "I'm not sure. But I need to think about it for a little bit. I'll let you know, but in the meantime, text me the reporter's contact info."

  "Okay, honey. I'll talk to you soon. Love you."