by Penny Dee
Jake looked up from his solitaire game. “Good book?”
I nodded. “In hindsight, I am clearly blind. I must be, because the murderer was in front of me the whole time.”
“Sssssh, don’t tell me. I haven’t read it yet.”
I settled back into the sofa, but my eyes remained on Jake who had gone back to his game.
“Did you always want to play hockey?” I asked.
Jake looked up and thought for a moment, then slowly nodded. “I don’t recall there ever being any other dream.” He smiled across at me, and it was warm and beautiful. “What about you? Did you always want to be a sports agent?”
It had grown dark outside and the light inside the cabin had dimmed but it couldn’t have been more than three o’clock. In our little bubble, time had ceased to make any sense.
“As a kid I used to love watching my dad work. He was always so confident and good at what he did. I grew up with famous people coming to our house all the time. This one summer, before my mom and dad were divorced, they hosted a pool party with a lot of famous guests. I must’ve been twelve or thirteen at the time. I remember my best friend, Katie, and I were excited because there was talk that one of the Backstreet Boys was coming, and we were mad for the Backstreet Boys, so we hung around—in our bikinis, no less—hoping to catch sight of Nick, Kevin, Brian, AJ, or Howie.” I shook my head at the memory. “I can’t remember who we were expecting, now. But while we waited, the party got out of control. I remember Cassius Cannon—”
“—the basketballer?”
I nodded. “The one and only. He was there with his wife and his girlfriend. I didn’t understand it at the time but now, well, I’ve been doing this for a few years and, boy, I can tell you people are strange.” I sat up. “Anyway, Cassius OD’d on some bad shit. I remember seeing him talking to my dad and they were trying to work out him signing with Dad’s agency, when he collapsed.” I sighed at the memory. “Man, he just dropped like a big sack of potatoes. Then he started to convulse and foam at the mouth. Mom wanted to call 911 but Julius May was there—”
“—the famous surgeon? The one with the TV show?”
Again, I nodded. “The one and the same. He was a regular at all the wheeling and dealing parties. He had a shot of something in his car. I can still see him running out of the house and returning with a bag. He set up a shot of something and then plunged that syringe right into Cassius Cannon’s chest, a la Pulp Fiction style.” I shook my head, the memory as clear as if it was on Blu-ray. “It took a couple of seconds but then Cassius shot up with a rush, gasping, trying to catch his breath and moaning like a goddamn yeti.” I looked at Jake. “But you know what I remember most about that incident?”
Jake looked intrigued. “What?”
“It was what happened a few seconds after that. Cassius was still on the floor, granted he was sitting up, but my dad was standing over him so his face was level with his. And you know what my father said to him?” I paused. Still to this day, it surprised me. “As soon as Cassius came to he said, ‘so I guess we’ve got a deal, Cassius.’ They were his words. Like nothing had even happened. That death hadn’t just gotten all up in Cassius’s grill.” I scoffed. “So I guess we’ve got a deal.”
Jake balked and shook his head.
“You look shocked,” I said.
“I am.”
“Why?” He knew my father. He knew how ruthless and determined he could be.
“I thought you had better taste in music,” he said, cocking an eyebrow at me. “The Backstreet Boys . . . really?”
“I was thirteen.”
“And deaf?”
I couldn’t help but laugh. Jake did, too. But when our smiles faded our eyes lingered on one another.
I had to break the spell, so I yawned and stretched. It was exhausting doing nothing. As I arched and extended my back and arms, my eyes fell to the CD player under the small TV. It was the first time I’d noticed it and it gave me a sudden need for music.
“A CD player.” I grinned at Jake and winked. “So old school.”
Jake’s gaze went from me to the old CD player.
“My granddad bought it at a local flea market,” he explained. He was sitting on the floor with his long legs stretched out in front of him. Today was particularly cold and he was wearing a beanie. “He used to have an old wireless to pick up the jazz and blues station in Saskatoon. But when that old Motorola finally gave up the ghost, we all ganged up on him and told him he had to get with the times.” A hint of a smile played on his lips and then he shook his head at the memory. “He hadn’t gotten around to buying any CDs for it. Hell, I don’t know if he even got to turn it on.” He sighed. “He died less than a week later.”
I bit my lip. How was it possible that one man had lost so much in such a small amount of time?
We definitely needed some music.
Climbing off the sofa, I scooted across the floor to the CD player. I pressed the on button, and the tray whined as it popped out to reveal one lonesome CD inside. Closing it, I hit play and Dire Straits, Romeo and Juliet, filled the room.
We were silent for a moment as Mark Knofler’s painful lyrics pulled us into the tragic love story.
I sighed and when I looked over at Jake he was already looking at me.
“You don’t like this song?” he asked.
“On the contrary,” I replied. “I love it. It is the most romantic song in the world.”
Going by the look he gave me, Jake clearly disagreed. “I think it’s more tragic than romantic.”
“You think? Why?”
“Listen to the words . . .” he said.
We were both quiet for a moment as we absorbed the lyrics.
“Romeo’s heart is breaking because Juliet has cast him aside,” Jake explained. “But he can’t let her go. Can’t move on like she has and it is torturing him to the point of desperation.”
Jake made it sound almost poetic.
“In some ways, yes. But listen to how in love with her he is.” I closed my eyes and sighed with the enthusiasm of a love-sick teen as Mark Knopfler sang about loaded dice and the impact one woman had on Romeo’s heart. “It’s so perfect.”
Jake wasn’t convinced. He looked back at the cards on the floor. “If you’re into tormenting the already broken hearted.”
I rolled my eyes and shifted position so I was on my side, my head propped up by my hand.
“Okay, then, what about this bit?” Jake said as we listened to Mark Knopfler singing about Romeo being unable to do anything but be in love with Juliet. “The guy is paralyzed by his feelings for her. How is that romantic?” he asked.
“You’re missing the point. It’s all about the feels?” I insisted. “The need. The adoration. That once-in-a-lifetime love. Juliet is Romeo’s once-in-a-lifetime girl.”
Jake raised an eyebrow. “If I ever catch the feels, you have my permission to put me down. Preferably, before I start stepping out from the shade and stalking—” He stopped short when he realized what he was saying.
I smiled at him and then chuckled. “It’s okay, Jake. I was stalked. I survived.” I sat up and folded my arms across my chest. “Are you going to sidestep the word every time you come across it?”
“Nope.”
“Good.” I grinned. “Now what should we do next? Or are you not done massacring my favorite love song?”
“Scrabble?” he suggested.
I shook my head.
“Game of Life?”
Another shake of my head.
“Charades.”
I looked excited for all of a nanosecond and then sat back and gave him a disappointing, “nope.”
“You’re impossible,” he sighed.
“What about strip poker?” I raised my eyebrows. It was more of a dare than anything. I had no intention of actually playing.
“Strip poker?” He sounded surprised.
“We’ve played truth or dare. Sang karaoke.” I shrugged. “Strip poker seems like th
e natural progression.”
“Not a good idea.” He shook his head.
“Why?”
He fixed me with those fascinating eyes. “A snowed-in cabin. A man and a woman. Strip poker.” The look he gave me was dark and pure fucking heat. “We’ll end up naked and on that bed.”
Oh, God. I hadn’t expected him to say anything like that. And, hell, the way he said it—I wanted to end up naked and on that bed.
“You forget one thing,” I said.
“What?”
My eyes went to his. “I don’t plan on losing.”
* * *
We stared at each other for a moment and suddenly my mouth was as dry as a desert.
Finally, Jake looked away.
“Can I get you anything? A coffee? Wine?” he asked.
I glanced at the clock and I was surprised to see it was just after six.
“Wine,” I replied.
Jake stood up and crossed the room and it was damn near impossible not to watch him. The way he wore those cargo pants was almost criminal. He went to the kitchen and pulled a bottle of wine out from the hidey-hole in the floor and opened it.
“I’m sorry about your granddad,” I said. “When did he pass away?” I asked. And then I realized with a sudden horror that maybe he, too, had died in the plane crash that had killed his parents and sister and that I had overlooked that detail in the stories I’d read.
“About two months before the rest of my family,” Jake replied quietly. Sadness swept over his face and he looked away for a moment, his brows slightly pulled in.
“I’m so sorry,” I said gently. “I can’t begin to even know what it must feel like. I’ve never lost anyone.”
“You’re kidding?” He went back to de-corking the wine. “You mean both of your grandparents are still alive?”
I nodded and watched as he collected two wine glasses from the kitchen cupboard and walked back to the table.
“What about breakups? That’s losing someone.” He poured the wine, adding, “Not that I would know.”
“Me neither.”
He looked at me with raised eyebrows and then looked doubtful. “Sure. A girl like you?”
“Whatever that means.”
Jake grinned. “It’s just . . . well, look at you. Girls who look as hot as you do have usually had a few cocks in their hen house.”
“I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that.”
He grinned and went about pouring the wine.
“If I wasn’t so flattered that you just referred to me as ‘hot’, then I’d probably nudge you in the balls for stereotyping me.”
“Of course you would. I mean why stop at almost killing my fatherhood prospects with your pillow throwing this morning.”
“Fluffy pillow,” I reminded him.
He handed me a glass of wine. “Okay. So, you don’t have any breakups in the past. Is that because you’ve never dated? Or did you just get lucky and meet Mr. Right straight off the bat?”
I shrugged. “In high school I watched all my friends fall apart when it came to love and relationships. There was so much drama it was exhausting.” I took a sip of my wine and damn it was good. “As far as relationships go I’m pretty much waiting for that cherry to be popped.”
“So you what—fuck like a guy? Or are you celibate?”
“Boy, you don’t beat around the bush.”
“Haven’t you heard? Life is too short to talk in circles.”
“I take it as it . . . comes.” I grinned and when our eyes locked we both started to laugh. And God, he was beautiful when he laughed. His teeth were white and perfect and his eyes glittered with warmth. I didn’t care who you were or what you were into—Jake Pennington was gorgeous.
Sitting across from me laughing and sipping his wine, he looked like the old Jake I’d seen on the Internet. Before life had laid him on his ass.
He stretched and his shirt rose up giving me a sneak peak at those well-formed abs I would never get tired of admiring. He wore a belt to hold up his pants and a decorative buckle secured it over his zipper. Before I got distracted by those delicious abdominal muscles I made out the words National Hockey League etched into the pewter.
“See something you like?” Jake asked, cocking an eyebrow.
I wasn’t the type who blushed. Not usually, anyway. But Jake and his perfectly sculpted abs had my brain momentarily starved for oxygen because I forgot to breathe.
“Yes.” I met his gaze. “Your belt buckle.”
He pushed up his shirt again so I could get a better look at the buckle and damn there were those abs again. Right there in my face. Coupled with the belt and decorative hockey buckle, my body turned positively traitorous on me and began to ache and pulsate in places it shouldn’t.
“Z?”
“Yeah?”
“You can stop checking out my abs.”
Again, I met his gaze but he knew. He knew because my eyes were a dead giveaway. When faced with such a glorious sight, apparently I had the worst poker face in the world.
I sat back and folded my arms “So I was checking out your abs. Fire me.”
“No way. I’ll never fire you. I like having you as my agent. You show me boobs.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “You dared me.”
“I never thought you’d actually do it.”
“What can I say? I’m full of surprises.”
He grinned and sat back in his chair. “I’ve changed my mind. Let’s play strip poker.”
I looked at him and thought of those glorious abs underneath his shirt.
He’d just seen that I had the worst poker face in the world.
I was in trouble.
Trou.Ble.
Oh, boy.
* * *
Chapter Fourteen
Jake
It was the second night I had a beautiful woman in my bed.
While my mind was determined to keep things as PG as a Disney movie, my body was begging me to get X-rated and touch this woman.
Thank Christ we hadn’t played strip poker and had opted for Scrabble instead.
“You owe me a story,” Mackenzie said, her voice smoky. When I turned to look at her she was lying on her back looking up at the ceiling. Noticing me looking at her she smiled and something burst inside of me. Without a word, she wiggled onto her side and as if it was the most natural thing in the world, laid her head on my chest.
The combination of her heat surrounding me, and the sensation of her cheek pressed against my chest, was almost too much.
“Everybody knows my story.” My voice was husky. Because damn, I was at war with my body.
“True,” she murmured. “But if you feel up to it, I’d like to hear it from you.”
I sucked in a deep breath. I usually side-stepped the topic. But lying with this beautiful woman in my arms, I had a sudden urge to talk to her about it. To open up and empty my heart of all the pain that made it want to burst at the seams. I didn’t understand why and to be honest, it kind of freaked me out. But at the same time there was something very comforting about wanting to share this with her. Because if I was really honest, this woman was finding her way through my darkness and where she would end up, I had no idea. But a part of me was interested in finding out.
“I moved to New York when I joined the Ice Cats but my family remained in Canada. So every now and again they would fly down for one of the big games.” As I spoke I could see the faces of my family as clear as if they were standing in front of me. Yet it had been almost two years since I had seen them. “We were close. My old man and I . . . ”
I had to pause and let the surge of grief settle when I thought of the man who had helped shape me as a man and a player. The man who had been my greatest supporter. The man who was my hero and still was, even though he was long since buried in the ground.
“. . . he was one of my best friends. Since I was born he was there for me. Supporting me in everything I wanted to do. Always bolstering me up, t
elling me I could do anything I wanted if I put my heart into it. I guess that’s why I was such a confident kid. I never doubted if I could do something, because I was constantly told I could. I remember my first skate—my old man calling out to me, reminding me if I put my heart into it I would be able to do it. And, damn, he was right. Those skates were like an extension of my legs and it came naturally to me.” I gave a small chuckle as I remembered my dad that day, standing on that frozen pond, laughing and clapping his hands, calling out ‘you’ll be in the NHL one day, boyo’ and ‘look at my son, the hockey player’.
I closed my eyes as the pain soared through me. What I would give for just one more day with him. For one more handshake, or hug. I swallowed hard, trying to get rid of the cold ache in my throat. Mackenzie squeezed me just enough to pull me back from sinking into a deep hole of despair and my arms tightened around her.
“They were flying down for the semi-final playoffs. We were playing the Winterhawks in California. I was going to take Michelle to Disneyland. Even though she was eighteen, she really wanted to go with her big brother, and to tell you the truth, I was really looking forward to it.”
Again, I swallowed hard.
“They couldn’t get an earlier flight because of Dad’s job, so I knew I wouldn’t see them before the game. I looked for them in the crowd. But I had my head in the game so when I couldn’t see them straight away, I didn’t think anything of it. I knew I would catch them afterwards.” I inhaled and then exhaled deeply. “They told me after the game about the plane crash. It had happened just after take-off. Engine failure, they said. One minute the plane was in the sky; the next—it wasn’t. There were no survivors.”
Mackenzie held me tighter. But she also pressed her lips against my jaw in a quick kiss. It was a move that sent a strange feeling tumbling through me. I had only known this woman for such a brief amount of time, yet it felt like a lifetime.
“I’m so sorry, Jake.” Her lips grazed my throat. “That’s so incredibly sad.”
I swallowed deeply. Remembering it sucked. Remembering it sucked big time. And I usually clammed up whenever the conversation turned toward my family’s tragic passing. But tonight the pain seemed muted and I could only put it down to the ridiculous amount of wine swirling through my veins, or the fact I felt crazily comfortable with my new cabin companion.
