Hooked On Her: Ice Kings, #3 Page 2

  “Are you… are you okay with this?”

  “What? Yeah. Yeah, of course I’m okay with it.” He shoves a hand through his dark hair and makes a face. Not a good one. “It’s just… we’re not married. Or engaged. And I thought we had more time but now…”

  He trails off. My heart pinches. “Sawyer. If you want to marry her, all you have to is ask her.”

  He sets down his coffee mug and sighs, taking one more glance down the hall. “I don’t want her to think I’m asking because she’s pregnant. Like I’m, I don’t know, only asking because it’s what I should do.”

  See? He’s such a dolt!

  A laugh bubbles so fiercely and quickly I can’t contain it to which he scowls at me.

  I slide the plate of crackers toward him that I’d prepared earlier, laughing even harder. “She’s been in love with you for years and lives with you. She would have said yes to marrying you three nights after you met, you idiot. Just ask her. Oh, and take her crackers. If she keeps some by her bed, it’ll help with morning sickness.”

  “How do you know?” His tone is suspicious, borderline angry.

  I roll my eyes. “Because I have female co-workers who have had babies. Don’t glare at me like that. Go, take care of your girl, and grow some balls on the trip to her.”

  “You’re a brat.”

  “Love you too, Soy-sauce.”

  He growls at me and I jump out of the way. When I was little, I couldn’t pronounce his name correctly, so I shortened it to soy. Then I learned about soy sauce and started calling him that when he was a teenager. I loved the pissy face he made when he had his high school girlfriends over and I called him that.

  I’m halfway back to my room, trying to figure out what I’m going to do for the day. By my count, I only have a couple of hours before Debbie’s feeling better, Sawyer digs his balls and guts out of a hidden corner, and then they’re celebrating.

  And I’ve already learned how thin the walls are here.

  “Hey!” he calls out and I spin on my heels.

  “Yeah?”

  “You still coming to Jude’s Labor Day party Monday?”

  “Wouldn’t miss it!”

  Normally I’d mean it. Today I’m lucky my voice doesn’t crack from the lie.

  I usually love every opportunity to be around Sawyer’s team but this weekend, I feel more like hibernating. Except I don’t even have time for that. I have to start figuring out what in the hell I’m going to do to get my stuff back. I’m not exactly up for a round of partying with my brother’s friends, their happy girlfriends and wives, and pretending my life hasn’t exploded in the last twenty-four hours.

  Back in my room, I grab my phone and earbuds. I throw my hair up into a ponytail and tug on my running shoes. Sawyer doesn’t live far from Freedom Park. Getting out of his house while he figures out what to do with Debbie is my first priority, compiling a to-do list of what I have to deal with when I return to Toronto next week my second, and third… running until I forget all about the fact that in another forty-eight hours, I’m going to have to face Jason Taylor… and see if what happened on New Year’s was my overactive drunken imagination. Or a reality.

  And I have no idea how I’ll handle either circumstance.

  “Excuse me?” I’m huffing. I no longer know if it’s from exertion from my run or the phone call that slammed into me like we’re professional wrestlers and my back just hit the mat.

  “If you want, we’re happy to close the account, issue new cards.”

  I laugh. “What good will closing the account do? There’s nothing left!”

  Mothers with young children shove their little ones to the far right side of the running path. That’s right, perfectly done up mothers in athleisure wear, move along, ignore the crazy Canadian.

  Ha. Oh my God. I am losing my mind.

  I throw my hand in the air and illicit several strange looks. It has to be from my screech. Perhaps I look rabid. I know I certainly feel rabid. If freaking cokehead Will were standing in front of me, I’d tear him apart with my teeth.

  “You’re kidding me, right?” I spin, shove my hand through my hair and yank out my ponytail. My mass of brown hair flies every which way and into my teeth. I yank it out, spitting.

  “Ew,” a woman says, scrunching her face with disgust and hurrying her steps.

  Awesome. I’m now spitting on strangers. Perhaps there’s foam in my mouth.

  Maybe I really do have rabies.

  I’m usually polite. Canadians pride ourselves on our politeness and manners. I have no time for the woman who’s glaring at me over her shoulder once again before dawdling toward the parking lot.

  “I assure you, Miss Chauncy. This is no joke. However, I can freeze everything until you decide what you want to do.”

  What I want to do is find Will and slit his throat. Wow, there, Tessa. Let’s take a hop, skip, and a jump back to saneville, k, sweetie?

  My subconscious crouches low so as not to startle me, wiggling her fingers delicately so I can cross an actual white painted line. I imagine it as the outline of Will’s body and step toward it.

  I need to stop watching so many thriller movies ASAP. The last thing I need is to end up in jail. Which really, puh-lease.

  There’s not a jury who will convict. I’ll explain everything, represent myself without an attorney since I can’t even pay for one because hahahahaha, Will has stolen everything!

  “Yesterday was payday,” I mumble, firmly aware the person on the phone from fraud security does not give a shit about my payday or my problems. They can fake it with the best of them with their caring tones but they make less than I do. They definitely don’t make nearly enough to deal with the mental breakdown of a team member. “My rent is due soon. And I’m out of the country. I mean, holy shit. My savings, too?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  The urge to snap so she does not call me ma’am again rises and I firmly push it down. It’s not Allison’s fault my ex is a gianter douche than I originally thought. Gianter isn’t even a word. Great. He’s reduced me to forgetting basic English.

  “Close the accounts,” I whisper. My fury is lodged in my throat and my voice sounds scratchy. Ruined. I’ve spent the last year allowing Will to slowly ruin our relationship when I knew deep down I should have ripped the band-aid off a long time ago… hello! There was coke residue on my coffee table!

  Or, make that his coffee table now.

  My knees buckle and I hurry off the pavement to a nearby bench. There, I drop my head into my hand and swear into the phone.

  “Close the account,” I repeat. “Cancel the cards immediately. And thank you for letting me know.”

  “Yes ma’am.” The rep clears her throat. “You’ll be okay.”

  “Yeah. Thanks, Allison.”

  “You’re welcome. Enjoy your weekend.”

  I hang up, letting loose another hysterical laugh. “Enjoy your weekend!” I cry out, falling back onto the bench. “She told me to enjoy my weekend!”

  “Excuse me. Miss?”

  I crack open one eye and then another. In front of me is an elderly gentleman, haggard beard that covers the front of his collar of his button-up shirt. He’s thin, wearing a fishing hat and holding two fishing poles. He has a slight hunch to his shoulders like the weight of the world has worn him down over the years.

  Oh buddy, I can relate. I’m pretty sure I saw him casting earlier and waved happily to him on my run… before the phone call.

  Before my sanity splintered.

  “Yes?”

  “Life has a way of kickin’ you when you’re already down, doesn’t it?”

  “Yeah. You could say that.”

  “Want to know what I’ve learned in all my eighty-four years of walkin’ this earth?”

  No. No, I do not need sage advice from an underweight Santa Claus. But I’m a polite Canadian. “Sure. Hit me with it.”

  “Good news is when you think you’re at your lowest, and you feel like you l
ook like right now, the only way to go is up.”

  He tips his hat and waves. I glare at him until he disappears between two parked pickup trucks.

  Did that strange, nice man just say I look like shit?

  Yep. Yep, he did.

  I suppose that confirms what he’s said… I’ve officially hit the lowest of my lows in the lowliest parts of the dredges I ever thought I could go.

  Enjoy my weekend indeed.

  Chapter Three

  Tessa

  * * *

  I’m right where I’ve wanted to be since I was eighteen years old and really started imagining what sex would be like. And he’s here.

  Jason Taylor. Broad-shouldered, strong chest, abs that aren’t bricks but carry a layer of weight on top. It shows his strength every time he rolls his hips.

  And he’s a master at rolling his hips.

  What will it feel like when he’s inside of me?

  Soon. So soon. I’m desperate for this. This moment. With him. Us. I’m taking a page out of the feminist playbook and I am persisting toward the goal I’ve had for years.

  Jason Taylor, taking something I’ve only ever wanted him to have.

  “Please,” I gasp as I wrap my hand around his length. He’s so strong and large and perfect everywhere, but a shiver wracks my spine. This will fit? Logically, yes. I’ve taken health classes. I’ve had anatomy. My senior year of high school I thought I wanted to be a nurse, so I took a program through the high school. Physically, he will fit.

  Emotionally? Wow.

  “Tessa.” My name sounds like it’s been scratched over sandpaper on the way out of his mouth. He’s tense, holding himself above me while his fingers slide to an area that hasn’t been used outside my own hands in way too long. I spread my legs wider and when he presses one finger inside me, I arch into him.

  Oh God… yes. After all these years we’re really doing this and it is so freaking good.

  I’m already so close. My body is trembling. And my hands slide over his chest, curl around his shoulders as he works me quickly, never once taking his dark brown eyes off me.

  “Please,” I whimper again and tighten my grip on his hard length. His head falls down and his long hair makes me lose sight of his dark brown eyes. He’s dark and tan everywhere.

  North Carolina agrees with him.

  “Jesus. We shouldn’t be doing this, Tess.”

  I wrap my legs around his thighs and pull him toward me.

  “I want this.” I don’t care that I already know it won’t last beyond this one night.

  I know him well enough.

  I’m still going for it.

  To prove how much I want him, I reach for the nightstand. He’s already thrown a strip of condoms onto it and I tear one off, handing it to him.

  “Are you doing it or am I?”

  Look at me, being brave. He eyes me again, condom in one hand, foil packet in the other. His chest heaves. I press my hand to the hair on his chest. I like he’s not manscaped and instead all man. His hair is coarse, brushes over one pec, to the other, down the center and out to the sides.

  “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this, Tessa.”

  “Same. For as long as I can remember.” I dig my hand into his bicep, pulling him to me. “Kiss me and fuck me, Jason.”

  “Shit. So fucking sexy,” he groans against my mouth.

  My feminine wiles do a back handspring. He thinks I’m sexy!

  I feel his hand move between us, and my fingers tangle in his hair, holding him against me. And then he’s there, right there, where he’s already been and prepared me but I still brace for him.

  “Tessa—” His hand is still wrapped around his dick and his mouth is brushing against mine.

  “I want you.”

  “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  Guaranteed he’ll hurt me. I’m also pretty sure he’s not referring to my vagina. Seriously. He’s BIG.

  “You won’t. You can’t.”

  “Sure?” His hand strokes his dick. I look down and wow it’s hot watching him touch himself.

  “Ye—”

  “Any way you want it, that’s the way you need it!”

  I bolt up in bed, sweat drips down my forehead and I flip my hand to my heart as my alarm continues to blare.

  And oh! Ha ha ha. Prophetic, Journey. You’ve got me. It was definitely the way I needed it.

  “Any way you want it, that’s the way you need it!” Okay, Journey, enough of this madness. I slap the alarm app on my phone, pulse pounding louder than the music.

  This is ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. Only a lunatic has sex dreams starring her brother’s best friend who in all the years of knowing each other has never once, never a single darn time, acted like he has any feelings for me outside being a family member.

  I really need to consider getting some help with this. It can’t continue. I don’t know if it was what he said on New Year’s, which I’m still not convinced is real… or if it’s the fact I’m single for the first time in years. But this is enough.

  It’s time to put this crush to bed. Not like the bed I just dreamed about having him in though. Although, it is a comfortable bed. For a moment, the dream resurfaces and my body warms.

  “No. Stop it, you moron.” I slap my forehead and groan.

  My groan echoes, like it’s coming through the walls and I scowl at the cream painted wall. That second one isn’t from me.

  I lift my head, peering at the wall I know shares its placement with my brother’s bathroom. The same bathroom where Debbie spent most of the other morning puking up her guts.

  This… this is not a morning sickness groan. It’s not an any kind of sickness groan.

  Another muffled sound.

  Laughter.

  Oh God. I might be the one puking if I have to hear my brother and his girlfriend going at it any more.

  “Sick.” I shove off the bed, fling the covers up toward the pillows at the headboard. I dress in record time, mostly because there’s a countdown to completion coming from the wall. The sounds are louder. Something keeps banging and echoing. I’m running down the hall and then the stairs to the kitchen, hands over my ears to stave off any louder sounds I might hear in the hallway.

  After I inhale a quick package of raspberry yogurt, I head out. Another run sounds like the best way to start the day.

  Heck, staying with Sawyer for longer than a weekend might be a great decision for me. How else am I going to get in such kick-ass shape than these frequent runs?

  Besides, there’s nothing else for me to do until it’s time to go to the pool party later. It’s a holiday weekend. By the time I got my act together on Saturday after talking to my bank, all the other offices I thought to call were closed for the weekend. I can’t do a darn thing until Tuesday except make lists of what I need to do to fix this stupid situation with Will and my apartment. I mean, I’ve paid rent early, but payday isn’t for another two weeks. It’s not like I’m swimming in money and he’s stolen everything. What do I do? Buy an air mattress and camp out in my apartment until I can slowly replace everything I spent years setting up?

  The easiest thing would be to ask Sawyer for help. A couple thousand dollars for rent and some help refurnishing my apartment is nothing to him. If I ask though, he’ll hand me ten times what I need and refuse to be paid back. Then I’ll be left indebted to him.

  I’ve worked hard in my life to figure out how to be successful on my own. My parents and I don’t lean on my brother. His millions are his because he’s earned them with sacrifice and his own sweat, tears, and blood. Literally. Hockey’s a violent sport.

  The only thing I accepted from Sawyer, ever, is the small sedan he bought me on my twenty-first birthday.

  This time, I might need his help.

  But I’ll only take it after I exhaust every single other possible option.

  Chapter Four

  Tessa

  * * *

  The first time Jason came home wit
h Sawyer, I was dressed in my cheerleading outfit, pompoms in hand and my backpack in the other. I’d just gotten home from school and had barely enough time to eat before I had to get to the game. At some point in my earlier ages, I prohibited all things hockey from entering my life. I stopped going to my brother’s games because I was tired of spending every single weekend and many weeks during the summer being freezing cold, sitting my butt on metal bleachers, sipping hot chocolate while my parents and everyone around them talked about how awesome and amazing Sawyer Chauncy is.

  Unfortunately, the only way to get out of going to games was to be busy with something else. So I took dance. I joined lacrosse… and then quickly quit after taking a stick to the boob. Yowch. No amount of padded sports bra could ever make me want to relive that throbbing pain again.

  I would wonder if Sawyer and I were even blood related if we didn’t have the same stubborn attitude and quick-witted and dry sense of humor. We look nothing alike, he’s all dark and broody to my lighter features. And when it comes to athletic abilities… he got all of it.

  I’m pretty sure my parents had his DNA adjusted in utero and then when it came to me, they said, “Nah, we already have one phenomenally talented kid, mediocre will do for number two.”

  Fortunately for me, our basketball team sucked and rarely had fans in the stands, so it was easy to make the cheerleading squad. I didn’t care that no one cheered along, that occasionally we were booed while trying to cheer, and that one time, the visiting team with packed stands and the kind of crowd most basketball teams died for took pity on us and cheered along with us… the competitor’s team cheerleaders.

  Talk about humiliating.

  Still, between cheerleading and finding a job waiting tables at a small diner in town when I turned sixteen, it meant I was no longer subjected to weekend traveling with my family.

  Don’t get me wrong. I love them. I always have and I always will, and Sawyer is one of my best friends. I don’t blame him for seeing me as the sidepiece. I don’t blame him for the fact that our mom had me cooking meals as soon as I turned twelve because they were so busy running Sawyer to practice and tournaments. It’s not Sawyer’s fault I did his laundry and mine because he was never home.