by Cathryn Fox
“It says, sure what’s up?” Jess’s fingers dance over the screen as she responds for me.
“What are you saying?” I ask, panic welling up inside me. “So help me, if you’re telling him I need to get laid…”
The phone pings again and she holds it out for me to read.
“I asked—I mean you asked if you could stop by his place, and he said sure.”
“I don’t know whether to kiss you or choke you,” I say.
Jess laughs. “I think you’ll be thanking me.” She stands. “Come on.”
We make our way outside, and the rain has slowed to a light mist as I follow her down the street to her parked car. I hop in and question my sanity. Am I really going to ask Cocky Cannon to teach me the game?
Jess starts the car and the locks click as she pulls into traffic. Guess so.
“You remember where he lives?” I ask. I think back to when he bought the house. He had a big party to celebrate. I was invited but didn’t go. Why would I? Watching the hockey players with their bunnies was not my idea of a good time.
“Of course.” She jacks the tunes and sings along off-key as she drives. Twenty minutes later, she pulls up in front of his mansion. It’s a ridiculously big house for one person. I stare at it, and once again question my sanity.
“Go,” Jess says.
“I’m going,” I shoot back. I open the door, and smooth my hand over my mess of curls. Why the hell did I do that? It’s not like I’m trying to make myself presentable or impress him. We don’t even like each other.
I force my legs to carry me to his door, and I’m about to knock when it opens. My breath catches as I take in Cole, standing before me shirtless and barefoot, dressed only in a pair of faded jeans that hug him so nicely.
God, he is so freaking hot—and I never, ever should have come here.
As we stare at each other, like we’re in some goddamn Mexican standoff, I can’t stop thinking about his ‘cannon’. My gaze drops to the lovely bulge between his legs, and a moan I have no control over catches in my throat as Jess’s words come back to haunt me.
You two should hate fuck.
Thank you, Jess, for planting that idea in my brain. Christ, I should have choked her when I had the chance.
2
Cole
I can’t believe sweet little Nina Callaghan is standing on my doorstep staring at my package. She’s fucking checking me out—like it’s her job. Should I call her on that?
Nah that would probably just scare her off, then I’d never find out what she wanted from me. I have to say, I am curious. She hasn’t talked to me in a long time, and I’m a little surprised she even knew my number. We don’t like each other much, but I’m man enough to admit that I like having her eyes on me. Still, she can’t think for one minute that she’s going to get an eyeful and I’m not.
My gaze races over her, and I take in her long damp hair, a raincoat that hides her sensual body—I’d never forget her barely there curves—and a pair of jeans that are rolled up at the ankle. Her slim frame might be well hidden, but her sandals showcase sexy toes and pink-painted nails that tease and torment my thickening cock.
Hate each other or not, she’s as hot today as she was all those years ago. But she’s still my best friend’s kid sister, and that makes her completely hands-off.
“What’s up?” I ask, and her big blue eyes dart to mine. I can’t help but grin, a telltale way of letting her know she’s busted, and that I don’t mind at all. Hell, she can stare all she likes, as long as I get to do the same.
“I…uh…” She swallows and glances over her shoulder. I follow her gaze to see her friend Jess in the car, waving at us from the driver’s seat. I remember Jess. She was always hanging around Cason’s place when we were kids. I wave back to her, and Nina refocuses on me. She angles her head and clears her throat. “How are you feeling?”
“Is that why you’re here?” I ask. “Worried about me?”
“No,” she blurts out quickly. “I mean yes…I mean…I just…”
She’s definitely uncomfortable, and I’m not sure why. I practically lived at her house growing up. People used to think I was her brother, although my thoughts toward her were anything but brotherly, especially when I teased her and she got so spitting mad in response her cheeks would turn pink. My favorite color.
“What can I do for you, Nina?”
She bites on her bottom lip, and damn it, I like that, too. “I was going to ask…” Her breath comes out with a hint of frustration. She gives her head a little shake and takes a step back. “Maybe this was a mistake.”
Nina leaving is not an option, at least not before she’s said what she’d come to say. The fact that she’d come to me in the first place, considering how she doesn’t particularly like me, well… “You can ask me anything,” I say, more curious than ever, and wanting to help her out.
“It’s just…I could use your help with a little problem.”
And I could use hers with a big one.
I angle my body and lean against the doorjamb, anything to hide my thickening boner. “Yeah, how can I help you?”
“You see, my editor asked me to write about hot hockey players, and I thought maybe you—”
“You think I’m a hot hockey player?” I ask, purposely teasing her.
She opens her mouth and closes it again, clearly flustered. I’m not sure why I keep provoking her. Then again, maybe I am. Back in the day, I called her Pretty BallerNina. She was pretty, still is, and I meant it as a compliment. She never took it that way though, and always gave me the death glare. I could have stopped calling her that, just like I could stop teasing her now, but the only time she ever paid me any attention was when I was playing around, and yeah, I kind of like her attention.
“No, it’s not that.”
“So, you’re not here because you need me to teach you some hot moves for the sex scenes?”
Her eyes go round and her cheeks turn a bright shade of pink. “No,” she blurts out. “That’s not it at all.”
I lean toward her, catch her sweet scent, and she visibly quivers as I crowd her. “Then what is it?”
“I’m here to see if you’ll help me learn the game, teach me the rules.”
I grin at her. “Hard to believe you don’t know the rules, considering your brother is an NHL player.”
She shrugs. “I was busy figure skating.”
“I know.” I remember watching her. She was fucking amazing on the ice, had so much talent. Goddamn crime that a spill took her out. Broke my fucking heart, really. A concussion laid her up for six month—I know all about that, but unlike her, I plan to get back on the ice. Hockey is my life, the breath that fills my lungs.
Jess starts her car, and Nina quickly looks in that direction. Her phone pings and she grabs it from her purse.
“Shit,” she says. “I’m going to kill her.”
“Problem?”
She jerks her thumb over her shoulder. “Jess says she has some errands to run and she’ll come back for me.”
I push off the doorframe and we watch as Jess drives away. “I guess you should come in then.”
I step to the side and wave my hand for her to enter. She hesitates for a second, then breezes past me. I close the door and turn to see her glancing around the big entranceway.
“You have a beautiful home.”
“Thanks.” I look around, too. See what she sees, but from my perspective. This house is my sanctuary—no one other than my sister and a few select friends allowed. It’s the one place I can hide out, be myself, and let go of the fucking act. “Something to drink?”
“Water, please.”
My bare feet slap the tile as I walk past her, and she follows me into the kitchen. I grab the old pizza boxes from the counter and stuff them in the garbage.
“Wow, I love your kitchen. My whole condo would fit in here.”
“I don’t really cook.”
“Then why do you have such great equipme
nt?” As soon as the words leave her mouth, her gaze drops to my crotch again, and then she quickly turns away, but not before I catch her blush. “I mean, this stove. It’s a chef’s dream come true.”
“My decorator insisted I buy it.” Five thousand bucks for a stove seemed steep to me, but she assured me someday my wife would love it.
I scoff at that. Wife? Nope, not going to happen. My whole life, I was forced to live by the ‘nothing but hockey’ rule, thanks to my hard-ass prick of a father who told me I was nothing but garbage, soft like my mother.
He might be right, which is why I don’t let anyone know the real me, a guy who wasn’t even good enough for his own mother to stick around. It’s Cocky Cannon, The Playmaker, who women want to bed and the crowd goes crazy for.
Nina runs her hand over the stainless-steel appliance. “I would kill to have a stove like this,” she says.
I have a sudden flash of her standing at the stove, cooking for us, and before I can think better of it, I say, “You can cook on it anytime you like.”
Shit, what did I say that for? I turn from her and busy my hands getting two tumblers from the cupboard.
“Really?”
“I know you love to cook,” I say, making light of it. “I know you like to watch TV while doing it, too.” I gesture to the television built into the wall. I pretty much have one in every room. Another suggestion from my decorator, and one I actually liked. I can go from room to room, and never miss a play if a game is on.
“How do you know that?”
“I practically lived at your house, remember? You always made the meals.”
She frowns, and that’s when it hits me. She made the meals because her parents were always preoccupied with something else.
Hating that I brought back a hard memory for her, I open the fridge and change the subject. “Would you prefer lemonade?”
“Sure.”
I take the jug out and pour us each a glass. Her lips part as she takes a drink. Jesus those lips, soft, lush, so fucking kissable. How would they feel on my body, wrapped around my cock? I stifle a groan as that appendage begins to appreciate the thought as well.
Fuck. Three boners within minutes of opening the door to her might not be the best way to starts things off after all this time, even for me. I open the patio door leading to the pool.
“Let’s sit out. The rain stopped.” I walk outside. “Only in Seattle can you go from a downpour to hot and sunny in five minutes, right?”
“It’s this damn heat wave,” she says, and follows me out. As the sun beats down on us, her eyes drop. “You, ah, you should probably put on a shirt.”
Her gaze roams over my bare chest, lingering on the scars marring my body. Most think the wounds are from hockey. They’re not. I can’t remember a day when I hadn’t felt the sting of the jump rope my father forced me to train with. You need to toughen up if you want to play in the NHL.
The NHL was my father’s dream, not mine. Not that I don’t love the game. I do. It’s my entire life now. But as a pro player who never made it to the big leagues, my father was determined his son was going to play in the NHL.
Bastard got what he wanted, and I learned early on to shut down my emotions and present cocky to the world. It was the only way to get through the day. If I don’t feel, I can’t get hurt, right? That motto carries me through life, and into each game, and it’s that guy the crowd loves.
I rub my hand over one ugly scar and ask, “Why should I put a shirt on? It’s hot out.”
“You might…ah, burn.”
“I’m good.” I grab a bottle of sunscreen off my patio table and hold it up. “Want me to lotion you?”
“No,” she responds quickly as she peels her coat off. I grin as my gaze rakes over her thin T-shirt, Aerosmith emblazed across the front.
“What’s so funny?” she asks.
“Aerosmith,” I say. “That was a fun night, and I remember you buying that. You were fourteen. I can’t believe it still fits you.”
“You remember that?”
“Yeah.” I open the lotion and pour a generous amount on my chest, keeping to myself just how much I remember about her.
Nina drops into a chair, her eyes darting around the patio, looking everywhere but at me. What is going on with her? Is my near nakedness bothering her? Doing hot things to her? Damned if I don’t hope it’s the latter.
She’s hands-off, dude.
“So how exactly can I help you?” I ask.
She finally turns to me, and her gaze latches onto my hands as I finish rubbing the lotion in. She clears her throat and says, “I know you’re out with a concussion, and I don’t want to take up too much of your time, but if I could watch a couple games with you, and you could explain the plays and calls, some of the slang, it would really help.”
I shrug. “Sounds easy enough.”
Her eyes light up, and I don’t even want to think about how good that makes me feel. “Yeah?”
“Sure.” I reach for the button on my jeans. “Damn, it’s hot out here.”
Panic flashes across her pretty face as she points to my pants. “What…what are you doing?”
I gesture with a nod toward the pool. “Going for a swim. Why don’t you join me? Cool off a bit.”
“I don’t have a bathing suit.”
I do a mental search of the dresser drawers in the spare room. “I have one that might fit you.”
She folds her arms across her chest. “I am not wearing some puck bunny’s bathing suit.”
I grin, and she gives me the death glare. “Naked it is then.”
I unzip my pants and kick them off. A gasp catches in her throat.
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to get completely naked. I’ll keep my boxers on.”
“How is that any better?” she asks.
“You’ve seen me in my boxers many times, Nina.”
“Yeah, well, I never said I liked it.”
“If you don’t like it, then why are staring so hard?” I might be teasing her, but the truth is, her eyes are latched onto my package, and the hard part…yeah, that’s my current condition. What this girl can do to me without even trying is fucking crazy.
“I’m not staring.” She pushes to her feet and looks away. “This was a bad idea. I should go. Is there a bus route around here?”
“It’s not a bad idea,” I say softly, seriously, anything to stop her from leaving, and if she does, no way is she taking a bus home. She can borrow one of my cars. “Anything you need, Nina.”
She looks at me, her eyes cautious. “Anything?”
“Sure, but what’s in it for me?” I ask, calling on my alter ego, Cocky Cole Cannon, before things get too fucking serious. Nothing good can come from her seeing the real me.
She rolls her eyes. “I should have known you’d want quid pro quo.”
“I call it tit for tat.”
“Of course you do.”
“I like the sound of it better.” I turn and dive into the cool water because I really like the ‘tit’ part, and boner number four is about to make it obvious. Staying under, I swim to the shallow end of the pool and surface when I reach the wall. I brush my wet hair back and blink the water from my eyes. Nina is standing at the deep end, watching me. “Come on in, it’s beautiful. Just wear your underwear.”
“I’m not undressing in front of you.”
“I’ll turn around,” I offer.
“What do you want, Cole?” she huffs out.
“I want you to come in.”
“That’s not what I mean. What do you want for helping me? What are your conditions?”
I dive under and swim back to her. I surface and put my hands on her ankles. I give them a little teasing tug, threatening to pull her in clothes and all as I bounce in the water.
“Don’t you dare,” she says, and tries to back away, but I’ve got a good hold on her and she’s not going anywhere soon.
“You, on the ice with me,” I say.
She st
ops struggling, and her eyes go wide. For the briefest of seconds, I see fear backlighting her baby blues, but then she quickly blinks it away. “You have a concussion. You can’t skate.”
“When I get the all clear, I’m going to need a skating partner to help me out.”
She goes quiet for a minute, and I can almost hear the wheels turning in her pretty head. I know her well enough to understand she’s figuring she can get the game information she needs, then bail before I ever get back on the ice.
“Like someone to spot you?” she asks.
“Yeah, something like that.”
“Okay,” she agrees.
“But until that time, there is something else I’m going to want.” I let go of her legs, brace my hands on the edge of the pool and lift myself out. I stand over her, invade her personal space. Water from my hair drips onto her thin shirt, wetting it enough that I can see a hint of her lacey bra. Fuck, she’s hot—and if her brother knew what was going through my head, a concussion would be the last thing I needed to worry about. He’d rip my left nut right out of the sac. He’s not called Crazy Callaghan for nothing.
She lifts her chin an inch. “What?”
I cup her face, and I swipe my thumb over her plump bottom lip. Are having two balls really that important? “I get to kiss you whenever I want.”
3
Nina
I get to kiss you whenever I want.
Even though it’s been a full day since Cole dropped that ridiculous bombshell on me, I’m still fuming mad. I clench and unclench my fingers, wanting to hit something—mainly that devil-may-care smirk that crossed his too-handsome face when he laid out his terms.
“Cocky son of a bitch,” I mumble and pace around my small living room. From the sofa, Jess examines her fingernails, only half listening to me. Not that I blame her at this point. I’ve been ranting ever since she arrived over an hour ago.
“How dare he think I’m some puck bunny dying to climb all over his…stick?” Jess snickers and my gaze flies to hers. “What?”
“Nothing,” she says and waves her hand for me to continue.
