by Blake Wilder
I didn’t do more than sex in a single night…or sometimes the occasional weekend if the chick was hot.
Charley deserved better than that.
“We’re on our way down,” I said, rising from the bed.
So the new game plan was the original one. I’d take Charley to the wedding—as a friend. We’d eat, drink, dance, prove to her ex that she wasn’t crying her heart out over him and then I’d bring her back here and say goodnight.
No harm. No foul.
Seemed simple enough.
So why did I suddenly feel like I’d just face-planted against the ice?
Four
Charley
Bella had somehow managed a very effective cock block, though I had no idea how. And not that I’d ever tell her that. Alex was her brother, after all, and while she’d told me to make the most of tonight, I knew that that did not include fucking him.
More’s the pity.
Lindsey and Roger had opted for a private wedding ceremony with just their parents in attendance. That had happened earlier this afternoon, allowing them time to take pictures and relax before this blowout party.
There was a sit-down dinner planned, followed by a band and dancing. The soft strains of canned classical music drifted from the open doorway of the ballroom.
Alex hadn’t touched me since leaving my hotel room.
He’d been about to kiss me when we were sitting on the bed. I was sure of it.
So I wasn’t sure what to make of this sudden about-face of his.
We were nearly to the ballroom when Alex grasped my hand, halting our entrance.
I turned to face him and struggled to catch my breath once more as I looked at him. My attraction to him was off-the-charts right now. We’d been in each other’s space less than twenty minutes and said less than two hundred words. I needed to get a grip on myself if I stood a snowball’s chance in hell of making it through the night without making an ass of myself.
I’d made it pretty clear I wanted him to kiss me.
And he’d pulled away.
Ben’s rejection was too fresh. I couldn’t handle it if Alex rejected me too, which drove home why I should go back to plan A.
A just-friends pity date with Alex, and then tomorrow I’d focus on getting my shit together.
“Hold on a second, Charley,” he said. “There’s something I need to do.”
“Wha—”
Alex gripped my face in his hands and kissed me. And not some quick buss, but a real kiss, complete with open mouths, closed eyes, touching tongues, and hot breath. His big hands cupped my cheeks, turning my head slightly so he could deepen the kiss.
Was there anything hotter than a guy holding your face like some sexy movie star in a romantic comedy?
His callused fingers were gentle as he caressed my face, as if I was made of glass. No man had ever made me feel delicate, fragile, but that was how I felt now with Alex.
The word cherished drifted through my mind, even though I wasn’t usually prone to fanciful bullshit like that.
Alex pulled away first and I had to blink a few times before the white-hot static in my brain cleared.
I’d never been kissed like that.
Never.
Fuck plan A.
Plan Fuck Alex was back in full swing.
I was two seconds away from suggesting we ditch the wedding and go back to my room, but Alex was faster.
He gave me a shit-eating grin as he wiped remnants of my lipstick from his mouth. Then, he ran his thumb over my kiss-swollen lower lip. “You look like you’ve just been properly kissed. There’s no way Ben’s not going to notice that.”
Before I could reply, he wrapped his arm around my waist and led me into the ballroom.
The kiss had been part of this so-called game plan of his. He’d only done it to make Ben jealous.
If my brain cells weren’t on system overload, short-circuiting from the kiss of the century, I might have appreciated that.
Instead, I felt the uncontrollable urge to either cry or to push Alex into a chair, straddle his lap and dry hump myself against him until I came.
Wow.
Alex gave me a funny look and I realized I’d said “wow” aloud. He leaned closer, his lips almost touching my ear when he said, “That was only the first of many. I plan on kissing you a lot tonight.”
“Okay,” I said stupidly.
I tried to mentally focus, but I was still a bit light-headed. Tequila wasn’t going to be necessary tonight. I was already drunk from one kiss.
Wasted.
Trashed.
I liked it.
Bella waved, catching our attention, as she pointed to her table. It looked like everyone else had already arrived. The only two empty seats were next to Bella and her date, Josh.
Lindsey must have done some quick last-minute fixes to the place cards, God bless her.
I was almost to the table when I caught sight of Ben and Beverly. They were two tables away and he was definitely watching my entrance with interest. Alex must have spotted him as well because he used the arm curled around my waist to turn me toward him, giving me another quick kiss. This one was almost chaste compared to the one in the lobby, but it still packed a punch.
He winked at me when we parted, then we joined the others at our table. I sat next to Bella, Alex claiming my other side. She leaned over to us, grinning conspiratorially.
“Well played, brother dear,” she said, referring to his kiss. Then she looked more closely at me and her eyes narrowed for a second.
Bella knew me way too well, and while I tried to act nonchalant, I was pretty sure she saw straight through me.
Alex had scooted his chair close to mine. So close our legs were touching from hip to knee. He wrapped his arm around the back of my seat, his fingers toying with my hair.
Alex was a big guy, burly, and muscular. At five foot eleven, I was used to feeling like the Amazon in the room, but at this table, with him, I’d never felt so enveloped by a man. I almost felt tiny, and that never happened.
Bella had tried to get me to wear heels tonight with my dress, but I’d rejected the suggestion.
For one thing, I didn’t own any. Ben liked to say he was five-eleven too, but if he was a smidge over five-nine, I’d eat the tablecloth. For the past three years, I’d invested solely in flats because his fragile ego couldn’t quite handle a taller girlfriend.
And secondly, and probably more important, I didn’t own heels because I couldn’t walk in them. Not without risking serious injury anyway. Put me on ice skates and I could fly. Heels? Disaster in the making.
“How tall are you?” I asked Alex.
Alex gave me a funny look for a second, then acted as if my off-the-wall question was normal. “Six-four. Why?”
I shrugged. “I’m not used to feeling small next to a guy.”
He grinned, wrapping his arm around my shoulders to pull me toward him. He placed a friendly kiss on top of my head. “We fit together perfect.”
I tried not to make too much of that comment, tried not to imagine how those pieces might fit together even better if we were naked and in bed.
“Laying it on a bit thick, aren’t you?” Bella murmured, speaking only loud enough that the two of us could hear her.
“This was your idea, sis,” Alex reminded her.
I shot her my attempt at an innocent look, but I fell short. She narrowed her eyes in warning, though it was Alex she was looking at, not me.
The meal arrived as we made small talk with the others at our table. In addition to Bella and Josh, we dined with two married couples from our hometown. I knew Kayla and Rich from school, while Andrew and Beth were older, little more than acquaintances.
I wasn’t holding anything back like I’d done in the past year with Ben. I laughed—okay, snorted—when Josh told a joke, Alex cracked up at the sound and told me it was adorable.
I reverted back to my native language—cursing like a sailor—rather than measuring e
very word. Alex didn’t even seem to notice my liberal use of fuck and shit. Probably because he spoke the same language.
And rather than letting Ben get into my head with his constant reminders that I should watch what I ate so I didn’t gain weight, I stole the last roll in the basket before Alex could grab it, covering it with soft butter.
“A nice person would share that,” he said.
I gave him a funny look. “We’ve known each other since elementary school. Have you ever once used the word nice to describe me?”
He sighed. “Enjoy your roll.”
I laughed, then split it in two, offering him the smaller half.
“Tough break about the game, Alex,” Josh said when the salads arrived.
That didn’t take long. I reached under the table and squeezed his knee, meaning the touch to be comforting. Alex caught my hand and held it there for a second before guiding it higher on his leg.
I tried to pull my hand back, blushing furiously, but Alex had a firm grip and he wasn’t letting go.
Another inch or two and I was going to hit pay dirt, whether I wanted to or not.
Oh, who was I kidding? I wanted to.
Sadly, Alex lifted my hand up at the last second, kissing my knuckles. I could tell from the mischief in his gaze, he enjoyed teasing me.
“If you’ll excuse me for a second,” Alex said, rising. “I think I’ll pop over to the bar for a drink. Be right back.”
We both had full glasses of wine in front of us, so I figured the shots game was on.
That was confirmed when he returned with two shot glasses of tequila.
“Hey,” Josh whined to Bella. “You said I couldn’t do shots until after dinner.”
Bella rolled her eyes, not bothering to acknowledge him. Then she rolled them again when Alex and I tapped the glasses together, then downed them.
Neither of us winced, which told me we were on equal footing when it came to tequila.
I’d just picked up my fork to continue eating my salad, when I caught sight of Ben, looking at me. He was scowling, no doubt disgusted by what he deemed my unladylike behavior.
What a prick.
It took every ounce of restraint I had not to flip him the middle finger.
Then it occurred to me how different tonight would be if I were still with him. I’d bought a very boring, very conservative little black dress for this party about a month ago, but I’d unpacked it after Ben broke things off, opting instead to wear the emerald green wraparound maxi dress I’d bought on a whim after the release of my first book. The thing had hung in my closet for years with the tags still on. I’d been looking for the perfect occasion to wear it, but it hadn’t come.
At least not with Ben.
Not until tonight.
Given the way Alex’s eyes kept slipping to my cleavage, I’d say he liked the plunging neckline. And more than a few times he’d run his fingers over my bare skin, toying with the laces that crisscrossed low on my back.
I knew Alex was just playing a role, pretending he couldn’t keep his hands off of me because of Bella’s request, and maybe because we’d been buddies back in school.
Buddies.
Yeah, I planned to erase that word from both of our vocabularies tonight.
“You still writing those kids’ books, Charley?” Kayla, who was sitting between Alex and her husband, Rich, asked.
I nodded, but before I could say more, Bella, who was way too old to be as into Tomboy Tess as she was, took over the conversation.
“The next book comes out in a month. Her publisher has lined up several book signings for her in the Midwest.” Bella paused and winked at me playfully. “At malls,” she added. “It’s the only surefire way to get Charley into a mall.”
“Very funny,” I murmured.
“The last book, Tomboy Tess Takes Down the Bully, has been on the USA TODAY bestseller list for twenty-two weeks straight,” Bella added.
“Tomboy Tess,” Alex said, his hand resting at the nape of my neck in a very possessive, proprietary, pussy-melting way. “Autobiographical?”
I was used to being teased about that, and in truth, a lot of Tess’s experiences were mine. I’d started writing the first Tess story my senior year in college. My professor showed it to a friend he had in the publishing business, who’d claimed there were a lot of little girls out there who would definitely relate to Tess. He’d offered me a contract, published the book, and since then, I’d discovered just how un-alone I was in this world when it came to preferring hockey skates to heels, an ice-cold PBR to wine, and Sports Illustrated to romance novels.
“Maybe a little,” I responded.
“Maybe a lot,” Bella countered. “You and I are in the books,” she said to Alex.
I mentally groaned, wishing Bella hadn’t confided that tidbit. One of the reasons I’d included the next-door neighbors, twins Billy and Bonnie, was because I was one thousand percent sure Alex Stone would never pick up a Tomboy Tess book.
Now…he looked way too intrigued. Curious.
“I’ve told you a million times, Bella. Those characters aren’t you and Alex.”
And just like the million times before, Bella dismissed my assertion as the hogwash it was.
“So this Billy,” Alex began, shifting even closer to me, something I would have thought impossible a moment earlier. If he kept drawing me deeper and deeper into his personal space, I was going to be on his lap before dessert arrived. “I’m assuming he’s the playground heartthrob? King of the ice?”
Bella gave a disgusted sniff. There was one concession I’d made to the editor’s requests that Bella did not agree with. “King of the pitcher’s mound,” his sister said, the words sounding as if they tasted bad to utter.
“Pitcher’s mou—” Alex frowned. “You’ve got me playing fucking baseball?”
“Billy isn’t you,” I insisted, praying to every god and goddess in existence that Alex never picked up one of my books and called me out for my lie. “He’s a fictional character.” And pretty rock-solid proof that somewhere over the past eight years of cheering for Alex as he played in college and then the NHL, as well as listening to Bella’s stories about her brother’s antics from the road, my attraction to him had started waaaaay before tonight.
Billy was Tess’s secret crush. Because even though she and Billy were buddies who played on the same little league team, deep down inside, Tess was still a girl, hoping to capture the attention of a sweet boy, someone who would see past the skinned knees and braces and like her for who she was.
That was the part that seemed to resonate with my young tomboy fans, the part they mentioned the most in their fan letters. Tomboys were never without countless buddies, but that didn’t make them feel less lonely when the pretty little girlie girls in their class got all the Valentine’s Day cards and secret admirer notes.
Bella scoffed and probably would have said more if I hadn’t shot her a narrowed-eye look that screamed “shut up!”
“Baseball,” Alex murmured with the same level of disgust as his sister.
I giggled. “Billy’s a great pitcher,” I said, teasing him. “Best in the whole fourth grade.”
Alex grinned at me for a second before his gaze changed to something else, something that had my heart skipping a few million beats. His smile faded and his expression turned soft.
“You really are beautiful.”
It was the first time in my life I’d ever felt…seen.
Five
Alex
I was surprised by how much fun I was having. Ordinarily, I would have credited the glass of wine—and four tequila shots—during dinner for this warm, relaxed feeling that had settled over me. Ever since I cost my team that game, since that goddamned foul, I’d been wound up tighter than a drum, my shoulders knotted, my jaw permanently clenched.
Tonight, all of that was gone.
And it wasn’t because of the alcohol.
It was because of her.
Charley.
>
I’d spent most of my NHL career surrounded by plastic Barbie dolls, women who excelled at being fake. Charley was the same girl I remembered, the one who laughed the loudest, told the funniest stories, and sprinkled the word fuck into her sentences like some people used salt on food. She didn’t hold a damn thing back and it was refreshing.
Appealing.
I’m pretty good at small talk, but it’s not something I like to do. When I realized we’d have to spend the night with two couples who were more acquaintances than friends, I started trying to figure out how I could extract myself—and Charley—from the reception.
Then my sister caught my eye and I’d replayed her guilt trip on the phone earlier and girded my loins.
While the sensible part of me understood Bella’s concerns and knew I couldn’t—okay, shouldn’t—sleep with Charley, the stronger, less reasonable part of me—yes, my dick—was not in agreement.
It really wasn’t in agreement.
Especially when the band started playing. We watched the first dance and the father/daughter dance, then the floor started filling up with other guests. Bella and Josh were up in an instant, the other two couples at our table following suit.
Charley blew out a long, slow breath that cued me into her feelings about dancing.
“Not a fan, huh?”
She shrugged. “Two left feet.”
“I find that hard to believe. You can’t skate as well as you do and not have rhythm.”
“I was on those skates pretty much every waking hour when I was a kid. Hell, I’d have slept in them if my parents would have let me. There’s no music in skating—well—real skating anyway.”
I chuckled. Charley clearly hadn’t outgrown her disdain for figure skating. Something her mother had instilled in her at a very young age. Not because her mom hated it, but because she’d thought figure skating might be a better outlet for Charley’s love of the ice. Some parents set a timer to force their kids to practice piano, Charley’s mom dragged her—kicking and screaming—to figure skating lessons for the better part of second grade. In the end, Charley—with the help of her dad—won the battle, and from that point on, Charley was a hockey player.