by Clare James
“That’s sick.”
“Yeah, well, it’s a sick world, Casey.”
“I really don’t have a hidden agenda,” I fibbed. “I don’t have any friends here and we have hockey in common. Plus, I thought you were kind of cool. That is until you assaulted me.”
“Hey, don’t joke about that. I didn’t hurt you at any time, did I?”
“No,” I agreed.
“And when you said stop, I stopped, right?”
“I’m sorry, Finn. Assault was a poor choice of words.”
“It’s okay. But that’s something I’d never do and something I’ve never been accused of. I don’t want that hanging over me now.”
I heard the panic in his voice and could only imagine the ways Finn had to protect himself. How hard it must’ve been to never know if people were around because they wanted to be, or because they wanted something from you. It made me feel so shitty about what I was trying to do. Still, I couldn’t stop my reporter’s mind.
“Casey?” he asked. “Truth is, I don’t have many friends left either. Think maybe we could start over?”
He ran his hand through his hair a few times, and it made his request impossible to turn down. Plus, I still needed my story. Nothing else came close to this break. It was now or never.
I couldn’t blindside him, though. Not after listening to him talk. He would have to be on board, and that meant I’d have to make it seem like his idea to come forward. I would convince him to do the story with me. The only problem was that this plan required even more trust, and that took time. I had to start today.
“I’d like that,” I told him.
Finn blew out a deep breath and his hair fluttered. It made him look young and vulnerable. It made me want to wrap my arms around him.
This is where I needed to stop. If this arrangement was to work, I couldn’t be lusting after him. I definitely couldn’t let him get to me.
“Let me start,” he began. “I’m Finn Daley. Ex Wild player and a former tabloid news favorite.”
I smiled and returned the confession. “I’m Casey Scott. KXAA Sports Girl and current pain in the sport director’s ass.”
“Why is that not hard to believe?” He grinned. “You know I saw you down at the X about a month ago.”
“You did?” I said, shocked to learn he noticed me.
“I did. Once outside and once on the concourse. I told you that you were looking good and you flipped me off.”
That was him?
“Sorry. I tend to do that sometimes. It’s one of the reasons why I’m a pain in my director’s ass.”
“That reminds me, I’m really curious about something.”
“Okay,” I said, a little weary. I liked to be the person on offense.
“Why?” he asked.
“Why what?”
“Why are you reporting from bars all over town wearing the tightest jerseys known to mankind? Not that I’m complaining. It’s just — and don’t take this the wrong way — you seem so much more than that.”
“Well, what can I say? I needed a job.”
He nodded and looked a little disappointed. It made my face warm.
“Don’t feel sorry for me, Finn. It’s a good gig and a great stepping stone. I hope to be an international correspondent one day.”
“Then why are you in sports?”
“I need to cut my teeth somewhere and sports is as good of a place as any.”
“I just find it hard to believe that you didn’t get a better offer.”
“Yeah, me too.”
He tipped his head, searching my eyes like he was trying to figure something out. Then, he took my right hand in both of his. It was warm and rough and strong. It felt — no. No. There would be no feeling of any kind.
“It’s nice to meet you, Casey Scott.”
“You too, Finn Daley,” I said, and I really hoped he wouldn’t regret it.
***
Later that night I did go to the bar. A little dive on the river called Mick’s. If I was supposed to be friends with Finn Daley, I couldn’t be salivating every time he was near. I had to find someone to take care of my needs, so I could take care of my work. I was hoping this would help scratch my itch.
Once I got inside Mick’s, I knew I was in luck. The clientele was quite a bit younger (and hotter) than normal, thanks to a very loud group of guys out for what appeared to be a bachelor party. Why on earth they were here and not downtown at a strip club, I had no idea. It was sweet in a strange way. Guys actually having fun celebrating a friend’s nuptials without needing tits in their faces. How novel.
There were a few open seats at the end of the bar so I bellied up and ordered a beer.
“I fucking love it when women order beer,” said a deep voice with a southern accent. One that belonged to a very cute, very built — and oh my god, he’s wearing cowboy boots — guy.
I have a thing for cowboys, I’m ashamed to say. Not sure if it was from watching The Dukes of Hazzard reruns as a kid or Mom’s love of country music, but honestly, if I spent time around any man with a southern accent and cowboy boots? My I.Q. dropped thirty points.
“And I fucking love it when men wear cowboy boots,” I replied.
“Yeah, I bet you don’t see that very often up here.”
“More than you might think,” I said, for once encouraging a conversation rather than avoiding it. I was on a mission and didn’t see the need to play hard to get. “So you’re visiting, I take it?”
“In town for that yahoo’s wedding.” The cowboy pointed to his friend, who was in the middle of pounding a shot. “I’m Todd.”
“Casey,” I said as I watched his group of friends take shots and act like idiots. It was quite entertaining.
“Mind if I hide out over here for a bit?” he asked. “I don’t drink as much as I used to and I’m afraid I can’t handle being called a pussy one more time tonight.”
“I know the feeling,” I said. “And sure, stay here as long as you like.”
“Thanks,” he said, stealing a quick glance at my lips.
I cleared my throat, hoping my cheeks weren’t betraying me with a blush. If I remembered correctly, this was how a bar hook-up went down. Quick and to the point. It was exactly what I needed. I took a breath and gulped down my beer so I wouldn’t lose my nerve. Todd leaned in and watched me slam my drink, chuckling the entire time.
“Next one’s on me,” he said, flashing his dimples.
“In that case, make it a double.”
“Anything you want,” he said, low in my ear.
Cowboy Todd was everything I was looking for in a distraction — easy, hot, and a smooth talker with hard edges that I wanted to explore.
“I think I like you, Todd,” I said, ready to work it.
Over the next hour, we drank a few beers, slammed a shot (or three) of whiskey, bickered about our next drink order, and talked about our hometowns. He was charming as hell, and thoughts of Finn were moving to the back of my brain.
And when an old country song rang out through the speakers, he looked at me with his wickedly naughty eyes and I knew he was up to something. Something I definitely wanted to be involved in.
“How about a dance?” he asked. “That is if you can dance to this.”
“Hell, yes,” I said.
“All right then.” Todd took my hand, pulled me off my chair, and led me to a quiet corner on the dance floor.
I stumbled a little, the alcohol obviously catching up with me. I started going over the two-step in my head so I could keep up with the cowboy, but we never made it that far.
Suddenly, he was being pulled away from me.
“Sorry, beautiful,” one of the other bachelors said. “We have to get this guy back to the hotel before he turns into a pumpkin.”
No!
“Shit,” Todd said, smacking the hands and arms away to no avail. “It was nice hanging out with you, Casey.”
And just like that he was gone.
“It’s okay, I’ve
got you.” I felt a meaty hand clamp down around my arm. Ew. One of the locals.
“Not a chance,” another man said, before spinning me again in a quick rescue.
“The fuck?” I said when I met Finn’s eyes.
“The fuck is right,” he said.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, swaying in his grip.
“I was going to ask you the same question. But I guess I’m more interested in who you’re doing here.”
“Nobody,” I told him, the word thick and dry on my tongue. “Just stopped in for a couple drinks after work.”
“I can’t believe you’re here alone and drunk to top it off. Ever hear of the buddy system?”
“I’m not drunk,” I slurred.
“Jesus, Casey. I just watched you being passed around like a joint. What the hell are you doing?”
“Having fun?” I stumbled again.
“Right.” Finn wrapped his arms around me. “The time for fun is over. Let me bring you home. Tomorrow we can talk about how getting drunk in public could ruin your career.”
“I don’t want to leave.”
“You’ll thank me in the morning.”
“But I want to dance.” Actually, I wanted an excuse to stay in his arms a little longer.
“Casey, please trust me. I need to get you out of here.”
“Just one dance,” I begged. “Then I’ll go with you.”
“Fine. Once dance and then we’re out of here.”
Finn slid his body up to mine and I inhaled. His scent was delicious, all leather and spice. I leaned into him, closing my eyes and resting my head on his chest. Then we began to move.
I didn’t really hear the music, just the beat of Finn’s heart. It was all I needed to keep time. Soon we were gliding across the floor effortlessly. In tune with every move of his body, I followed him without thinking.
His warm hand slid under my shirt to rest on the small of my back, and it set off sparks under my skin that ran from my scalp to my toes. Soon it became incredibly difficult to keep my steps.
I opened my eyes and Finn’s jaw was tight, eyes hooded, and I knew we both need a breather.
“Bathroom break,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.
“Sure.” He looked relieved, leading me to the restroom.
The second I got inside, I went to the sink and ducked my head under the faucet. I braced my hands on the cool walls. Unsure if it was the booze or Finn, but the room was spinning. And ohmygod, I had to go to the bathroom so bad.
Yanking my dress up and panties down, I plunked into the toilet. Yes, into. In my drunkenness, I didn’t realize the seat was up.
What asshole puts the seat up in the Ladies Room?
Turns out it wasn’t the ladies.
“You know you’re in the men’s room, right?” Finn’s voice echoed off the walls.
“I do now,” I said.
“Don’t worry, I’ll keep guard. Nobody’s coming in.” He sighed and shut the door.
I pulled my shit together, realizing Finn was right. It was time to go. But when I opened the bathroom door, he was there waiting for me, and I literally fell into his arms.
They circled around me, and I lost my mind. I yanked him down the dark hallway into a supply closet. The little breather did absolutely nothing to cool off things between us. Without my brain’s permission, my body reacted to the man standing in front of me.
For once, I let it.
My arms snaked around his waist and up his back. I rubbed up against him, trying to get closer.
“Casey,” he growled in warning, but I didn’t care.
My lips found his the very next second, and the fireworks went off as I invaded his soft, full mouth. With my tongue, I traced the seam of his lips, teasing them. Opening them, so I could have more. I wanted that. It was on a loop in my head: more, more, more.
I gave him more and finally, gloriously, his tongue tentatively entered my mouth in a light sweep, like he was testing the waters.
And then he dove in and the bottom of my stomach dropped right out from under me.
That was the last thing I remembered.
Chapter 16
Finn
Anchor/Kiki Stuart: If you knew she was a reporter, why on earth did you get involved?
Finn: I wanted to trust again. I wanted to trust her.
I wasn’t completely sure Casey Scott was on the up and up. My experience with reporters told me to stay on guard. My dick begged me not to ruin this with my paranoia.
When I saw her in the bar with that guy, I almost lost it.
I wanted to believe I’d become the good guy, helping out damsels in distress and all that shit. That wasn’t it. I simply couldn’t handle seeing another man’s hands on her.
When she turned her attention on me, I went fucking nuts. Her hands, her lips, her tight frame pulling me closer. I loved every fucking second. Still, I wouldn’t take her that way, drunk and careless. I wanted her to remember every last detail with me.
I brought her home that night and she passed right out. And when I checked in on her in the morning, she didn’t remember a thing. I wasn’t sure it was a good idea to fill her in, so I let it go. I didn’t want her embarrassed or regretful. I had one chance, and I wasn’t going to fuck it up.
So we started slow. Grabbing a coffee here and there. Meeting for morning runs. It was cold now, so I was deprived the guilty pleasure of ogling her in little shorts. But I rather enjoyed her running tights as well. I enjoyed almost everything about her.
One morning, her slower strides and quiet way told me something was off.
“Something wrong?” I asked.
“Nothing,” she said. “Just work.”
“The Mole again?”
“Yes, but forget it. It’s not worth talking about.”
“Your career is worth talking about, Case. What’s going on?”
“Do you think I come off as a bitch?” she asked, her voice slightly shaking, from the cold or something else, I couldn’t tell.
“No,” I said without a thought. “Why do you ask?”
“Phil thinks I need to be warmer, more laid back on air.”
It wasn’t the first time she told me about her run-ins with the sports director. The reckless side of me had already mentally beaten him to a pulp a few times. The more time I spent with Casey, the more protective of her I became.
“I know for someone like Phil, no brains and squeaky giggles are the ultimate turn on. But trust me, you have a following.”
“What do you mean? There are hardly any comments on my Facebook page, my Twitter account is a poor comparison to Mack’s, and I don’t even have any raunchy calls coming into the station for me like the other women.”
“You want raunchy calls?”
“You know what I mean. I don’t want to be looked at that way, but I still wonder why I’m not. Does that even make sense?”
“Casey, men (and I’m sure some women) definitely look at you that way. If you could only hear the filthy thoughts I have going on in my head any time I see you.”
“Stop.”
“I’m serious.”
Casey bit her lip and I knew I was making her uncomfortable, but it was time she knew my intentions. We had completely ignored what had happened that day she fell off her bike. Hardly mentioned it. Same with her drunken episode at the bar. We ran, made small talk, and joked around.
Occasionally, Casey asked me questions about hockey, and I asked her questions about journalism. It was an easy friendship, despite the fact that there was so much heat beneath the exterior I could hardly stand it. I knew she felt it too, and I was tired of easy.
I stopped and gripped her shoulders so she’d know how serious I was. “You are amazing at your job; you are sexy as hell; and you don’t have to sell out.”
“I don’t know how much longer I can do this,” she said.
“As long as it takes,” I told her. “I see good things coming your way, Casey Scott. Just hang in
there.”
I meant every word.
Chapter 17
BEEP (n.):
An audio signal used for alerting or warning.
Something I missed completely.
Casey
As the weeks passed, I knew I was gaining Finn’s trust. He had already gained mine. And I struggled with it every day. Especially as he opened up to me more and more.
“You know, we’ve never really talked about that day at the house,” he said one December afternoon. “I still owe you an explanation for my behavior.”
If he only knew how much I thought about it.
“You don’t have to tell me a thing, Finn,” I told him. “I’m sure you had groupies and women bothering you all the time.”
“Well, that is true,” he said. “But that’s not what that day was about.”
“What was it about then?”
“A glimpse at my past, I’m sorry to say. By the time I got to the NHL I wasn’t doing so hot, Casey. I was out of control … in many ways. I indulged on everything. Booze, exercise, hockey. I played constantly, getting rougher with each game. I had a hard time staying within the lines. And the women? It’s not something I’m proud of. But part of where I was at mentally, well, it included a never-ending craving for anything that got the endorphins going. Sex played a big part of my life. I was — and please don’t run away — insatiable at times.”
My body buzzed at his confession. My brain put it all together — the sex, power, cravings, drive. That’s it, he was hiding some sort of addiction.
I cleared my throat, trying to get the need out of my voice. “And now?”
“I’m better. I’m so much better. But I apparently still have a few issues to deal with.”
“The sex?” I asked. Unable to believe my balls in asking the question. But hell, I wanted to know.
He laughed. “Yes, the sex.”
“Maybe you just have a healthy appetite,” I offered.
“Unfortunately, I don’t think it’s healthy. And the sad part? I still miss that part of my life. That wild, uncontrolled part of myself. Even though it almost destroyed me.”
In that moment, he was telling me what was going on. But I was missing it, because he had me so hot for him my brain couldn’t even function. He told me he was sick, he told me about the obsession, the highs and lows, and still I missed it.
