Faking it with #41

by Piper Rayne

  Aiden comes over and pounds his fists on my shoulders. “Let’s go!”

  “Let’s go!” I pound back and we grab our sticks, filing out to the hallway.

  By the middle of the first period, I’ve had my eyes on Annabelle more than the puck.

  “Get your head in the game or your ass is on the bench!” Coach screams when I come to the bench during a line change.

  I’m not sure why I’m worried. Annabelle has her headphones on and she’s fast asleep in the carrier I gave Lena. Gavin won’t stop stealing Lena’s attention away from the ice and my daughter, and I’m growing irritated.

  “That her boyfriend?” Maksim asks.

  “No, just a friend, I think. He’s the writer for Sports Illustrated.”

  Maksim’s eyes light up. “Why didn’t you say so? I gotta up my game. Maybe get ‘Play of the Week.’”

  “That’s ESPN, dipshit.” I use a towel to wipe the sweat on my face.

  “Still, if I impress, maybe I’ll get an article for my actual talent. Not a PR piece because I have money.”

  I turn to Maksim, and he’s smiling and laughing. If he wasn’t my best friend, my fist would be in his face right now. But he and Aiden razz me all the time about my money. As if the two of them aren’t making bank themselves. I get it though. My trust fund is probably more than the team’s lifetime salary.

  “Seriously, he hasn’t stopped talking to her the entire game.” Maksim nudges me with his elbow.

  “I saw. They’re both boring as fuck, so I guess it’s a match.”

  Maksim raises his eyebrows but says nothing.

  I point at him. “Get your head in the game. Langley still has two legs to skate on.”

  “I think I’ve lost my edge with Paisley. She’s made me soft. The other day she asked me to paint her toenails.”

  “And?”

  “I did it,” Maksim says.

  “You didn’t.”

  “Hey, I got the best kind of thanks for doing it.”

  I shake my head.

  He points at me. “One day.”

  “Mark my words, I’ll never paint a woman’s toenails.” I concentrate back on the game.

  “I’d make that bet, but the chance of you ever really falling for a woman is slim.”

  I tilt my head at him momentarily before concentrating on the game. “What does that mean?”

  “You have daddy issues.” I see him shrug in my peripheral vision.

  “That’s a term for a woman, not a man.”

  “You have daddy issues. Shit, if your dad told you to have sex with a hundred different women, you’d probably go celibate.”

  “Richie? Celibate? Yeah, right,” Tweetie chimes in from the other side of me.

  Maksim is still staring at me, waiting for me to negate what he’s saying. But damn him, he’s right. Whatever my dad wants me to do, I do the opposite. And I know for a fact he wants an heir. I’m the last of the Jacobs name right now, and since Annabelle is a girl, I’m pretty sure he’ll pressure me at some point to have a boy.

  “I could totally be celibate. I didn’t have sex at all this week,” I say.

  “Because you’re taking care of Annabelle, but you won’t last a month.” Tweetie chuckles just as the referee on the ice blows his whistle.

  “Bullshit. My hand does a fine job.”

  Tweetie laughs, climbing over the boards to get on the ice.

  “Jacobs!” Coach yells.

  I scramble to get over the boards, tripping and losing my footing for a second before I recover and hope no one saw.

  “Nice fall,” Langley says, skating past me. That fucking prick.

  “Shamrock, you think Richie can go a month without getting laid?” Tweetie asks.

  “Find the puck and score for once instead of always slapping those gums together,” I say.

  And Tweetie wonders how he got his damn nickname. He’s constantly talking on the ice. Chirping at the other team is one thing, but he’ll have a full-on conversation out here with his teammates.

  “I give him six weeks,” Aiden answers, and my jaw falls open that my best friend doesn’t have faith in me. “And that’s being really generous.”

  The puck drops, and Aiden wins the draw and skates down the ice with it. Maksim is back in now, and Langley is flying down to catch up. Langley’s definitely a beat off tonight.

  “Six weeks?” I yell.

  “I’m done with this topic of conversation.” Just then Aiden scores.

  While he’s doing his celly, I tap my stick on the glass at Gavin. He looks up and I point at him. “Leave her the fuck alone. She’s watching my baby.”

  Lena gives me her classic expression when it comes to me—exhaustion and annoyance. She shifts in her seat so I can see Annabelle’s face, and I see that she’s asleep in her carrier still. Then Lena shoos me off with her hand and the audience laughs. I turn around to find us on the Jumbotron.

  Coach has his hands on his hips, staring down the ice at me, so I skate away from the boards. I skate ahead and Tweetie slaps me on the back.

  “Let’s make a wager. I bet you fall for that one.” He turns to skate backward, pointing down the ice toward Lena.

  “That’s never going to happen.”

  “You seem awfully concerned about that guy talking to her,” he says before skating away from me.

  “Just score a fucking goal,” I yell after him.

  He holds up his hands like, “Whatever, you know I’m telling the truth.”

  He doesn’t know jack. “Tell him, Roadie.”

  “What?” He stretches after not getting a lot of action down by him. What’s happened to Langley’s team? They suck.

  “Tell him how protective you are of your kids.”

  “You touch my kid and I kill you.” He laughs. “In all seriousness, I get you’re worried, but that PR girl could probably run a daycare. She’s just got that look about her.”

  My eyebrows furrow. “What the hell does that mean?” And why does everyone keep saying that?

  Aiden skates by me. “I thought we were actually playing a game here.”

  I skate after the opponent on Aiden’s back and push him into the boards. “Happy?”

  He shoots the puck at me. “Score for your daughter, shithead.”

  I smile and wink, taking the puck with my stick and circling past a defender. Tweetie, Aiden, and I get into our usual rhythm, and they get me the puck right as I skate past the goalie then around the net and score on the wrap around. The red light on top of the net comes on and the buzzer blares.

  I glance over my shoulder and see Lena and Gavin in deep conversation, not even noticing I scored. Well, that was for Mom, I guess.

  Tweetie laughs his ass off and points at me with his glove covered hand. “You’re jealous. Damn, Ford Jacobs jealous. I never thought I’d see the day.”

  “I’m not fucking jealous.”

  Tweetie follows me off the ice. “Then let’s make a bet. See how long you can hold out with no sex. I mean, if there’s no one you’re not actively going after, why not?” He gives me a shit-eating grin.

  “What could you possibly bet me that I’d want?”

  Both of our asses land on the bench with a thud.

  “You get bragging rights and can say you won. Please, everyone knows there’s nothing we have that you’d want.”

  I shrug because he’s right.

  “Unless you think you can’t do it,” Tweetie says.

  “Don’t try that reverse psychology shit on me. I can do it. There’s no one I want to sleep with anyway.” I’ll be so busy with Annabelle, I won’t have to deal with temptation, so this will be an easy win. “Okay, then six weeks.”

  “Two months,” Tweetie ups it.

  “Have you ever even gone two weeks without it?” I ask him.

  He laughs. “Right now, Tedi’s got me on a three-times-a-day schedule. She jokes that I’m her breakfast, lunch, and dinner.”

  Of course Tweetie gets a fucking nymp
ho for a girlfriend. Bastard.

  I take off my glove and put out my hand. Deal sealed.

  As if the universe knows, the buzzer goes off and the period is over.

  Thankfully, Gavin accepted my excuse to get out of dinner with him since I had Annabelle. He looked disappointed, but my plate is way too full right now to be dating anyone. It’s just not a priority for me.

  I find myself waiting with a bunch of fans and puck bunnies for the team to leave the arena. I’m so annoyed I have to be here, but I’m happy it’s dark out so no one really notices the baby carrier I have. Especially since I purposely set myself to the back.

  A few players come out, and I recognize Aiden and Maksim in the small group. They come over to me, a few bunnies annoyed that they don’t give them the time of day.

  “He’ll be right out. Coach wanted to talk to him,” Aiden says.

  “Thanks.”

  They nod and continue toward their cars.

  “Carmelo’s?” Maksim asks.

  “Fuck no. I’m gonna go bury myself in Saige tonight.”

  “Thanks for the TMI,” Maxsim says.

  Aiden laughs, sliding into his SUV, then drives out of the lot.

  “Is that Ford Jacobs’ baby?” A woman pulls my attention away from the parking lot.

  I wrap my arms around the carrier and the baby inside. “Um…”

  “It is!” The woman who’s practically dressed like she’s ready for the beach waves her friends over. “This woman has Ford Jacobs’ baby!”

  Before I can blink, a bunch of women swarm me.

  I tightly hold the carrier, swatting away hands as they try to pull down the hood to get a look at her. “Stop it!” I will cut a bitch if they even think of touching Annabelle.

  “Come on. He’s been so hush-hush,” another woman says.

  “God, I wish I had his baby,” one woman whines.

  “What an idiot that baby mama is for running off,” another says.

  “Who would leave Ford fucking Jacobs?” a woman calls, trying to peek over all the women’s heads.

  “Listen—” I put up my hand.

  “Are you dating him?” a woman asks and snaps a picture, blinding me momentarily.

  “No. I’m his publicist and please step back. She’s sleeping.” I take a step farther back, but they just follow.

  “Oh, how darling,” one says and comes over to the side.

  I whip around the carrier, putting a hand inside to keep Annabelle calm. “Please just go back to waiting for whoever you’re waiting for.”

  “I had my eyes on Ford. I figured he’d need a nanny or two.”

  “Hell, I was going to apply for the job.”

  “And wear a slutty outfit every day,” someone else says, and all the women laugh.

  I get them wanting to sleep with Ford. I mean, my libido is off the charts every time he enters the room, but to wait outside for him to come out and hope he picks you out of a group of women? Have some self-respect, ladies. You deserve so much better than that.

  “Sorry, I’m only taking one girl home tonight.” Ford slides through the group and I swear the women’s hands touch any part of him they can reach. He flawlessly leads me through the crowd with his hand on my lower back. “Let’s go.”

  The minute we’re clear of the group, women yell after him.

  “Daddies need love too,” one says.

  “Don’t you want company after she falls asleep?” says another.

  Ford ignores them, walking us to a Mercedes I didn’t know he owned. The only car I knew of him having in Florida is a restored Bronco.

  When he clicks her into her car seat, Annabelle wails.

  He looks over his shoulder at me, back at the women, and blows out a breath. “Do me a solid and sit in the back with her while I get us out of here?”

  I nod and get in the back seat, running my knuckles down Annabelle’s cheek, trying to calm her.

  “Thanks.” He buckles in the front.

  The women have migrated away from the area where the players come out and are only inches away when he squeals his tires and leaves the parking lot. I refrain from mentioning anything about his driving with Annabelle in the car. He had to pick between two evils. Once we’re on the highway, he slows.

  “So, is that a usual occurrence?” I ask.

  “The women?” His eyes catch mine in the rearview mirror.

  “Mmmhmm.”

  “Yep.”

  Annabelle plays with the little stuffed cow hanging from the top of the car seat while I stare out the window, not about to ask how many times he’s partaken in those women.

  “They’re called puck bunnies, and they hang around wherever we are with the hopes they’ll be picked up by one of us.”

  “I’m not an idiot. That was easy to figure out.”

  “And I bet you assume I pick one or two up a night.”

  “It’s really none of my business,” I say, wanting this conversation to end. He always beats me with his snappy comebacks and I’m not in the mood to second-guess everything I say on the plane ride home.

  “Come on. Tell me. How many women do you think I bring home during the season?” He seems oddly amused by the blush filling my cheeks, and I really want to flip him off for getting off on making me uncomfortable.

  I turn to look out the window. “I don’t want to have this conversation.”

  “Come on. I can take it.”

  I shake my head.

  “Are you a prude?”

  “What are you, fourteen?” I scowl.

  He shrugs. “Some people probably think my maturity level never developed past that age.”

  I tend to agree with them. “Just take me to the airport, then I’ll be out of your hair for the moment. I’m sure you can’t wait for that to happen.”

  He blows out a breath. “I can’t believe you won’t answer the question. This is your moment to tell me exactly what you think of me.”

  “You’re my boss’s son. I’m not going to degrade you.”

  “Degrade me? So you must think the number is high, huh?”

  I shake my head. “The last I checked, cameras don’t lie.”

  We both know I’m referring to all the pictures of him out and about with various women.

  He laughs and points at me through the rearview mirror. “There you go. Keep going. Give me a number.”

  “I don’t really care to.”

  “Sure you do.”

  “I really don’t.”

  Silence commences for a moment, and I cross my fingers that he’ll let the topic rest.

  “Tell me your number if it makes you feel better.” We’re stopped at a light, so he looks directly at me through the mirror.

  I hope the darkness of the interior hides the fact I’d never in a million years tell him my number. My mortification would be complete. “No.”

  “It’s okay if it’s low. Actually, most guys would prefer low.”

  I stare blankly at him. No way he just said that. First of all, why would it be cool if a guy has a high number and a girl doesn’t? But more to the point… “Why do you assume my number is low?”

  “Well, you’re certainly not dressed like you want to have sex tonight.”

  “Because I don’t.” Okay, not entirely true. I can admit to thinking about what it would be like to sleep with Ford, but not in any real way. I must be losing it because I actually look down at myself to see what I’m wearing. A pair of pin-striped pants and a blouse. It’s presentable and professional and there’s nothing wrong with it. “Are you comparing me to your bunnies who dress like they’re in the tropics regardless of the temperature outside?”

  He laughs. It’d be interesting to know how he wants Annabelle to dress when she’s older. “I’m just saying, you never show your legs. It wouldn’t kill you to show some cleavage now and then.”

  “For who? Do you want to see my cleavage?” I feel my body temperature rising. I hope we reach the private airport quickly. “Do you know
how sexist you sound? Should I complain that you’re not showing off your groin cleavage whenever I see you?”

  “Groin cleavage?” His forehead wrinkles.

  “You know, those hip indentations arrowing down toward your junk.”

  “Babe, what I have is not even close to being junk.”

  I clench my hands, wanting to scream. “Probably diamond-encrusted,” I mumble to myself.

  His laugh says he heard me. “I’m really enjoying you this trip.”

  “Wish I could say the same.”

  He turns into the small airport that his family jet flies in and out of. Thank goodness I’m seconds away from being out of this car before I go ballistic. Not that I think Mr. Jacobs would fire me. I’ve seen him go ballistic on his son quite often. Ford parks the car and my hand flies to the door handle.

  “I’m just messing with you. Except the part about my dick not being junk. If I wasn’t on a sex diet, I’d show you.” He winks.

  I shake my head and open the door. “You’re unbelievable.”

  But as I stomp toward the small office where the pilot is supposed to be, Ford half exits his car. “I meant that as a compliment.”

  I raise my hand in a dismissive gesture. And I have to admit to being pretty proud of myself for not raising my middle finger.

  When I step into the small airport office, the pilot isn’t there. My shoulders slump and I pull out my phone, seeing a message from him. How did I miss his call? Quickly, I dial up my voice mail.

  “Hey, Lena, I’m sorry, but there’s a problem with the plane and the mechanic doesn’t have the part, so we’re here until tomorrow. I’ll call as soon as I know something concrete.”

  I end the call and plop down onto a seat. I didn’t even pack a bag because this has never happened before. Then I spring up out of my seat. Shit. I race out the door and see the taillights of Ford’s Mercedes in the distance. I fumble with my phone to press on his name so I can catch him before he gets too far.

  “Second thoughts? I suppose I can show you, but you can’t touch.” He laughs and my teeth clench.

  “I need you,” I say between gritted teeth.

  “Say it a little breathier, more seductive.”

  “Ford!”