I scoffed. “I am not. Bailey is Scarlett's nanny, plain and simple.”
“Nothing else is going on?” Rory prodded.
“Nothing,” I snapped. “We are as G-rated as they come.” But my fantasies were R-rated. How the hell could they not be? Her ass was round and tight, always showcased in those leggings she liked, and every time I turned around she was bent over to pick something up...or climbing on the kitchen counters, or doing yoga with Lettie. And that was only one her body parts that turned me on faster than a fucking slapshot. Her mass of chocolate-colored hair, that exquisite face, those hazel eyes, her gorgeous mouth… Jesus, if I didn’t watch it I’d be sporting major wood in the locker room.
She’s been your friend since you were in pre-k, tell your dick to stand down.
“So if you guys aren’t involved, does that mean I can—”
“Hell no!”
Every gaze in the locker room swung toward us, and I took a deep breath as Rory lifted a blond, knowing eyebrow.
“Look, she’s Lettie’s nanny, and she fucking adores her. It’s mutual, and my life is finally working. Everything is stable and shit, so I’m not about to let you and your wandering dick into my—”
“If my dick is wandering then yours is a professional tourist.”
“Whatever. Point is that after what happened last time—”
“With the Swede,” Warren interjected.
“Ah, sweet, sweet Katrina,” Rory added with a wistful look on his face.
“Right. She fucking left after you never called, and I’m not going through that shit again. Don’t come near Bailey. Don’t talk to her. Don’t look at her. Don’t breathe in her general direction. She’s not available.”
“Oh come on. You didn’t trust Lettie with Katrina, anyway. Did you or your mom ever let her out of your sight with Lettie?”
“Not the point.” And hell no. Bailey had been the only person besides Mom that I trusted with Lettie. “Just stay the fuck away from Bailey.”
“You calling dibs?” Warren asked, referring to our wingman system. Any girl who’d already had dibs called on couldn’t be hit on by anyone else but the dibs caller. It was our cave-man way of saying to back the fuck off, the kindergartener equivalent of licking your snack so no one else ate it.
And Bailey was a fucking delicious little treat.
“Lettie is calling dibs.”
The two groaned. In our little circle, there were three things you didn’t mess with: our puck, our dibs, and my daughter.
“Fine. So that’s a no on going out with us later?”
I thought about finding a sweet piece of woman to get into, but I truthfully just wanted to get home. “That’s a no.”
A shower and fresh set of clothes later, I leaned back in the chair across from Coach Harris’ desk, watching the clock as it approached five p.m. If this didn’t take too long, I’d make it home to eat dinner with the girls before Lettie needed to get to bed.
Dinners together were my favorite part of the day, listening to Lettie tell me about her day, no doubt enchanted by something Bailey had thought up for them to do.
Bailey…how had we survived without her for the first couple years of Scarlett’s life? Even when her witch of a mother had been in the picture, we’d still been missing the kind of easy teamwork I had with Bailey. Lettie was happy, and though our situation was domestic as fuck, so was I.
With no sign of coach, I took out my cell.
Gage: Hey, whatcha thinking for dinner?
I rolled my shoulders, trying to relax the muscles while I waited for her to respond.
Bailey: Lettie has opted for mac & cheese with a side of….you guessed it—mac & cheese.
I swore that girl was going to turn orange if she didn’t get over this Kraft kick she was on.
Gage: How about I pick up some steaks for us on the way home?
Bailey: I could definitely go for that.
Gage: Sounds good. See you in a few.
I put away my phone as Coach Harris came in, and all the nervousness I’d shed while texting Bailey came roaring back.
“How’s the shoulder feeling?” he asked as he took his chair.
“No issues,” I responded.
“Excellent,” he said, flicking through some papers on his desk. “Complete reconstructions like the one you had are hard to come back from.”
“Good doctors, good support, good rest,” I repeated my mantra.
“I saw it paying off out there. You could be a little easier on Bentley.”
“Kid’s after my spot. I’m not giving him any excuse to think I’m weak.”
Coach nodded. “Yeah, well the starting line-up for the pre-season game next week is going up in a few, and we’ll see how he handles it.”
My grip tightened on the armrests of the chair. “Do I need to worry?”
“Hell no, you don’t. I knew it was a gamble to keep you on the roster last year with you out injured all season, but it paid off. You’re the best grinder in the league.”
I exhaled, relief flooding me. I might not put the points on the board, but without me pounding assholes—grinding them against the boards to get the puck out—Warren wasn’t scoring. “So is that why I’m in here? So you can tell me my spot’s safe?”
He shook his head and handed me a piece of paper.
I took it, my eyes glancing over the dates and locations. “The schedule?”
“Look at November.”
My eyes scanned down the page. “Ottawa.” Fuck, it’s the same weekend as Lettie’s birthday.
“We’ve got one series here, and one there before Christmas.”
I nodded, my mouth suddenly dry. “Is that all?”
“Yeah, I just wanted to give you the heads up.”
I nodded again like my head was on autopilot. “Yeah, thanks.” I stood, my legs slightly shaky and walked out, my fist crumpling the schedule.
“Oh shit, you didn’t lose your spot did you?” Rory asked as I sat down.
I sat mute as a general chaos erupted in the locker room.
“Coach posted the list,” Warren muttered.
I vaguely registered that they both got up to look at it, too damn lost in my head to care about anything else.
Ontario. My shoulder let out a twinge of pain like it knew that the player who’d destroyed it—and almost us—was coming back for it.
Lettie. God, what was I going to tell her? Could the timing be worse?
Rory and Warren sat back down, flanking me as they came back. “You’re starting,” Warren said.
“Yeah,” I answered.
“So what’s the drama?’ Rory asked.
I handed him the schedule. “November.”
Warren leaned over so they could both look, and they hissed out their breaths at the same time.
“Ontario,” Rory mumbled. “Fuck a duck.”
“Adkins still playing for them?” Warren asked.
I nodded.
“Shit. And where he goes—”
“Helen follows,” I answered. Like the fucking bitch she was. But I’d be damned if she got near Lettie.
“Are you going to tell me what’s bothering you? Or just toss dishes around like they’ve done something to offend you?” Bailey asked as she rescued the plate I nearly dropped.
“Nothing,” I answered.
“Right,” she said, slipping the plate into the dishwasher. “Nothing was wrong when you stomped in here like you were on a mission. Nothing was wrong when you snapped at the reporter on the phone about the lineup announcement. Nothing was definitely wrong when you murdered your steak at dinner, and nothing is wrong now,” she finished, grabbing a glass out of my hand.
My fingers flexed on the edge of the counter. She was right. I’d been an asshole since I got home. “Think she noticed?”
Bailey’s small, delicate hand covered mine, and a shot of desire raced up the same veins that were laced in anger, the combination dangerous to the lines I’d drawn. “I think she
noticed that you weren’t quite as into the book, but that’s it.”
I nodded slowly. “Damn. I need to be better.”
“She’s allowed to see you have bad days.”
“We’re playing Ontario the weekend of her birthday.”
Bailey blinked, understanding dawning in those deep hazel eyes. “Adkins.”
“Yeah.”
“Helen?”
“Yeah.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah.”
Her fingers laced with mine, and I had a primal urge to lift it to my mouth and gently suck her fingers inside. Fuck. I moved my hand away, hating the way that she flinched.
“We’ll deal with it. It’ll be fine. You’ll be fine.”
“Right,” I said, sarcasm dripping from my voice. “It’s not me I’m worried about. Sure, Adkins can get ahold of me and fuck me up again, but Lettie…”
“She’s your daughter,” Bailey said. “She’s got your strength and ability to judge character. Don’t stress.”
The way she looked up at me, all soft and trusting—fuck, it did things to me. I wanted to pick her up by her luscious ass and lift her to the kitchen counter. I wanted to spread her thighs and feel her cradle my dick as I took her mouth to see if she tasted as good as she looked. I wanted to palm her breasts through that tank top she was wearing and then suck on her nipples once I had them free from her bra.
I wanted things I had no fucking right to, not when we’d been friends this long, and most definitely not while she was Lettie’s nanny.
“Gage?” she asked softly, gripping my bicep lightly and stroking her fingers over the skin.
Fuck, I loved the way she said my name. Half sigh, half prayer. I bet it would sound even better when she was screaming it, my face buried in her pus—
Oh shit, I have got to get out of here. I stepped back like she’d burned me.
“You know, I told the guys I was meeting up with them tonight. I need to blow off a little steam.”
“Of course,” she said quietly, her head dropping a little. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
She gave me a soft smile and left me standing in the kitchen, watching her ass walk away.
I met up with the guys, had a few, picked out the first petite brunette I saw, and had her home and naked under me in record time. Her curves were wrong, hard where Bailey was soft, enhanced where Bailey was natural, but she’d do.
I used those few moments like I always did—to forget.
I just had to get the woman out of the house before Lettie woke up—before Bailey had anything else said to her about our living and employment arrangements.
Shit. Jessica? Jane? June? What the fuck was her name?
It wasn’t Bailey, and that’s all that mattered.
Her throaty moans were fake, but her orgasm wasn’t, and that was all they wanted out of me anyway—well, all they got. I focused on my own orgasm, trying to forget the way she didn’t feel right, didn’t smell right—and thinking of the one person who did until everything else faded away.
Getting her out of the house before seven wasn’t going to be an issue. She’d fled, yelling what an asshole I was about thirty seconds after I’d come.
Turns out her name was Joan...at least that’s what she’d been screaming at me as she threw her clothes on.
She yelled the entire way out of the house, and I followed, a blanket wrapped around my waist in case Lettie woke up. Joan slammed the front door and rattled the light fixture in the entry hall.
Just my fucking luck, Bailey came into the foyer, her hair a sexy, tousled mess, and her nipples showing through the silk of her pajamas. Jesus, were those shorts or underwear? How could she possibly look so fuckable at 2 a.m.?
“Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, it’s great,” I snapped.
“Right. Well, you enjoy your toga party, I’m going back to bed.” She turned and left me standing in the entry hall with a raging hard-on despite the fact that I’d just come less than ten minutes ago.
As my feet grew cold against the marble floor, I came to two conclusions. One, women didn’t like to be called Bailey during sex if their names weren’t Bailey, and two...my body knew the difference between the fantasy and the real thing, and it was one tug away from dropping the blanket and finding out if the skin of her hips was softer than the silk she slept in.
And three—I always did suck at math—I couldn't bring any more women home because I was living with the only woman I wanted...who also happened to be the only woman in Seattle that I couldn't have.
Fuck. My. Life.
Chapter 4
Bailey
I set the video monitor down on my nightstand, thankful for Lettie’s soothing white noise machine blocking out the sounds of half the Shark’s team playing poker a floor above her. Jeannine followed me into my room, somehow managing to balance three perfectly salted Margarita glasses and hold the door open for Paige. She came in last with a full pitcher and I quietly shut the door behind them.
“Get to pouring, Paige,” Jeannine demanded once she’d set the glasses down on the oversized desk which sat—mostly unused—in the far corner of my huge room.
Paige chuckled, her gorgeous red hair trembling down her shoulders. “Act like you had a rough week.”
“Perfecting a new menu is just as hard as running a multi-billion-dollar corporation. Actually, it’s harder because I have to constantly think about how things will taste in other people’s mouths.”
I snorted, taking the full glass Paige handed to me first. “Why does everything you say sound so dirty?”
Jeannine batted her crystal-blue eyes. “Just lucky I guess.” She took a large pull of the drink Paige finally handed her. “Speaking of other people’s mouths…” she arched an eyebrow at me. “Have you gotten a taste of Gage’s yet? Because damn.”
Heat flushed my cheeks and I tried my best to ignore the ache at the mention of the want I wouldn’t express.
“Of course not,” Paige answered before I could. “That would be completely unprofessional. She’s his employee.”
Jeannine huffed and took a seat at the royal-blue, cushioned armchair next to the desk. “Ha! Everyone doesn’t have to worship the rules like you do, Paige.”
Paige’s shoulders drooped and the weight of her position hardened her green eyes. I didn’t envy the girl—she had more people’s lives depending on the success of her family’s corporation than I would ever know what to do with. That and her father had always held her to the highest moral standard I’d ever seen.
“I’m just happy he hasn’t brought home another puck-bunny for an entire week.” I dodged any sort of committed answer to Jeannine’s prying. Truth was I’d thought about Gage’s mouth a hell of a lot more than I should. So much so in fact that I’d sworn I’d heard him call out my name last week when he’d had his last conquest here. But I knew that couldn’t be right. Why would he ever do that? The girl’s name had to have been Hailey. Or Kaley. Whatever.
“Wouldn’t you jump at the chance if you could?” Jeannine asked. “I mean, you’ve seen the way he slams those big ass dudes into the walls, think of what he could do to your body…”
It was easy to see all of the gears turning in our eyes at the picture she painted.
I quickly blinked away the image of his hard body pinning me to any one of this house’s walls, moving against me until I screamed out his name. “Stop. Seriously, the man has had a slew of one-night-stands paraded in front of me every morning. Do you know how that feels? Plus, they constantly mistake me for nothing but the maid. It’s enough to make me take up drinking.” I raised my glass in a faux-toast.
Paige sighed. “That’s not very professional either.”
Jeannine and I chuckled.
“What?” Paige asked, leaning against the desk. “It isn’t.” She brought the margarita to her lips and Jeannine bolted out of her seat, holding the bottom of the stem so Paige couldn’t bring the drink down.
Pai
ge’s eyes widened as she took a much longer swallow than she’d intended. Finally, Jeannine stepped back.
“What the hell, ‘Nine?”
She pointed her finger between me and Paige. “You two need to more liquor therapy than we have time for in one night. So drink up.” She ran her fingers through her long hair. “You’re both wound tighter than those whoohas you keep clenched shut. It’s time to loosen the fuck up!” She held her already near-empty glass out and Paige and I gave each other an incredulous look. There was no denying Jeannine, not when she had an idea up her sleeve. We’d learned that the hard way a few years back when she’d wanted to sneak into the Shark’s locker room after their season opener.
Just a peek, she’d promised.
Well, that damned “peek” had turned into a full on entry, earning us a good, stern talking to from security—which would’ve been much worse if Gage hadn’t talked to them on behalf of we knew each other.
“Fine,” Paige relented, as did I, and we clinked our glasses together.
We each drained the contents, and I took a seat on my bed once Jeannine had refilled mine.
“Now, honestly, tell me, how difficult is it living with that hard cut of man?” Jeannine retook her seat, crossing one long leg over the other. The black pumps and dark jeans she sported contrasted with her blond hair, making her look like a badass biker version of Barbie.
I grinned. “It’s actually really easy. I love Lettie, and Gage has been super accommodating.” I raised my hands to indicate the ginormous room he’d given me.
It was big enough to hold the king sized bed, have a lounge area and the huge Cherrywood desk holding up a computer that cost more than three of my car payments. I’d told him when I’d moved in it was all too much, but he’d insisted all his guest rooms had always been set up that way.
I highly doubted it, especially because just off my room was one packed with nothing but art supplies—the best paints, brushes, canvasses, and easels—and with each adult version he’d gotten Lettie a child-sized one to match. It was one of our favorite activities and the girl was a natural artist. She had a knack for focusing when the paint ran between her fingers as she smeared it around the canvas, something I understood well, at least with a brush in my hand.
Grinder (Seattle Sharks Book 1) Page 3
