“I’m good.”
“Glad to hear it.” I met her eyes, and I was pretty sure we were both thinking the same thing…nausea was not going to come between us tonight.
As long as I made it home without any broken bones.
We enjoyed the rest of the concert and went for a drink after at another bar in the building.
“Maybe we should sit on that couch over there.” Olivia nodded toward it.
I eyed the wooden chairs. “Okay.”
We sat side by side, which was excellent because I could surreptitiously touch her, brushing my arm against her as I reached for the drinks menu on the small table in front of us, or stroking a strand of hair back off her shoulder. We both ordered Moscow Mules.
“This is good because it has a handle.” Olivia held up her copper cup when we had our drinks. “Safer for me.”
“Hey, let’s not jinx things.” I shifted on the couch so I was turned more toward her. “Did you enjoy the music?”
“I loved it!”
We chatted for a while about the concert and other music we liked.
“It’s funny,” I said as we finished our drinks. “It’s only the third time we’ve met, but I feel like I know you so well.”
Her smile held a hint of shyness. “Yeah. Me too. Probably from that game we played.”
“Or possibly from puking together. There’s probably some kind of bond that forms from that.”
She laughed. “That could be.”
I drove her home. I pulled up in front of her building and put the car in park. I turned to her in the shadows.
“Can I kiss you good night?”
“Yes.” The word came out breathy.
I lifted a hand to cup her cheek and leaned over the console. Her long eyelashes fluttered down as I neared her, and I closed my own eyes as my mouth touched hers.
I opened my mouth on hers and she willingly kissed me back, opening, letting me inside. My tongue slid over hers. Her skin was so soft under my fingertips, her mouth sweet and hot, and I felt that heat all the way to my balls. She tasted amazing, the tang of lime, the sweet ginger beer, and her own essence acting like a shot of vodka injected into my bloodstream.
Jesus.
My brain started to shut down, every nerve ending in my body electrified.
I shifted for a better, deeper angle, opening my mouth wider, sucking more of her tongue into my mouth and God, God, my blood lit on fire. She made a gratifying noise of pleasure in the back of her throat, opening more to me, and I wanted more.
I wanted to kiss her and kiss her and kiss her. I wanted to have more than just my tongue inside her. I breathed in her scent, warm and flowery, trailed my fingers down her jaw, her throat, her open coat…down to the low, loose neckline of her top. I brushed over the top curve of one breast and she inhaled, then softly sighed.
Her skin was soft here too, so tempting.
I leaned over more, pressing her back into the seat, sliding my other hand into her hair to hold her head for my kisses…deep, wet, lush kisses.
Vaguely I was aware her hands were on me too, on my chest and shoulders, but we had too many goddamn clothes between us. I wanted her naked, in a bed.
Dredging up every particle of self-restraint I possessed, I slowly ended the kiss, pressed my lips once more to hers, then drew back. Her eyes flicked open and she stared into mine, hers hazy with lust, her lips parted, shiny, and swollen.
“Sweet fucking hell,” I muttered, using both hands to drag her hair back off her face and hold it there. “You make me want to throw you in the backseat, strip you out of your clothes, and bury myself inside you.”
She blinked.
“But we’re going to get out of the car, I’m going to walk you to the door, and we’re going to say good night.”
She blinked again, then swallowed.
“I know.” I closed my eyes and leaned over to kiss her forehead. “Are you aching as much as I am?” My dick was a throbbing spike.
“Y-yes.”
I pulled in a long breath through my nose and released her. I slid out and rounded the car to open her door. I took her hand and led her to the front door of her building, where we stopped and I turned her to face me. “Once again, I made an ass of myself in public. Will you risk another date?”
She smiled. “I was to blame for part of that. I’m sorry again. And…yes.”
“It’ll likely be a while before I can see you. We have three games next week, Monday, Wednesday, Thursday, then we go to Columbus. After that, I have four days off though. If I’m still here.”
“What?”
“Monday is the trade deadline.”
She stared at me. “Seriously? There’s a chance you could be traded?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so. But you never know in this business. I know guys who’ve been told flat out they won’t be traded and then three months later they’re gone.”
“Oh my God. That’s terrible.” She looked extremely upset about this.
“Don’t worry, it probably won’t happen. We’ll talk. And we’ll figure out when I can come to one of your schools.”
“Okay.”
I smiled at her apparent bemusement, leaned down to nuzzle her ear, and whispered, “Are your panties wet?”
Her eyes widened, then drifted closed. “Oh my God.”
“Are they?”
She hesitated, then whispered, “Yes.”
“Good.” I brushed one last kiss over her mouth. “ ’Cause I consider a date a failure if I don’t leave you with wet panties. Good night, Olivia.”
Olivia
That cocky asshole.
I stepped into the elevator and rode it to the fourth floor.
Wet panties. Sheesh. And a mean little ache between my legs that needed satisfying.
It was probably for the best that I take care of it myself, because I wasn’t supposed to be actually getting involved with Cam. I was supposed to be getting him on board with Move On Chicago so we could increase our profile and nail the grant and the donations we were going for. With someone like him supporting us, it would be a slam dunk. Maybe. Hopefully.
I let myself into my condo, my body still humming.
Damn him.
Because as much as I was trying to convince myself this was for the best, I was a melting hot mess of lust, and it was all for him. I was disappointed. And frustrated. And…so, so attracted to him.
Ugh.
In my bedroom I undressed, hanging up my clothes, sitting on the bed to strip off my tights, then padding to the bathroom in bra and panties to wash my face. Could he really be traded? That would make all this for nothing. My amazing spokesperson deal would be out the window. That would really piss me off.
I eyed myself in the mirror. The bra and panties were matching sheer black lace, and it pained me to admit that I’d put them on earlier thinking maybe Cam would see them. I’d also shaved my legs.
My lips twitched, remembering his comments about that last time. He was too clever for his own good. And he really got to me.
I pumped a couple of squirts of facial cleanser into my palm, then washed my face. I pulled the pins out of my hair and brushed it out, applied a moisturizer, and flicked out the light as I moved back into my bedroom.
I took off my underwear and slid into bed naked. I hadn’t lied last weekend when we’d played that game—I usually did sleep in pajamas. But tonight, my body felt sensitized…twitchy and tingly, a heavy ache between my thighs. The sheets slid over my skin in a cool caress, and I closed my eyes on a wave of longing, wishing it was Cam’s hands touching me…
I touched myself, instead, gliding my hands over my body, cupping my breasts and squeezing, then sliding down over my stomach. One hand slipped between my l
egs, and yes, I was wet. So wet.
I circled wet fingertips over my clit, my body jolting with electricity, and a moan escaped my lips. Sensation built fast, tight, hot…and it was Cam’s face I saw in the dark as I came in a shuddering, gasping orgasm.
Cam
We’d just finished our practice on Monday. I showered and dressed and then went to grab a smoothie and some lunch from the buffet in the players’ lounge. I was loading up my plate when Coach walked in. “Hey, Julien,” he called to Boosh. “Need to see you in my office.”
Boosh was already eating his lunch. He looked up and kind of froze.
The air in the room went flat.
Today was the trade deadline. We’d been talking earlier about what could happen. We wanted to make a deep run for the Cup this year. No, we wanted the Cup.
We were having a fantastic year. Guys like our captain, Marc Dupuis, along with Duncan Armstrong, Jared Rupp, and Max Hall had been with the team for years, and they were getting frustrated. We’d gotten so damn close the last few years. They wanted it bad. We all did.
There was also a feeling that we had to do it this year. The team was going to change next year. Rupper was likely going to retire. Hallsy might too. A lot of guys had contracts up this year and next year, and players like Duper and Army were going to be looking for big bucks. With the salary cap, the team wasn’t going to be able to keep everyone. And there were some great guys playing for the farm team…guys like Jacob Flass and Ben Buckingham, who’d already been called up to play a few games and were ready to make the move permanently. Next year, the team could be completely different, so everyone was thinking this had to be the year.
Duper, Army, and Hallsy had been playing their asses off all season, motivating the rest of us to do the same.
Nobody said anything. I filled my plate with salad and penne with meat sauce and took a seat to eat it.
Boosh was a buddy. A decent left winger. We’d played on the same line most of the season, and we’d gotten to know each other’s moves.
Boosh came out of Coach’s office grim-faced and strode through the lounge to head to the locker room. We all looked at one another.
Coach and assistant coach Al Boscoe came and told us our hunch had been right. Boosh was packing up his stuff to fly to Los Angeles. He’d been traded to the Southern California Golden Eagles, along with a couple of draft picks, in return for Steve Couture, a seasoned winger with good scoring skills.
I hated to lose Boosh, but Couture was damn good. This really showed the team’s commitment to winning it all this year. It totally sucked though, that Boosh had to get on a plane today, and there wasn’t even a chance to throw him a farewell party or anything.
“And we’re done trading,” Coach assured us.
So in all, it wasn’t that much of an upheaval. And I was safe here in Chicago.
Olivia
Cam’s four days off worked out perfectly as a chance for him to come to Franklin Middle School in Fuller Park. I’d received a contract that had been drawn up and approved by Cam’s agent, which Cam had signed so it was all official, and thankfully Cam apparently hadn’t been traded to another team. I’d been anxious about that ever since he dropped me off and reminded me of that deadline.
We had two college students who volunteered at the school, and I’d been in touch with them to let them know the plan for the afternoon. We’d sent out a media release and hired a photographer of our own to get lots of pictures of Cam with the kids. We’d also had to get all the kids’ parents to sign release forms allowing their photographs to be used for promotional purposes.
I arrived at the school early to make sure everything was in order. The kids weren’t even out of class yet, so the gymnasium was empty and echoey. Noah and Julia were with me, and the photographer we’d hired was there as well, checking light or something with some kind of device, a big camera around his neck. We were joined by the school principal and the physical education teacher.
“I hear the kids are super excited about Cam Brickley being here,” Melissa, one of the volunteers, said. “Actually, I am too.”
Kaseem, the other volunteer, laughed. “Okay, I’ll admit it, me too.”
Me too.
Even though I kept telling myself not to be. It felt like such a long time since I’d seen him, even though we’d talked and texted. A lot. He was just as funny and charming (and inappropriate) via text message.
One of our lime green banners was hung on the gym wall, and we were all wearing lime green Move On Chicago T-shirts with our logo on the front. I had one for Cam too, when he arrived.
I looked up as a couple of people entered the gymnasium. Not Cam. I moved toward them to greet them, and they turned out to be a photographer and reporter from the Chicago Press, and a cameraman and journalist from a local TV station. Awesome. I introduced myself and chatted with them for a few minutes, and then as I looked up, Cam walked into the gym.
I let out a soft sigh, wings fluttering wildly in my belly.
“Hi.” Cam approached, looking as gorgeous as ever, dressed in sweats, T-shirt, and running shoes, just oozing masculine athleticism. He met my eyes, his focus all on me despite the crowd, and smiled.
I smiled too. I couldn’t help it. My heart beat faster, feeling lighter at seeing him. “Hi. You found us.”
“Yep.”
“Let me introduce you. You met Noah and Julia, of course.” He shook their hands. “And Kaseem and Melissa are both physical education students at DePaul. They run the program three times a week here at Franklin.”
He greeted them with his magnetic smile.
I handed him the T-shirt. “This is for you to wear.”
“Thanks.” He took a few steps away and pulled off the shirt he was wearing.
I swallowed. I’d seen him like this before, but damn. I caught Julia’s and Melissa’s looks of interest and heard Melissa whisper, “Oh my God, wait till I tell my friends I saw Cam Brickley naked!”
I pressed my lips together.
“This is Jasper Higham,” I told Cam, introducing him to the photographer, then started to introduce the media people who were there, but it turned out he already knew them like they were old buddies.
“What is it about Move On Chicago that drew you to work with them?” the TV journalist asked Cam. She was young and pretty and was looking at him like she wanted to lick him. I resisted the urge to frown.
“As an athlete, physical fitness is obviously important to me. It’s my career. But it should be important to everyone. Building fitness into kids’ lives from an early age encourages a lifetime of healthy habits. I totally support the mission of Move On Chicago, and I’m thrilled to be working with them and, I hope, a lot of Chicago youth.”
Oh, he was good. Pride and admiration bubbled inside me.
“Let’s get a few pictures of all of you before the kids come,” Jasper suggested and set about arranging us and clicking way on his camera. At one point, Cam was beside me and slipped his arm casually around my waist. But his hand gave an improper squeeze to my butt that nobody else could see. I caught his smirk, unable to do anything about his quick fondle.
The bell rang and moments later kids started pouring into the gym, ready to work out and ready to meet Cam Brickley, star hockey player.
“Later,” Cam mouthed at me with a wink.
My heart skipped a bit, and my belly flip-flopped. I pressed my hand there.
This was so bad. This wasn’t supposed to be personal. I’d get my heart broken again when he figured out I would never be good enough for someone like him. I’d learned that I was better off alone than with people who didn’t really want me.
I needed to focus on business.
He was here. The contract was signed. I’d accomplished what I’d set out to do.
Ch
apter 9
Cam
A gymnasium full of preteens was loud and wild, but it was fun too. The two older teenagers, Melissa and Kaseem, kept things mostly under control. They obviously enjoyed what they were doing too, and the kids listened to them despite their excitement. I followed them through the workout, starting with a warm-up marching in place with knees high, then moving into some lunges and squats.
The kids—all different sizes and shapes and skin colors, all wearing the same bright green T-shirt—were familiar with the moves. I saw Olivia at the back of the group, moving along with the gang. I grinned. Good for her. Setting an example for these kids.
I was going to take her out for dinner after this. It was going to be easy to win this bet.
Who was I kidding? I wanted to see her.
Everyone grabbed mats and started doing plank variations. There weren’t enough mats for everyone, so I did without, and it didn’t escape me that the mats were old and worn. The moves weren’t hard, but I wasn’t familiar with the routine, so I had to focus. Everyone jumped up and started running in place, then dropped back to the mats for some modified push-ups.
“Yeah,” Kaseem shouted. “Like you’re going under a fence…slide…and back. And again!”
Some kids were doing the push-ups from their knees, but I, like Melissa and Kaseem, did full body push-ups.
“On your feet!” Kaseem called. “Heisman run!”
Whoa. This was intense. It was bringing back memories of my summers working out at FitTech, a high-performance gym here in Chicago where a bunch of hockey players kept in shape during the off-season.
Okay, this wasn’t killing me like Greg Stewart did with his sadistic plyometric workouts, but it was working up a sweat. And all the kids were doing it. It was awesome.
We finished with stretches. Melissa called to me, “What’s your favorite stretch after working out, Cam?”
“I hate stretching.”
The kids all giggled.
I smiled at them. “I do. I’m not naturally flexible, so stretches are painful. But I do them because being flexible makes me a better player. I have really tight hip flexors, so I work at that a lot. Our trainers give us a routine that’s designed specifically for us. Some guys are even going to yoga class.”
Game On Page 8
