Sledgehammer (Hard To Love Book 2)

by P. Dangelico

  “The Carinne character,” Marty mimics with a mouth full of food and nods.

  “That sandwich stinks, my dear Martin.”

  “I’ve been looking forward to this since breakfast. Deal with it.” He takes another bite of his sandwich. “The one they cast was pregnant and neglected to tell the producers. It’s a physical part so she’s shit out of luck.” He smiles broadly, a piece of pastrami stuck between his teeth.

  And then it hits me like a freight train. I can’t go anywhere. Certainly not to Canada, where the show films.

  “I can’t take it,” I say on the verge of crying. “My case hasn’t been settled.”

  “What?? What the hell is taking so long?” Marty looks as crestfallen as I feel.

  “It’s complicated. She wants a lot of money for the repairs. Money I don’t have.” Elbows on my knees, I rub my temples in a vain attempt to stave off a tension headache.

  “Jesus Christ, kid. Get your shit together. Life is happening and you’re missing it.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “How do you wanna play this? I think we should tell our friends.”

  I knew this conversation was coming. I’ve been dreading its impending arrival. My gaze steers out the car window, anything to avoid eye contact.

  “Where is this thing?” I ask, deftly avoiding the question as I press my palms on the bare skin of my thighs. I’m wearing a simple black mini dress, sleeveless, mock turtleneck while Fancy McButterpants looks ready for the cover of Men’s Vogue in a closely tailored blue suit, white shirt, and black tie.

  “Metropolitan Pavilion.”

  The Titans organization is hosting a party to welcome the new draft class. I only agreed to attend because my best friend is a conniving mafia bitch.

  Camilla threatened to post pictures of me on Facebook. Intimate pictures. Of a moment no best friend should ever black mail a best friend with. Pictures from when we were in the eighth grade and I got it in my head that I wanted big curly hair like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman. My grandmother refused to take me to a salon, no surprise, so I took matters into my own hands, no surprise, and bought one of those at-home perm kits with my babysitting money. You can follow that thread to its logical conclusion.

  The mafia bitch decided to document this disaster in Polaroid. The same mafia bitch saved those pictures on her phone and routinely likes to taunt me with them. Whenever she wants me to do something I get a text saying, remember this? with an attachment. Needless to say, I am currently on my way to the draft party.

  In the periphery of my vision I can see Ethan’s eyes shift back and forth from the road to me.

  “Amber?”

  My name in that deep voice, that voice that feels like velvet with a touch of rough around the edge, is my kryptonite. But I can’t give in, for a multitude of reasons. I won’t allow my feelings to dictate how I do business anymore. For the first time I stick to my plan and quiet the distant voice in the back of my mind that’s telling me to give in and fall.

  Being a grown up sucks.

  “First rule of fight club. You do not talk about fight club,” I say, quoting one of my all-time favorite movies.

  The silence prods me to steal a glance. His face is tight…he’s upset.

  “I disagree. We can’t hide this from our friends. They’ll figure it out anyway. Might as well tell them we’re––”

  “Benefriends,” I say, cutting him off. “If you say fuck buddies, I will hurt you.”

  “Benefriends?” He can’t decide whether to be angry or amused.

  “Friends with benefits.”

  Angry it is. His sexy lips press together, irritation etched around his eyes, the quiver of his jaw. I can see the wheels turning, strategizing. He’s formulating a plan of attack.

  “Remember that little detail about you getting disbarred if you get caught playing naked Twister with the prisoner? We need to keep this under wraps.”

  He blows out an exasperated breath and runs his fingers through his hair. “Yeah, I know we have to keep it quiet until your case is closed but––”

  “Ethan––I’m leaving as soon as the case is closed. I went to see Marty today. I’m missing out on a really good part, a great part, because I can’t travel out of the area. These opportunities don’t come around often. It broke my heart to say no.”

  “You turned it down?”

  “I had to. And let’s not forget I may have to go to jail.”

  “You’re not going to jail,” he says, speaking over me.

  “And if not, I’m moving to L.A. Telling anyone only complicates the matter.”

  After that, a black cloud descends in the back of the town car and lasts until we reach Chelsea.

  Inside, the loft type venue is packed. Most of the players and their families are in attendance, the room decorated in team colors.

  A very large redhead makes his way to us. And when I say large I mean the man is the size of a baby grand piano. Red is wearing a tartan bowtie that looks sharp on him. He reaches us, slaps Ethan on the back, and shakes his hand. “‘Sup, boss.” He rubs his full red beard and gives me a dimpled smile that makes him look like a little boy up to no good.

  “Amber, this is James Popovitch. Pop, Amber.”

  “Hello there Amber,” he singsongs, which makes me chuckle. His attention returns to Ethan. “Fuckers drafted a nose tackle,” he mutters conspiratorially.

  Ethan shakes his head. “Kid’s green. Really green. His footwork needs a lot of work. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

  I spot Justin across the room. I wave and he blows me a kiss. What a goofball.

  “If you say so,” Pop says in a low voice.

  “I do.”

  “Excuse me, gentleman. I have a friend to see.”

  Ethan frowns. Before he can make a move I sense his intention to reach for me, to make some gesture that would imply intimacy, and before he does I check him with a wide-eyed glare.

  “I’ll see you in bit,” I warn. After which I smile at Popovitch and go in search of Justin.

  On my way to Justin, I run into Calvin coming from the buffet table. In one hand is a dish filled with food, in his other a chicken skewer. He takes a big bite.

  “Hey.”

  His mouth full, he nods his greeting.

  “Where’s the woman who blackmailed me into coming to this thing?” Before Calvin can answer Ethan walks up, standing much too close to me. Cal continues to chew on the chicken skewer while his shrewd gray eyes bounce from me to Ethan and back again.

  No sweat. I am a stone cold killer, a vault, Fort Knox as a matter of fact. I got this thing on lockdown.

  “You two are sleeping together.”

  Mmmkay, maybe not entirely on lockdown. It’s not even a question. Regardless, I’m prepared to deny, deny, deny.

  “First rule of fight club. You do not talk about fight club,” says the man that gave me more orgasms in one night than is healthy. It obviously damages gray matter otherwise the same man wouldn’t have such a hard time following one simple fucking rule. My eyes roll so hard I can see the back of my skull.

  Cal stops chewing and swallows. “I knew it.”

  “Ethan,” I snap, eyes wide and accusing. He’s not even a little bit remorseful. Nope. He’s smiling, the sexy turkey, is smiling proudly at me. My attention returns to Calvin. “It’s for medicinal purposes.”

  Cal arches an eyebrow. “This is a bad idea. And that’s all I’m gonna say on the subject.” His attention swings back to Fancy. “Anything from Phil?”

  Ethan’s eyes flicker to me, then back to Calvin. “You want to talk about this now?”

  Calvin takes one look at me and gets the gist. “Her? She’s family.”

  Three words, two if you go with the abbreviation, three words trigger a seismic event. He thinks I’m family. My eyes slam into Calvin’s. He’s dead serious, no sign of anything other than total honesty. This does not surprise me. Calvin’s way too arrogant to be anything other than honest. />
  Family. Maybe it’s been staring me in the face this whole time? Maybe family isn’t something you’re born into but rather something you create for yourself. I hear people saying all the time that you can choose your friends but you can’t choose your family. Maybe we should choose our family.

  “Phil isn’t stupid. I’ll let him save his pride and drag it out only because we know, in the end, you’re getting everything you asked for.”

  “And if he gets stupid?”

  “It’s handled. Gladiators already have an offer in. They know you want to finish your career in New York.”

  Their voices fade into the background of my thoughts. So much has changed in the last five months. I’ve made decisions, claimed a sister, found a lover and best friend, and now discovered family in the least likely of places. Am I ready to leave all this behind?

  To Calvin’s left, I spot a woman vigorously waving at me from her seat at a table. Deep in conversation, the guys don’t notice me move away.

  “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. I’ve been texting you since you walked in the door,” my very pregnant best friend semi shouts.

  “I don’t have a bag. I didn’t bring my phone.”

  “I’m miserable.”

  I want to laugh. I really do. But I can’t. She’s two weeks from her due date and hella irritable. “How’s the bun cooking?”

  “He’s overcooked! His cute ass needs to vacate the premises.”

  “But he loves it in there, Fiona,” I say, annoying her further by rubbing her gigantic belly. Seems only appropriate to call her Fiona when I keep insisting that she married a real life Shrek.

  “Look at my feet.” She moves the tablecloth aside so I can check them out. Wut in the ever loving…I give myself major props for not gasping in horror at the size of her feet. “They’re ruined forever. They will never go back to being as cute as they once were.”

  I can’t argue. “I don’t understand. Is that where the baby comes out?”

  “Scary, right?”

  “Why are you here? Why aren’t you at home with your feet up?” I inquire, my expression terrified.

  “We had to make an appearance. You know, remind Phil that if he doesn’t make a decision soon he’ll be left with two third round rookies and a career back-up QB and that I will send a squad of hit men after him. Besides, between the baby and the stress of the contract I’m ready to murder my husband in his sleep.”

  “Wow, this pregnancy has made you a little testy.”

  “Hello ladies,” a familiar voice drawls from behind me. Justin kisses us both on the cheek and takes the chair next to me. “What’s up?”

  “Camilla’s feet look like baby hippos. And by the looks of her feet. I’m never having children. What’s up with you?”

  “You still haulin’ that baby around?” Justin says to Cam.

  “Not much longer,” Calvin answers. He’s standing next to Ethan, whose eyes narrow when he sees Justin’s arm draped around my shoulders.

  “Can I have a word,” he says in a low voice. Everyone turns to stare at me.

  Umm. “Can it wait?”

  “No, it can’t wait.” My eyebrow nervously twitches up. The turkey is going to blow our cover. I can see it in his eyes.

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  Heavy sigh. Heavy freaking sigh. I stand slowly, very slowly, and say to our curious looking friends, “Be back in a jiffy,” with a tight lipped smile.

  As soon as we begin to walk away, I hear Justin say, “They’re sleeping together,” and a combined, “Yep,” from Cam and Cal.

  Dandy. Just dandy.

  I follow Ethan along the edge of the dance floor, past the many tables filled with people giving us dubious glances, and down an empty hall.

  He opens an unmarked door and pulls us inside, pinning me against the back of it. It’s dark. An emergency sign offers the only light, tracing his features in blue.

  “What are you doing?”

  “What does it look like I’m doing?” Bending his knees so that our hips are aligned, he grinds into me and I nearly lose it there and then. He kisses me then. Hard. Possessively.

  Ripping his lips away, he pants and says, “He can touch you, but I can’t?” One large hand cradles my neck, the other shoves through my hair. There will be no doubt about what we were doing once we rejoin the party.

  “Really? You pulled me away for that?” I reply as breathless as he is.

  “He’s all over my girl and I’m supposed to stand there and watch him. He needs to get his own goddamn girl. What’s so funny?”

  “Your girl?” The giggles won’t stop. “You sound like you stepped out of a bad romance novel.”

  “You’re my girl,” he repeats, his voice projecting the Neanderthal brand of steely determination. “This is mine,” he says and plants a tender kiss on my lips. “This is mine,” he says and yanks my dress up, exposing my lace thong. He pets me over my underwear and my eyes flutter drunkenly. “This is mine,” he says and pulls my underwear aside, rubbing my clit with the rough pad of his thumb.

  Sure! Whatever! It’s yours, all yours––just keep doing that! I’m screaming on the inside. I’m also pretty sure the same words tumbled out of me an incoherent mess.

  “And this is definitely the fuck mine,” he says as he slips his fingers inside of me. The impatient sounds coming out of me are downright embarrassing. “Now do I sound like a bad romance novel?”

  “Oh no, no, no,” I whine, clutching his arms. His fingers are working magic, stroking me with a certainty that has me on the verge of coming in seconds. The man’s got skills, he really does. “No, you sound like one of the really, really good ones.”

  “You think you can walk away from this?” he whispers against my lips. “I’m going to make it impossible for you to leave me.”

  Our eyes meet and what I find gives me pause. I see need, pain, a dash of something tender. The tenderness is what makes my stomach churn. For the first time he can’t negotiate his way out of a problem, for what he wants. His easy smiles and Prince Charming act, all the tools in his arsenal, the ones he’s always relied upon, won’t do him any good. They won’t work on me and he knows it.

  “Fancy––” I stroke his cheek. “That’s not going to happen.”

  As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I regret them. This happens to be an almost daily occurrence for me, hence it doesn’t warrant alarm. What does, however, is how quickly Ethan’s demeanor changes from vulnerable to lethal.

  “Watch me.” Maybe it’s the determined look on his face. Maybe it’s the conviction in his voice. Whatever it is, nothing raises my hackles more than the idea that he may accomplish it. He smiles then. One of his sexy smiles that promises to be my downfall.

  His strokes grow steady and sure, his thumb drawing circles on my sweet spot exactly the way he knows I like it. I come so hard I have to bite down on his shoulder to muffle the scream. Weak kneed, I sag against him while he holds me close. Then he pulls his fingers out and licks them, his eyes never leaving mine.

  “Get on your knees. Let’s put that pretty mouth of yours to good use.”

  Huh?

  Any other time in my life, with any other person, that would have earned a punch to the nut sac. But with him? Without having to be asked twice, I drop to my knees at the altar of Ethan.

  He pushes his suit jacket out of the way and plants his hands on his hips. “Take it out.” Even in the dim light of the utility closet, I can read the undisguised hunger on his face. Eagerly, I do as I’m told, unbuckling his belt and dragging the zipper of his trousers down. I’m so giddy it feels like I’m unwrapping a present a day before Christmas. They drop to his ankles. I rub my mouth and nose over his hard-on, the one begging to be released from the confines of his boxer briefs. The musky scent of him mixed with laundry detergent and soap is crack cocaine to my libido.

  The deep moan coming from above forces me to look up. His eyes beg me to continue. And I do. I drag his underw
ear halfway down his muscular thighs, cup and squeeze his sac, his erection jerking in response.

  “Perfect,” I murmur. Because he is. God help me, he is. I wrap my lips around the tip and grab him firmly at the base. His knees wobble, and his body sways. I lick and suck, pumping my hand in a rhythm I know he favors.

  “Holy shit,” I hear him mumble between short burst of excited exhales.

  “Hold on to something, Fancy McButterpants. I’m about to blow your mind.” And I did. I don’t make promises I can’t keep.

  “You’re quiet.” Ethan brushes the hair off of my face with one hand and pulls me closer with the other. I throw my leg over his naked lap and straddle him, head resting on his chest and wrapped in his arms. No better place in the world to be. Needless to say, after our session in the broom closet, I looked like I was jumped by a heard of horny adolescent bull elephants. No way was I going back to that party looking like that. Ethan texted Cam and Justin that we’d decided to make an early exit. And truthfully, I wasn’t ready for the third degree from our friends.

  As soon as he unlocked the front door, we stumbled inside with our mouths fused together and began to tear each other’s clothes off. The kisses out of control, greedy. By the time we reached the top of the stairs there was a long trail of discarded clothing left in our wake. Naked, I was unceremoniously thrown over his shoulder. He got a smack on his ten star bubble butt for that. After which, I got a slap on mine. Can’t say I minded it, though.

  “Hmm.” I lean in, burying my face on the side of his neck, and suck in a big whiff of him. It’s one of my favorite things to do now. Which, I’ve determined, should be a thing––a legit hobby. I don’t know what it is about his scent, but it quiets the crazy and that is something that should always be encouraged.

  “Should I be worried?” He sounds more amused than curious.

  “No,” I say head shaking. “I was thinking about what Cal said.”

  “That you’re family?”

  I lift my eyes to take in Ethan’s reaction and nod. He picks up my hand, the one that’s brushing back and forth over his chest, and places a kiss on my knuckles, on my palm.