DIRTY TALKER

by Mira Lyn Kelly

  “So spit it out. What’s the problem?”

  “I want her.”

  “She’s hot. But don’t be a dumbass. You got a week left and you don’t want this chick catching feelings… so keep her away from your favorite stick.”

  “That’s the thing—”

  “Dude. She already got it?” A string of muttered cursing flows through the truck. “Haven’t you ever heard of jerking off? For fuck’s sake, man. I was kidding about the duct tape and kidney thing. But now—who fucking knows? Nettie is going to be so pissed. Have you ever seen her mad?”

  I blink. His married banker? “Have you?”

  I hear a muffled grunt and what I’m guessing is the sound of my teammate propping himself up in bed. “Not really.”

  “Axe, you’re missing the point. I want her to catch feelings.”

  “Huh, not following.”

  “I don’t know what it is about her. Yeah, she’s gorgeous and smart and sexy. But it’s more than that. When I talk to her—hell, about anything—it just clicks. Like she gets what I’m saying, and I can’t wait to hear what she thinks. Axe, this girl makes me laugh.”

  He grunts the grunt of the unimpressed. “Everybody makes you laugh.”

  “No. Not like this.” Not where I feel it deep in my chest. “It’s different with her, man. It’s like I want to stay up all fucking night to see how much I can find out.”

  “She know how bad you got it for her?”

  I stare out over the dash, see Sunday-morning Enderson coming to life. “Nah. I don’t think so. I mean, we spent the night together, but… she’s not like the other girls.”

  He huffs out one of those chill laughs. “Not chasing your ass, you mean?”

  “Not even fucking close.” I stack my arms over the wheel. “You know what she told me? I’m not her type. She’s not into jocks, which is pretty fucking funny considering she’s sort of one herself and just doesn’t realize it.”

  “Hmm, so you’re good enough for one night, but you can’t talk this chick into an actual date?”

  Glaring at the speaker, I can practically see his shoulders shaking. “Fuck off. This isn’t funny.”

  “The way you’re always talking people into stupid shit they don’t want to do, it kind of is.”

  I’m about to hang up, but then he comes back. “So there’s chemistry, yeah? You’re not the kind of guy she goes for… but she did. Describe it.”

  “Axe, you can fuck right off.”

  “Dude, not her ‘O’ face. Jesus. I’m asking if this was one of those ‘fuck it, why not’ moments. Or was she serving up those looks? You know the ones. They’re all about more and deeper, but in the feelings, not feelin’ it, way.”

  “Yeah, I know the looks. But there’s a problem. She’s faking being my girlfriend. My sexy, long-term, serious girlfriend. And she’s super intense about getting shit right. So yeah, she’s nailed the looks. But—” I think about that moment in the bathroom after the bachelor party, and when I’d been holding her in my arms on the dance floor—before fucking Tommy broke it up. “Hell, there are times when it’s just us, when we’re talking and it’s like she’s seeing something she didn’t expect. But I don’t think I fit in with her plans.”

  “Uh-huh… We’ll call that a solid maybe.”

  I blow a breath out my nose. Why did I call this guy again? The closest he’s come to commitment is buying the building half the team lives in. “Forget it.”

  “Right. Not sure you’re capable of forgetting anything you care about, but whatever.”

  “Axe.”

  That fucker yawns. “Chill. I’ve got a plan.”

  I sit back. “Yeah?”

  This is the reason I called him. For all the shit he gives, Axe has been known to offer some pretty solid advice.

  “You’re gonna have to think like a bunny.”

  I cough. “What the fuck does that mean?”

  This guy is going into the boards so hard next time we hit the ice.

  “It means, you gotta work your assets, dipshit. Be casual, like you dig what’s going on between you, but if it’s over thirty seconds from now, you’re walking away smiling. No moony-eyed confessions about how she feeds your soul or any of that bullshit. Give her what she wants—and the fact that you’re calling me tells me whatever went down last night was good enough that she’s going to want more. So be easy. No threat. Just another pro-hockey player with all the fixin’s, available if she’s into it. And then when she is… make it count. Make it so good, she has to think long and fucking hard about what her type is, after all.” A deep, satisfied breath sounds through the line. “Be the bunny, dude.”

  Harlow

  I’m not sure what to expect when I get out of the shower, but Wade picking up the suite, muttering something about his teammate being an epic asshole, isn’t it. He doesn’t elaborate, instead asking if I’m feeling more pancakes or omelets, teasing me about my runner’s guilt, and then hopping in the shower himself.

  No weird vibes. No awkward tension.

  It’s nice. Normal.

  Okay, yes, maybe I’m aware of Wade on a level I wasn’t before.

  And maybe I’m thinking about the things we did and how incredibly good he was at doing them. Yes.

  But that’s to be expected.

  It would be more weird if I didn’t, especially since the man took me to places no man has taken me before.

  So… a weirdly normal start to a day I was worried might be just plain weird.

  We have pancakes at this cute place in the next town over. Wade is all grins, some wolfish flirting, and as easygoing as a girl aiming for a single night of fun could ask for.

  Sure, every so often, I need a minute to shake off a memory so carnal, so visceral I can still practically feel him inside of me. But again… to be expected.

  Last night didn’t change anything other than to restore the ego he’s always accusing me of trying to take out.

  We spend most of the afternoon and evening helping Walt and Janie move into the house they won’t be living in until they get back from their honeymoon. After, we eat pizza on the floor in the empty space where the dining room set will go and play Monopoly surrounded by boxes in the living room. With the limited audience, there’s a minimum of showy relationship stuff, but the frequent contact that’s become almost second nature between us remains.

  The laughter still comes as easily as the conversation. And those glancing check-ins still feel as uncomplicated and reassuring as they have since Wade picked me up that first afternoon. Maybe more.

  For a woman who’s never really had the opportunity for casual sex, I’m kind of feeling like I nailed this thing.

  Yes, yes, maybe I find my eyes on him a bit more often. But now I know what’s under those clothes, and it’s impressive.

  Which is a completely reasonable, normal, and objective observation.

  I totally nailed this thing.

  That’s what I’m thinking as we pull into the hotel. It’s after ten and the stars are out. The lot’s as empty as it was when we got in last night. We walk up to the front, but I can still hear the echoes of our breathless laughter and feel the urgency and pull of all that hurry, faster, please lingering in the air around us.

  Wade chats in the elevator, his arm thrown around me in a casual hold. No big deal.

  So why are there three hundred butterflies batting around my belly?

  The doors slide open at our floor. The hall is empty, silent. No trace of our stumbling desperation from the night before. But I can feel the achy twist inside and phantom press of his body against mine as we pass the wall between 303 and 305.

  Inside our room, Wade closes the door behind us and pulls me in for a hug, thanking me for helping out today. Some distant part of my brain registers that if I hadn’t been there, Kelsey would have. That there’s a reason I’m in this hotel with him…

  I try to concentrate, except Wade’s arms are still around me, leaving me awash in the clean masc
uline scent of the man who spent the majority of last night making me moan.

  God, he smells so good. I want to bury my face in his chest, strip off his shirt and—

  His arms tighten, pulling me that much closer.

  It’s so good.

  It’s too good, setting off a slow churn deep in my center. The awareness I’ve been dismissing all day runs hot like an electric charge beneath my skin, shorting out everything beyond hurry, faster, please.

  He’s still talking. “… don’t see my brother enough, and to be able to sit and hear about his plans. Get a glimpse of the life ahead of him. It means a lot to me.”

  Right. I take a shallow breath.

  He loosens and pulls back. “You okay?”

  Dodging the eye contact, I force a laugh. Wave a hand. “Totally. Yes. Fine.”

  His eyes narrow and I can feel him studying me.

  I will not make this weird.

  Which means I won’t think about the bed being less than ten feet away or how our bodies are making more contact than not. Gah.

  That stitch between his eyes smooths and he steps back.

  Never have I been so grateful for a single foot of space.

  I take a deep breath. Let it out, still reeling from my reaction to being this close to the scene of the crime. I didn’t expect it to affect me this way.

  “Well, I’m glad it was a good day.” I’m glad it was normal and not weird, and that Wade seems as comfortable putting our one night behind us as I am.

  “Considering how it started, I’m going with this being a great day.” Wade reaches over his shoulder and grabs a fistful of his shirt, yanking it overhead.

  I think I make a noise that’s not totally unaffected, but thankfully, he doesn’t notice. He wads the shirt into a ball and tosses it into the other room. “I’d even go so far as to say it was a phenomenal day if it ended the way it began.”

  “Wha—”

  He cuts me off with a quick kiss at my temple and another too-potent hit of concentrated sexy. “But I respect that you aren’t interested. So we’re sticking with a solid great.”

  This time I don’t even know what I say.

  “I’m going to grab a quick shower.” Unbuckling his belt, he heads back.

  Which is normal too, I think.

  Then stopping at the door, he turns and props his forearm against the frame in a pose so potently masculine I lose my breath. How can anyone be that hot? Absently, he rubs his free hand over the packed muscles of his chest and down the hills and valleys of his abdomen before hooking his thumb in the already dangerously low waist of his shorts.

  I open my mouth.

  Hear the click of my throat.

  Close it.

  “Tomorrow, we’re going to Janie’s parents’ in the afternoon. You’ll like it. Nice place on Big Lake. We used to swim there when we were kids… I think Walt’s got a few more guys coming into town…”

  I nod, not quite sure what he said. Stare as he pushes off the doorframe, the movement highlighting the flex and give of too many muscles at once.

  He turns on the shower, sticking his hand under the spray before grabbing a towel from the rack.

  It’s not weird that he hasn’t closed the door yet.

  “…but if it’s too long of a day, I can pick you up later.” He swings the door closed about three-quarters of the way, leaving a gap that gives me a sliver view of the sink and mirror.

  I mean, we’ve seen all there is to see. Maybe this is normal now?

  I hear the clank and thud of his shorts hitting the floor and then the metallic slide of curtain rings across the rod and back. My skin erupts in goose bumps as images of Wade, soapy and wet, bombard my brain.

  “What do you think?” he calls from beneath the spray.

  “I—uhh—umm—” I give up.

  “Hey, Good Girl, you still out there?”

  Good Girl. I’ll never hear those words again without thinking of all the ways Wade and I were bad.

  “Harlow?”

  My head snaps up, eyes shooting to that gap from the open door and the mirror beyond. To the blue eyes watching me through the reflection.

  “Fine. Yes,” I answer hoarsely, no idea what I’ve agreed to. Not caring.

  His smile spreads and then he tips his head back beneath the spray to rinse while I try to find enough air in the room to breathe.

  A few minutes later, he’s out of the bathroom, holding the white hotel towel at one hip while he uses another to rub his hair dry. He gives me a funny smile that probably has something to do with me standing in exactly the same spot he left me in before he showered. “Huh.”

  “Huh, what?” I take two steps back. One to the side.

  And realize I’ve moved to a spot in the room so remote and useless, it probably hasn’t been occupied in all its years of existence.

  “Just something Axe said.” Wade’s eyes flick over me, crinkling at the edges before he disappears into the front room. A minute later, I hear the pull-out groan under his weight. “Night, Good Girl. Sweet dreams.”

  Chapter 15

  Wade

  All yesterday I waited for a sign that Harlow was seeing me differently. That with time to think, she might realize she wanted more. That this thing between us was too good to cap off at one night. That a connection like ours couldn’t be ignored.

  Nothing.

  By the end of the night, my ego was walking with a limp, complaining about the cold. My lifetime sentence to the Friend Zone about to be handed down, I was trying to be cool, because I didn’t want to be the dickhead making everything weird. I didn’t want to be the reason we couldn’t be friends… because if that was all I could have, I’d take it.

  But then we got back here.

  And she got weird.

  It was nothing I could put a finger on exactly. More like a subtle tension that hadn’t been there before.

  A possible weak spot to exploit.

  Except I didn’t want to put a move on her only to have her freak out and push me away after. I didn’t want her to leave. I didn’t want to lose her.

  And that’s when I remembered the dumbest, most asinine advice I’ve ever gotten.

  Be the bunny.

  Now it’s morning and I’m in bed, thumbs grudgingly moving over my phone.

  Me: Asshole.

  Axe: So it worked.

  I want to be mad, but damn. The look on her face last night.

  Me: I thought you were fucking with me.

  Axe: Yeah, I was.

  I blink. Blink again. Nope, that’s a twitch.

  Axe: But the more I thought about it… laughing to myself for hours and hours and hours… I realized it might actually have some merit.

  Me: Say goodbye to your teeth.

  Axe: Nah, these chicklets are safe. You love me. And it worked.

  Me: Yeah, it worked.

  Axe: Not that well, if you’re texting me at five in the morning. Unless her head’s bobbing under the sheet. In which case, bad form, man.

  Me: I’m alone. Don’t be a dick.

  Me: I didn’t try it until late last night.

  Axe: Ahh. Operator error.

  I roll my eyes and send him a picture of my middle finger.

  Axe: Are we done here… or were you seeking more of my wisdom?

  I don’t want to do it. But damn it…

  Me: Have you got any bunny tips?

  Axe: Hold on, let me ask Dina.

  What? Two seconds later, I know.

  Axe: This is D

  Axe: Tp1 wrk yr mouth

  Axe: lots

  Axe: mve it

  Axe: tuch it

  Axe: bite it

  Axe: open cls it evn if u dnt tlk

  There’s no way… except this is Axe and so yeah, it’s entirely possible the person texting me is some bunny named Dina… and that until seconds ago, she was bobbing under the sheet while he texted with me.

  Christ.

  Axe: Tp2….

  Harlow


  What is wrong with me?

  One night. That’s all I wanted.

  Some fun with a man as serious about keeping the complications out of his life as I am about keeping them out of mine.

  It should have been perfect.

  Six times should have been enough.

  So why is it that every time I cross paths with Wade today, instead of seeing the man I respect and enjoy as much as any friend I’ve ever had… all I see is my own personal walking, talking Tumblr fantasy come to life?

  It’s not him. I mean, of course it’s him. But he’s not doing anything different.

  He’s still pulling the same boyfriend moves. Still attentive and friendly. Still making me laugh and smile.

  But somehow, everything feels different.

  From the second I peeked into the front room of the suite this morning and found him reading in bed, bare-chested, hair in such sexy disarray it was impossible to see it without imagining my fingers in it, my brain has been off.

  Twitchy.

  Twisting every innocent act into a moment rife with dirty potential.

  It started with the bare chest and bed head, but then there was that whole business with his fork. The man was eating. But every time I caught a glimpse of his tongue touching the tines of his fork, dragging slow over the stainless… ugh!

  His hands on the steering wheel. Yes, I know what he can do with those hands, but was the way he brushed his fingers across the leather always so pornographic?

  And now, as we walk over to the pole tent set up in Janie’s parents’ front yard… He’s held my hand a hundred times since we arrived. So why am I just now noticing that slow, circling rub he does over my knuckle?

  Why, when we’re surrounded by a few dozen people, am I noticing his breath against my skin when he leans in to drop a kiss at my temple? Did it always linger for that drawn-out beat? Long enough for my eyes to lift and meet his, for me to remember the rough, shuddering rush of it against my neck and ear?

  And what about the heat of his body when he’s behind me, hands resting over my shoulders while we chat with Janie’s sister beside the pool? Did Wade standing so close always spark this low electrical charge between us, like a current that tingles and pulls and scrambles my mind so all I can think about is what it was like having him behind me Saturday night? The power of his arms holding me tight against him, the scrape of his teeth at that spot beneath where his thumb rubs small circles now… the steely thrust of his body working deep and deeper into mine until— “Wade.”