Sex Therapy

by Jillian Quinn

  “Hey, Syd, I have to take this call.”

  “Oh, bullshit.” She grunts in mock irritation. “You’re just trying to get rid of me because you don’t want to answer my question.”

  “No, I am not. Look, I will call you back later. I promise.”

  “But I’m stuck on this scene and need your help,” she whines. “I need another word for cock. You can only use the same words so many times before they all start to sound the same. So, will you help me with this scene or not? I am so close to finishing up Nate and Ashlyn’s story, and I need the Kennedy touch to do it.”

  Sydney does this every time she’s on a tight deadline with her editor. “A guy and girl meet, they have hot sex, they fall in love. The end. There you go. Write that.”

  “Blah! That sucks! Thank God you don’t write romance novels. You’re awful at this.”

  The other line stops ringing since Sydney keeps jabbering on and will not let me go. But whoever is calling is persistent, because another call beeps in my ear, and this time I have every intention of answering.

  “I promise I’ll call you back in a little bit. We have to talk about the next few blog topics, and I’m sure you have better things to do. Like, figure out five different ways to write about men who make your ovaries explode.”

  “Baha! Fine, go back to being an adult. Later, K.”

  I switch over to the other line before the caller hangs up again and get my pen and notepad ready. “This is Kennedy Lockwood.”

  “Hi, Kennedy,” he says, his voice thick and modulated. “This is Alex Parker. We met in the locker room at the Wells Fargo Center a while back. You gave me your card and said to call if I found something news worthy.”

  I am relieved but a little nervous for this call. Maybe I can get an exclusive interview with the former King of Scandals. That would help rake in a few bucks to keep Sports Buzz afloat for at least another month before having to dump more cash into this sinking ship.

  “Of course. What can I do for you, Alex?” I keep my tone calm and cheerful, hoping he has something big for me to write about.

  “I know Charlotte Coachman has you keeping tabs on me. She admitted it to me last night.” He laughs into the phone. “My girls is protective of me.”

  Hello, awkwardville.

  “I’m not sure what you want me to say, Alex.”

  A few beats pass between us before he says, “I have a story for you. I was hoping you were available tomorrow afternoon.”

  “What kind of story? About you?”

  “Yes…sort of. Charlotte is co-hosting a Youth Basketball Skills Clinic with Philly Clean to raise money for drug awareness and research. But I plan to surprise her at the event.”

  Sinking my elbow into the refinished wood, I prop myself up while holding the phone to my ear and start scribbling notes about Charlotte and the event. “Surprise her how? Charity events like hers are news worthy, but I’m not so sure how I would fit in. You can try the Philadelphia Inquirer or the Northeast Times.”

  “No, I think you are perfect for the job. Sports Buzz is the only paper that hasn’t trashed me, and I know you have an understanding with Charlotte. She seems to like you. I’m sure you already know her boss and my godfather, Mickey Donoghue, kept us apart for months, all because of his no dating clients rule. Well, I found a way around his rules, and I’m getting my girl back. For once, I want someone to write an article about me being decent and not another scandal. Plus, it will give her clinic and the charity exposure. It’s a win-win for everyone.”

  I knew Charlotte, aka Coach, had it bad for Alex after she had asked me to tail him and make sure he was staying out of trouble. But I had no idea they were so serious. I assumed she was asking as his agent, which is not unheard of when it comes to star players. Alex Parker is the King of Scandals in the hockey world—or at least he was before he met Coach. The last incident involving Alex the news outlets named Puck of Shame, and he sure earned that reputation.

  But, if there’s one thing I have learned from Sydney, it’s that even smutty books have a happy ending. “Sure, I’d love to help you, Alex. When and where is the event?”

  He breathes into the phone, sounding relieved. “Thank you, Kennedy. The Skills Clinic starts tomorrow morning at the event center on the Strickland University campus. I was planning to surprise Charlotte in the afternoon, but if you can meet with my teammates, Tyler Kane and Carter Donovan, beforehand, that would be great. They’re helping me organize everything with Charlotte’s clients. I’ll give them your phone number if that’s okay.”

  Tyler Kane is the star center for the Philadelphia Flyers. He’s also the highest paid player in the NHL with the ego and looks to match. He’s a mega babe—short blond hair, sun-kissed skin, and wide blue eyes that jump off his face during every interview. I have a slight crush on him from watching him play. He sure knows how to tear it up on the ice, which makes me wonder what he’d be like in the bedroom.

  And Carter Donovan is nothing to sneeze at. He’s bigger, more toned and taller than Tyler Kane, but he oozes just as much sex appeal with his scruffy dark beard and rugged good looks. For most of the season, he’s been sporting the lumberjack look that a lot of guys do because of superstition though I have never understood that tactic.

  Alex is new to the team, but I have a serious fangirl, freak out moment knowing that Alex wants me to meet with his teammates. I’m dying on the inside, so excited I have trouble forming actual words for a minute.

  “Yeah, that works for me.” My voice is level and calm, unlike how I feel on the inside. “Just have Donovan or Kane call me to setup a time for us to meet.”

  I squeal on the inside with delight, the prospect of one of them calling me too much to handle after such a long day on the road. And to think I almost missed the chance because of Sydney blabbing about cocks.

  “And just so you know, Charlotte’s entire client list will be there. You can have all-access exclusives with whoever you want.”

  Some players are near impossible to get within a five-foot radius. I have been dying to get an interview with NBA hotshot Dante Fisher, for over a year. Even after helping Coach out with Alex, I still haven’t been able to touch him. It also doesn’t help that he plays for the Chicago Bulls and is only in town a few times per year. I sure as hell can’t afford to fly out there just to stalk him. The opportunity Alex is giving me is like hitting the sports lottery.

  “Count me in.” The childlike excitement is evident in my voice.

  “Great. Thank for doing this, Kennedy. Well, I better let you go. It’s Friday night, and I’m sure you have other plans.”

  Nope, not even close. I have the dating life of a sixty-year-old woman. My life is nothing but work. The last sex I had over the past few months was with a vibrator or vicariously through one of Sydney’s books. She writes some real steamy stuff.

  “Thanks, Alex. I’m looking forward to the clinic. Have a good night.”

  After I hang up with Alex, I write down a few questions I want to ask tomorrow. This event will be the talk of the sports world. Sports Buzz needs a boost now that people are comparing it to the TMZ of sports. I take my career serious, and comments like that offend me. I did not spend four years studying journalism at NYU to let it go to waste.

  Despite the late hour, I make another pot of coffee, because I need to finish my articles by morning. The worst part about being a writer is not having the words to put on the page. Sometimes, I stare at the screen for hours until I find inspiration, and thinking about the event tomorrow has me so distracted.

  I turn on the radio and sink into the high back comfy chair, staring out the window that overlooks the noisy street.

  My neighbors are blasting music from the house a few doors over. The same people sit on their front steps every night to deal drugs and throw wild parties. If I were smart, I would have gone apartment hunting at nighttime instead of the day. I had no idea what I was in store for until my first night living in this neighborhood. Most night
s, I fall asleep to the sound of cop cars and ambulances.

  Between the rent and upkeep for the apartment, I am barely making ends meet. My new lifestyle is much different from the one I had grown accustomed to as a child. Most people talk about rags to riches stories. Mine is more like riches to rags except my rags say Prada and Chanel. Or at least they do until I have to sell them to pay bills.

  Within minutes of chugging coffee and reading through my notes, I find the right words to use for my article, adding some of my own flair to the story. News articles are boring, but I try to liven them up and do my best to make them sound less dull. Writing about a player with a torn rotator cuff or the Sixers practice report is not by any means the highlight of my life.

  Where my writing really shines is on our blog. Our readers enjoy some of our features such as live Q&As where they can send us questions about love and sex that Sydney answers on Facebook and YouTube. Fans of her books and our blog followers love having the chance to ask a romance author for sex advice.

  By the time I finish my story and add it to the queue for Monday, my phone rings again. Well after midnight, I assume it can only be one person and answer the phone without looking at the Caller ID.

  “Syd, I told you I have to work on my piece. If you want another name for cock, you will have to Google it.”

  A man laughs on the other end of the phone. “I think I can help you out with that. You have to start with the obvious—penis, dick, one-eyed monster—”

  “Okay, that’s enough. Who the hell is this?” I yell into the phone, irritated. “You don’t go rambling off words like that to a lady.”

  “Does a lady talk about cocks on the phone with strange men?” He has me there.

  “You never answered my question. Who is this? Speak now, or I’m hanging up on you.”

  “Tyler Kane. I assume you have heard of me since you’re a sports reporter. Parker gave me your number.”

  He has such an arrogance about him that gives me the impulse to smack him through the phone. Sucking in a deep breath, I realize he makes me nervous, which is weird. I have fantasized about Tyler on more than one occasion while watching a hockey game.

  What do I even say to him?

  Somehow finding the words caught in the back of my throat, I speak, and with an intentional attitude. “Yeah, I know who you are, Tyler. Why are you calling so late?”

  “Because I’m about to get shitfaced, and I plan to sleep in late tomorrow. I thought we should get this over and done with before I down a bottle of whiskey.”

  “Right,” I snort. “You guys lost your wild card spot for the playoffs. Tough break. I guess a few drinks are in order.”

  He sighs. “Yeah, thanks for reminding me, as if I wasn’t already trying to forget.” I note the irritation in his voice and hope that he doesn’t take what I said the wrong way, but he recovers fast. “We’ll get there next year, one step at a time. Anyway, tonight we’re celebrating Parker and Coach getting back together now that Parker is going over to the dark side and shacking up with Coach.”

  I lean back in my chair and kick my feet up on the desk, trying to think of how to rebound from this conversation. We are already off to an awkward start, thanks to Sydney and her stupid questions. With the downfall of my father’s company hanging over my head, this paper is one of the last pieces of Sentry Publications, the multi-million dollar company my grandfather had built from the ground up, only for my father to destroy our family legacy by getting into business with the wrong people.

  “Have fun. I’ll be working,” I mutter under my breath.

  “You should come out with us tonight…if you want. A bunch of my teammates and me are hanging out at this new club on the river. It’s pretty sweet.”

  “Thanks for the offer but it’s getting late. I have work to do, and you don’t even know me.”

  “What’s there to know? If your body matches your sexy voice, tonight could be fun for both of us.”

  I pretend to gag into the receiver and stick my finger into my mouth. “Yeah, I don’t think so. I have to hang up now. When and where am I meeting you tomorrow?”

  “You’re no fun.” He breathes into the phone. “I’ll meet you at two p.m. at the event center on the Strickland University campus at the back entrance.”

  “Sounds great.” I slide my feet off the desk and stand with the mug in my hand because this conversation requires a shot in my coffee. I need to find that bottle of vodka I hid. “I’ll see you then.”

  Without giving him time to say another word, I hang up and open the freezer. Tomorrow is going to be a long day if this talk with Tyler is any indication. But I need the press for my paper.

  Kane is available now!

  Read KANE for FREE with Kindle Unlimited.

  DONOVAN

  PRE-ORDER DONOVAN ON AMAZON

  Available May 24, 2017

  If you liked Kane, keep reading for a free excerpt of Donovan, the third book in the Face-Off series.

  As the starting goaltender for the Philadelphia Flyers, Carter Donovan has the toughest position on the team. He’s hot as puck, a caveman in bed, and a beast on the ice. But after another season of missing the playoffs, Carter is taking the off-season harder than normal.

  Just when Carter needs a change of luck, his teammate sets him up with Sydney Carroway, a famous romance author who likes to play games of her own. And after a blind date gone wrong, the dark-haired beauty has him wrapped around her finger. Sydney tortures Carter with her dirty words and pictures, thrives off the steamy conversations that give him a never-ending case of blue balls. Carter knows it. But he can’t get enough.

  It might be Carter’s job to protect the net when he’s on the ice, but when it comes to Sydney, he needs more than a killer glove save to defend his heart.

  PRE-ORDER DONOVAN ON AMAZON

  DONOVAN EXCERPT

  SYDNEY

  Carter Donovan has no idea I am messing with him. I bet he thinks I’m an evil witch, toying with his dick along with his emotions. Maybe I am, or at least to some extent, but damn him for shaving his beard. When I walked into Tyler Kane’s house, he was dressed in gym clothes and had only a tiny bit of facial hair. I was disappointed, to say the least.

  I had asked my best friend, Kennedy Lockwood, to set me up on a blind date with Carter. But I was expecting the lumberjack goalie and for him to be sporting some serious facial hair. Instead, I got the baby face version, or at least close to it. With broad shoulders, chiseled features, and arms ripped with muscles and tats, Carter would be hot no matter what he has on his face.

  Still, I was hoping to kick things off with his face shoved between my legs and that stubble rubbing against my skin. Over the past two days, Carter has called non-stop. He even sent flowers and gifts to my apartment. To be honest, I was shocked to receive such lavish presents from him. The Chanel sunglasses were a bit overboard, but at least I know he has good taste. And that’s an important quality in a man who I am considering dating.

  Flipping through a magazine on my couch, I wait for Carter to knock on the door. He’s twenty minutes early, same as last time. Part of me wants to take him into my bedroom and have my way with him. The other part of me, the side that likes experimenting on the opposite sex for research purposes, tells me I should make him wait a little while longer. After all, this could make for good writing material for my next book.

  As the author of all things smutty and over-the-top, I draw a lot of my inspiration from experiences. Carter just doesn’t know that yet. Poor guy.

  I fix my dark curls in the mirror on the wall next to the door and double check my makeup before opening it. Drool just about runs down my chin as I take in the sight of Carter. He’s one sexy hunk of man candy. With those big, strong arms that are more suited for boxing than hockey, I want him to grip me up in them and do sinful things to me.

  Carter smiles so wide it reaches up to his soulful brown eyes. “Hey, baby.”

  “Don’t hey, baby, me,” I shoot back, f
eigning interest. But this is all part of the façade.

  He leans in to kiss my cheek, his fingers grazing my bare shoulder as he touches me, fiddling with the strap of my tank top. “You look beautiful, as always, Sydney.”

  My willpower almost crumbles with his lips sending shockwaves down my spine. His big hand is dangerously close to my breast as he slides it the rest of the way down my arm. If he were a character in one of my books, I would say the hell with self-control and throw myself at him, allow myself to become consumed in his manly scent and intoxicating sex appeal.

  “Thank you, Carter,” I tell him and tug on his forearm in an attempt to pull him into the apartment. He’s so big and strong I can hardly move him an inch.

  After Carter shuts the door, he surprises me by shoving me up against the wall. I do my best to move away from him, but he makes it difficult with his size. Carter is used to defending the net when he’s on the ice. He sure as hell proves that right now as he blocks my entire view of my living room with his body.

  Bending down to my height, he breathes against my neck and ignites a fire beneath my skin. Heat rushes from my cheeks to my toes as he presses his lips to my neck. I move my head to the side to give him better access, my inhibitions lowering along with my guard. The walls I have built up to protect myself come crumbling down in an instant.

  My panties are damp. No, more like they are soaking wet. Each kiss he plants from my neck to my shoulder is more painful than I can bear. We can’t do this. Giving in to Carter before we even have our first date was not part of my plan.

  Plus, his beard…There’s nothing rough scratching my skin as he continues to make his way to my breasts. And I want the full Carter Donovan experience. I will wait for the man with the hot as puck facial hair just so I can get a taste of what it feels like against my pussy.

  In a tight, low-cut tank, my girls are out on display and Carter is about to dive head first into them. Before he can make a crash landing into my cleavage, I grip a chunk of his hair in my hand so his gaze meets mine. His eyes are intense, the passion behind them so fucking sexy I want to rip the fitted shirt from him.