by Penny Dee
I remembered her very brief explanation during the aftermath.
“Honey, I thought you liked women,” I had said.
She had simply shrugged. “He was there. We were high. It seemed like a good idea at the time.”
Many careers had been sunk because of that old chestnut.
Somehow I had saved the deal, thanks to my inherited ability for smooth talking and bullshit, and she retained her very lucrative endorsement deal. But she owed me. She owed me big time.
“And last, but certainly not least . . .” I paused for effect. “Jake Pennington. Hockey player.”
Jake folded his big arms across his chest.
“EX-hockey player,” he reminded me, sitting back and putting his feet on the chair across from him. “And I don’t need an agent.”
I finished my coffee. “We’ll see.”
“No, I’m pretty sure that’s the current state of play.”
Noticing his dislike for the direction this conversation was going, and remembering rules one and two, I decided to raise the mood. I sucked in a deep breath and grinned. It was time to lighten things up.
I leaned forward and poured two shots of bourbon from the bottle that still sat on the table in front of us. I needed Jake to relax.
“Okay, let’s play never have I ever,” I said handing him his glass.
He raised an eyebrow. “So we’re teenagers now?”
I shrugged. “We’re stuck in a cabin. It’s snowing. There’s not a hell of a lot to do right now.”
I raised my eyebrows at him, and he thought for a moment before he leaned forward and took the glass from me.
"Fine. Do your best,” he challenged, sitting back and resting his arm on the table.
This game was good for getting to know your companion and if I was smart I could use it to my advantage. I wasn’t sure how, right at that minute, but I was pretty sure I would recognize the opportunity when it struck.
“Okay. Never have I ever . . .” I thought for a moment, biting my lip as I considered my question. My eyes glittered across at him mischievously. “ . . . been with one of my friend’s girlfriends.”
His eyes locked on mine. And then very slowly, he raised his glass to his lips and took the shot.
I screwed my nose up. “Really? What about the bro code, and all that?” I asked, genuinely surprised that Jake had done something like that. If there was one thing I had already learned about him, it was his undying integrity and loyalty that he had for his friends.
Jake’s eyes gleamed. “Oh, there was definitely bro code,” he said. “In fact, it was done because of bro code. It was back in high school. A threesome with one of my teammates and his girlfriend. A total favor, I promise. Remind me to tell you about it sometime.”
I shook my head and screwed up my nose. “No, that’s okay. I don’t think I need to know that story, like, ever. Or any other of your horny hockey player stories.”
Jake shrugged. “Okay, my turn.” He thought for a moment. “Never have I ever . . . been in handcuffs.”
When I slowly lifted the shot glass to my lips he raised an eyebrow, intrigued.
“In or out of custody?” he asked.
“Out of custody,” I replied, then winked as I slung back the shot.
Jake grinned and then took a shot himself.
“Really?” I asked.
“Come on, Z. What do you expect? Me being a horny hockey player and all.”
Boy, I regretted my earlier comment. Because now I was picturing him in handcuffs. Naked. And that was very, very inappropriate.
My brain scurried for a question. It needed it to be tame because I didn’t need any more mental images of Jake naked, or in handcuffs. “Okay. Never have I ever . . . given someone a fake phone number.”
Jake looked at me like it was the most boring question in the world, and then did his shot.
“Well, knowing your phone and its bad behavior, you were probably doing them a favor,” I quipped.
Then remembering that giving out a fake number had sometimes been a necessity back in college, I threw back my shot of bourbon. After my fourth, it didn’t taste nearly as bad as the first. But I still screwed my face up as my tastebuds shriveled up and died a cold, ruthless death at the taste on my tongue.
I poured two more shots. Just a splash this time because I was starting to feel a little . . . relaxed.
Jake paused for a moment as he thought of a question. “Never have I ever . . . peed my name in the snow.”
I gave him a pointed look. “Come on, rookie. How could I have? Until last year I’d never even seen sno—wait. Are you telling me you have?”
When he took a shot I really screwed my nose up this time.
I was definitely filing that away under TMI.
“College hockey game in Minnesota. We won and I got toasted. It was pure necessity, I promise.”
I pushed the mental image of him with his hand on his cock out of my head. And completely ignored the warm pulse it evoked between my thighs. The guy peed in snow and now I was turned on? Clearly I was mental.
“Changing the subject.” I said, fixing him with bourbon-glazed eyes. “Never have I ever . . . sent a dirty text to the wrong person.”
When Jake took a drink I don’t know why I was surprised.
“My one and only dick pic,” he explained. “My coach was super impressed.”
I laughed so hard I realized I probably needed to stop drinking. And then my imagination got the better of me and I started to imagine what his dick pic looked like. Instantly, my body warmed and my inner muscles fluttered and clenched with interest. Oh, hell.
Jake leaned forward. “So you’re telling me you’ve never accidentally sexted the wrong person?”
I shook my head. “I don’t sext.”
“Come on, Z. You’ve never sent some lucky guy a bit of eye candy? No sexy Shakespeare?”
“Um, no.”
He sat back and looked so damn delicious I had to exhale deeply. He was so big and so broad I suddenly wanted to reach across and press my face into the wide plane of his chest like some weirdo.
Stupid alcohol. Five shots and I was back in high school again.
Deciding I was getting a little too intoxicated, I suggested we play another game. One that wasn’t going to get me so plastered. One that would at least give me better odds of not having to take another shot.
“How about we play truth or dare?” I proposed, desperately trying to convince myself that my body’s reaction to Jake was purely stimulated by the four additional shots of bourbon I had just consumed.
“Okay,” he said, folding his arms across his broad chest. And then he went straight for the kill. “You’re never going to give up badgering me about hockey, are you?”
Taken by surprise, I did what I did best when I was caught unawares. I deflected. Even if he was right. Because I wasn’t going to give up. I was going to wear him down—but damn, I wasn’t going to admit it.
“What happened to rule number one? No hockey talk.”
His eyes remained firm on mine. “My rules. I can break them.”
I pulled a face. He didn’t play fair.
“You didn’t ask me for truth or dare,” I pointed out.
“Okay, fine. Truth or dare?
My eyes flashed at him. “Dare.”
He leaned forward. “Tell me the truth, if you dare. You’re not going to give up badgering me until you get me on the ice again, are you?”
“Really? That’s your dare. A question about you? Are you that full of yourself?”
“Answer the question.” Again, his eyes remained on mine.
“Fine.” I crossed my arms across my chest to mirror his body language but they both totally failed to connect and slipped because I was more inebriated than I thought. I quickly regained my composure and raised my chin. “I can be quite tenacious when I want to be.”
“You don’t say.”
My eyes fell to the bourbon in his hand. “Best you thro
w that back. After all, rules are rules.”
I watched him drink his shot, completely ignoring the way his throat worked as he swallowed the alcohol, or the way the light gleamed on his wet lips as he snapped the shot glass down on the table.
“My turn,” I said, dragging my eyes from his lips. “Truth or dare.”
He thought for a minute. “Truth.”
I made sure our eyes met. “Answer truthfully, have I worn you down yet?”
He shook his head. “I can be just as tenacious.”
“So what’s it going to take for me to prove how serious I am?”
He considered my question for a moment. “Give up?”
I frowned. “That doesn’t even make sense.”
He shrugged. “Okay, then. Show me your boobs.”
“No way! I’m not that drunk.”
“Then you gotta take another shot.”
Another shot would ruin me.
“Bra on?”
“Of course. I may be a perv but I’m not a complete douche.”
His eyes glittered across at me. He didn’t think I would do it—that was obvious. And something in the way he looked at me made me want to prove him wrong. He needed to know that I wasn’t afraid to go after what I wanted. That as his agent I would go as far as I needed to go to win.
“So, let me get this straight. If I show you my boobs, you’re going to consider keeping me on as your agent.”
He looked a little too smug. “Yes.”
Going by his response, he didn’t think I was going to do it.
Without taking my eyes from his, I slowly undid the buttons to my shirt.
Jake remained straight-faced. But I would have bet a million bucks he wanted to look. Because at the end of the day he was a hot-blooded male and if I’m completely honest, my rack was a little bit awesome.
I let my shirt fall open.
“Well, are you going to look?” I asked.
“I have a confession to make,” he said, his eyes firmly fixed to mine.
“What?”
“I really didn’t think you would do it.”
“You underestimate me.”
A smile tugged on his lips. “Apparently so . . .”
“Well?”
“Well, what?”
“A deal’s a deal,” I said. “Are you going to look?”
Jake’s eyes dropped to my chest area.
He continued to look. In fact, he continued to look for a really long time.
Finally he looked up and grinned. “Nice rack.”
My eyes stayed on his. “I guess that means we have a deal.”
* * *
Chapter Nine
Jake
According to what was happening in my pants, I was twelve again and stuck in the closet with Carly Foster during a game of spin the bottle at a grade school birthday party. As soon as I saw Mackenzie’s boobs I was done for. Turned on. Check. Bad thoughts. Check. Erection. Check.
What can I say? I was a boob guy. And I hadn’t seen a pair of semi-naked boobs in almost a year.
I didn’t want to look . . . but I’m a guy so it was pretty much in my genetic makeup to look. My eyes dipped to her chest and it was damn near impossible not to notice the perfection of her ample rack. And the way the white lace of her bra set off the deep tan of her flesh. Or the fact that she was already in just a towel around her slim hips and it would only take one small tug to get her semi-naked.
Goddamn . . .
I rubbed the front of my thighs desperate to adjust the raging wood taking place in my boxer shorts. Needing a distraction I quickly changed the subject. “Are you hungry?”
Mackenzie did her shirt back up and then gave me one of those warm smiles that hit me right in the stomach.
“Mmmmmmmm, food sounds good,” she said and I noticed the slight glaze in her eyes. Yeah. She needed food.
“Your jeans should be dry now,” I said. “Do you want me to get them from the dryer?”
She shook her head. “It’s okay, I’ll go put them on.”
When she disappeared around the corner, I made a break for the kitchen, taking the opportunity to adjust the front of my cargos as I walked. I went to the refrigerator and pulled out ground beef from the freezer compartment, and placed it in the microwave to thaw. I heard the dryer stop and before I could stop myself, I pictured Mackenzie redressing in her jeans. I pictured the towel falling from her hips to the floor, leaving her in nothing but a pair of tiny panties. Yeah. It was my fantasy and her panties were tiny. I heard the door to the dryer close and the sound of her towel being tumbled, and I pictured those long legs of hers sliding into denim. She was definitely a shimmier, so I imagined her shimmying into those skinny jeans, tugging them up her legs and wiggling that perfect peach ass of hers until they fit nice and snug around her curves.
Damn. My breath left me and I had to adjust myself in my cargos, again. I needed to rub out the need I felt unfurling there before I gave myself blue balls.
Mackenzie walked back in to the kitchen, buttoning up the front of her jeans.
Yep. I was going to need a long shower.
“What’s on the menu?” She grinned at me, and again I felt blinded by those cute dimples on either side of her lips. She had pulled her rich golden hair free from its ponytail so it hung loose around her face and down her shoulders. “Do you want some help?”
“There’s a stock pot in there.” I pointed to a cupboard beneath the small island bench. “If you get the water boiling for the pasta I’ll make the sauce.”
I’m a star when it comes to making spaghetti sauce. And I’m not talking about your spaghetti-sauce-in-the-jar-type awesomeness. I mean, I’m a real fucking star and I make it from scratch. Spring tomatoes. Fresh basil. Finely sliced garlic. And a secret ingredient that always skyrocketed the taste into outer space.
While Mackenzie busied herself with getting the water boiling, I browned the ground beef in a frying pan, mixed in some fresh basil and garlic, and then added a jar of vine-ripened tomatoes I had preserved only a few months earlier.
We’ll talk about me preserving food later . . . because, yeah, I preserve shit.
“Water is boiling. Are you ready for me to add the pasta?” Mackenzie asked. When I looked at her she tucked her hair behind her ears again, and I was suddenly distracted by how beautiful she looked.
I nodded. “Pasta is in the pantry.”
“Olive oil?” she asked, and I pointed to the cupboard above the small stove.
While she got the pasta happening, I took half a small pumpkin from the refrigerator and began skinning it.
“Pumpkin?” Mackenzie queried.
I put an index finger across my lips. “Shhhhhhh . . . totally my secret weapon.”
Mackenzie grinned. “Really? Pumpkin?”
I chopped the pumpkin into pieces and put it in the microwave to soften. “It was my mom’s way of sneaking vegetables into our meals. She always did it. Mashed up pumpkin in spaghetti sauce. Broccoli in casserole. Mixed vegetables in soup.”
“I like her style,” Mackenzie said with an impressed grin. And I was suddenly struck with the idea that my mom would have loved this girl. Out of all the women I had ever spent time with she would have loved Mackenzie the best of all. I couldn’t help but laugh at the irony. I had never personally chosen one moment of time with Mackenzie. She had kind of forced every single incident on me. Yet now that she was here I couldn’t help but appreciate the time with her.
The thought was like ice-cold water being thrown over me.
What the fuck was I thinking?
This wasn’t happy families.
This was me simply trying to get through the night with my unwanted guest. I had to remember that. After the blizzard, she would leave and I would forget her.
I removed the pumpkin from the microwave. “How is the pasta coming along?”
Using a pair of tongs, Mackenzie pulled a string of spaghetti from the boiling pot and then to my complete surprise threw
it against the wall.
“If it sticks or falls off it’s not done.” Mackenzie explained. “But if it does the caterpillar crawl down the wall, you know it’s al dente.”
The spaghetti fell off the wall.
“It needs a few more minutes.” She winked and then dunked her finger into the spaghetti sauce on the stove. “Mmmmmmmm . . . that is pretty good.”
I refused to acknowledge how fucking sexy it was watching Mackenzie stick her finger in her mouth and then slowly drag it from her plump lips.
“Just wait. You haven’t seen anything yet,” I said, taking the masher from the cutlery drawer and mashing the pumpkin, adding salt and mixed herbs as I did, and then scooping it into the spaghetti sauce bubbling on the stove.
Stirring the thick mixture, I looked across at Mackenzie who was busying herself with the pasta. She turned her head to look at me and smiled. I couldn’t help but smile back but then quickly turned back to my pasta sauce.
“You know what would go really well with this?” she said. Again, tucking her hair behind her ear and making me wish she would do that over and over again.
“What?”
She grinned. “A good bottle of red.”
That, I could do.
“You’re in luck.” I handed her the wooden spoon I was using to stir the sauce.
My granddaddy liked two things in life. Fish and red wine. Good wine. He kept a small cellar in a hole in the floor. It wasn’t anything fancy. Just something to serve his love of a good wine. Certainly nothing to impress.
I couldn’t help but smile as I crossed the room to the area between the kitchen and the bathroom. There was a rug covering the trap door and when I pushed it aside, I realized Mackenzie was watching me from where she stood at the stove.
“Really? You have a secret cellar?”
I grinned at her “What can I say? I’m a man of many surprises.”
There were thirteen bottles in the makeshift cellar. I picked one based on the criteria I always used when picking a bottle of wine—the appeal of the label.
I popped the cork and let it breathe as I pulled two plates from the pantry.
