Angel slumped back in her seat, half-heartedly stroking the back of Dog’s prickly neck. He started to settle, his ears still pricked for any more of our shit.
I dipped my head, stuck my hands in my hair and took a breather. “I would never cheat on you. Never.”
“I know,” Angel muttered. “But those women made me feel so… I don’t even know,” she said dejectedly. “Just… why should I explain myself to people I consider strangers? That video didn’t have to come out in front of all the other girls. Not to sound high school, but it was mean.”
“How about I don’t push you into anything you don’t want to do? I want you here with me, Angel. In my bed, when I come home after games and practice—in the offseason. Boredom’s a killer, and I just figured if you had some girlfriends who understand how demanding the NFL is on family life, you’re less likely to throw in the towel and jump ship back to Los Angeles.”
“I guess I could try harder next time. She just caught me off guard, and I’ve got no formal training in that department. She laid the bait and I bit. Let’s call it a learning curve.”
“I will protect you when you’re here, but you’re gonna be one of them whether you like it or not. That circle isn’t for you? Fine. No going out with the girls. You gave it a shot and there’s still Rebecca. It isn’t like she’s going anywhere.”
Angel nodded, her gaze serene. “I’ll arrange work before moving. If I can get set up in one of the rinks for now, that’ll give me time to lay the foundations for my own coaching program. And not all the women were bad. I worked myself up a height. There’s no reason to worry about me. Your career’s important, and I won’t do anything to damage what you’ve built here.”
“You’re important,” I said. Then I whistled to Dog, coaxing him off Angel and sending him up to his bed, which had gone from under my bed to the side of my bed. His extra-large sheepskin pad was good enough for any human, so you could bet Dog wasn’t complaining.
With our audience curled up in his palace, I slowly dragged my gaze over Angel and patted my thigh. “Come here.”
A tiny smirk slipped out, but she pushed to her feet, still encased in those clear heels.
Yeah, she could leave those on.
When she was standing in front of me, I made a show of sitting back and spreading my thighs. “Take these off,” I said, eyeing the black pants she was wearing.
Unfastening the belt, she squeezed the black ruffled material down her long, toned legs, bending to tug them over her feet. The bralette unclipped from the back and it slid down her arms to the floor. I admired her in her black lace thong, clinging to the curves at her hips, revealing faded white lines from where she’d been in the sun. My erection thumped against my sweatpants, and I grabbed the thick ridge through the material, giving it a firm squeeze to settle it down.
“Anything I can help with?” Smoky brown eyes lowering to my fist between my legs, Angel took a small step toward me. My heart jumped in my chest when she put her hands on my knees and got down on her own knees in front of me. She pushed my thighs further apart, leaning in to tug down my waistband. My heavy erection sprang free, and I groaned when her warm hand enclosed my shaft.
“This looks painful,” she noted, glancing up at me as her thumb stoked under the swollen head. I stiffened more, weeping at the tip. Raising her body for more leeway, I watched as her mouth closed over me, fascinated my cock was the only one she’d ever tasted. That fascination led to a darker route, and the blood flowed quicker, turning me to sturdy iron I was coiled to pound something with. Angel’s tongue swirled over my sensitive tip, pre-cum coating her lips.
I sat up and wrapped a hand around her biceps, her eyes registering shock as I dragged her to her feet and pushed her onto the sectional, in the same space I’d been sitting.
On her knees, breasts pressed against the leather cushions, I placed one knee at the side of hers while I pushed my sweats farther down my thighs and fisted my cock. I spread Angel’s cheeks with my other hand, her labored breathing causing my own to stagger from my lungs. I rolled down her thong and seated myself at her entrance, not surprised to find that she was soaked. I grasped her hips as I gave three gentle pumps of my own hips, holding off outta the fucking question when her breathing transitioned into a needy rasp and she nuzzled her ass into me, taunting me to take her deeper.
I raised my hand to her arm that was braced on the back of the sectional, sweeping my thumb over the faded scar that concealed her contraceptive implant before tangling her hair brutishly in my fist. I maintained a steady rhythm with one hand on her hip, burying all the way in.
“Take this out,” I said on a heady grunt. I moved the hand that was on her hip, applying pressure to the curve of her lower back, improving the angle. I pulled out and thrust back in, Angel’s moans driving me to go harder. “Will you do that?”
“Take what out?” she said in a rush of breath, body sliding over my cock as I tilted my head for the crowning.
“The implant,” I grunted, slapping her cheek and then squeezing the pink flesh. I cupped her throat, angling her head back to my lips to ground in her ear, “I hate that fucking thing.”
She yelped in submissive pleasure, her body constricting around me, driving the pleasure to the edge of unbearable. She was so fucking tight I couldn’t stand it. A malnourished lion who ripped his prey to shreds. Carnal needs too ravenous to take his time and play with it first. My free hand traced her thigh, settling between her spread legs as she panted with my hand around her throat, her head tipped back on my shoulder. I grazed her clit with my fingers, pumping into her, skin on skin. I was fucking close.
Her thighs trembled, clenching, and I drove in, holding her body to mine through the blinding wave of both of our orgasms. I buried my face in her neck, raising my hands to palm her breasts, nipples puckered and tight against my callused skin. Her breasts felt heavy and full to touch, and it frightened me how much I wanted to fill her with something other than my dick.
“Angel. Get rid of the implant. You don’t need it.” I trailed kisses down the side of her throat, tasting the lime body wash she’d used to shower in. Rather than turn soft, I twitched and jerked inside of her. Angel rolled her hips in response to the swelling, reaching her arms back to loop around my neck, exposing her tits fully. I started thrusting again, slowly this time. My cum seeped out, glistening dampness between Angel’s cheeks.
“You don’t really want a baby,” Angel moaned, working her hips as we found another, more relaxed rhythm, my inner predator sated enough to just fucking enjoy himself and take it easy. “You just like idea of it. Another way for you to prove I’m yours. But I’m already yours,” she panted.
I placed two hands over her flat stomach, easing into her with another slow grind of my hips, pushing in as deep as I could go. “One day,” I rumbled.
I n the space of four and a half weeks, since leaving Miami, I had catapulted from engaged to demented. That was how long it had taken for my prosaic world as I knew it to upend and mutilate into Wedding Ground-Zero. Between Elena, Julian’s mom, Rebecca, Marilyn, and fresh on the bandwagon, my good friend Hayden Bonner, my walls were caving in on all sides, crushed with wedding talk and preparations.
Julian’s insane budget siphoned the explosive fuel to the fire, and there wasn’t any custom dress, venue or intricate detail too expensive or unattainable. The bottom line? I could have anything I wanted. Or anything our families wanted. I was proving to be a disappointment in the Bridezilla department, and as the days dragged on, I couldn’t help the immunity I’d developed to the bridal Magazines and invitation and cake samples. And four weeks was not adequate time to become so detached from my own big day. It wasn’t normal. I did my best to hide it, though, concealing my anxieties.
Tonight, I didn’t have to pretend or hide anything. Tonight, wedding talk could take a backseat and keep its attention-seeking mouth shut.
Courtesy of LA Kings first-line right wing, Beau Kessler, I settled into my seat
at the Staples Center directly behind the glass and right next to the penalty box. Hayden dangled a plastic bottle of $8 Budweiser in front of me. I raised one eyebrow, slow in accepting the drink. “I said I wanted soda.”
She grinned back at me. “And I ignored you and got you a real drink. It’s not easy being this good of a friend, but I do what I can. Don’t thank me.”
“I won’t.”
We’d showed up relatively early, and the Kings were warming up on the ice with the Calgary Flames.
I took a sip of cold beer, pointing up at the jumbotron. “Look who it is,” I said to Hayden, nudging her in the ribs. Jason Dillon, defenseman, skated a slow circle around the Kings net, his cheeks damp and flushed on the big screen as he shook off one of his gloves and flexed his fingers.
“Get this.” Hayden crossed her legs at the knee, eyes on the jumbotron as she shook her head. “He called me last week and asked if he could come over.”
Off the tail-end of meeting Beau, Hayden was introduced to then-rookie Jason, and they’d hit it off from the first drink. Fastrack to two years later, and Hayden had climbed no higher on Jason’s list of priorities. He still saw other women, and despite her own advice to act like that didn’t bother her, Hayden hit Jason with an ultimatum that backfired with the force of ten boomerangs.
“Is he ready to go exclusive?” I asked.
One side of Hayden’s mouth bunched. “He doesn’t know.”
“He misses you, then. Did you let him come over?”
“Yes,” she gritted out. “But I’m not proud of myself.”
“You slept with him, didn’t you?”
“Three times in one night.” Hayden’s eyes shuttered and she tipped her head back, breathing in and exhaling a drawn-out sigh. “I’m loopy over him. What the hell is wrong with me?”
I laughed. “Nothing’s wrong with you. Have you seen the guy?”
“Yes. That’s my damn problem.”
Plowing through our beers like aspiring alcoholics, we bought two more bottles each. Hayden’s heeled boots ate up the carpeted floor in expert strides, lilac ombre hair bouncing over both shoulders. Wearing sneakers, lagging three gaping steps behind, I struggled to keep up.
Both teams were still warming up when we made it back to our seats. I’d eaten so little today, my stomach growled as I chugged on my beer, pleading for something solid. And then my hunger was forgotten, a grin splintering my face as Beau skated up to the boards and tapped the padded knuckles of his right glove on the glass. Without thinking, I was out of my seat, pressing my hand to the other side.
“Jesus fucking Christ. Look up. Look up!”
My left arm shook with the small earthquake that was Hayden, and my eyes lifted to the cluster of screens hanging over the ice.
There I was, gaping back at myself.
Beau skated from the screen, ducking his head with a quick smirk. The cheering from the packed stands burst into my subconscious with a resounding bang. I watched from above as Hayden held up her phone, capturing a roll of images with a blazing smile on her face between fuchsia blown kisses for her audience. I waved and smiled, Hayden’s arm curling around my neck in her ten seconds of Staples Center fame.
Right when I thought it would never happen, another group of eager faces took over the screen, some seriously mistimed flossing earning a collective round of boos.
Whether Julian would see that exchange between Beau and me, I wasn’t sure. But I had no trouble spending the next two hours in knots over it. I couldn’t concentrate on the game. I had one eye on the clock and one on the ice. I spent most of the first period sending video to Taj, and I sat with my phone in my hands reading his replies as seats emptied and the horn sounded, the Kings netting their second goal with seconds to spare.
“Bathroom?” Hayden asked. The lights dimmed and the organ played a depressing tune as the players skated off the ice for the first intermission. I’d been to a couple of Beau’s games now, the invite at times extended by Jason, and every game felt longer than the last. Never as long as a football game, though. Those days defied the physics of time.
“Hey, Rivera. Why so moody all of a sudden?” Hayden linked her arm through mine, and we joined the flow of foot traffic to the women’s bathroom.
I shrugged. “Being here, I guess. Whenever I’m with Beau I feel guilty. And I could have done without the whole jumbotron exposure. Julian’s not ecstatic about my friendship with him as it is.”
“He won’t see that!”
“I know…” I allowed myself one last sigh and then I steeled my shoulders.
I did my business in the Ladies’ room and then posted up at the sinks to wash my hands. A line of women filled the long, rectangular mirror, fixing their hair and applying more makeup. I’d heard about puck bunnies on campus when word spread that I was ‘pally-pally’ with one of LA Kings’ highest earners, but glancing discreetly at these women now, all I could see, and all I ever saw when I came here, were the loose jerseys, wooly Kings hats and plain jeans. Professional sports came with a bad rep, and I realized I’d fallen into the trap by doing exactly what Julian had accused me of. I’d painted every WAG with the same brush based on the actions of one woman and from what I’d heard. I was no better than them, I’d just made myself higher and mightier. I’d been judgmental, and it wasn’t my first time committing the offense.
And coming to Beau’s games had to stop. I’d asked Julian to respect me, but to anyone who saw me here, watching and supporting another guy, I was disrespecting Julian.
Jesus. I was just the worst.
“Fucking hell.” Hayden hip-checked me, squeezing in between me and another girl. “What’s wrong? Think you could cheer up before I catch whatever’s wrong with you? We’re supposed to be having fun. You remember what that is?”
I fluffed the ends of my hair, spiraling a loose curl with my finger. “I do now. More beers before the next period starts?”
With a nice little buzz going, Hayden and I beat the traffic after the final buzzer and ducked into one of the pubs downtown. It was busy inside, but with the help of one of the bar staff, we found a table outside next to an electric heat lamp.
I untied the windbreaker from around my waist and slipped it on, covering my bare arms. Hayden and I had dressed in matching black tank tops with LA KINGS across the chest embellished in silver rhinestones, since neither of us owned jerseys.
“Your phone’s ringing,” Hayden said.
My muffled ringtone choked out from the skin-tight pocket in the workout leggings I’d thrown on for the game. I pulled it out, swiping to answer.
“Hello?”
“Hey. Where you at right now?” Beau.
“Ah.” I craned my neck, stretching back in my seat to read the lettering on the red canopy. “Tipsy Cow,” I said. “We’re still downtown.”
“We’ll be there in fifteen.” And he hung up.
I gave Hayden a blank stare. “That was Beau. You mind spending an hour with Jason? Sounded like he was on his way over here.”
Hayden crossed her arms, raising one hand to inspect her peach-tipped fingernails. “I’m going to need an entire bottle of Johnny Walker, but sure. I can do that.”
Just over fifteen minutes later, a black SUV pulled up to the sidewalk. The two NHLers unfolded their huge bodies from the backseat. With his navy suit jacket draped over his forearm, Beau banged lightly on the driver’s side door and then the SUV with the blacked-out windows took off, merging with the traffic.
I rose from my chair and gave Beau a platonic hug, congratulating him on his win. He scored a hat-trick tonight and picked up one assist late in the third. But even when Beau wasn’t landing pucks in the back of the net, I’d seen for myself he was the type of player you should be watching before the puck made it anywhere near the crease. He found space in lanes that weren’t there, making magic happen before receiving the pass that would inevitably change the game.
“Enjoy the seats?” he asked. In a matter of seconds, with eye
s on him from every direction, he had the attention of a passing waitress, and she offered to bring out two extra chairs. The pub was busy, so where those extra chairs were coming from remained a mystery.
“The seats were fantastic,” I said. “And so were you.”
“And what about me?” Jason asked Hayden, a smirk showing. He hovered over her in his gray suit while he waited for the chairs to be brought out.
Hayden peered up at him, her smile sweeter than syrup. “Oh. You were playing?”
Jason laughed, the deep sound reverberating through his six-foot-plus body.
The two extra chairs arrived, and Beau slung his jacket over the back of his and dragged it next to mine. He picked up my hand, singling out my ring finger. “Still engaged?”
“Still engaged.”
“When are you leaving us for Miami?”
“No date yet. I’m in the process of renting out my house. My grandpa—he owns the house—and Julian, they’ve discussed me just selling up and using the money to cushion my savings account, but…” I shrugged, tears rushing to my eyes over no longer living in the house I’d loved since the day I moved in. “Knowing the house is still here, still mine, that’s security I’m not in any rush to give up. That’s my home.”
“Hey, I hear you. You’re sitting on prime real estate. Julian’s eager to get you packing and I don’t blame the guy one bit.” Beau relaxed into his chair that was barely holding out on accommodating all that thigh muscle and wide shoulder mass. “Will you be at the rink on Monday?” There was something undeniably ominous about the question, like Beau didn’t really want to ask it.
“Yes. Why?”
“I’ll catch up with you there. No need to look so scared, eh?” Beau laughed, easing some of my apprehension. Then he rubbed his hands together and grinned at Hayden and Jason. “Shall we order a bottle? We’ve got a lot to celebrate.”
He turned his smile onto me. Underneath my returning, less enthusiastic smile, my gut whispered to me he was referencing more than the Kings’ 5-2 win, and that made me nervous.
Keeping Seven Page 7
