“Good Whip Lollipop, number 1!”
“Morning Whorey, number 3.14!”
“Lady ChaCha, number 18!”
“Chesty LaRude, number 34DD!”
Chelsea raised her arms and waved, blowing kisses at the audience. She cocked her hip and skated on one leg, the other bent, and vamped for the crowd. Her pigtails fluttered on her shoulders and she flipped up her skirt, showing off her bright yellow panties with the NO CROSSING street sign emblazoned on them. It was fun to play up the crowd. Roller derby was a sport, but it was also about confidence and fun.
“Kid Vicious! Sandra Flea! Tail Her Swift! Gilmore Hurls! Cherry Fly! Rosa B Ready! China Brawl! Pisa Hit! Grief Kelly!”
Once the team had been introduced, they stepped off the track to their bench. The opposing team, the Diamond Devils, were the next onto the track, and they skated their intro. Chelsea put in her mouth guard and their coach, Black HellVet, pointed at her. “All right, ladies. Our starting blockers are Chesty, Grief, and Pisa. Vicious, you’re in the pivot panty, and Lollipop’s the jammer. Any questions? No? Good. Let’s do this.”
They pounded forearms, then, hooting and hollering, took their places on the track.
Chelsea was in the pack. As a blocker, she wasn’t one of the “stars” of the show. That was just fine. Blockers got the most physical on the track. While jammers skated ahead, trying to score points, and the pivots kept the pace, the blockers got to try and cause mayhem, and that was where Chelsea wanted to be. When the whistle blew, she immediately slammed herself into the Diamond next to her, then skated forward. She was known for being brutal on the track, and she put it all out there.
That was how she rolled, pun intended. For the next half hour, she blocked and cruised around the track, flinging herself at opponents and launching herself bodily when nothing else worked. She was going to have bruises aplenty in the morning, but all that mattered was the game. The Rag Queens were up by four points, but it was tight. One good jam and the Diamonds could pull ahead again. It made her lean in to her blocks a bit more, and she ended up slamming more than one girl out of bounds.
Then it was halftime, and the ladies retreated to their locker room. They crowded in, ready to discuss strategy for the second half, when all those bottles of water she’d drank before the game hit Chelsea at once. “Gotta pee,” Chelsea announced. “Don’t start play discussions without me.”
Cherry Fly groaned. “You gotta pee again? Jesus, Chesty.”
“Can’t help it. Blocking makes me have to go.”
Cherry paused. “You want company?”
Chelsea shook her head. It was just a quick trip to the john. She’d be fine. Chelsea winked and popped out her pink mouth guard, set it in its case, and then skated out of the locker room toward the restrooms. There was a toilet in the locker room, but it was under construction and smelled like Sandra Flea’s old knee pads, so she skated out to the public ones. There’d be a huge crowd there thanks to halftime, but people usually let a derby girl cut in line.
The halftime show must have been banging that night, because there was zero line at the restrooms. Probably a raffle, Chelsea mused, skating up to the door to the women’s restroom.
A hand tapped her shoulder. “Excuse me, miss?”
Her entire body froze. Her muscles locked. Blackness flicked at the edges of her eyes, and for a moment, Chelsea thought she was going to pass out.
No, no, no. You can’t. That’s when he can do whatever he wants.
Forcing herself to turn, Chelsea shrugged the man away. She didn’t know him. He was a stranger. Some guy in a concert T-shirt and a baseball cap. Looked like a frat boy.
The sight of him filled her with dread.
“You Chesty LaRude?” He held up one of her trading cards. “I’m a big fan. Can I have an autograph?”
Her mouth worked silently. She was frozen in fear. Normally Pisa, her derby wife, was at her side. She knew better than to leave Chelsea alone. But Chelsea’d been high on game endorphins and had left Pisa tightening the screws on her skates.
And now she was here alone in the hall with a strange man.
Her breathing rasped in her throat. Panic shot through her. She couldn’t breathe. Her sweaty hair stuck to her neck and she managed a small shake of her head. She didn’t think she could hold a pen at the moment if she tried.
His lip curled at her denial. “You think you’re too good for me? Fuck you.”
She wanted to say something. Protest. Tell him to go fuck himself. But she couldn’t speak. Chelsea was utterly frozen.
She had to get away. Had to. She stumbled forward, crashing into the swinging door of the bathroom. “Leave me alone,” she managed to choke out.
“Fucking bitch,” he called after her.
She skated into the bathroom, her steps jarring, desperate.
A moment later, she heard the door crack open, and for a frantic second she thought he was going to come in after her.
It was going to be just like last time. Not again. Not again. No. Please.
The light flicked off and she heard a ridiculous juvenile laugh. The door swung shut again.
A prank. Nothing more. He was just trying to freak her out.
But the lights off was just as bad—maybe worse—than a stranger touching her. Chelsea whimpered and dropped to her knees, hugging them. Her skates rolled her forward and she gently bumped against the wall. She collapsed against it and hugged her knees tighter to her chest. Hot tears poured down her face.
The dark.
She hated the dark.
Someone had to find her. Help her. Please. I’m here. Someone find me. The words swirled in her mind but wouldn’t make it past her throat. It might have been ten minutes or a hundred. Chelsea sat there, unable to move, frozen in fear.
“Chesty? Chels?”
Pisa’s voice. But she couldn’t answer. She was frozen, just like before.
The lights in the bathroom flicked on. A moment later, Pisa skated in, her eyes wide. “Oh, my god, honey. Are you okay?”
“Someone turned the lights off,” Chelsea said in a small voice. She sniffed and rubbed a hand over her eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“Oh, sugar, it’s okay.” Pisa moved to her side and hugged Chelsea against her. “Everyone was wondering where you were. Did . . . did someone touch you?”
Pisa knew Chelsea’s secret. The reason why she froze in fear. The reason why she couldn’t stand the dark. She’d understand why Chelsea had just shut down in a stupid public restroom.
Chelsea shook her head. “Just a fan wanting an autograph. He . . . startled me.”
“Prick.” Pisa remained next to Chelsea. She rubbed her arm. “You’re shaking like a leaf. Do you need meds?”
Chelsea shook her head. “I’m fine. I promise.”
“Uh huh,” Pisa said, but she stood up and helped Chelsea back to her feet. “Call me crazy if I say I don’t believe you.” She leaned forward and wiped at Chelsea’s face. “Your eyeliner’s running all down your face, sugar. Black HellVet’s gonna take one look at you and bench you for the rest of the game if you don’t shape up.”
She nodded. “I’ll pull my shit together. I promise.” Somehow.
“You should have waited for me,” Pisa said, grabbing paper towels and wetting them so she could help with Chelsea’s makeup.
Chelsea nodded again, but even as she did, she hated herself a little. Why couldn’t she keep her cool enough that her friends didn’t have to treat her like a baby? Why was it the moment a guy touched her, she lost her mind? Hadn’t years of therapy gotten her past this point?
There had to be a way to get past this. Had to.
Or else she was going to be fucked up the rest of her life.
Chapter Three
Gretchen couldn’t stop hugging Chelsea as they stood in the doorway to Buchanan Manor. “I can’t believe it’s been three years since we’ve seen each other and I had to get married to pull you out of hiding!”
Chelsea
laughed, squeezing her old friend and ex-roommate tight. “Oh, please! I’m not in hiding. I’ve been busy with derby. You’re the one who’s in hiding, what with all the book deadlines. I didn’t even know you were dating someone.”
“Aww, I miss you too.” Gretchen adjusted her nerd glasses and scanned Chelsea. “You look amazing, by the way.”
“Thanks, lady. You don’t look half bad yourself.” Gretchen was wearing a simple plain black cocktail dress with a long peplum ruffle at the hips that should have made her look stumpy, but instead, she looked curvy and luscious. With her vivid red hair and glasses, she was adorable.
“No, seriously.” Gretchen held up Chelsea’s hand so Chelsea could twirl like a ballerina. “That dress could be painted onto your body. And look at your legs. Damn, girl!”
“I work out a lot,” Chelsea said with a grin. She’d worn her wavy blonde hair down and loose around her shoulders to complement her tan. Her dress had no sleeves and was a tight body sheath in champagne that showed off her figure. She’d paired it with a tall pair of nude pumps and a single bracelet. “Lots and lots of skating. Wearing heels feels weird compared to something with wheels on it.”
“I’ll bet,” Gretchen said, eyes wide. She gave her head a small shake and then gestured at the grand house. “Welcome to the new home. I’ve traded up in roommates since you and I lived together. This one’s really fucking good in bed.”
Chelsea gave her a wry smile as she entered the immense manor house. “You’re a little out of the city now, though.”
“I don’t mind that. So who are you rooming with?”
“Pisa Hit. She’s my derby wife.”
Gretchen blinked. “Did you turn to the other team while I wasn’t paying attention? Because I’m seating everyone boy-girl tonight, but I can change that—”
Chelsea waved a hand. “Derby wife is a term for bestie. Pisa is my roomie and we hang a lot. Her real name’s Felicity.” Not that they ever called her that. Pisa would have punched her in the arm at the thought. She knew no one really liked to talk derby half as much as a derby girl, and tried to steer the conversation in a different direction. “So . . . what are you writing now? More of that space stuff?”
Gretchen made a face as she led Chelsea into the spacious mansion. “God, no. I’m writing nothing, and it feels amazing. I’m noodling with the idea of a cookbook, but for now, I’m a kept woman. Don’t tell Audrey.”
Chelsea grinned. “How is your sister?”
“Super pregnant and bloated.”
That was startling. “Wait. Did she get married, too?”
“Yep, but hers was more fly-by-night.” Gretchen squeezed Chelsea’s arm. “Told you that you’ve been out of the loop.”
“I have. Derby takes up a lot of time,” Chelsea said faintly. The truth was, derby was a good excuse for hiding from friends and social functions. She didn’t have to practice seven days a week, but she did. She didn’t have to volunteer for every community service event and training and away games and setup, but she did. As long as she wasn’t alone, she was cool. She could handle things. It was when she was by herself that things got sketchy and the fear kicked in.
“You seeing anyone, then?”
“Nope, not at the moment.” This was the first “event” she’d been to without Pisa at her side in the last while, and she was a little wigged out. Normally Pisa handled things for her, but she couldn’t exactly drag a friend to an engagement party that she wasn’t invited to. So they’d come up with a plan to make Chelsea comfortable without divulging her issues: She’d pretend to be on the lookout for a new guy and get introduced to all of them right away. Then, no one would be a stranger. Her mind and body wouldn’t freak out on her.
Everything would be good.
So Chelsea put on her cheeriest grin. “I am an extremely single mamacita. You gonna introduce me to a bunch of eligible guys that you’ve picked out as groomsmen?”
“Maaaybe,” Gretchen said, trying to hide her eagerness. “You cool with that?”
“Only if they’re hot and hold decent jobs. I make artisan soaps for a living. One of us has to bring in money.” She winked. “But . . . let’s make sure we don’t bring up the derby, all right?”
“Oooo, is derby a big nasty secret now? I always thought it was cool.”
“You should play,” Chelsea offered. “It’s very therapeutic to shoulder-bash someone off the track.”
“I think I’ll pass. I’m afraid of pain.” Gretchen wrinkled her nose. “So no derby mentions.”
“If we can avoid it. It tends to scare men off. They either think we’re strippers on wheels or they hate that it takes up so much time. Pisa’s last boyfriend made her choose between him and derby.”
Gretchen’s red brows rose over her glasses. “And?”
“And I’m told he sucked in bed anyhow.” Chelsea shrugged. “I figure it’s not worth the hassle when meeting people. If anyone wants to know about me, I make soaps and love movies.”
Gretchen snickered. “And clocking bitches, but I guess we’ll keep that on the down-low.”
“Yes ma’am.” Chelsea grinned and tucked her hand into Gretchen’s arm. “So show me all these eligible men.”
* * *
A short time later, she’d met everyone in the wedding party. There was Hunter, the groom, and the man Gretchen spent most of her time staring at adoringly and occasionally grabbing his ass. He was pretty scarred up, but Gretchen always loved a good story, and Chelsea guessed he had an interesting one. He seemed to adore Gretch, which made him a prince in Chelsea’s eyes.
There was Edie, who was kind of surly, and her sister, Bianca, who seemed nice enough but wasn’t interested in chatting with the women. Bianca had already found herself a man and latched on to him. One of those girls, Chelsea supposed, who thought all women were competition. In Chelsea’s eyes, they weren’t competition unless they were on the track.
There were the other bridesmaids—Greer, an old buddy and ex-roomie from the time she and Gretchen had a third roommate. Audrey, Gretchen’s pregnant and glowing sister. Taylor, their college buddy and a computer nerd who’d rather be at a laptop instead of at a party, and Kat, Gretchen’s loudmouth literary agent. She’d met most of them before, though it had been a few years. Nothing like a wedding to bring old friends back together. Actually, for all Chelsea knew, they were all hanging out every weekend while she was slamming into people at the most recent derby bout.
Chelsea was the friend who had drifted away, not Gretchen.
But she’d had reasons. Coping mechanisms, really. But they were reasons nevertheless.
The guys were an interesting mix. Asher was one of the groomsmen, which had made Chelsea laugh and hug him in greeting. He’d been an old buddy and part of their crew when she’d been running amok in the streets of New York with Gretchen, Greer, and Taylor. He was a few years older, a lot richer, and a lot less open and friendly. Something must have happened to the guy. She wondered briefly if Greer still had her crush on him. A few years ago, Asher had been the reason for Greer to wake up every morning, and . . . Asher didn’t even know Greer existed. Maybe she’d grown out of that.
People changed over time.
There was Magnus, a big, built guy who was into video games or something and had piercing green eyes. His brother, Levi, was also a groomsman, and was all over Edie’s sister, Bianca, so she’d barely managed to say two words in greeting to him.
There was her old buddy Cooper, the first in their “crew” to get a real job . . . and a receding hairline. She hugged him and rubbed his balding head. “You look awesome, Coop!”
“You never change, Chels. As pretty as ever. How are you? How’s the soap making?”
“Oh . . . you know. Slow.” She wiggled her eyebrows at him. “How’s the coffee shop?”
“It’s great. Business is booming. If you ever need a job, I’m sure I can squeeze you in.” He beamed at her and his gaze strayed to Bianca, too.
“Aw, thanks, bab
e. I might take you up on that,” she lied. It was too many people. Too many strangers. Too many opportunities for someone to take advantage. She was more protected in derby, when women pushed and shoved each other good-naturedly (and sometimes not-so-good-naturedly) and paired up for everything. But when Gretchen urged Chelsea on, she was glad to get away from Cooper. Everyone in her past would want to know why she was hiding out, and she wasn’t prepared to deal with that sort of thing.
Next she met Reese, Audrey’s new husband, and a total scoundrel with a goatee and a wicked smile. He was the type who would have made her exceedingly nervous to meet in any sort of situation post-trauma. It was the confidence, the devil-may-care, the ladies’ man mentality. Only the fact that he was doting on his pregnant wife made her okay around him, but she did her best to keep her greeting short.
Gretchen dragged her along through the room of mingling people, frowning. “I don’t see Sebastian anywhere. He’s Hunter’s friend.” She grimaced. “Well, as much as my boo has friends. More like he has work acquaintances that he doesn’t hate, and we didn’t want to stack the wedding with his, uh, college buddies, because they just did that in another wedding. So we searched around for groomsmen, and Sebastian’s some guy with family money. His family’s crazy, though.” She looked at Chelsea apologetically. “I paired you up with him for the wedding stuff. I hope that’s okay. It was either him or Magnus and I thought your coloring would look good with Sebastian because he’s swarthy and you’re so cute and blonde. Bitch.” She grabbed a pair of champagne flutes from the passing butler and offered one to Chelsea. “Drink up. I know how much you like your bubbly.”
Chelsea’s smile grew tight and she held the glass in her hand to be polite, when all she really wanted to do was hand it back. “Thanks.”
“Oh, we’re all sitting down to eat now,” Gretchen said, releasing Chelsea’s arm. “Come on. Sebastian should be around here soon.”
“Join you in a sec,” Chelsea said, her panic rising. It was stupid, really. Sitting next to some random guy in a room full of friends shouldn’t throw her into a tizzy. But Pisa wasn’t here to troubleshoot. She’d be by herself. And who knew what would happen then?
The Billionaire Takes a Bride Page 2
