The sight of Charlotte, comfortable and sleeping next to me, brings a smile to my face. Maybe I should wake her, but she looks far too peaceful to disturb the beautiful purring sound she’s making. For once, I don’t have the urge to creep out the door, pretending whatever occurred between us can’t happen again, because Charlotte isn’t the type of girl I’d fuck and forget.
Although I don’t recall us even having sex, just those small clips of Charlotte on top of me. I’d think that would stick out most in my mind. It usually does after a long night of drinking even if I can’t remember some of it, but lately, I seem to be having lots of nights where I get blackout drunk and forget. With Charlotte, I want to recall every second.
I prop myself up on my right elbow to lean over her and slip my hand beneath her tank top. I’m not at all surprised that her stomach is muscular, toned in all the right places. By the feel of it, she might even have better abs than mine. Despite her career-ending injury, she’s clearly kept up with her training regimen.
She backs up against my chest, and I move her hair out of her face and off her neck, allowing me access to plant soft kisses on her neck.
“Alex,” she whispers as I palm her left breast in my hand and continue to leave a trail of kisses on her skin.
She feels amazing, her nipple very responsive to my touch.
“Alex!” she yells this time. Then, she jolts up, as if the house were on fire, and elbows me hard in the nose, causing me to lose my grip on her, the pain making me dizzy.
Charlotte rolls onto her back and pushes herself up against the headboard, her face searching mine. I’m not sure if she’s going to punch me or kiss me. As if reading my mind, she places her hand on my forehead before moving it to my cheek and down my body.
“Oh, thank God.” She lightly smacks me on the shoulder. “If you ever do that to me again, I am going to kill you. Do you understand me?”
I smirk. “Do what? Rock your world?”
She gets in my face, our mouths several inches apart, and she sighs. “What are you talking about? You didn’t rock anything. You were too busy sleeping to even notice me.”
My cheeks flush with embarrassment. “Oh.”
Charlotte glances down at her nipples that are poking through her shirt and then looks up at me, confused. “Were you just feeling me up? What is wrong with you? I spent most of the morning taking care of you, and you were trying to cop a feel while I was sleeping? That has got to be a new low, even for you, Alex.”
“No, it wasn’t like that.” I have to defend myself. “I thought we hooked up, and that was the reason you were in bed with me. Complete misunderstanding.”
“Whatever,” she says, dismissing me with a wave of her hand. “Don’t let it happen again.”
“If that’s what you want.”
She nods in acknowledgment. “Look, we need to talk, and I need you to listen to me.”
I swallow, my throating closing up at her words. “Just what every guy wants to hear in the morning.”
Nudging me with her elbow, she laughs and then regains her focus, her tone growing serious. “You scared the shit out of me. I came to your apartment to break up your wild party, and by the time I got you over here, you were burning up. At first, I thought you had alcohol poisoning, but you would’ve had heat loss instead of breaking out in a sweat if that were the case, so I thought it would be best to get you to cool down and sleep it off. I think you’re intolerant to the alcohol you’re consuming, Alex. That means your body can’t handle it. You need to stop. I was two seconds away from calling Mickey’s concierge doctor until the ice packs started to do their job.”
She lowers her head. “Just look at my sheets. They’re drenched in sweat and water. I had to sleep next to you to monitor your breathing. I can’t do this. I’ve been down this road before, and I’m not about to take another trip down memory lane for you. You need professional help. Do we need to check you into rehab?”
I sit up and slip off the bed, angry and irritable. I stare down at her. “I don’t need rehab, and I don’t have a problem. Please don’t act like you know me or want to understand anything about me.”
Scooting her butt along the sheets, she moves in front of me, her eyes watery and her expression serious. “Please, Alex.” She takes my hand between her palms, and I don’t resist. “Let me help you. Whatever you’re going through, I want to be there, be whatever you need to get through this.”
My lips curl up into a devious grin. “Anything I need?”
She frowns. “Well, no, not anything you need, but you know what I mean. I want to be here for you. Just give me one week.” She holds up her index finger. “One week is all I want from you.”
“And what would that entail? Are you going to follow me around everywhere I go?”
“No, smart-ass. You will stay with me and live in this bedroom, and I’ll help you get sober. I’ll make sure you don’t drink and that you make it on time to practices and games. You’re a good player, and you were on the right track before…” Her voice trails off, and our eyes meet.
She knows why I started drinking and why my life went downhill six months ago. I wasn’t always like this.
“Let’s just say that I know what you’re going through from my own experiences.”
I move my hands to my hips, and Charlotte’s focus shifts to the hem of my black boxer briefs.
“You do realize, I only live next door, right? I don’t see the point of staying here.”
She smiles, her eyes wide. “As your landlord, I will have to evict you temporarily for…” Biting down on her lip, she thinks over her response and says, “Termites. You have termite infestation, and I need to have the apartment sprayed. So, there you have it. You will have to live here for the next week.”
“I could just check into a hotel,” I counter. “There are plenty of them down the street.”
Charlotte slides off the bed, and with her height, our foreheads are practically touching. She sucks in a deep breath and lets it out, the silence between us maddening.
I don’t want to stop drinking. The thought of staying with Charlotte though…now, that might make sobriety worth it. But the likelihood of me caving to my true desire, the need for my next drink, might very well cause complications between us. Charlotte will hate me. Mickey will want to kill me.
“Fine,” I agree, knowing I will disappoint her but committing because I want to spend more time with her. “When do we start?”
“Right now. We’ll start by cleaning up your apartment, and then you’re getting in the shower. You stink. The smell of strippers and alcohol is making me sick.”
I shake my head and laugh. “I have a feeling this will be a very interesting week for both of us.”
Charlotte winks as she breaks away from me, and she leaves the bedroom without another word, silently beckoning me to follow her.
Watching Charlotte dump thousands of dollars of liquor down the drain was painful, to say the least. All my partners in crime—Johnnie Walker, Macallan, Patrón, Hennessy, and Rémy—are now empty and at the bottom of a trash shoot. I’m surprised that I’ve allowed her to intervene, that I’m sharing this part of me with a complete stranger. But, when I’m around Charlotte, my guard lowers. She’s so comfortable in her skin and down-to-earth that I know I can tell her just about anything.
From what Mickey told me, Charlotte had a very rough life after her parents turned to drugs. Mickey paid her way through college, treated her as if she were his daughter, and then offered her a job alongside him. He was there for her when she needed someone most. I’m sure that’s why she wants to fix me.
There’s nothing for her to fix though. I drink because I’m miserable, and the hole inside my chest gets bigger every day. I drink because hockey isn’t the same without my father here to cheer for me in the stands. I drink because my life is shit without him. He coached me through every major event in my life. And, now, I have no one. No coach.
Charlotte isn’t weak, like
me, and I doubt she’d ever understand my need to close that hole even if it’s temporary.
After we cleaned my apartment, we showered—unfortunately, not together—and Charlotte accompanied me to meet, Mike Turner, the general manager of my new team. She doesn’t trust me. Hell, I don’t trust myself. She has every reason to doubt that I can make it more than a few hours without crashing.
The meeting went well, and Mike didn’t seem to pick up on the fact that I had been out drinking all night. I swore, I could smell the alcohol seeping through my pores. Even with a chill in the air, I was sweating the entire time I sat in Mike’s office.
Now that we’re back in Charlotte’s apartment, the air feels thicker, forcing me to loosen my tie and open the top buttons of my navy oxford. Charlotte insisted that I dress appropriately for the meeting, even scolded me when I walked out of my new bedroom in track pants and a Flyers hoodie. She said I needed to swap my old image for a new one and pretend that I actually gave a shit.
So, here I am in a stuffy outfit, pretending I give a shit, my palms clammy and the shirt I’m wearing sticking to my chest. It didn’t take long for the withdrawal to sink in. My hands began to shake before we even made it to the meeting. Now, I look like I have some kind of tic.
Charlotte removes a pitcher of water from the refrigerator and sets it on the island in the kitchen. She fills two glasses and slides one in my direction, motioning for me to take a seat at one of the four barstools.
“You look like you could use this. It’s important you stay hydrated. You’re starting to turn an odd shade of yellow, and you’re sweating through your clothes.”
As she leans over to retrieve a baking dish wrapped in aluminum foil from the refrigerator shelf, I get a perfect view of her ass, looking spectacular in a tight knee-length skirt.
She spins around and sets the food on the counter. “I thought I’d reheat us some leftover lasagna from last night. Any objections?”
I gulp down half of the water in front of me and shake my head. “No, that sounds perfect.” I don’t want her to know that the only thing I’m hungry for is her pussy and a fifth of whiskey, but I’d settle for anything, as long as it leveled me out.
She preheats the oven, and we wait, the two of us sipping our water, Charlotte leaning against the marbled bar and me sitting across from her. An awkward silence passes between us, and she begins to flip through her cell phone, trying to act as if this isn’t uncomfortable. After the timer dings on the oven, she sets her phone down on the counter, opens the door, and sets the lasagna pan on the bottom rack.
“I just got an email from Mike Turner,” she announces. “He was very pleased with you today. You need to continue to make a good impression on management and the rest of the team. But no more partying with Kane and Donovan, understand?”
I sink my elbows into the marble and cup my face in my hands. “Yes, warden.” She cracks a smile, and I continue, “Now that I’m your prisoner, can we at least role-play?”
Charlotte reaches for her water, focusing on the living room behind me as she drinks from the glass. “I don’t have time for games. Let’s not forget why you’re staying with me.”
I smirk. “I like games. We can play prisoner and executioner. You can tie me up, tease me if you like, but you’d better believe I’ll make you come.”
Her eyes widen, and she makes a choking sound before setting her glass down and backing up toward the oven. Tugging at the collar of her light-pink blouse, she looks at me, flushed. I expect indignation, but instead, I get confusion that turns into something else. Lust maybe? Of all the women I’ve known, Charlotte is by far the hardest to read.
She opens her mouth to speak and stops when the timer on the oven sounds. “Dinner is ready. Let’s eat.”
Even though we eat in silence, only stopping to make small talk about sports, I know I’ve gotten to her, whether she wants to admit it or not. But I’m afraid I’m trying to replace drinking with Charlotte, and this could never work between us, not without jeopardizing her career.
Alex
The clock on the nightstand reads two in the morning, but it feels like I just finished having dinner with Charlotte. Sleep is pointless. My hands won’t stop shaking, and the full-blown withdrawal started to set in once I crawled into bed, making me anxious and irritable. All I can think about is running to the liquor store. For the past hour, I’ve been Googling all the stores that are open and sell alcohol. I would settle for anything if that meant calming my nerves. Add the pulsing migraine that’s drilling a hole into my skull, burrowing its way into my eye sockets, and this is probably the worst night of my life.
Charlotte hid in her office after we ate leftover lasagna in almost silence, only speaking between bites to talk about the news on ESPN’s SportsCenter. She’s unlike any woman I’ve ever met. I’ve only known her for a few days, but there’s something about her that I find so calming. I can’t pinpoint what it is though.
Her entire face lights up in this adorable way when she talks about sports. I can see why she’s so successful in this business. She really knows her shit. If she can put herself out there for me, a complete stranger, then I can’t even imagine what she’d do for the rest of her clients.
That’s why I want to give her little experiment a shot. I owe her at least one week after putting her reputation on the line to get me a decent trade deal with Philly. Plus, this is pretty much my last shot unless I want to play hockey in Canada or Russia. My dad didn’t push me as hard as he did so that I could lose everything I’d ever worked for. The NHL and the Stanley Cup wasn’t just my dream; it was his, too.
After binge-drinking with Kane and Donovan last night, I’m beyond dehydrated. Nothing seems to quench my thirst. My lips are so cracked, they’re starting to hurt, and my tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth. It feels like it’s been hours since I had anything to drink. This hangover-withdrawal combination is seriously kicking my ass, and I have practice in a few hours. I’ll be lucky if I don’t fall flat on my face on the ice.
I reach for the water bottle on the table next to me and unscrew the top. As I hold it to my lips, one drop hits my tongue. It’s empty.
Figures!
I crush the plastic in my hand and slide off the bed to get a new one from the fridge. The door creaks loudly when I open it, and with Charlotte sleeping in the room across from me, I don’t want her to wake up and think I’m bailing on our agreement.
I practically walk on my tiptoes, doing my best not to make a sound, except I don’t know my way around the apartment. It’s dark, the only light coming from the moonlight that casts its shadow across the living room and illuminates a path to the kitchen. Stumbling into a table, I almost knock a basketball off its stand, lucky enough to catch it before it rolls onto the floor.
I remove my cell phone from my pocket and turn on the flashlight to get a better look at my surroundings. The ball is autographed by the entire Los Angeles Lakers team, filled with signatures and short comments addressing her as Coach. She has everything from signed golf balls to footballs and hockey pucks, pictures with her clients after winning the Super Bowl and PGA Tour. There’s even a photo of her with Tyler Kane at what appears to be a charity event hosted by the Flyers. It’s impressive, what she’s accomplished at such a young age. Mickey really taught her well.
After I set the ball back on its stand, I head into the kitchen and grab a bottle of lemon-flavored VitaminWater from the refrigerator. I’m about to crack it open when I hear someone scream. I walk over to the door and lean my ear against the wood.
Nothing.
Then, I hear it again. This time, it’s clearer and coming from the back of the apartment.
The screams intensify the closer I walk toward my bedroom. It’s coming from Charlotte’s room.
I place my hand on her doorknob, afraid that I might be interrupting something until I hear her yell, “No! No! Stop it!” Her voice sounds sad, as if she’s pleading with someone.
I don’t hesitat
e, and I barge into her bedroom. She has the curtains pulled tight, not even an ounce of light coming from the windows that run along the exterior wall. All I can see are shapes, one of which looks about as long as a bed. Nothing is moving, and there’s clearly no one in here with her. For a few seconds, it’s quiet, but I can hear her breathing heavily. I’m about to leave when she starts all over again, screaming and crying.
“Daddy, no!” Her voice is a whimper.
I sit on the bed next to her and shake her in an attempt to pull her from the nightmare. It’s not enough to wake her, so I lean my back against her headboard and pull her onto my chest. She’s thrashing in my arms, as if she’s fighting someone. Pushing back a strand of her caramel hair that’s soaked in sweat, I whisper her name. I repeat myself several times until she stops moving.
My face is so close to hers that I can see the surprise register when she opens her eyes. Confused, she blinks a few times and pulls away from me.
“What…” She sits up and scoots onto the other side of the bed. “What are you doing in my room, Alex?”
I lean my elbow onto a stack of pillows and prop myself up, so we’re facing each other. “You were having a nightmare. I thought something was wrong when I heard you screaming.”
She glances down at the comforter that’s clenched between her fingers. “Oh, I see.” A moment passes between us before she tosses off the cover and says, “I haven’t had one of those in years.”
Charlotte reaches for the lamp next to the bed and turns it on. The tiny black shorts she’s wearing are riding up her perfect ass, showing off her toned long legs. She has one of the best bodies I’ve ever seen, fit and lean. I wouldn’t be surprised if she was in better shape than me. My mind drifts to a very dirty place, and the thought of being in bed with Charlotte again excites me.
Before I can get a better look, she rolls onto her butt and then onto her left side.
Peeling a white tank top from her chest, she mutters, “I’m sorry you have to deal with this.”
Without thinking, I take her face in my hand and stroke my callous thumb along her cheek. A flicker of a smile tugs at her mouth.
Parker (Face-Off Series Book 1) Page 8
