Not a Player (Laketown Hockey Book 1)

by A. J. Wynter

  “Seriously Kane, you don’t have to make me breakfast. I should get going.”

  He paused mid-whisk. “I thought that you had the day off today.”

  I shouldn’t have told him; it would’ve been the perfect excuse to get the hell out of his cottage.

  “I usually just have a smoothie after practice, that’s all. You know, something quick and easy. I don’t want you to go to all of this trouble for me.”

  Kane poured his scramble mixture into the hot pan and spoke a little louder over the sizzle, “For you?” He tapped the whisk on the bowl. “This is for me. What are you having?” His smile was infectious, and I fought to keep the sides of my lips turned down. “Just kidding.” He grabbed a wooden spatula from a pottery container on the counter and pushed the eggs around the pan. “But I can make you a smoothie if you’d prefer.”

  A giant grumble from my stomach interrupted the conversation and Kane raised his eyebrows at me.

  “Eggs are fine. Thanks.” I held my hand on my stomach as if it had the power to stop the growling. “Is there anything I can do?”

  “Grab some napkins.” He pointed to a drawer.

  Napkins? I lived with Dylan, and the idea of a young hockey jock using napkins seemed absurd. The drawer was filled with neatly folded linen napkins with little Adirondack chairs hand-embroidered on the corners.

  Once Kane had our breakfast plated, he handed me a polished silver knife and fork. “What no silver spoon?” I regretted it as soon as I said it. Sure, Kane had grown up a spoiled rich kid, but aside from being a dick about my coaching, he had been nothing but kind to me. “Sorry, bad joke.” I backpedaled.

  “Come on.” He jerked his head toward the balcony and opened the screen door with his foot. “After you.”

  “Wow.” The view of Lake Casper was breathtaking. “This is beautiful,” I paused, staring at what had to be a multi-million-dollar view.

  “Wait until you see it from the boathouse.”

  We ate our breakfast, complete with linen napkins, at a teak table on the roof of Kane’s boathouse. The breeze tickled my neck as I watched Kane unfold the napkin onto his lap. I followed suit, feeling ridiculous. Some nights Dylan and I ate off paper plates, and ninety percent of the time he was hunched over the coffee table, fork in hand, shoveling food into his face like a farmhand.

  “These eggs are delicious.” I took a bite, cutting a piece of bacon in half and resisting the urge to pick it up in my fingers, forked it into my mouth. I moaned as a combination of sweet and salty hit my tongue and then clapped my hand over my mouth.

  “It’s the maple syrup,” Kane’s eyes sparkled as he finished his breakfast. “I’ll let you in on a little hint, it’s my secret ingredient in almost everything.”

  “Okay, Buddy.”

  “Buddy?” he leaned back in his chair.

  “The elf, from, you know, Elf.” I smiled and pushed my plate to the middle of the table.

  “I love that movie.” He grinned like he had just scored the winning goal in overtime.

  “Of course, you do.”

  Kane wiped his mouth with his napkin and set it on the table. “What’s your problem, Jessie?”

  “My problem?”

  “Yes. I like Will Farrell movies. They’re funny. You know what, I also like Citizen Kane. And, the silver spoon thing? From earlier?”

  My seat suddenly felt hot. “I should go.” My hands were planted on the table as I prepared to bolt.

  “No, Jessie, sit.” Kane’s steely eyes were locked on mine and I eased back down onto the chair. A boat droned by in the background. “What’s your problem with me?”

  My cheeks burned against the cool breeze that came off the water. “I don’t have a problem with you, Kane.” I did have a problem with him, the kind of problem that involved my heart beating like I had just finished my long program whenever he smiled at me. The kind of problem that made me imagine what his hand would feel like wrapped around my waist, rather than his hockey stick. “You wouldn’t understand.”

  “Try me.” He rested his elbows on the table and leaned in.

  “You and I, Kane... we come from different worlds.”

  “So?” His brow knitted.

  “Laketown, this place. I can’t believe I’m back here,” I sighed. “Listen, Kane. You’re a cottager. I’m a Laketownie. Oil and water.”

  “That’s bullshit.” He shook his head almost imperceptibly and rolled his eyes.

  “Is it? How many locals do you know?”

  “Lots.” Kane smiled. “Dylan, Jack...,” his voice trailed off.

  “The guys from your team.” I counted two on my fingers. I pointed to his cottage. “I’ve never been in one of these old cottages, I’ve never been to the Casper Lake Yacht Club, or gone to a hundred-dollar Pilates class at the Casper Zen Center. I have to work. Townies clean the Zen Center; we don’t meditate there. We don’t spend our summer boating around in hundred-thousand-dollar wakeboard boats. I didn’t spend my nights going to exclusive boathouse parties.” I pointed at Kane and then back to me, “In the natural world, you and I would never be sitting across the table from each other.”

  “Oh, come on,” Kane scoffed.

  “It’s true.”

  “Do you ever think that you’re not friends with cottagers because of your salty attitude?” He smiled and tossed his napkin at me.

  The napkin landed on my hand and I batted it away. “I’m serious Kane. I get it. You can’t help that you were born with a silver spoon in your mouth. I don’t have a problem with you, per se, but all this?” I pointed to his cottage. “We are different.”

  “I’ve never judged you. Not once.” Kane’s voice was quiet. “I don’t care where you grew up or what your last name is, Jess. I think what you’re doing, all this judging – it’s not coming from a good place.”

  The tears came. I never plan on crying, no one does, but these tears caught me off guard. It wasn’t one lone drop either; my shoulders shook from the ferocity of a full-on gasping sob. “Oh, no. Jessie, I’m sorry.” Kane shot up from his chair and wrapped his arms around my shoulders. I pushed him away and wiped at the ugly sheen on my face.

  “Jess, I—”

  I held up my hand. My elbows slipped to my knees and I hung my head while I processed what had just happened. The weight of Kane’s warm hand on my shoulder brought me back to reality. I cleared my throat and stood up. “A cottager killed my parents. He was drunk, coming back from some party at the yacht club...”

  “Oh...” Kane’s voice was soft, and his hand slipped from my shoulder.

  “He was never charged, He got off on some technicality.” I stood and shrugged Kane’s hand from my shoulder. “I guess it’s that, that’s my problem.” I brushed at invisible crumbs on the thighs of my yoga pants. “I should go.”

  “Jessie, wait.” Kane’s fingers wrapped around my forearm. I turned to face him. “Come with me.” His hand slipped to grasp my hand. I resisted, but he tugged, and I followed.

  “Where?” I asked. He led me inside his boathouse. The sound of water lapping against rocks echoed louder inside the building as five boats rocked, moored in their slips.

  Kane let go of my hand and pulled at the lines securing a wakeboard boat.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “You’ve never spent the day lounging on my - what did you call it? -hundred-thousand-dollar wakeboard boat? That’s practically a crime.” He grabbed my hand. “Get in.” I glanced at the door to the boathouse as if looking for an escape. “Come on,” he urged. “It’s your day off.” I sighed and then kicked off my Birkenstocks and stepped into the boat, the leather of the seat squeaking at I sat down. Kane hopped in behind me and started the boat, its engine purred as he navigated into the main body of the lake. The air was chilly, but the sun was warm enough to keep me from shivering.

  “Hold on,” Kane smiled, turned his baseball hat backward, and pushed the throttle down. The wake flattened as we sped down Lake Casper at forty
miles an hour. Kane pointed out all of the islands and rattled off their names. Every time we passed another boater he smiled and raised his hand in a wave – and the other boater did the same.

  I released my ponytail from my fist and gawked at the cottages as we sped by. Most of them were like Kane’s, built at the turn of the century with sweeping screened-in porches and shuttered windows, but some new builds dotted the shoreline, the angled modern structures glinted like broken glass amongst the sea of evergreen trees.

  “Are you cold?” Kane pulled back the throttle.

  I realized I was hugging myself tightly and rubbing my arms. “Just when we’re going fast,” I admitted.

  Kane pulled his t-shirt off and tossed it to me. “Here.”

  His left, very round, very defined bicep twitched as he navigated the boat towards the shoreline. How did he have a golden tan this early in the season? I draped his shirt over my chest and the smell of sandalwood and Irish Spring soap sent warmth through to my core. I had to remember that he was a jock, a shirtless, backward hat-wearing, jock. As my eyes traveled over his body, he became more than that though. He was big, strong, and muscled. Stop it, Jessie I tell myself. He’s still a hockey player, exactly the type of guy I had avoided my whole life.

  A shiver ran through me. The kind of shiver that had nothing to do with the cold.

  A rock wall loomed beside us and Kane shut off the boat’s engine. The silence was deafening at first, but then nature took over, the water lazily lapping at the side of the boat, soothed me. “You’re up first.”

  “What?”

  Kane winked and pointed to a rope hanging from an onshore pine tree. “Are you joking? The water has got to be fifty degrees!”

  “Sixty-two today,” Kane grinned and laced his fingertips behind his head.

  “Let me get this straight,” I pointed to the rope. “You want me to swing on the rope of certain death, into water that could literally still have ice chunks in it?”

  “That’s a bit dramatic, and not the correct use of literally.” Like a giant cat, Kane hopped onto the edge of the boat and then leaped into the air in an impressive swan dive, slipping beneath the surface with barely a splash.

  I waited, but he seemed to be under for too long. I rushed to the edge of the boat and shielded my eyes with my hand, looking for air bubbles or any sign of him. “Kane?” My eyes scanned the surface of the water. “Kane?” This time my voice pitched higher. Shit. There was no sign of him. Do I call for help? My mind raced with worst-case scenarios.

  Did he hit his head? Did the shock of the water stop his heart?

  Save him.

  I didn’t think twice before jumping in – feet first. The temperature took my breath away and I fought for the surface, “Gah!” I screamed when I emerged. My breathing was rapid and shallow, but the need to save him surpassed my own body’s need to get out of the freezing water. I took a deep breath but before I dove, I felt something brush by my feet. “Eeeek,” I screamed. Kane emerged in front of me – and the bastard was laughing.

  “I knew I could get you in here.” His wet hair was plastered on his face and rivulets of water ran alongside his piercing eyes.

  “You asshole!” I flailed my arms and kicked my legs to get away from him, not caring if I connected with his junk – secretly hoping I would. “I thought that you drowned.” I swam as fast as I could to the platform at the stern of the boat. He followed and before I could haul my half-frozen body out of the lake, I felt the heat from his body behind me. He placed his hands on the platform on either side of me. He was so close I could feel the warmth of his breath on my earlobe. “Give it a second,” he whispered. “Your body will get used to it.”

  “I don’t want my body to get used to it,” I seethed through clenched teeth.

  He slipped his hand around my waist. “Relax, breathe into my arm.” I was stiff as a board. “Let go. I’ll hold you.”

  My teeth chattered and I could see my fingertips turning blue as they gripped the platform. “Trust me,” Kane whispered.

  I never trusted anyone, but Kane’s forearm tightened around my waist and I melted into him and for the first time in a long time, I let myself be held. My hands slipped from the platform and onto his muscled forearm. “Now take a deep breath in,” he instructed. I nodded and followed his instructions; and while the water didn’t miraculously get warm, it became bearable. The teeth chattering slowed and when it completely stopped, I turned my face towards Kane, resting my forehead against his scruffy jawline. The only sound that I could hear was that of our breaths, our chests rising and falling in sync.

  “Cryotherapy.” Kane squeezed me a little tighter. “It’s really good for you.”

  That’s when I felt it.

  It.

  Any question about whether or not Kane Fitzgerald was into me disappeared as I felt his very large, very hard erection between my thighs. I shivered.

  “Are you ready to get out?” he asked.

  Instead of responding, I spun to face him, holding onto his shoulders. Now our warm breath met in the inch between our faces. I knew that I shouldn’t, we shouldn’t – but he bridged the gap between our lips, and my breath hitched as his lips met mine. Kane kissed me gently at first, and I responded, our lips nipping and exploring each other, but he quickly grew ravenous. I wrapped one leg around his waist, arching into him, and I could feel his desire surge impossibly harder against me. I rocked my hips gently against his cock, gasping into his mouth and gripping his shoulders tighter as he kissed me harder.

  Then, just as quickly as it started, it stopped. Kane pushed away from me, launched himself onto the swim platform like a gymnast, and then turned and pulled me from the water by my hands. I hopped into the boat. Kane was half a step behind me and pulled my sopping shirt off over my head from behind before I knew what was happening. His lips were warm and hungry as he nipped at the space between my shoulder blades. I turned to kiss him again, but he stopped me. “You need to get warm first. I didn’t expect you to jump into the lake in your clothes.”

  My soaking wet yoga pants had gained a few inches in length. I felt the release from my bra band and then Kane’s massive hands as they slipped under the shoulder straps, sliding it off my arms. I turned to face him, brushing his abs with my desire-pricked nipples.

  “Oh. my god.” His voice was guttural. He cupped one of my breasts in his hand while the other squeezed my ass. He pulled me tightly to him then dropped to his knees and one by one, kissed my pink nipples while his hands kneaded and rocked my ass toward him.

  “Kane,” I moaned. My skin was cold, but I was on fire inside. My fingertips lingered in his thick hair while he kissed up my sternum. I arched my neck and closed my eyes, my fingers fisted in his hair as his lips made their way up my neck.

  He stood and cupped my cheeks. “You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever met, Jessie, I hope that you see it one day.” Then he kissed me gently and my knees shuddered. I held onto his forearms like they were crutches because there was no way I was going to be able to stand after that kiss.

  I didn’t want to be the one to break away and so I let my lips linger on his. When Kane pulled away, I brought my fingertips to my lips and tried to hold in my smile. “Lift your arms,” he whispered in and pulled his dry t-shirt over my head. I threaded my arms into the giant sleeves and the shirt fell to my mid-thighs. Kane bunched the hem of the shirt in his hands and slipped his fingers into the waistband of my pants.

  I grabbed onto his wrists. I wanted to feel the warmth of his hands on my ass, and it took all of my self-control to push pause on the sexiest moment of my life. My body was trembling, but even though I wanted it more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life, we couldn’t go any further.

  “I know,” he nuzzled into my neck as if reading my mind. “I just want to get you out of your wet clothes.”

  He was a hockey player, emphasis on player, but at that moment, I saw something different in him, and I released his wrists. As he
promised, he slid the wet fabric over my ass and then allowed gravity to take over. The yoga pants fell to the floor with a splashy thud and I stepped out of them. “Turn around,” I said and swirled my index finger in the air.

  He smiled, put his hand over his eyes, and turned away from me.

  My wet panties rolled as I slid them down my thighs. I looked over my shoulder at Kane as I squeezed them out over the side of the boat. He remained still; his hand clamped over his eyes. I ensured that the t-shirt was in place before whispering, “Okay.”

  He squinted as he lowered his hand and then started rummaging under all of the seat cushions. “There’s got to be some towels in here somewhere.” He found a blue and white striped towel and tossed it at me. “Here.” I caught it and I used it to squeeze the water out my hair. Kane wrapped another towel around his sculpted abs, tucking the end in under the V that darted out of sight below the towel. I smiled, as my eyes followed the V as far as I could. That chiseled lower abdomen muscle was what Paige liked to call the sex muscle, and Kane’s was the most defined I’d ever seen. He shimmied out of his shorts under the towel and his bathing suit joined my panties on the floor.

  The knowledge that there were only a couple layers of cotton separating our desire made me want to rip the damn towel off, and I wondered if he was thinking the same thing. The breeze fluttered the hem of the t-shirt before making its way between my legs. The sensation of the wind on my bare sex didn’t help the situation. I was more turned on than I’d ever been in my life and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want Kane to rip the shirt off and bend me over the back of his boat.

  “I’m going to dry off a bit,” he said while he reclined on the swim platform. “Join me.” He patted the space beside him.

  I eased down beside Kane and he pulled me closer so I could rest my head on his shoulder. The sun beat down, drying, and warming our bodies. “Kane,” I whispered. “This is a bad idea, isn’t it?”