Sterling: A Carolina Reapers Novel

by Samantha Whiskey

  Maxim shifted, sliding his hands into his pockets. Something distant colored his eyes, a far-off gaze I suddenly felt I shouldn’t be privy to. “Not everyone thinks so,” he said, his voice low, rough. “Some people believe it’s perfection or nothing. Please the masses or your worth holds no value.”

  My lips tugged down at the corners as I studied him. Who could possibly think Maxim was anything but a perfect specimen? He was an NHL legend, descended from practically hockey royalty. He could land any sponsorship he wanted, any woman he wanted, and had a tight-knit circle of friends eho trusted him.

  I cast a glance toward Jansen, wondering if Maxim meant the jab toward him. But that didn’t make any sense because Jansen’s opinion had never appealed to Maxim before.

  The mystery of the brothers deepened, but I didn’t have second to register it as hope flared in my chest when Jansen turned away from the redhead, heading our direction.

  “You never answered my question,” Maxim said, drawing my attention back to him.

  “What was it again?” I asked, flashing him an apologetic look.

  “What are you doing tonight?”

  Jansen slowed as he came within hearing distance of us.

  “We’re going to this local bar,” Maxim continued. “Want me to swing by your room and pick you up on our way out?”

  “I…” I floundered in my own head as I watched Jansen stop and turn, changing his path from toward us—toward me—and heading inside the hotel instead.

  I blinked a few times. A drink sounded exactly like what I needed, but drinking with my brother and his friends wasn’t exactly a night off. “I have to close out this event,” I said, motioning to the fans who wore smiles and glazed looks. It was nice, seeing them so happy.

  Except maybe for the redhead, because she looked downright devious as she chatted with her friend.

  “And then I think I’ll just crash,” I continued. “Thanks for the offer, though. I’m sure you and Caz will have a great time.” Maxim nodded, taking a step back. “Not too much though,” I said, eying him. “Hangovers on the plane are a bitch.”

  His eyes did that squint thing that they did when he looked like he might laugh but wasn’t physically capable. “You have my number if you change your mind,” he said before turning into the hotel.

  I hurried over to the crowd, thanking them for coming and wishing them all well. Most of them dispersed, holding their autographed photos to their chests like prized pieces of gold. Two fans in particular, though, headed inside the hotel instead of away from it.

  I followed in behind them, having completed my duties for the night. And after the tension storm Jansen had delivered, I was more than ready for a scalding shower and a good night’s sleep. Maybe I’d rent a movie and zone out—

  “Omigod, did he actually invite you up to his room?” the awestruck friend from earlier asked her redhead friend as they hurried into the elevator I’d just boarded.

  Oh, kill me now.

  I assumed the enthusiastic pair had been headed toward the hotel bar—the easiest place to find the single Reapers looking for a good, and consensual, time. But no, here they were, crowding the already small space. Elevators were a part of life, despite my fear, and I’d gotten really great at only boarding the ones that had zero to one person inside. All I had to do was count to twenty and the doors would open.

  But these two? They practically suffocated the space—their voices loud and this side of slurred, like they’d started the party before the fan event.

  “He didn’t exactly come out and invite me,” the redhead said, twirling a spiral curl of hair in her hand. “But I could tell he wanted me to. The look in his eyes? It was pure lust. How can I not show up to his room.”

  Ice shards bit into my stomach. Thirteen more seconds, and the doors would open.

  “But he didn’t give you his room number?” The awestruck friend seemed to sober a bit.

  “No.”

  “Then how did you get it?”

  Yes, how indeed? There were genuine fans, and then there was this…she was crossing a major line.

  “I overheard him telling the concierge to send up some drinks,” she said. “It was like he wanted me to hear it.”

  Jesus, this girl was delusional.

  Right?

  I hated the doubt creeping into my blood, the whispers in the back of my head saying maybe Jansen was playing a game with the fan.

  But no, that wasn’t right. Not at all.

  And not because he couldn’t indulge in willing conquests, but because if he wanted the girl, he’d absolutely be straight forward and tell her. He was a flirt by nature, a tease at the best of times, and a downright scoundrel at the worst.

  And you enjoy every single version of him.

  True, but I didn’t have to tell him that.

  “What are you going to do if he doesn’t like you showing up?” the friend asked, and the doors mercifully swung open.

  I bolted through them, gulping down the air in the hallway, my eyes finding the large window at the end of it out of sheer instinct. My nerves untangled, a sense of solidness returning to my limbs as I headed toward my door.

  “One, how could he not?” the redhead continued as they stepped out of the elevator. “Second, if he isn’t hospitable at first, I’m sure I can convince him to let me in.”

  “I think we drank too much,” the friend said. “Because seriously, what if he doesn’t? What if he shuts the door in your face?” At least her friend was sounding somewhat reasonable.

  “Then I’ll blast that shit all over social media,” the redhead said with a shrug.

  Oh, fuck that—

  I spun on my heels, stopping the direction I’d been heading toward my room, and damn near stomping to where the girls were going straight toward Jansen’s.

  “Excuse me,” I said just as the redhead knocked on his door.

  She pinched her brow as she looked at me. “Oh,” she said, recognition flaring in her glazed eyes. “We don’t need any more headshots or anything. We’re good. You can go.”

  I blew out a sharp breath, telling my adrenaline to chill the fuck out. “No, you’re not good. Not even close.”

  Her lips popped into an O as she glared at me. Her friend tugged on her arm, trying to get her to go. A shuffling sounded behind the door.

  “I’m going to give you this one shot,” I said, just as I heard the doorknob click. “Leave. Walk your ass out of this hotel with a little dignity.”

  She popped a hand on her hip. “And if I don’t?”

  The door creaked open, and Jansen stood there, eyes darting between the three of us.

  “I’ll call security and let them haul you out of here.”

  “For what?” she snapped.

  I ignored the way Jansen folded his arms over his chest, an amused look on his face that screamed he was dying to know what I’d do next.

  Instead, I stepped forward, a few mere inches from the girl’s face. “For threatening to slander one of my players if they deem you unworthy, which trust me, in his case?” I jerked my head toward him without looking. “You absolutely aren’t worthy.”

  She gaped at me, all the while her friend was still tugging on her to go.

  “Your call,” I said, waiting.

  She glanced at Jansen, and one look from him deflated every ounce of arrogance she’d had prior. “Whatever,” she scoffed, then shook off her friend’s hand and stomped past me.

  “If I hear a word about this on the sites, it won’t just be me who hunts you down!” I called after her, knowing Langley and Persephone would use all their resources to bring down any lies she may try and post about Jansen. “I have eyes everywhere!”

  The girls upped their pace toward the elevator bank around the corner, but the adrenaline in my blood had my hands shaking.

  “Well, that may have been the sexiest and most adorable thing I’ve ever seen in my life,” Jansen said, his voice all calm tease.

  I brought my eyes
to his, and something inside me tensed and went loose at the same time. The coldness was still there, but above it laid a layer of intrigue and…something else I couldn’t place.

  “Adorable?” I almost hissed. “That woman was planning to slander your name if you didn’t fuck her.” Trash. Absolute trash.

  He cocked a brow at me and pushed his back against the door to fully open it. “You look like you could use a drink.”

  I gaped up at him, shocked that he hadn’t immediately been offended by the threat from the woman, or at least surprised.

  The wind rushed out of me. I wasn’t new to the celebrity athlete lifestyle, but was it such a commonplace occurrence that he wasn’t even fazed by it anymore? God, how hard would that be to deal with? The constant knowledge of if you do the right thing, you still might be damned by the media, by jilted fans.

  I pushed past him, fire still in my blood over the entire situation. He huffed a laugh, closing the door behind him.

  “Thought you were going out with Maxim tonight,” he said, leaning against the door, his eyes flickering with amusement and intrigue and…want.

  I scrunched my brow, holding my arms out horizontally to indicate the room in which I now stood. “How about that drink?”

  9

  Sterling

  London walked into my room with her head held high and threw her purse on my dresser. Tension wafted off the woman in waves. If I hadn’t known better, I would have called it jealousy.

  I shut the door and leaned back against it, enjoying the sight of her bent over to root through the mini fridge. That ass deserved to have songs written about it, and it was currently covered by a pencil skirt that screamed sexy librarian. Add her buttoned-up blouse and twisted-up hair, and she was a walking, talking fantasy.

  “Apple juice. Orange juice,” she muttered, pushing bottles around. “Water.” Her head popped up, and she glared in my direction. “Where is this drink you offered?”

  “You think I drink alcohol during the actual season? That’s cute.” The corner of my mouth lifted into a smirk.

  Her mouth opened and shut a few times, but eventually, she shook her head and took an apple juice out of the fridge. “I don’t know how you’re just…calm about all that?”

  I folded my arms over my chest. “Calm about what? The fact that I had to spend a half-hour posing for pictures next to an asshole I happen to share some genes with, or the women at my door who were hoping to fuck me?”

  She considered her answer for a few seconds as she opened the bottle of juice. “Yes. All of it.”

  “I tolerate Maxim because you asked me to. It’s as plain and simple as that.” My stomach churned every fucking minute of it, but I did it.

  “Is it really that hard?” She slumped back, perching on the edge of the desk. “I’m going to break my own rule here for a second, but he’s been Caspian’s best friend for two years. He’s not that bad of a guy.”

  “Not that bad of a guy,” I repeated slowly, reminding myself that our family dynamic wasn’t exactly something that most people understood, mostly because we didn’t have a family.

  “He’s not! Okay, maybe he’s arrogant and a little aloof until you know him”—she cocked her head to the side— “and to be honest, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him with the same woman twice, but you might actually like him if you got to know him.”

  I scoffed. “Not happening.”

  “Jansen…” She sighed like I was disappointing her or some shit.

  “London, you don’t know the first fucking thing about my family, which, by the way, consists of my mom, grandparents, and me.” My forehead puckered. “And fine, Greg, my stepfather, whom my mom married my junior year in college. But that’s it. Maxim isn’t my family, I don’t care how much you like him.”

  “He’s your brother!”

  “No, he’s not.” I moved forward, raking my hands over my hair. “And if you had been there when I had to call my mom and tell her that not only was he on my team, but I was being put with him for promotional purposes, you might have another view of this subject.” I’d never forget the way her breath had stuttered, and she’d gone silent. “That being said, choosing to get your hackles up about the women outside my door is a much safer fight to pick if you’re feeling feisty over there, London.”

  “Feisty?” She threw back the apple juice like it was a beer and clunked it down on the desk beside her. “I’m not trying to pick a fight.”

  “Yes, you are.” I leaned against the dresser and gripped the edges, keeping a safe distance away from her. It had been almost two weeks since our little theater date, and this was the first time she’d approached me. The first time she’d talked to me when it wasn’t in a professional capacity, and while I liked to think I was a pretty confident guy, her little hot and cold routine was a mindfuck. “You’ve been around professional hockey enough to know that there are willing women in every arena, every hotel, and every hallway, so why is the fact that you managed to run off the two at my door getting you all prickly?”

  “Run off? Wait, were you interested in them?” She sputtered, her eyes sharpening like little daggers as her spine went stiff.

  “If I had been, would that have been a problem for you?” I wasn’t. I hadn’t so much as breathed in the direction of another woman from the moment I’d seen her in the elevator. She’d owned me from that moment on.

  “I…I….” Color flushed from her neck up to her cheeks, and her gaze darted between my eyes and my lips. She wanted me.

  Good, the feeling was mutual.

  “Because you say the word, and I’ll get online and change all my social media statuses to in a relationship.” My fingers dug into the wood. It didn’t matter how badly I wanted to launch myself across the few feet that separated us and kiss the ever-loving shit out of her, I wasn’t budging. Not until she admitted what had her sexy little panties in a twist. “Until then, why should it matter who I sleep with?” How far did I need to push her until she snapped and admitted what she wanted?

  “Because random hookups are just...dirty and impersonal!” she fired back, shifting her weight.

  “Hey, dirty can be good, and last time I checked, you’re the woman who climbed into my lap and came so hard the theater next door probably thought it was part of the sound effects.” I arched an eyebrow, ignoring the way my dick hardened at the memory.

  “We’re not random!” She huffed an angry sigh. “And besides, there were two of them. What were they going to do, take turns?”

  I let a slow grin slide across my face. She was so jealous I half expected her face to turn green at any second, and I was loving every minute of it. “Who said I couldn’t handle both at once?”

  “You. Can. Not. Be. Serious.” The look of pure shock on London’s face was well worth the annoyance of having the two puck bunnies hunt me down.

  “Well, I mean, I’m not sure what college was like for you…” I shrugged.

  “It sure as hell wasn’t orgies in the frat house!” She pushed off the desk.

  “I wasn’t in a frat, but if you need to argue locations—”

  “You can’t be serious!” Her cheeks went from pink to red as she marched closer, stopping when the toes of her high heels were an inch from my bare feet.

  Fucking adorable.

  “Oh, come on, London. Are you telling me you didn’t have a one-night stand or two while you were in college? Are you seriously as perfect as you seem?” I tilted my face down toward hers as she stared up at me with fire in her eyes. Fuck, her lips were kissable, even when pursed.

  “Perfection has nothing to do with it. Sex is way overrated.” She arched her eyebrow.

  “Then you’ve been sleeping with the wrong people.”

  “People? I’ve had sex all of one time, thank you very much!” She put her fists on her hips and glared at me with everything she had.

  “Once.” My eyebrows skyrocketed as pieces fell into place.

  “Once.” She nodded. “And I’d say
he couldn’t have gotten off me fast enough, but well…” Her nose crinkled. “It really was pretty fast now that I’m thinking about it. Awkward as hell, too. Trust me, it didn’t exactly leave me begging for more. Like I said, it’s overrated. If you were a woman, you’d get it.”

  Awkward? Fast? Overrated? I was torn between laughing that some idiot had the privilege of getting London under him and blew it completely—pun intended, and finding that same guy and punching him in the face for leaving her with such a sour taste for sex. My cock argued for a third option of showing her exactly how good sex could be, pushing against the fabric of my athletic pants, which weren’t hiding much.

  “Is that what you’d call what happened between us in the theater?” I gripped her hips and pulled her against me. “Overrated?”

  “That was different.” She gasped, her hands coming up to my chest to brace herself.

  “How?” My hands shifted to her ass.

  “Because it wasn’t…sex.” Her breasts crushed against my chest as she leaned in, running her tongue over her bottom lip.

  “Wasn’t it?” I moved my hand down her thigh until I found the sexy little slit up the back of her skirt. Then it was her bare skin beneath my fingers.

  Her breath stuttered, and she moved into my touch. “That was…something else.”

  “Huh.” I locked eyes with her, watching for any sign of refusal, then brought my hand between her thighs and found her underwear already damp. “You’re wet, London.” Keeping my voice level and my control firmly locked in place should have earned me a gold medal or some shit. Just the feel of her heat through the silk of her thong was enough to tighten my balls.

  “Jansen,” she whispered in a plea, clutching fistfuls of my shirt.

  “You want this?” I slid my fingers under her thong, just lightly skimming her swollen flesh.

  She nodded slowly, her glacier-blue eyes glazing over in need.

  I plunged two fingers inside her and groaned at how ready she was for me. “Feel this?” I pumped my fingers in and out slowly.