“Fucking hell, woman.” I cannot stop grinning, all while trying to choke back my laughter. Because, while this is sexy as fuck, it’s also funny. “This is why I love you.”
An awkward pause passes between us for a few seconds before I alleviate the silence by plunging inside her and filling her all at once, showing her that I’m in control now. Maybe I can fuck her so hard that she’ll forget about my unintentional declaration of love.
Do I really love her?
No, I doubt it. I care for her a lot. It feels a lot like love—or at least the closest I’ve ever come to it.
“Alex!” she screams so loudly, I wonder if the neighbor will hear and think she’s being murdered.
After all the buildup and waiting, I last longer than expected, but at the rate I thrust into her, I know it won’t be long before we are both riding an ecstasy high.
Sweaty and tired, I lean over to kiss her neck and palm her breast in my hand.
“That was…” I need a few seconds to catch my breath before I can speak in complete sentences.
Instead, Charlotte finishes for me, “Fucktastic.”
“If this is what I’m coming home to after every road trip, I will start looking forward to leaving just so I can come back.”
I pull out of her and tie off the condom, about to head toward the bathroom, when she flips over, her back pressed against the counter. “If you want, you can go into the hallway and knock on the door, and we can pretend you were never here. I’ll answer in this,” she says, tugging at the whistle around her neck, “and nothing else.”
And, just like that, I’m hard again and scrambling to find my clothes, so we can have a repeat. We need to make up for all the lost days in one night.
Alex
After only a few days at home and with Charlotte, I am on the road again with the team. Dinner with the boys is the usual spectacle with both Kane and Donovan hammered on Jack and Cokes before the waiter has had the chance to deliver the meals. Spending time around two guys who can get me in a ton of trouble with Charlotte not only tests my willpower, but also my relationship with my girl. My mouth waters at the sight of the dark liquid in their glasses. I imagine it’s only soda, doing my best to fight off the urge, but I can smell the whiskey on their breaths.
Kane raises a highball glass in the air and motions it toward the bar across from us. With a full house, we were seated near the door, none of us wanting to use our star power to ask for a better table because that’s something only a real douche would bother to do.
So, we’re stuck at this shitty table by the bar where the patrons waiting for a table are eyeing us up, as if they know who we are, but the older men aren’t my concern. It’s the group of cougars celebrating their friend’s fiftieth birthday, obnoxiously yelling and checking us out every chance they get, and the three young girls in tight outfits and heels that won’t stop eye-fucking us.
“Yeah, you,” Kane says to the blonde in a black miniskirt that looks like it’s pasted onto her ass.
She giggles and strolls over to our table, flanked by her two very attractive friends. Luckily, there are no extra chairs at our table and no room for them to make themselves comfortable. Good.
Donovan leans over, taps me in the bicep with his elbow, and whispers, “Which one do you want?”
I scrunch my nose, pretending to think it over, and then say, “I’ll pass. They’re not really my type. Have at it.”
He grabs my wrist and presses two fingers between the bone and tendon over my radial artery. I shake him off because I damn well know what he’s doing.
“Dick.”
Donovan laughs, chugs the rest of his drink, and then sets it down hard on the table. “I had to make sure you still had a pulse, brother. First, you turn down Jack to sip water, and now, you’re passing on premium pussy. What the fuck has been up with you lately?”
“Nothing,” I retort. “I’m just trying to focus more on my game.”
He nods. “At least you’re playing better. You looked like shit when you first got here.”
I hold up my hands and shrug. “Let’s just say, I’ve got my focus back.”
There’s no sense in denying the truth. I sucked ass the last few weeks I played for the Caps, and I didn’t get any better until Charlotte took me under her wing and became the coach I needed.
“Parker, take this one off my hands,” Kane says as he nods at the brunette with a huge rack that’s falling out of a dress so tight, I can tell she’s not wearing any panties.
Not that I’d ever be tempted to cheat on Charlotte with this chick, but it doesn’t hurt that she indulged me with phone sex again, something I never would’ve expected from a girl like Charlotte. She’s full of surprises.
The busty girl strolls over to me, a Corona in her hand, and without an invitation, she plops down on my lap. Before I can shove her off, she hands me her beer. “Hold this for me, love. I need to put on some lip gloss real quick.”
After working so hard to clean up my image, the last thing I need is for someone to see me drop this girl on her ass—where she belongs. I don’t understand why some of these girls think that, just because they put out, they can hang on me. Even before I met Charlotte, I could never stand the clinginess of some of the bunnies. But I was usually too shit-faced to notice or care, and it wasn’t long before I was taking them back to my room.
She applies a coat of shimmery gel to her lips and smacks them together. Girls can’t honestly expect men to want to kiss them while they have that shit all over their face. No, thanks. That’s one of the things I like most about Charlotte. Whatever makeup she does wear on her eyes is so subtle, all neutral tones, that I can hardly tell when she’s wearing it.
Unlike this girl, who has about a gallon of powder caked onto her face that shines when the light hits it at the right angle. Her lashes are so long, they must be fake, covered in a pound of dark clumps that make her eyes look bigger and brighter but also draw more attention to the fact that she’s trying way too hard when she probably doesn’t need to.
When I think I’m finally getting rid of her, she decides to lean back, hook her arm around my neck, and plant a kiss on my cheek.
What. The. Fuck?
The sticky shit she smeared on her lips is now stuck to my skin. I try to wipe it away with the back of my hand, but it’s like a thick paste that smells like apples. My tolerance thins along with my patience.
“You need to get up,” I tell her. “Right now!”
She pats me on the shoulder and whispers a bunch of things she would like to do to me and with me into my ear, and of course, I decline.
I’ve had enough of her shit, so I stand, still holding her beer in one hand and her hip with the other, and set her onto her feet. She giggles, and that’s when I see a camera flash in the dimly lit restaurant. Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t think twice about having my picture snapped. But, now, I’m with Charlotte…and she’s going to kill me.
Looking around the room, I spot several people staring at me, one of whom is the girl sitting on Kane’s lap. I make my way toward her first, snatch the phone from her hand, and delete the picture.
“Hey, what are you doing?” She hops off Kane’s lap and yanks at my arm, but my grip is too firm. “Give it back. That’s not yours.”
“You had no right to take that picture, and I have every right to delete it.”
She swats at my wrist, and I take a step back, flipping through the pictures to ensure I’ve deleted them all.
“Your friend is an ass,” she says to Kane. Then, she glances at her friends. “C’mon, girls, let’s get out of here. I think our table is ready.”
“Chill, Parker.” Kane opens his palm for me to hand him the phone. “What’s one picture? No harm, no foul, right?” Then, he pulls the girl into his arms and runs his fingers down her side. That shuts her up as she leans back against his shoulder. “Where do you think you’re going?” he asks, practically feeling her up at the table.
She giggles and whispers something in his ear.
I’ve had enough of this night.
I hand the phone back to the girl who is now sitting on Kane’s lap and then look to my teammate. “You haven’t had to go through some of the shit I have over the last year. I don’t expect you to understand.”
“C’mon, bro,” Kane says before taking a sip of his whiskey.
“Don’t bro me.” I shake my head, frustrated and hoping that I can convince or bribe the other people in the restaurant to delete the pictures they took. My entire life is like one big circus, and I’m the main attraction.
I start to walk away and turn toward the table one last time. “I’ll see you guys at practice tomorrow.”
Coach
Either I’m being punked or my birthday changed to April Fools’ Day. Because that’s the only explanation for the picture I have not been able to stop staring at since it popped up in my email. Of all the people to deliver the bad news, it had to be Chuck, the junior agent who turned into more of an assistant after our trip to Los Angeles.
And, of all the days, it has to be on my birthday, my least favorite day of the year. What started as an upload to Facebook and Twitter quickly made its way across the Internet with the title Parker’s Puck Bunnies. Apparently, bad news travels fast.
The image that concerns me most is the one from last night, allegedly taken at the steak house he had dinner at with Kane and Donovan. His hand is on the waist of a brunette with huge tits, and a beer is in the other. I broke my rules for him, and he broke the only two that mattered to me.
I’m meeting Jamie in twenty minutes for our monthly lunch date. I’ll never hear the end of this from Jamie. I just hope he withholds an I told you so because I already know I’m an idiot for believing that Alex could change.
The phone on my desk buzzes, and my secretary, Kayla says, “Hey, Coach, I have Alex Parker on line one, and Kennedy Lockwood from Sports Buzz on line two.”
I press the button down and sigh. “Tell Parker I’m unavailable. What does Sports Buzz want?”
This outlet appears to be responsible for most of the stories about Alex. It’s not my go-to news with my morning coffee, but they have interesting exclusives that other magazines don’t seem to cover, which make for better reading material, though I’m not so sure how they get some of their so-called news. They’re like TMZ, the sports edition.
“She wants to know if you’d like to comment on your relationship with Alex Parker.”
“My what?” I stop myself from yelling because it’s not Kayla’s fault. “Patch her through, please.”
Without another word, Kayla transfers the call that lights up on my screen.
I press the button and say, “This is Coach.”
“Coach,” she mutters, “hi, I’m Kennedy Lockwood from Sports Buzz. Thank you for taking my call. Every time I’ve tried to reach you this week, I’ve gotten your voice mail.”
I lean my elbow on the wood. “What can I do for you, Miss Lockwood?”
“As Alex Parker’s agent, I thought you might want to comment on the string of scandals he’s gotten himself into lately and how they have been affecting his game.”
“His game?” I’m confused by her comment. “He’s playing better now than he has in a long time. I can assure you that his personal life is not interfering with hockey.”
She chuckles to herself. “Can you explain why he was seen boarding a plane with a young woman at the Dallas/Fort Worth Airport this morning?”
My chest starts pounding, the blood coursing through my veins. My heart is beating so fast, I can hear ringing in my ears.
You knew this would happen, I tell myself.
It’s no use though. I’m not sure if I’m having a panic attack or if I’m about to Hulk Smash this desk in half. As my anxiety and anger bubble in my chest, sucking the air from my lungs, the room spins around me.
I knew better than to become attached to Alex, but I couldn’t help myself. Because I saw something broken inside him that I could relate to, and I wanted to be the one to piece him back together. Now, I’m the one who’s plagued with nightmares again after years of trying to move forward and feeling just as broken as I once did.
After a long, awkward pause, I gather my thoughts and try to compose myself. “I don’t know where you’re getting your information from, Miss Lockwood, but Alex has a game tonight at the American Airlines Center in Dallas. He wouldn’t miss a game to jet-set with a puck bunny.”
I’m not even sure what to think at the moment, but I want to believe that Alex wouldn’t bail on a game to get laid. Even for him, that’s uncharacteristic. And he just called on the other line.
Should I call him back?
“I have proof,” she says. “Check your inbox.”
Within seconds, an email appears on my computer.
Afraid of what I might find, my hand shakes as I click on the attachment. I can’t believe he broke his promise. Standing next to Alex in the TSA screening line is a young girl with long dark curls that frame her face. She’s hanging on to his bicep, looking up at him with a smile that he returns.
Alex Parker is dead to me. I have to assign him to another agent because I can’t do this, not after everything I’ve already done and the promises he made and broke. A good fighter knows when to cut their losses and tap out, so that’s what I need to do. I’m throwing in the towel on whatever we had. It was just a fling to him anyway.
Before I can respond to Kennedy about the picture, Kayla barges into my office with a cell phone in her hand and whispers, “It’s Alex. He says it’s urgent.”
“Kennedy, can you please excuse me for a second?” I mute the line and glance at Kayla, who’s standing in my doorway. “Tell Alex that I don’t care if the apartment is on fire. I’m done with him. Kevin Frazier will take over for me in Mickey’s absence. Alex can call him if he has any issues. I’m done being his babysitter.”
She raises the phone to her ear. “Did you get that, Alex?” There’s a pause where he’s most likely pleading for her to help him out. “I’m sorry. There’s nothing I can do for you. Have a nice day.”
“Thank you,” I mutter once she hangs up with Alex.
“What’s going on with you and Alex?” she asks with a curious look.
“Nothing, Kayla.” I try to hide how deflated I feel on the inside and sit straighter in my chair. “He’s just another pain-in-the-ass client who can’t keep his shit together. I’ve just had enough, is all.”
She raises her eyebrows. “Right. Well, Jamie is waiting for you in reception. Should I send him in?”
“Let me finish up here, and I’ll be out. It shouldn’t be more than a few minutes. Can you get him a coffee and those Danish things he likes?”
“Sure. No problem, Coach,” she says. Then, she closes the door behind her.
The picture of Alex and his mystery girl haunts me as I pick up the receiver and apologize to Kennedy for making her wait. I cannot stop staring at the photo, studying every single pixel, in hopes that I’m missing something. They look like a happy couple waiting in line, about to go on a trip.
“Would you like to make a comment on the record?”
This is why I hate reporters. “No, I wouldn’t because there’s no story here; there’s nothing to tell,” I say, irritated. “Alex has been doing well since his trade to Philly, and they’ve won their last few games on the road. If that’s the story you want to write, then by all means, print it, but I don’t have anything more to say about Alex Parker, and I certainly can’t comment on the company he keeps outside the rink.”
“You have my email address now along with my contact info. If you think of anything that’s newsworthy, give me a call, but just a heads-up that I will be reporting on Alex’s behavior today. The Flyers used up most of their cap space to sign Alex. Don’t you think they’ll be looking to move him before the trade deadline if he’s not performing?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose and sigh. “He’ll b
e at the game tonight; that much, I can guarantee. Hold off on publishing the story. Please.” I can’t believe I’m begging a reporter.
“Fine,” she says. “Thanks for your time. We’ll be in touch.”
Then, the line goes dead.
After we eat American hoagies from the deli down the street from my office and grab a coffee from Dunkin’ Donuts, I walk with Jamie to Dilworth Park, a large, open space with easy access to public transportation that runs along the west side of City Hall. In the winter, it turns into a public ice-skating rink. During the summer months, it’s a giant water fountain, and I can see the kids playing in the water that shoots up from the ground all the way across the street through my office windows.
With Mickey traveling between offices and less involved than that before, I haven’t had a chance to come here since fall. Ever since my parents’ deaths, Jamie has made it a point to take me ice-skating on my birthday, and today is no exception. Since today is my twenty-sixth birthday, it’s also the thirteenth death anniversary of my parents. It’s hard to believe that so many years have passed. But I’m starting to feel like the past is repeating itself with Alex.
Only Jamie and Mickey know my birthday, and both of them know not to send gifts. It’s not something I announce to anyone because I don’t like to make a big deal of it. What would I celebrate the fact that my parents left me because they were too selfish to stay clean?
When I see red roses, I want to rip them to shreds, not find a vase. Those stupid hearts and all the generic pink and red shit they sell for this fake-ass holiday can kiss my ass. My dad used to call me his Little Valentine. That’s what my father wanted to name me, but my mother won that battle and named me after her favorite children’s novel, Charlotte’s Web.
Jamie hooks his arm around me and pulls me close to him as I hold my coffee between my gloves, my teeth chattering from the subzero temperature.
He steers me toward the rental booth. “I only have thirty minutes until my boss is expecting me back.”
Parker (Face-Off Series Book 1) Page 16
