by Skye Jordan
“…and when I have children,” Ashlee was saying, “I’m certainly not going to have a nanny raise them. I’m going to raise my own babies, the same way my mama raised me. But I will definitely have a planned babysitter because I love to work out. I believe it’s important to keep fit for mind and body, not to mention a healthy sexual relationship…”
Rafe shifted his gaze to Ashlee again. How could someone so physically beautiful make him so viscerally miserable? If he had to listen to her drone on any longer, he might just stab his steak knife through his heart. Or maybe he could just stick his cock in her mouth.
When the thought made him wince, Rafe corralled his wandering mind and started strategizing how he could use Kilbourne to get him out of this. His gaze traveled back to the bar, where Rafe’s new teammate now stood very close to a woman he’d guided into a seat. Her dark hair was cut in layers and curved softly to her shoulders. She was slim, wearing a stylish, fitted dress that showed great curves. It was going to be hell getting him away from her.
Rafe was wondering if he had Kilbourne’s cell number in his phone. Wondering what he could possibly offer the guy to come over here and make an excuse to get him out of this.
Kilbourne put his hand on the back of the woman’s chair and leaned close to say something to her. She turned toward him, tilted her head back, and laughed. Her hair fell off her face and, wow, she was…
She was…
Shock stole his breath.
Mia.
The reality of it hammered his gut with fire.
She was Mia.
Emotions whipped through him, colliding at the center of his body—excitement, happiness, desire. They mixed, creating a physical yearning to reconnect with her.
In that moment, looking at her from a distance for the first time in a year, he realized that not talking to her and not seeing her had only made him want her more, not less. And knowing he couldn’t have her, knowing he couldn’t break the trust he’d built with Tate, or the loyalty and respect he owed Joe, felt like a knife popping the balloon of joy in his gut.
Then Kilbourne’s hand slid across her shoulders, jolting an angry sensation straight into the pit of Rafe’s stomach. Mia’s earlier text filled his head: I’m ready for something different. Very different. And I think I’ve just found it.
Oh no. No, no, no.
She was not going to be fucking Kilbourne while Rafe was still alive and breathing. No way was Rafe going to look at Kilbourne’s ugly mug every day knowing he’d had Mia in a way Rafe had fantasized about for years.
He put down his fork and pulled his phone from his pocket, pretending he’d gotten a message. “Excuse me just a minute,” he murmured over Ashlee’s babble, tapping into his text messages. “It’s my agent. Go ahead, I’m listening. I’ll just text him.”
“Oh, no problem,” Ashlee said. “I do that all the time, carry on several conversations at once. You know, with cell phones and social media nowadays, everyone’s always communicating with someone…”
He tuned her out again, his mind suddenly stalling on what to say and how to say it. He had no right to tell Mia what to do or who to do it—or not to do it—with. After all but shutting her out of his life for an entire year and bailing on her tonight, Rafe knew he was the last person she would listen to.
He’d have to go at this an entirely different way.
4
Mia would give Rafe ten more minutes to act, because ten more goddamned minutes of Cole Kilbourne was all she could stomach. Unless Rafe was truly enthralled with the Baywatch babe sitting across the table from him—not exactly a surprise—he couldn’t have missed Kilbourne. She had put herself and Cole directly in his line of sight.
While Mia had arrived with a come-hell-or-high-water determination to royally fuck Rafe Savage out of her life, the moment she’d seen him, she’d had second thoughts about the out-of-her-life part. Then she’d gotten a good look at Baywatch, and her hopes for the royally-fucking part dwindled to nothing.
Now, as she cast a covert gaze their direction, she was planning more of an intervention. Because if Mia couldn’t get him into bed tonight, she was going to do her best to make sure no one else could either. Yeah, she was pissed. She had an entire year of pissed to whip out and wield against the man.
“Are you going to come to watch me play against the Kings tomorrow night?” Cole’s question drew Mia’s gaze back. His hand slid over her shoulders, his fingers toying with the skin exposed in the openings of the dress she’d designed.
Mia swiveled a little more, bumping his arm loose. She used her knee to push at his thigh, giving her another inch of space. “What makes you think I’d come to watch you play when my brother’s on the team?” she asked with matter-of-fact congeniality. “Or when I know the other twenty-three guys like family, but when I just met you?”
Cole wasn’t looking at her face. His gaze was on her breasts. Her dress was modest by club standards, but definitely sexy. She had, after all, come out tonight with a purpose.
“I thought we connected tonight,” Cole said, lifting his pretty hazel eyes to hers, his mouth quirked in that lazy little half smile all hockey players mastered somewhere around age twelve. “Thought we had a little, I don’t know, spark going.”
Mia sighed. Cole was still with her only because once he’d started talking to Mia at the bar, everyone else had seen their chance to escape. And that was fine. It fit her agenda. If it hadn’t, she wouldn’t have had any qualms about leaving him to fend for himself.
As for Cole’s motives, she was pretty sure he was sticking with her simply because he didn’t want to be alone. Despite his flirtation, she didn’t get the feeling he was really attracted to her, and Mia had experienced that lost sort of loneliness enough to recognize the look of it on his face.
He ordered a rum and Coke for himself and wine for Mia, but he was already three sheets to the wind.
She lifted her hand to his cheek, tapping it to get him to open his lids a little wider. “You know you shouldn’t be drinking so hard before a game.”
“I’m fine. Doesn’t affect me.”
“Right, I forgot,” she said with honest sincerity. She’d learned to love these idiots over the years. “You’re an invincible, granite-headed hockey player.”
Cole’s brows pulled a little. He got a confused look in his clouded eyes. “Was that meant as a cut?”
“No, honey. You’ll know when I mean something as a cut.” Her cell vibrated twice in her other hand, and Mia’s pulse jumped. But she kept her gaze on Cole and didn’t immediately look at the message. “Sports should be coming up soon. Why don’t you watch to see if they talk about you?”
Worked like a charm. His attention diverted to the television, and Mia lifted her phone to glance at the message. When she saw Rafe’s name, she had to dig her fingers into her palm to keep from pumping her fist in success.
The message read: Save me.
That was a surprise. Definitely not what she’d expected. But she stuck with her original plan and looked up and around the bar, as if she didn’t know he was sitting a few hundred feet in the other direction. Then she pressed her hand to the base of Cole’s spine—which faced Rafe—and slid it up his back.
When Cole looked at her, she smiled. “Anything good on the news?”
“Nah. Want to get out of here?”
“Nah. Keep watching. It’s not over yet.”
Her phone vibrated again. Leighton, stop groping the puck head, get your ass in the restaurant, and save me the way I saved you from the Cody Matthews fiasco at prom.
All the anger she’d been holding on to for the last year instantly softened. She didn’t know how one memory could wipe away all the hurt and frustration she’d suffered from the phone calls he hadn’t returned or her visits to DC he’d missed. But images from those rough high school years flashed in her head again now—how excited she’d been to get invited to prom when she’d only been a sophomore, and by one of the most popular seniors.
How she’d told everyone Cody was taking her. How she’d worked extra jobs for neighbors, and her mom had paid the electric bill late so Mia could buy a dress.
Only to be stood up at the last minute. Worse, to be stood up so Cody could take an older girl, a prettier girl, a more popular girl.
Mia’s chest still pinched, remembering the humiliation. Still remembered crying all day, sure she’d never be able to show her face at school again. Sure she’d lose all her friends and be the laughing stock for the next two years.
And then of Rafe showing up at her door, in a suit he’d borrowed from Tate’s father, carrying tickets to the prom he’d bought with money he’d earned working at the skating rink. All after he and Tate had been swearing off prom for months. The fact that Tate had been pissed he had to spend prom night alone instead of hanging with his best friend confirmed it had been Rafe’s idea, not Tate’s or Joe’s.
“Dammit,” she said softly, a smile lifting her lips despite her best efforts to stay angry at Rafe for more recent events.
“What’s wrong?” Cole asked without taking his eyes off the television.
She didn’t even bother answering, because Cole wasn’t paying any attention. She heaved a sigh and pushed sweet memories of Rafe to the background. That had been a long time ago. He’d been a good friend. A best friend—as best as a boy could be. And then, last year, without warning, he’d dumped her friendship like a hot rock. After all her attempts to piece it back together, she had to admit it was over. A thing of the past. She had to let the nostalgia and her feelings for Rafe go. And she had to do it now, before she tried to make another hard transition.
So she typed: What happened to getting laid?
Not in a million years with this chick.
Too bad. My options are looking rather promising. This puck head is way hotter than Cody Matthews ever was.
She pushed to her feet and leaned into the bar, which also put her closer to Cole.
Kilbourne? Promising? How much have you had to drink? You could do so much better. And you shouldn’t be fucking Tate’s teammates. Especially not during the playoffs.
God, it was always hockey. Hockey, hockey, hockey. Mia loved her brother, she loved hockey, and she respected Tate’s and Rafe’s careers. It was one of the many reasons she’d never made a move on Rafe. But she was done living her life around Tate and Tate’s hockey. It just didn’t work for her. And it didn’t have to work for her anymore.
Thanks for the lecture, she texted back. Find your own escape.
Mia. Please.
Excitement built low in her belly. Excitement and…something else. Something sad. Regret? Guilt? Loss? She’d used the fantasy of Rafe as an escape for a long time. The way one of her coworkers had dreamed of traveling through Europe, Mia had dreamed of being loved by Rafe. She’d used the thought as a light at the end of the tunnel. Her fantasies were a way to get through a boring day or a packed subway ride or the stress of meeting a deadline. She might have wished it would happen, but in her heart of hearts, she’d known it never would.
And then Sam. Sam and his “If I didn’t know that you worked too much to be seeing someone else, I’d swear you were in love with another man. It’s like your body’s with me, but your mind and your heart live somewhere completely different. If there’s someone in your past you haven’t told me about, you have to get over him, because there’s no room for anyone else.”
Mia had instantly realized that Sam had been talking about Rafe without knowing it.
She’d also instantly known how utterly ridiculous it was to allow one-sided feelings for a friend hinder her adult relationships. And as soon as she proved that to herself, she’d be free. She’d just have to find another fantasy to dwell on to get through rough times.
She shook off the nerves and realigned herself with her goal, then texted Rafe. Seriously?
SERIOUSLY, came back immediately.
Mia took her sweet time straightening, then turned and scanned the restaurant, purposely skipping over him several times before she finally let her gaze settle on Rafe.
Until now, she’d only taken quick, sidelong glances. And for the last year, the closest look she’d gotten of Rafe had been video clips on television or a rare postgame interview. Now, even from where she sat, as soon as their eyes met, she felt the solid snap of their connection in her belly.
The warm sizzle both thrilled and angered her. She’d always downplayed her feelings as a lingering schoolgirl crush. But there was nothing lingering or schoolgirlish about the desire that flared white-hot low in her body or the softening in her chest. These feelings were present and passionate. And just like every other time she’d considered confronting him over the years, the sweetness she felt for him bubbled to the surface, blurring her good sense.
There was no room for sweet now. He would twist sweet into hurt. He’d done it dozens of times over the last year, and if she was going to get over him, she was going to have to stuff the sweet, take what she needed, and walk away.
Finally walk away.
Just like he had.
Then, in future relationships, maybe she wouldn’t be accused of things like being more interested in hockey than sex. Or scheduling their vacations around the Rough Riders’ travel schedule. Or living vicariously through her brother.
Or being in love with a ghost.
Rafe did that barely visible get-the-hell-over-here-and-do-something head-tilt thing. The familiar movement reduced the year between them to a day, making her feel like all her hurt and frustration was unreasonable, petty, childish. Suddenly, she wasn’t so sure she had the strength to do what she needed to do.
Mia licked her lips and typed: Just leave if you want to leave.
Rafe replied: You know I can’t.
Technically, he could. He could stand up, put one foot in front of the other, and walk out the front door. But she knew Rafe’s heart wouldn’t let him. If he walked out on this woman, he would be showing not only disrespect for her, but for the Rough Riders fans. Specifically, the season ticket holders. And ultimately, his action would reflect poorly on the whole team.
Rafe was nothing if not dependable—to his team, to Tate, to Joe.
She glanced at the woman across from Rafe. Baywatch was still talking. Even though their food had been sitting in front of them for at least twenty minutes, even though Rafe had finished half his dinner before abandoning the meal, the woman with him hadn’t touched hers. Though she did manage to sip down quite a bit of wine in between words. Which might account for her lack of irritation over Rafe’s texting and inattentiveness.
Mia took a breath and typed: You’ll owe me.
Fine. Anything you want. I’m dying here.
She bit her lip. Anything I want?
Yes.
You’re sure?
Mia. ANYTHING.
“Okay,” she said to herself in a be-careful-what-you-ask-for tone.
Mia turned, picked up her pineapple mojito, and pounded the remaining half of the drink. She took two full minutes to put a plan together, then turned to Cole and put her hand on his arm. “Hey, look, Rafe’s here.”
Cole’s gaze drifted from the television, his frown immediate. “Who?”
“Your teammate? Rafe Savage? Let’s go say hi.”
“No way.” He pulled away from her touch. “That guy’s been a jerk since the day I walked into the locker room.”
“You’ve been doing this a long time. You know it’s no fun getting a new guy at the end of the season.”
“But I was never an asshole.”
Right. It’s always someone else’s kid. “I’m sure you weren’t. But you understand the stress, and look, you’re stuck with the Riders, right? And admit it, you were pretty miserable at Top Shelf tonight. If you want to make friends and enjoy this phase of your career, you’re going to have to make some kind of effort. With the more resistant guys, like Rafe, you might have to take the high road and make the first gesture.”
Her phone vibrated
with a message. She glanced down to see Rafe’s What is this? A fucking conference? Just walk away from the guy.
She growled and hammered out a return message. Stop being an asshole or I’ll leave you with the babbling Baywatch babe until your ears bleed.
After she sent it, she cut a hard you’re-pushing-your-luck glare at Rafe. When he lifted a scowl from his phone and saw the look on her face, he rolled his eyes and refocused on his plate.
She looked at Cole. “If you don’t want to make the gesture, how about grabbing the girl?”
“What?”
“The girl. His date. Rafe’s dying to get away from her.”
Cole’s gaze darted to Baywatch. “She’s a walking wet dream, but there’s no way Savage is going to let me near her. He couldn’t shut up in the locker room about how he was going to be fucking her all night.”
The knife in Mia’s gut twisted. She was about ready to ditch her fuck-him-and-forget-him plan, bail out of this godforsaken hotel, hail a taxi, and catch the next flight to Bermuda.
Fuck men. Fuck her career. Fuck life, for that matter.
Barefoot in Bermuda, sans men and all the trouble they brought, sounded like one damn good plan.
Her phone vibrated, and Mia closed her eyes. So help her God, if Rafe said one more wrong thing…
She took a breath, opened her eyes, and focused on the phone.
I’m sorry. I’m exhausted and sore and my ears won’t be the only thing bleeding soon because I’m pretty sure my brain imploded half an hour ago. The first thing I should have said when I saw you is how beautiful you look and how much I’ve missed you.
Her gut squeezed, everything inside her twisted, and tears burned her eyes. Goddamn him. He always knew exactly how to yank her chain.
You’re such a suck-up, she typed.
Normally, yes. But this is true. If you really want to get laid by that puck head, I’ll stay here and drink until there is no possibility my mind would ever work well enough to even imagine you two together.
