by Elle Kennedy
“Fuck that, I’m playing well into my thirties.”
“Late thirties,” Garrett says.
“Forties,” Logan says.
I’m about to ask Garrett how long his dad played before he retired but stop myself at the last second. Bringing up Phil Graham is bound to kill the lighthearted mood. The moment Garrett graduated college and was out from under his dad’s financial thumb, he basically disowned the man who’d abused him growing up. He doesn’t even refer to him as “my father” or “Dad” anymore; the rare times Garrett brings him up, he calls him “Phil.”
Unfortunately, G can’t be rid of him entirely because Phil Graham is still a legend in the hockey world. But I’m pretty sure Phil played till he was forty-two, which is impressive.
“Oh, thanks for helping with Tuck’s surprise, by the way.” I rest the beer bottle on my knee. “I can’t believe it all worked out.”
“Tuck’s going to freak,” Garrett says.
“Seriously,” Logan tells me. “I hate giving your ego any more fuel, but I think this was the best idea you’ve ever had.”
“I know, right? It’s a good one.”
Ah, I can’t wait to see Tucker’s face tomorrow night. And I can’t wait for Allie to get here already.
Let wedding weekend commence.
12
Allie
“Come play with us.”
I glance over at my costar, the eagerness on Trevor’s face making me smile. With his thin frame and youthful features, he looks like a teenage boy instead of a twenty-seven-year-old man.
“Malcolm and I are going to that new martini bar on Broadway,” he adds. “They’ve got a VIP lounge, so we won’t be hounded by fans.” Trevor wiggles his eyebrows enticingly.
I offer a regretful look. “I can’t. I’m heading to the airport the moment I change out of this costume.”
“Airport?”
“Yeah, remember? I have a wedding this weekend.”
We fall into step with each other in the back corridor of the studio I’ve called home for three years. Trevor is new this season to The Delaneys, the cable drama I’d been cast in right out of college. He was cast as my love interest for this final season of the show, and we’ve grown close these past six months. A part of me wishes the show wasn’t ending this year, especially since our ratings are at an all-time high. But our showrunners Brett and Kiersten had always planned for it to be a three-season story arc, and each season has beautifully told the story of this horribly dysfunctional family in which I play the middle daughter.
It’s still surreal to think I’ve been acting on the number one show in the country for the past few years. And it’s going to suck so hard to say goodbye, but I’m one of those people who believe in going out with a bang rather than a whimper.
“Ugh. Right,” Trevor gripes. “That’s this weekend?”
“Yup.”
“Who’s getting married again?”
“College friends,” I answer. “My boyfriend’s former teammate.”
“Ah, the hockey boyfriend,” Trevor teases. “I will never get over the fact that you’re with a jock.”
“Trust me, I didn’t see it coming either.” Though is he still considered a jock if he doesn’t really play anymore? These days Dean teaches at Parklane Academy, the all-girls private school in Manhattan where he coaches the hockey and volleyball teams.
We reach the corridor that houses the supporting cast’s dressing rooms. The bigger stars have trailers on the lot, but we’re delegated to these peasant’s quarters. I’m joking. The fact that I have my own dressing room, with my name on the door and everything, is the greatest feeling in the whole world. Not a day goes by that I don’t wake up overcome with gratitude.
Trevor trails after me into the cozy room I’ve looked at as a second home for nearly three years. Ugh, I’m dreading the day I have to pack everything up and close the door to this room for the last time. We still have a few more night shoots to do for the finale, but then it’ll be a wrap on The Delaneys. It’s a bittersweet feeling. After playing the same character for so long, I’m going to miss Bianca Delaney. Yet at the same time, I’m ready to tackle something new. Take on a new challenge.
“You bringing the boyfriend to the wrap party next week?” Trevor asks. “Because you know Malcolm’s gonna want to get one final look at the golden god.”
I snicker. Our costar Malcolm, my on-screen brother, has a huge crush on Dean and scampers after him like a puppy whenever Dean visits set. I don’t blame him. Dean Heyward-Di Laurentis is possibly the most attractive man on the face of God’s green earth. The first time our director met him, she spent an hour trying to convince Dean to get into acting. She even offered him a role in her next movie. But Dean has no interest being in films.
Unless it’s the private kind.
I feel my cheeks heating up at the memory. I swear, our sex life is off-the-charts hot, but I’d expect no less from the man who was once the biggest manwhore at Briar University. As far as sexual partners go, Dean is…spectacular.
More than that, I couldn’t ask for a better partner, period. He’s attentive, sweet, funny. He even gets along with my dad, which is a huge feat, because Dad is a cranky curmudgeon.
“He’ll probably be there, but it depends on his schedule.” I shrug. “The hockey team he coaches has a bunch of weekend tournaments once we’re back from Boston, but hopefully that doesn’t stop him from at least making an appearance.”
“Good. And I expect you at the after-after party too,” Trevor says firmly, dark eyes twinkling. “Seraphina, Malcolm, and I are going clubbing.”
“Ha. I’m not making any promises. Let’s see how drunk you maniacs get at the wrap party before I decide if I’m following you down the after-after party rabbit hole.”
“No. You have to come. Who knows when we’ll get a chance to get our dance on again.” He gives an exaggerated pout.
He has a point, though. It’s hard to say we’ll keep in touch after the show ends. We only met this year, and once we’re done filming, he’ll go back to LA and I’ll stay here in New York. Hollywood friendships tend to be fickle and fleeting.
“I’ll think about it,” I tell him. “Now shoo. I need to change and scrub off this makeup.”
“Have fun this weekend. Love you, babe.”
“Love ya.”
After he’s gone, I quickly change into my street clothes and wipe the makeup from my face. My skin feels raw and looks red and dry when I examine it in the mirror. Frowning, I slather moisturizer all over it. I better not be splotchy for the wedding. That would be unacceptable.
Outside, there’s a black town car waiting for me. Everyone involved in the production has access to the studio’s car service, but it needs to be booked in advance. When I approach the curb with my rolling suitcase, the driver quickly rounds the vehicle to take my bag.
I greet him with a warm smile. “Hey, Ronald.”
“Heya, Allie,” he says easily. He’s one of our regular drivers, and my favorite one. “The itinerary says you’re going to the airport?”
“Yes, please. Teterboro,” I say, naming the private airport where billionaires and celebrities slip in and out of the city unnoticed.
“Fancy!” he teases, his eyes twinkling.
I feel myself blushing. Dating Dean comes with perks that go beyond attention and great sex—like the private jet his parents bought a couple of years ago. Yup. The Heyward-Di Laurentis brood owns a jet now. For years they’d been flying back and forth between their Connecticut and Manhattan homes and their place in St. Barth’s, so frequently that Dean’s dad, Peter, decided it made “fiscal sense” to purchase a jet. I can’t even.
Not that I’m complaining. As Dean’s girlfriend, I’m wealthy adjacent. Which means I have access to the family jet if it’s not in use. So far, I’ve only flown on it twice, and the one time I tried asking Dean’s mom, Lori, how much I owed them for the flights, she laughed at me and told me not to worry about it. I�
�m terrified of how much it must cost to fuel an entire jet, but Dean assured me that a one-hour flight to Boston wasn’t going to break his parents’ bank.
Ronald and I chat on the drive, while I simultaneously text with Hannah Wells, my best friend. Since she and her boyfriend live in Boston already, they didn’t have to travel for the wedding. Dean and I are crashing at their place for the weekend, but Dean went a couple of days ahead of me.
ME: In the car, going to the airport now. I can’t wait to see you, Han-Han.
HER: OMG me too. I miss your dumb face.
ME: Not as much as I miss YOUR dumb face.
I text Dean next to let him know where I’m at.
ME: On my way to the airport. See you in a bit.
DEAN: Be safe.
DEAN: Can’t wait to fuck you.
I swallow a laugh. I used to be caught off guard by the frank way he talks about sex, but these days I’m used to it.
And if I’m being honest with myself, I sorta kinda love it.
13
Dean
Allie gets in around nine. Even though she ate dinner on the plane, Hannah forces her onto a stool at the breakfast counter while Garrett makes omelets. It feels like old times again. Our college days. I didn’t realize until this very moment how much I missed seeing my friends every day.
The last time we all got together was six months ago when Garrett was playing the Islanders. Hannah tagged along, and the four of us had dinner with Allie’s dad at a restaurant in Brooklyn. And either I conjured this up in my dirty head, or a naked puck bunny broke into Garrett’s hotel room that weekend and accidentally wound up groping a sleeping Hannah instead.
Man, I miss playing hockey. Never knew what to expect.
As we eat, Hannah tells Allie the news she’d already shared with me the other day: she’s going to be spending the summer in the studio with an up-and-coming rapper. Along with being a talented songwriter, Hannah’s also been working with several music producers, and she’d recently written and co-produced a hit single for singing superstar Delilah Sparks, which opened a ton of doors for her.
Allie grins. “I’m having a hard time picturing you writing hip-hop lyrics.”
“God, imagine? But no, just producing some beats and writing some of the choruses. They’re bringing in this amazing new singer for one song. I cannot wait to get in the studio with her. She’s only fifteen.”
We chat for a while longer, but soon my patience wears thin. It’s been three days since I’ve seen my girlfriend, and I’m dying to get her alone. I think I’m still riding a high from the knowledge of that velvet box in my bag upstairs. I was never into all that romance shit, but I swear, picturing that ring on Allie’s finger gets me a little hard.
The moment we’re alone in the upstairs guest room, my lips are on hers and I’m kissing her like a starved man. Allie kisses me back just as hungrily. When I cup her ass and lift her up, she wraps her legs around me and drags her nails down the front of my shirt. Her hot, eager body is so tempting, I almost fuck her right there against the wall, but she pulls away the moment I reach for the button of her jeans.
“Ugh, I need a shower first,” she says breathlessly. “I feel so grimy. I worked all day and then boarded the flight, and now all I can smell is stale airplane coffee.”
I bury my nose in her golden hair. I kiss her, breathe her in. Strawberries and roses. The scent was custom made for her by someone her late mom once knew.
“You smell great,” I correct. The thing about women is, they hold themselves to a much higher standard than you hold them to.
“Shower,” she says firmly.
“Fine. But only if I can join.”
Her blue eyes turn smoky. “Deal.”
A few minutes later we’re naked and wrapped up in each other under the warm spray. I soap her up, playing with her full tits before sliding my hand between her legs and cupping warm, slippery paradise. I bend my head to kiss her, then bring my mouth to her ear so she can hear me over the rush of water.
“I want to fuck you right here. Will you let me?”
“Uh-huh.” She makes a noise that’s half moan, half whimper. Then she turns around, and the sight of her perky round ass almost makes me come on the spot.
We know from experience that this is the best way we can enjoy sex in the shower. If I’m holding her up, she’s too paranoid I’ll slip and drop her, and so she never gets into it. In this position, both of us have our feet planted on the ground and we both get what we need.
I grip my aching dick and run it along the crease of her ass. She shivers despite the heat of the shower. I press the palm of my other hand on her tailbone before teasingly skimming it upward along the bumps of her spine.
“I missed you,” I say thickly. It’s been three torturous days, and I hate being away from her.
“Missed you too,” she whispers back.
It’s almost pathetic how much I love this girl. How much I crave her. After we hooked up for the first time in college, the craziest thing happened—my dick stopped responding to anyone but Allie. And that’s pretty much been the case ever since. I find plenty of other women attractive, but the only woman I want to sleep with is the one who’s currently in front of me, jutting her ass out in an unspoken plea to fuck her.
When I enter her, we both moan. I move slowly at first, but there’s no chance in hell I’m maintaining that pace. I need her too much, and the sounds she’s making are too much of a turn-on. I barely last three slow strokes before my hips move of their own accord and I’m pounding into her with abandon. Breathing hard, I reach one arm around her and cup her breasts, squeeze one, play with the nipple, which contracts and springs against my thumb. I bring my other hand to the juncture of her thighs and rub her clit until her back arches and I know she’s close.
“Deeper,” she orders in that bossy tone I love to hear from her during sex.
And because I aim to please, I tilt my hips forward and change the angle, giving her the deep strokes she wants. Her breathy noises echo in the stall, mingling with the steam surrounding us. Her gasp of pleasure is all I need. I quickly follow suit, coming inside her. As I recover from the mind-blowing release, I’m too sated to move, so I just stand there, holding her tight to my chest, my face pressed to the back of her neck. Perfection. This girl is perfect.
A bit later, Allie’s getting ready for bed while I dress for the big event. “Tucker still has no idea what’s going on?” she asks, pulling her hair into a short ponytail.
“No clue,” I confirm. “I can’t wait to see his face.”
“Make sure you film it.”
“Obvs.” I zip up my jeans, then start buttoning my long-sleeve shirt. “You gonna wait up for me?”
“Depends. When are you gonna be back tonight?”
“Two? Three?”
“Then not a chance. We’ve got the bachelorette at like, eleven in the morning tomorrow.”
“That early?”
“Yeah. We booked the tearoom at the Taj.”
“Tea?” This is the first I’m hearing of it. I knew the girls were doing something for Sabrina at a fancy hotel, but I assumed it was a spa thing.
“Yeah, Jamie saw Alice in Wonderland for the first time last month,” Allie explains. “The cartoon version. So now she’s obsessed with tea parties. And since Sabrina said she didn’t want to do a late-night thing and look all puffy on her wedding day, we decided to do something low-key and bring the kidlet.”
“Jesus. We’re talking bachelor and bachelorette parties and nobody is seeing a fucking stripper?” I gripe. “And you’re bringing a child? This is a travesty.”
“Hey, no one stopped you guys from getting a stripper,” she reminds me. “You’re the one who decided to make it a sausage party.”
“Yeah, and I thought you would compensate for that, not make yours a vagina party!” I give her a magnanimous smile. “It’s not too late to change your plans. Go nuts, baby doll. Fondle some packages in sweaty Speedos.”
Allie makes a gagging noise. “That is honestly the most unappealing thing I’ve ever heard. Hard pass.”
I snicker. “Fine. Whatever. If a tea party is what Sabrina wants, who are we to deny her that? Jamie will love it, anyway.”
“God, that kid is so cute. Sabrina sends daily pics to our girls’ group chat and each one is cuter than the last.”
“Trust me, I know. Tuck sends at least one a day.”
She laughs as she slips into her pajama top. It’s one of my old Briar Hockey T-shirts, soft and worn and hanging down to her knees. “He is such a dad.”
“For real. You should see our group chat. All Tuck does is extol the virtues of dadhood. He thinks all of us should knock up all of you and just pop out kids all over the place.”
“Lovely image. How’s that going for him? Has he converted anyone yet?”
“Nah. Garrett is all about hockey right now. And I don’t know if Logan and Grace even want kids. I guess you and I will have to take up the mantle.”
Rolling her eyes, Allie climbs onto the queen-sized guest bed. “Tuck can keep the mantle for now. Kids are the last thing on my mind at the moment.”
“Hey, I didn’t say it would be soon,” I say with a chuckle. “I’m well aware there’re a few steps that come before that.”
First and foremost, an engagement.
Anticipation bubbles in my gut, and I hope my expression doesn’t reveal it. This weekend is about Tucker and Sabrina. But the moment we get back to New York, I’m wasting no time sliding that ring on Allie’s finger.
14
Dean
It’s past midnight and we’re in the back of the limo. Just the four of us, because Tucker still believes this is going to be a small affair. For the past ten minutes he’s been complaining that we “wasted money” getting a limousine, which he views as an “extravagance” for four people. Eventually Garrett has to shove a glass of champagne in his hand and say, “Oh my God, chill, we didn’t even pay for it. I asked the franchise and they arranged it.”
