A Favor for a Favor

by Hunting, Helena

  “Not a very good one if I can still see your nipples through the fabric.”

  I release him from the stretch. “Would you look at that? You managed to hold that for thirty seconds with only a minimal bitchfest about something.”

  “Well, you were crushing my dick, which is trying to react to your nipples, so I think my bitchfest is warranted. Are we done with the torture for tonight?”

  I eye his crotch. “I think we’ve probably both had enough.”

  He gets up off the floor with only the smallest of grunts. He glances at the clock. “Shit. The game’s starting.” He rolls over the back of the couch and stretches out along the length of it. He grabs the remote from the coffee table, turns the TV on, and flips channels until hockey comes on. Minnesota is playing Vegas, and Seattle is facing off against them next week. It will be Bishop’s first game back on the ice.

  “Make yourself comfortable.” I roll up the yoga mat and tuck it away before I head for the kitchen.

  “Wanna grab me a beer? There should be a few left in there from the weekend.”

  “Anything else you want? Should I make you a sandwich? Maybe a fruit and cheese platter?”

  “Nah, I’m good. Maybe later.”

  “Obviously you missed the sarcasm.”

  He tips his head back and grins widely. “Calm down, I’m kidding.”

  I return to the living room with a beer for each of us. Bishop moves his long legs enough for me to sit down and then stretches them out over my lap. It’s his way of not-so-subtly asking me to massage his thighs postsession.

  “That fundraiser-event thing at your work is next Saturday, right?”

  “Mmm.” I tip my head back and take a swig of my beer, then rest the bottle high up on his thigh, sort of near his junk.

  He doesn’t react, just tucks one of his arms behind his head, making the muscles flex. “Is that an mmm, yes?”

  “It’s next Saturday. You’ll be coming back from your away series. You’re getting regular massages from the team therapist, and your team PT will make you stretch while you’re away, right? And you’ll use the sauna. I’ll email him later this week.” His team PT and I correspond directly because it’s easier for both of us. Also, I’ve discovered that Bishop will omit information if he’s the one passing it along.

  “What time does the thing start?”

  “Not until five, but I have to be there early to set up, so we won’t have a session until Sunday.”

  “My flight lands at noon on Saturday. What time do you have to leave to help set up?”

  “I plan on getting as much done as I can Friday night, but I don’t want to miss the game, so we’ll see. Pattie and Jules are going to help me. We’ll go in early Saturday morning to finish up, and I’ll probably get ready at Pattie’s. It depends on timing and stuff.”

  “You wanna take my ride and make it easier on yourself?”

  I pause with my beer half an inch from my mouth. “You’re offering to lend me your SUV?”

  “You’ve driven it plenty. You don’t have a lead foot, and you can parallel park like a boss. It’s just sitting there otherwise, so why not?”

  “Uh, I don’t know, because guys’ cars are like their girlfriends?”

  “Mine isn’t. And the tailpipe doesn’t make a very good hole to stick my dick in, since it’s hot but not wet and tight.”

  I dig my thumb into the muscle above his knee.

  “Ahh! Fuck. Stop!” Bishop flails and grabs my hand. He threads his fingers through mine to keep me from doing it again. “That was nasty and unnecessary.”

  “So were the words coming out of your mouth.”

  “Whatever. Anyway, back to this work shindig. Is it fully formal or semiformal?”

  “Uh, formal, I guess. Suit and tie for guys, nice dress for girls.” I’m going shopping with Pattie and Jules early next week.

  “Okay. So since I’m landing at noon, I should be home by, like, one, one thirty at the latest. You can swing by and pick me up at, like, two thirty.”

  “I’m sorry, what?”

  “Just sorting out timelines in my head. You can pick me up at two thirty, or whenever is good for you.”

  I don’t bother to hide my annoyance at his freaking entitlement. “I already told you, I can’t fit in a PT session that day. I have to get my hair done and do my makeup and maybe even my nails.” I’m not big on self-pampering and that kind of thing, but it’s a formal event, and Pattie and Jules are excited to get all dressed up and looking pretty, so I figure I might as well do it too.

  “I’m not asking you to fit in a PT session, Stevie. I’m coming with you to this shindig.”

  “Why would you want to come to my work event?”

  “Because Douche McFuckhead is going to be there.”

  “You don’t want to do that, Bishop. It’s going to be full of amateur athletes. They’ll be humping your leg all night.”

  “And I’ll be humping yours, so it should be an exciting night.”

  “Honestly, it’s sweet of you to offer, but you really don’t need to come.”

  “Do you not want me to come?” He’s wearing an expression I’ve never seen before. He almost looks . . . hurt.

  “No. I mean, yes, I want you there, but it’ll suck for you.”

  “So it’s settled. I’m your date next Saturday.” He focuses back on the game, and I focus on trying to control the butterflies in my stomach.

  CHAPTER 20

  I’LL CHECKMATE YOUR ASS

  Bishop

  Things I’ve enjoyed recently: Stevie, rehab with Stevie, me telling Stevie’s ex that he’s an asshole and an idiot, me watching hockey with Stevie, me going to ice practice with Stevie—girl can skate like a pro—Stevie’s hands on me, the smell of Stevie.

  Things I have not enjoyed over the past few weeks: fighting off painful, nearly constant semis when I’m with Stevie; whacking off alone in my shower to the image of Stevie in her running shorts; playing away games where I can’t see Stevie; dealing with Bowman’s constant bitchy attitude when we’re training together, which is most days.

  Tonight is my first game back on the ice. I talked to Stevie earlier in the day. She went over my postgame regimen and wished me good luck. We have two more away games before we’re back in Seattle, which is another four days of phone conversations and video chats. Four more days without Stevie’s hands on me. Four days of whacking off in the shower.

  On the upside, I don’t have to constantly remind myself not to ram my tongue in her mouth and dry hump her. Small mercies, I suppose.

  I’ve been trying to give her the time she needs to get over the douche ex and me the time to recover from the groin injury. The day I took her to get her suitcase was an eye-opener. I realized a number of things that made me reevaluate my strategy. First of all, she wasn’t over what that asshole had done to her. That made sense, since she’d been with him for a year and he’d screwed her over only weeks earlier.

  Second, her comment about the asshole ex calling me a rebound has made me not want to be a rebound. Plus the whole almost-kiss situation made me highly aware that as into her as I might be, my body was in no condition to do anything about it. While my brother’s cockblocking via his misplaced insulin pissed me off, it also saved me from messing things up completely.

  And that was before I took into consideration the whole conversation with Alex about keeping things professional. I don’t want it to look like I’m not taking my rehab seriously. So I put the brakes on and backed off. I eased up on the pervy comments, and I spent more time hanging out with her after rehab sessions. Basically, I injected myself into her life in a way I hoped would seem innocuous beyond all the PT.

  Now that I’m back on the ice and I won’t be relying on her for rehab, I figure I’m safe to start implementing my plan once I’m back in Seattle, which won’t be until Saturday.

  For now, I need to focus on hockey. I glance at the clock; in about fifteen seconds I’ll be hitting the ice for the fir
st time this season. I get to my feet, ready for my shift.

  Rook claps me on the shoulder as he passes. “Don’t do the splits.”

  I grunt in response, because it’s better than telling him to fuck off, and take my position left of center. I’ve been practicing with the team the last week or so, but I don’t have the same number of hours on the ice with my line, so it feels a lot like the first day of school.

  We manage to keep the puck on Vegas’s end of the rink, and no one scores while I’m on the ice. It’s not a goal or an assist, but at least it’s better than letting them score. Since it’s my first game, I’m rotated in every other shift. By the beginning of the third period, we’re up one goal—scored by Rook, of course.

  I hit the ice, hoping I can help add another goal to the scoreboard to give us some padding. Instead, one of the Vegas players gets up in my space and nearly trips me. He ends up in the penalty box, and I’m pulled from my shift early so the team doctor can make sure I’m okay. One of the rookie players takes his turn on the ice while I’m being checked over and gets the assist I was hoping for.

  In the end we win, but I’m not thrilled about my performance. I should be happy that I’ve managed to play an entire game and I don’t feel like I’m going to die, but there’s a lot on the line for me, and I have weeks of missed ice time with my teammates to make up for.

  After the game I take my time in the shower. The bruising on my inner thigh is pretty much gone, apart from a few remaining yellowish spots. I plan to take advantage of the hot tub and the sauna back at the hotel. I’m in the middle of getting dressed postshower when my phone buzzes from inside my bag. I shrug into my dress shirt and fish it out, smiling when Stevie’s name lights up the display.

  I answer the call and fumble a bit in my excitement as I bring the phone to my ear. Her smoky voice lights my insides up. “I take it you’re not in the sauna if you’re answering this.”

  “No ‘Good job on the ice tonight’?” I drop down on the bench and button my shirt one-handed.

  “You were too aggressive and played too hard. And you almost took a hit because you wouldn’t let your teammates intervene when that asshat from Vegas kept getting in your space.”

  “I had it handled.” I love that she’s giving me shit from a time zone away. “Didn’t you just get off work? How did you have time to watch the game?”

  “I planned my schedule around it. And you clearly aren’t following your postgame regimen like you’re supposed to, since you’re talking to me.”

  “I’ll use the sauna and the hot tub at the hotel.”

  “That’ll be hours after the game.”

  “I took an extra-long shower.” I tuck my shirt into my dress pants and rearrange myself, since my body reacts to the sound of Stevie’s voice these days. “Want me to call you in the morning? We can video chat while I do stretches and you get ready for work.”

  “Sure. We can do that, but I want photographic evidence of you in a sauna tonight.”

  My grin widens. “I bet you do. Want me to drop the towel too?”

  Stevie snorts. “Are you looking for an excuse to send me a dick pic, Shippy?”

  An elbow to my side reminds me that I’m in the locker room, with half my teammates still wandering around. I glance over at Kingston, who’s already fully dressed in a crisp black suit with a team tie, hair perfectly styled, and shoes so polished I can see my reflection in them.

  I mouth, What?

  “You know you have that on speakerphone, right?” He inclines his head fractionally, and I look up to find Rook glaring at me from the bench fifteen feet away.

  “Shit.” I fumble to take it off speakerphone. It’s pretty loud in here, but based on his expression, he knows who I’m talking to.

  “Everything okay?” Stevie asks.

  “Yeah. I should go. I’ll send evidence later.”

  “Have a good night. Go easy on the beers.”

  I end the call and jam my phone back into my bag, avoiding eye contact with Rook. I don’t particularly care what he thinks about me and his sister; what I do care about is the perception that I’m not taking my rehab seriously.

  I finish dressing while Kingston group texts with his family. They’re all super tight, and he gets a million “so proud of you” emojis and GIFs. My mom sends me a good-luck message when she remembers, and Nolan always tells me to kick ass if he’s around when I’m heading to a game, but it’s nothing like the constant back-patting that goes on with Kingston and his family.

  I’m unsurprised when Rook falls into step with me. “I thought I told you not to screw with my sister.”

  “I’m not screwing with her.”

  He narrows his already-narrowed eyes farther. “Everyone within a twenty-foot radius heard that conversation.”

  “That was an accident.” I can see how he might think it was intentional, though.

  “Yeah, right. You dick her around or embarrass her publicly, and we’re going to have problems, got it?”

  There’s no point in arguing with him, especially not here, where there are so many witnesses. “Got it.”

  He loses his glare when he addresses Kingston. “Nice work in net tonight.”

  “Thanks.” King smiles his friendly, white-toothed smile.

  Rook throws a final glare at me over his shoulder as he falls into step with another player. Kingston doesn’t say anything about Rook, or what happened in the locker room, when we’re on the bus with all the ears of our teammates close by.

  I want to head straight for the sauna, but we have twenty-four-hour access, and it’s a good idea to go to the bar for at least one drink. I order a light beer, and Kingston, being Kingston, orders a glass of milk.

  Some of the guys razz him about it, but it doesn’t seem to bother him. He takes the ribbing good-naturedly. King is pretty much the opposite of me in almost every regard: he’s easygoing, friendly, and soaks up advice like a sponge. It’s one of the many reasons I hang out with him as much as I do. I’m not sure what he gets out of this friendship, but I’m glad he tolerates me.

  We finish our drinks and head up to our shared room. “You want to come down to the sauna with me?”

  Kingston’s eyebrows shoot up as he loosens his tie. “Uh, you’re not looking for privacy?”

  “Why would I need privacy?”

  He shrugs. “Just asking based on that conversation you were having in the locker room, on speakerphone.”

  “That was an accident,” I grumble.

  Kingston grabs the back of the chair he’s standing behind and chews the inside of his lip. “Can I ask you something without you getting all defensive?”

  “Probably not.”

  A hint of a smile appears, and he nods. “Not sure why I bothered asking, since I know you well enough by now to know that’s true. What’s the deal with you and Stevie?”

  “She’s rehabbing me.”

  “Come on, man. Was it really an accident that you had her on speakerphone tonight? You know how that looked to the rest of the team, right?”

  I blow out a breath. “Yeah, it was an accident. I swear. Besides, they don’t know I’m talking to Rook’s sister. Unless Rook has been bitching about it, the only people who know she’s working with me are Rook, Coach, my therapists, and you.”

  “Okay, so it was an accident, but how much longer are you going to be able to keep whatever’s going on with the two of you under wraps?”

  “Nothing is going on.” Yet, anyway.

  “Just be careful, Bishop. That’s all I’m saying.”

  “Sure. Yeah.” I don’t know what I need to be careful about, but I agree anyway.

  We change into swim shorts and head down to the pool. The room is empty, as is the sauna and the hot tub. I take a selfie of me in the sauna room—no dropped towel—and another one of the hot tub and send them both to Stevie. I don’t expect a response, because it’s late and she has to be up early for work, so I leave my phone with the towels and slip into the hot tub.


  The aches from getting back on the ice for the first time are starting to set in, as is the muscle stiffness. I have a massage and a PT session tomorrow once we land in Minnesota, but they’re never as good as the sessions I have with Stevie.

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.” Kingston is sprawled out across the other side of the hot tub, head resting on the edge.

  “Say you were taking a woman to a formal work function. Would you get her flowers or something?” I’ve gone on my fair share of dates, had a few relationships, but I’ve never been one for hearts and flowers or any of that bullshit. I’m thinking I might need to do that with Stevie, though, since she’s been screwed over pretty hard.

  Kingston is the kind of guy who would show up with flowers and chocolate on a first date, looking to make a good impression. He’s also the kind of guy who doesn’t sleep with random women for kicks. Even when he was drafted to the NHL and bunnies threw themselves at him, looking to tarnish his golden-boy image, he never got sucked in. Or off, for that matter. But then, he’s had the same girlfriend since the end of college. She’s out in Tennessee, so they’ve been long distance, but still, it seems to work for them. His loyalty is probably part of that.

  “Is this a date or a favor for a friend?”

  “I guess she thinks I’m doing her a favor.” At least that was the impression that I got when I offered to go with her.

  “Is that actually what you’re doing?”

  “Yes and no.”

  “Can you give me a little more to go on?”

  “Her ex is going to be there. He’s an asshole, and I don’t want her to go alone.”

  Kingston taps on the edge of the pool. “You don’t want her to go alone because you’re worried he’ll be a jerk or he’ll try to take advantage of her?”

  “Sure, yeah, that’s part of the reason.”

  “Instead of me dragging the information out of you, why don’t you lay it down for me?” Kingston uncaps the bottle of water he brought down from the room and drains half of it in two long swallows.