by Maren Moore
"Alright, let's get out there before my husband starts a fight club for kids."
"What's sad is I can one hundred percent see that happening. My money's on Gracie though—that girl's got a badass right hook."
Holly laughs as she slides the cake off the counter. The cake is a full-size unicorn, sparkly golden horn and all, and it looks to be enough to feed at least fifty people, easily.
"Can you get the door for me? This thing weighs a shit ton," she grunts, while the cake wobbles in her arms.
I hold the door open, and she walks through slowly. When the kids realize she's carrying a cake, they start screaming, and suddenly she's got an entire daycare in front of her.
My eyes flick against my will to Hayes. The arms of his fitted black t-shirt hug his biceps as if they'll bust like a can of biscuits at any moment. Of course, I would compare the world's hottest hockey player's biceps to a can of biscuits.
No wonder I’m single.
With the swarm of kids surrounding Holly, Scott, and Gracie—along with their parents—that leaves me and Hayes hanging back in the kid-less section. Being around him is inevitable, so I suck it up, like always.
I attempt to be the bigger person. “Attempt” being the key word. It’s next to impossible standing next to the six-foot hockey devil in khakis.
“St. James, you’re looking especially annoyed today,” he sing-songs from beside me. I glance up to shoot him a death stare, and the teasing grin on his lips only widens when he sees the annoyance on my face. He lives for this shit.
“How many times have I told you not to call me that? I’ve honestly lost track. We’re no longer in elementary school, Hayes. The nicknames are childish.”
I fold my arms over my chest and drag my eyes from his, focusing on Gracie as she and her friends “ooh” and “aah” at the monstrosity of a cake in front of her. At least she’s amused. I'm hyper aware of Hayes standing only inches apart from me, but I refuse to meet his eyes, clenching my jaw in disdain and feigning boredom instead.
"Aww, don't be like that, St. James. What can I say? The name just stuck. Plus, how many times have I told you I'm going to do the exact opposite of what you want?"
Add his ability to unnerve me with just his childlike ridicule to the list of things I loathe about him. It’s something he obviously hasn't grown out of over time. Unlike most males, who leave the immaturity in high school, Hayes just seems to have gotten worse in adulthood.
"Pity, I was hoping you'd be preoccupied with a puck bunny today, but I obviously can't be that lucky," I retort. I force my eyes to stay on the birthday cake, as much as my traitorous body would love for me to look at him. I won't give him the satisfaction.
He scoffs, "Eh, she had to get her lips done or some shit."
Fitting.
Before I can respond, Scott is walking up with a curious look on his face. "What are you two arguing about now?'
My eyebrows raise, and I offer a noncommittal shrug. "Oh, just letting Hayes know that his ego has officially reached astronomical size, in case he hadn't noticed."
I smirk at Scott, and he laughs lowly, shaking his head.
"You just missed it. I was telling Tits there's more to life than Tinder and guys who can only last thirty seconds," Hayes says, his tone proud, as if he's gotten the last word in.
My jaw drops before I can stop my reaction. Asshole.
"I swear, I wish you two would just bang this shit out and move on." Scott laughs and turns to clean the grill with his wire brush, giving us his back.
"I wouldn't touch him with a ten-foot pole, and that's being gracious," I respond, shooting a ‘ha’ smirk at Hayes, who returns his own.
“Don’t worry St. James, the feeling is mutual. I like my women…not insane."
I hate him. Actually, “hate” isn't a strong enough word. I loathe his very existence. In the midst of our back and forth arguing, we’ve clearly missed singing “Happy Birthday”, because Holly yells, "Who wants cake?" And the kids go wild.
She cuts squares and begins passing them out to everyone, and even though it is the most over the top cake I’ve ever seen, it does look delicious.
Just what I need after dealing with Hayes.
Of course, we both reach for the same plate. I tug it towards me with a sneer, “Can you not?”
His eyebrows raise, “Pretty sure I grabbed it first, St. James.”
I yank it towards me, and he yanks it back to him, and we go back and forth, each of us shooting daggers at the other.
Then, he suddenly lets go, and the plate goes flying, sending the enormous piece of cake …directly onto my face.
It lands with a splat, and bright pink and purple icing coat my face, eyelashes, and mouth.
That’s it, I am going to fucking kill him.
“Shit,” I hear him mutter, and I snatch another plate of cake off the table. I run towards him, full force, and slap him in the face with it.
There’s a shocked gasp, and a few whistles, but right now I’m so angry and embarrassed that I don’t even care.
“You did not just do that,” he grits, slinging some of the cake off his face.
“Sure as shit did. Asshole.”
“Both of you, stop.” Holly hands us both napkins. “Go inside and get cleaned up. This is a birthday party, for fuck’s sake.”
Shit, I was so caught up in the moment I didn’t even think about all of the kids seeing that.
“Fine,” I mutter and spin on my heel, stomping inside.
I hear his footsteps and know he’s trailing behind me. Moving to the kitchen sink, I grab a towel and am cleaning the cake off of my face when I hear him scoff behind me. I whip around, prepared to tell him exactly what the hell I think about him, when he moves to stand in front of me, so close my heart falls to my butt.
“What are you doing?” I murmur.
He’s entirely too close, and my body is reacting in traitorous ways.
Damnit.
He cages me in, icing still smeared on his cheeks and lips, then leans down closer to me. “You wanna play games, St. James?”
I can feel his breath against my lips, and it sends a shiver down my spine. Why the hell does it feel so good to have him pressed against me?
He’s the enemy, and my hormones are currently making me into a traitor.
“I don’t want anything to do with you, actually. But your ego makes that hard to see, huh?”
He laughs, so low and hoarse I feel it in my stomach. “I think you want a war, and baby…I play to win.”
He presses further against me, and unless I’ve totally lost my mind—which very well may be—he’s hard against my stomach. He leans down closer and closer until I think he might kiss me, but the back door flies open, and Scott walks in, making us break apart like we’ve been caught with our hands down the other’s pants.
“Uh, time for presents?” Scott says, eying us both warily.
“Coming. Just getting the cake off my face, thanks to your asshole best friend,” I mutter.
Hayes laughs, grabbing the towel from my hands and wiping his face clean before tossing it back at my face and walking out the door.
I loathe this man.
When I walk back outside, the kids are gathered around Gracie, faces full of cake and amped up on sugar. Their screams are deafening, and my ears pop with the sheer intensity of it.
Wow, never underestimate five-year-olds and their ability to raise the roof.
Gracie is eating up being the center of attention. My godchild is so much like her mother, it’s scary.
I continue ignoring Hayes, folding my arms across my chest and desperately trying to forget…whatever it is that just passed between us in the house. Holly begins handing Gracie presents, finally getting to my bright pink wrapped present.
Look, I might not be the most maternal person on the planet, but I do know my godchild, and she's obsessed with Barbies and DreamHouses. So, being the best godmother on the planet, I got her her very first Barbie Drea
mHouse, complete with a Ken doll and Barbie convertible, and I'm ninety-nine percent positive that nobody can top this gift.
Gracie tears into the paper like a wild animal. When she sees the house, her jaw gapes, and her eyes go wide as saucers.
"Aunt SOPHHHHHIE!" she screams, then runs over and hits me like a linebacker with a hug. "Thank you thank you thank you!"
I give her a quick kiss and usher her back over to the table, where she waits for the next presents from her mom.
Using this ample opportunity, I shoot a smirk at Hayes, who looks annoyed. Ha! He might have more money than everyone at this party combined, but nobody knows Gracie like I do.
She goes through the presents in record time, until she's at her very last box.
"Okay Gracie Pie, this is it. Looks like it's from Uncle Hayes." Holly hands her a medium-sized box I saw Hayes carrying into the party earlier while I dealt with the balloon fiasco.
Her tiny hands tear through the paper, and once she's gotten it off the top, she screams so loudly I'm sure she's going to bust someone's eardrum, "An iPad! Uncle Hayes, oh my god!!!"
She runs to him, and he catches her, swinging her off the ground, suddenly my girl's hero.
"This is the best birthday present ever!" she cries, throwing her arms around his neck.
"Well, I guess I shouldn't mention the brand new bike I parked out front? The one with the pink tassels that you sent me a picture of?"
I all but scoff at his tone. Of course he'd try to one-up me at our goddaughter’s birthday party. Typical Hayes. He's always got to be the best in the room. I just got one-upped by the douchebag pro athlete with pink tassels.
Damnit.
Remember that ego I mentioned? He’s arrogant and self-centered, and it only makes me hate him more.
I slap on a fake, strained smile when she squeals and runs out front, the herd of children following her.
"You ass," I spit, stepping into his space until we're toe to toe.
He grins, shrugging his shoulders, "What can I say, Uncle Hayes always delivers." His words drip with innuendo, and I want to punch him square in the face. If we weren't at our goddaughter's birthday party, I would. Right now, I'd much rather knee him in the dick, but as it is, I can't imagine that going over well with Scott and Hol.
"Be a doll and bring this inside." Hayes thrusts the empty bowl that held the meat for the grill into my arms and strides past me over to Gracie, where he takes her into his arms and swings her around. For someone so annoying, he’s good with kids.
I consider chunking the bowl at his head but think twice when I look up to see Holly eyeing me. Something tells me that if I missed and somehow hit the glass on the back patio, Holly would not be so forgiving.
Fine.
Sucking in a deep, semi-calming breath, I walk inside to put the bowl in the dishwasher.
Only a little while longer, I tell myself. Thirty minutes—an hour tops—and Hayes will be back on his private jet, heading back to the life of the rich and famous, and I won't have to be around him. I'm sure his face will grace the cover of the tabloids, since he can't seem to stay out of trouble for the life of him, but I can shut it off and pretend he doesn't even exist.
Or so I keep telling myself.
Maybe one of these days I’ll actually believe it.
Four
Hayes
Two days later, Sophia St. James still invades my thoughts. It had been a while since I’d seen her, and I'd forgotten how attractive she is. How....annoying she is. Surprisingly, the two go hand in hand when Sophia’s involved. It seems like her distaste for me has only grown in the time we've been apart. Fine with me. I’ll gladly play my part in the game she has set for us both.
My mind fills again with the image of Sophia at the birthday party, her fists clenched by her sides as she glares at me. Such a little thing to be so full of fury. Fuck, she’s so tiny I could throw her over my shoulder without even breaking a sweat.
That long blonde hair of hers just calls for my fist. I groan inwardly, and my thoughts shift to her ass and how it’s not okay how good it looked in those jeans. What? I’m a guy—so sue me. And the second she’d opened her mouth? I groan again. I’d forgotten completely about those round, plump...
"You need another beer Hayes?" Scott’s question interrupts my musing. I shake my head to rid myself of any and all thoughts of St. James.
"Nah, I'm still working on this one. Thanks, though." I hold my beer up to show Scott the half-full bottle.
He walks back into the kitchen while I sit in front of the massive round table he's set up outside on their patio. "Guy’s night" is officially in full swing. He'd shipped the tiny terrors off to his parents, given Holly the boot—to St. James's I'm sure—and now poker night is about to start. A few of our friends from high school are headed over, and that's the thing I love about coming home. While hockey dominates my life in more than one aspect, I can always come home and know that the guys won’t treat me any differently, and I'll always have a place here for poker night. With my schedule and the social shit my agent schedules for me, these days are few and far between. I miss the simplicity of my hometown, but not enough to ever come back permanently.
"Guys should be here soon." Scott flops down into the chair next to me and swipes the old deck of cards off the table—the same deck we've had since senior year. The corners are worn and yellowed from over ten years of use. We used to sneak into his parents’ basement in high school and bet away our life savings after a hockey game. Scott's a sentimental asshole like that. He's never been one to let go of the past.
"So, how's celebrity life?"
I roll my eyes and scoff, "Kyle's on my ass worse than ever. Says I've gotta get my shit together before the league drops me."
Scott nods and takes a long pull from his beer, peering out into the back yard. He's silent for a moment before he speaks. I can practically see the wheels turning in my best friend's head. I've known him long enough to know him better than anyone.
"You've been on the pages a lot, Hayes. The fuck's going on with you? You're out there chasing puck bunnies like we're in college again. Dude, we're almost thirty."
I’d known this was coming, but it didn't lessen the blow of his words.
"I'm just having fun, man. Partying it up before I'm tied down like you, signing my life away to someone. Seems like everyone here is married off and popping out kids, and the thought alone makes me break out in hives. I'm not cut out for that shit."
"I get it. But stop thinking of marriage as a death sentence. Holly and the kids are the best thing to ever happen to me. I wouldn't trade it for anything, especially not chasing after some puck bunnies who only want you for what you can give them. C'mon man. I'm just worried about you. Holly's worried about you. Especially with the shit with your shoulder. You’re not getting any younger, man. You’ve gotta start taking care of yourself." His gaze burns into me, hitting me at a soft spot in my chest in a way I wasn't prepared for.
Aside from my parents, Scott,Holly, and their kids are the closest thing I have to family, and I fucking hate that I'm disappointing them.
"I'm good. I'm reining it in. Kyle's already given me a lecture. No more puck bunnies, no more partying. I’ve been resting, elevating my shoulder, and doing the exercises he gave me. It’ll be alright." I tear my gaze from his and take a pull from my beer, letting the amber liquid slide down my throat as a distraction.
"Well, since you're turning your life around and all, I've got a favor."
I look back at him, and he's got a shit-eating grin. Before he even makes his request, I know I'm in for it. Fucker pulled me in with the disappointment lecture.
"Hit me."
"Holly needs someone to do a styled shoot for a big vendor that's interested in working with her. They do custom wedding gowns and tuxedos. It would be an easy hour-long shoot, and you'll get good press from it. And we all know how good you look in a suit—cheeks of steel."
"Shit, Scott, anything else.
I'll be your pool boy. I’ll cut your grass. Need a date night? I'll babysit."
He knows how much I detest being on camera, seeing as how the damn things are constantly being pointed at me, capturing every aspect of my life. It just so happens that Holly's a photographer. Thankfully, she does mostly family stuff, but apparently, she’s branching out.
"An hour. Tops. You need to be on camera doing something besides getting caught with a bunny, literally and figuratively, for once."
"You know we don't bring up the sex tape."
He shrugs, his eyebrows raising as a grin tugs at the corner of his lips, "Gonna bring it up unless you say yes."
"Fuck." I groan, dropping my head back.
He had me. Hook, line, and sinker.
"Fine. But you're talking to Kyle about it. I've had enough ass chewing for the month."
"Already did."
Great.
He offers up no other information as our friends walk through the French doors, whooping and hollering, slapping my back, and talking stats. I don't know what the hell I just signed myself up for.
Five
Sophia
"I cannot believe I let you talk me into this. Seriously…I can't believe I'm actually here. " I groan.
"Stop talking and suck it in so she can tighten it," Holly chastises me, all while grinning when I have the air ripped from my lungs by a twenty-something dress assistant as she yanks on the strings of the too-tight corset. Somehow, Holly has talked me into doing a "styled shoot" with her for a new vendor she is desperately trying to work with. Her “go to” models weren’t available, and the vendor asked last minute to make this happen.
It took lots of wine and even more guilt tripping, but now...here I am. I love my best friend, I do. It's just that sometimes I want to punch her for all the ideas she has that I get roped into. I'm always her guinea pig.
"Remind me exactly why I agreed to this, again?"
My eyes drag down the floor length mirror in front of me. There are four panes of glass that line the walls, showcasing the room. As if it needed to look any more inviting, being tucked away inside a yacht that costs more money than I will ever probably see in my lifetime. My stomach tightens at how much money this thing actually costs—or how much this dress that I'm currently not breathing to fit inside costs.
