Bennett, Sawyer-Alex (Cold Fury Hockey 01)

Alex is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. A Loveswept eBook Original Copyright © 2014 by Sawyer Bennett Excerpt from Truth or Dare by Mira Lyn Kelly copyright © 2014 by Mira Lyn Kelly All rights reserved. Published in the United States of America by Loveswept, an imprint of Random House, a division of Random House LLC, a Penguin Random House Company, New York. LOVESWEPT is a registered trademark and the LOVESWEPT colophon is a trademark of Random House LLC. eBook ISBN 9780553393002 Cover photograph: Claudio Marinesco Cover design: Lynn Andreozzi This book contains an excerpt from the forthcoming book Truth or Dare by Mira Lyn Kelly. This excerpt has been set for this edition only and may not reflect the final content of the forthcoming edition. www.readloveswept.com

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Contents Cover Title Page Copyright

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Epilogue

Dedication Acknowledgments By Sawyer Bennett About the Author The Editor’s Corner Excerpt from Truth or Dare

Chapter 1 Alex Flexing my jaw back and forth, it moves with a resounding pop but there’s no pain. That’s either because there truly is no pain or I’ve blocked it out. Regardless, I push back from the boards, even as that douche Talbot tries to push my face back into them again. The puck is between our legs and we scrabble to kick it loose. There’s less than forty seconds left in the game to break this tie, and I want to get it done. Although I have no desire for the spotlight that will come with making the game-winning goal, it’s absolutely preferable than being stuck in overtime or a potential shootout. I’m ready for this fucking game to be over. Giving a particularly hard push back, I’m able to free my stick from the boards and put the blade to ice. Because we’re playing on home ice here in Raleigh, North Carolina, and I know its speed and consistency like the back of my hand, it takes nothing but a short tap on the puck and it shoots back between both of our legs. I juke left and when I feel Talbot follow, I spin back right to skate around him, grabbing the puck just as it clears his blades, and take off for the goal. One of my natural talents is to freeze-frame the entire ice in my mind, analyze my best course of action and dump the puck as quickly as possible to the guy with the best scoring chance on our team. But now with only thirty-five seconds left in the period—and yes, I saw the clock winding down in my freezeframe—I don’t want to leave it up to one of my teammates to seal the deal. I fake a pass to the nearside, then slip a quick wrist shot toward the goal, watching as it sails cleanly into the net, just between the upper post and the goalie’s left shoulder. Way too fucking easy! The red light behind the net burns bright and the arena erupts, nineteen thousand fans rocketing to their feet to scream in rapture that Alexander Crossman has broken the tie and most likely won the game. Of course, there’s still thirty-one seconds left for my team to screw the pooch. My teammates throw their hands up in the air, skating toward me to celebrate the goal. I make a halfassed attempt to look pleased with myself, which basically means I let my teammates rub the top of my helmet or tap my legs with their sticks. But that’s about as excited as I get when I score a goal. I hate this fucking shit…the adulation, the limelight…all of it. Skating back to the bench, I step up through the open gate and take a seat. Some of the guys shout down a congrats and a few nod at me; others ignore me point-blank. I’m not a well-liked guy by most. Grabbing the water bottle, I squirt a bit in my mouth, swish it around and spit it back out. The crowd goes crazy again, their cheers rising in crescendo as the replay of my goal is shown on the Jumbotron. I glance up at it, my brow furrowing. It’s a pretty sweet play and I totally smoked Talbot, but as I watch it I know without a doubt my dad will be calling tonight because he’ll find something to criticize. It’s

physically impossible for him to do anything but. The announcer’s voice comes over the PA system, Carolina Cold Fury goal, scored by Number SixtySeven, Alexander Crossman, unassisted… And the crowd erupts into more cheers, drowning out the stats as they are relayed. I do a quick glance around the arena, knowing that the fans are happy as shit I just scored the game winner but also very much aware they can’t stand me. I even snicker as I see a sign across the ice proclaiming, Crossman for MVP, Most Valuable Prick. Classic! I’m the player they love to hate, and I could give a fuck. I come out, do my duty, score my goals and get my assists, collect my paycheck and past that, just leave me the fuck alone. If only life were that simple. For the remainder of the game, I don’t even watch the action on the ice. I sit on the bench and lean my head back against the glass, watching the time slowly tick down so I can be free of this shit for the night. *** “Crossman…in my office before you leave,” I hear Dan Pretore call out. He’s the head coach for the Cold Fury, and while he’s probably one of the best coaches I’ve ever played under, he’s a hard-ass as well. I know, without a doubt, that even with two goals and three assists on the night, I’m going to get my ass handed to me. Slipping on my suit jacket, I zip up my equipment bag and make my way back to the staffing area under the arena. None of my teammates say goodbye, none of them congratulate me. They know it wouldn’t do any good, because I won’t respond. Some of the newer guys think that’s just me being reflective, but the ones who have been here awhile know it’s because I’m a mean son of a bitch after a game, regardless of whether we win or lose. In fact, the better I do, the crustier I become, which I get…that’s some whacked shit and I’m sure a psychologist would have a field day with me. I rap my knuckles softly on the coach’s door, and he immediately calls out for me to enter. I don’t close the door behind me, only because I could care less if anyone hears my ass-reaming. Taking a seat across from his desk, I casually prop an ankle over my knee and look around his office with no real interest. It’s a mess…piles of papers, binders and fast-food wrappers litter his desk. He has several framed awards, but they’re all sitting on his floor, leaning up against the wall. I’ve been with the Carolina Cold Fury for almost six years now, and his office looks the same now as it did when I had my first meeting with him those many years ago. “Great game tonight,” he says, looking up from the iPhone that he had been texting on when I entered. “Your plus-minus went to forty-seven. I believe that means you’re leading the league right now.” I stare at him, offering no “thank you” for the praise. I don’t need it or want it and statistics never meant much to me. Kind of like all those awards Coach has on his floor…don’t mean shit to me. I respect his coaching skills for what they are, not what other people say about them. He waits for me to say something…an acknowledgment, an eye flicker, an I could give a flying fuck. He gets nothing, so he sighs and continues on. “That little stunt at the end of the game was uncalled for,” he tells me. He’s referring to the fact that I was named the game’s most valuable player—or most valuable prick if you go by what some fans say—which is an honor commemorated at the end of the game by having the

player skate out on the ice for acknowledgment. At the time they were calling my name, I was halfway back to the locker room, refusing to come out for my stupid fucking lap around the ice. The fans’ boos followed me all the way back. “Sorry…had an upset stomach…diarrhea. Had to hit the can,” I tell him, my face a study of genuine truth even though he knows I’m lying through my teeth. Pretore leans forward across his desk, flashing his teeth at me in a snarl. “Do you think I’m fucking stupid, Crossman? You thumbed your nose at the crowd and this team because you’re an asshole and no other reason. I’m fining you a thousand dollars for that stunt.” I pick an imaginary piece of lint off my slacks and look at him blandly. “Fine. Anything else?” Leaning back in his chair, Pretore studies me for a moment. Steepling his hands in front of his face, he regards me with interest. “You know…I don’t get you. You were the best player in the Quebec Juniors by the time you were sixteen, the number one NHL draft pick six years ago, and you have the potential to win the Art Ross Trophy every fucking year if you actually decide to start caring about this game. Instead, you do the bare minimum to get by, which, lucky for you and your career, still makes you pretty fucking good. You have the talent and ability to captain this team, yet you have the emotional maturity of the arena’s janitor. You’re a fuck-up by most standards, yet you’ll continue to get your pay and bonuses because you have more talent in your pinky than most players have in their entire body. I guess what I don’t understand is…how do you look at yourself in the mirror every day knowing that you’re wasting your life?” I know where the coach is coming from. I get it…his little speech is supposed to be a slap-down plus a build-up. He knows I don’t respond well to ass-kissing and lofty praise, but rather I respond to the challenge of proving myself. Unfortunately, his words tonight are absolutely wasted lung capacity on me, because I’ve heard this speech a dozen times already from my dad. “I look in the mirror same way you do, Coach…every day to shave or brush my teeth. I’m comfortable with the guy staring back at me.” Pretore snorts at my response and although he’s pissed at me, I also know that answer amuses him somewhat, because he too is a smart-ass by nature. “Yeah, well, you may be comfortable with that reflection but the suits upstairs aren’t. They’re mandating an immediate cleanup of your attitude.” Boring! Had this conversation too…many times before. “I see the look on your face,” Pretore says with a sigh. “They’re not joking this time.” “Let me guess…they’re going to demand I go to the children’s ward of Raleigh Community Hospital and sign autographs or something. Show that I’m really a teddy bear inside.” “That’s not a bad idea, but no. They want you a little more involved.” For the first time in this conversation, I feel a tiny thread of apprehension move through me, and only because Pretore’s voice has gone from tired and frustrated with me to actually a bit fearful. Whatever the suits want me to do, Pretore doesn’t think I’ll agree to do it, so I’m guessing he’s getting ready for there to be a big fight on his hands. “Spill it,” I say quietly. “They want you to be the team spokesman for an anti-drug-abuse campaign.” “I can do that,” I say cautiously, because I can. I have no problem with supporting worthy causes and even though I’m an asshole, I know how to put a smile on my face when I want to…for the greater good, you know.

“Specifically, they want you to work closely with the Wake County Drug Crisis Center and implement a program to talk to at-risk youth throughout the state.” “That’s fine,” I say, but the apprehension increases because this is sounding a little too easy. “They have very specific requirements,” Pretore says firmly. I just cock an eyebrow at him, urging him to just lay it the fuck out. He’s killing me here. Taking a piece of paper from a folder on his desk, he hands it over to me. I take it and scan it, noting an itemized list of stuff, but I just look back up at him. “Essentially, they want you committing at least five hours a week during the season, on non–game days, of course. Off-season, twenty hours a week.” “Jesus fucking Christ,” I curse, because I just became the equivalent of a felon who came out on parole. “That’s not all. They are going to have your liaison report to them weekly on your progress and your attitude. They’ll give him or her a list of criteria you must meet.” “No fucking way,” I snarl but Pretore ignores me. “If you don’t agree, I’ve been told that you are to be benched indefinitely and all bonuses forfeit.” “Do I have to wear an ankle monitor too?” I growl. “Finally,” he says, his voice even stronger, “at any time they deem you to have made an ass of yourself to the public or to our fans—and the ‘ass’ is their word, not mine—they are going to fine you five thousand dollars per infraction.” I open my mouth to curse again, but nothing comes out. Coldness washes through me as I realize my employer has just drawn a pretty deep line in the sand. I have two choices—do what they tell me or kiss my career goodbye. And the fucked-up thing about it—the kissing my career goodbye seems like the better choice for me at this very moment. *** Walking up the stairs to my apartment, I pull my keys out of my pocket, eager to strip out of my monkey suit and drink a cold beer. When I hit the top step, I stop as I recognize who is standing at my door. “What are you doing here?” I ask tiredly. Cassie cocks a perfectly shaped eyebrow at me, pursing her full lips as she smirks at me. “You had a great game tonight—which means you’re probably in the pissiest of moods. I thought I’d come over and help you blow off some steam…‘blow’ being the key word.” Yeah, Cassie Gates gives the best head and I’m probably not going to turn her down, but it pisses me off that she came over without me asking her to. She’s been my casual hookup for the past year, ever since moving to Raleigh with her sister, Allie, whose husband, Kyle Steppernech, is a defenseman for the Cold Fury. “You weren’t invited,” I tell her as I insert the key into the lock, not even bothering to look at her. She merely steps in close and reaches a well-manicured hand down to cup me between the legs. Leaning her chin on my shoulder, she whispers, “Come on, Alex…you know I’ll make you feel good.” Her hand squeezes me and, along with the sexy purr in her voice, it works like magic and I start to get hard. Cassie’s a fucking knockout with her platinum blond hair, mile-long legs and fantastic tits, so yeah… my body reacts.

Pushing the door open, I walk in, dislodging her hand but knowing she’ll follow me to finish the job. I hear her close the door as I walk into the kitchen. Dropping my bag on the floor, I pull a beer from the fridge and twist the cap, tossing it in the sink. Taking a deep swallow, I watch as she walks into the kitchen, sauntering forward like a woman on a mission. I know she thinks she has me figured out. That she can worm her way into a relationship with me by giving great blow jobs and even hotter sex, but she’s way off base. No self-respecting woman would get down on her knees for an asshole like me, just to try to trap an asshole like me. If I had more of a conscience, I might feel guilty about the give-and-take of our situation, but I’ve got no qualms about the part where I take what she is offering. I’ve been straight up, honest with her about how I play, and relationships aren’t part of my makeup. She knows she’s barking up the wrong tree if she’s looking for anything more than Richter-inducing orgasms. “Don’t come over again unless I invite you,” I tell her after I take another swallow of beer. Stepping up close to me, she trails a finger along my jaw, smiling apologetically. “Sure thing, baby.” “I’m not your baby,” I remind her, just because I feel like being an even bigger asshole than I normally am. “What are you, then?” she teases me as she starts to work at my belt buckle. “I’m the guy that fucks you when it suits me. Nothing more.” She chuckles, because that’s not the first time she’s heard those words from my lips. But being the glutton for punishment that she is, she merely says, “My, my, my…you are in supreme asshole mood tonight. I don’t get why you have to be so mean.” Stepping away from her grasp, I walk into the living room, grab a pillow off the couch and walk back into the kitchen. I resume my spot in front of her and drop the pillow at her knees. “There,” I tell her, pointing down at the pillow with an evil smile. “So your knees don’t get sore. See… I can be a nice guy.” And because Cassie expected no different of me, because this is actually a nice gesture on my part, she laughs in delight as she tugs open my fly and reaches her hand inside. With a few strokes, I’m ready for more and I push down on her head until she’s kneeling in front of me. She looks up at me with smoky gray eyes that would really be quite beautiful if I didn’t know about all of the conniving she hides behind them. “Let’s see if I can put a smile on your face,” she says and gives me a sexy purse of her lips. I bring my hand up and skim my fingers tenderly across her cheek. I love the feel of a woman’s skin, no matter if poison runs in her veins. Sliding my fingers through the hair at her temple, I hold her gently as she leans forward and takes me in her mouth, content to let her do the work and for me to enjoy the ride. Yeah…she’ll put a smile on my face. But that’s about the only thing she’ll give me that’s worth a damn.

Chapter 2 Sutton Bending over in my office chair, I take the black Sharpie marker and color over the scuff mark on the heel of my pump. I’ve had these shoes forever and they’re looking a little ragged, no doubt. Unfortunately, they’re going to have to last me a little longer since I make peanuts and have more important things to pay for, like electricity and food. The phone on my desk buzzes and I pick it up. “Speak to me.” “Sutton, dear…I’ve got to run down to the drug store to grab some allergy medicine. Can you come cover the front desk for me for about ten minutes?” Flipping my wrist, I look at my watch. “Sure. My two o’clock is twenty minutes late so I’m assuming he’s a no-show. I’ll be right up.” Snapping the cap back on my Sharpie, I toss it on my desk. Grabbing the top file from my in-box, I walk out of my office and down the hall toward the main reception area of the Wake County Drug Crisis Center. I love my job, but our building is depressing as hell. It’s nothing but a square box of cinder blocks and steel with dull tile flooring and institutional gray paint peeling on the walls. About every five feet, a cheap poster is tacked to the wall with an inspirational message about finding the fortitude and strength to beat addiction. I can’t help but think how sad the contradiction is between the messages of hope and the depressing décor. Reaching the end of the hall, I slide my ID card through the reader beside the steel door, hearing the snick of the lock, and push through into the lobby. At least here, the decor is a little more welcoming, with beige carpeting, faux-leather couches and an abundance of green plants. Our receptionist, Minnie, has a green thumb and took it upon herself to decorate the area as she saw fit. Of course, Minnie’s an institution unto herself and has been covering the front desk of our crisis center since before Moses was born. “That was fast,” Minnie says as she pulls her purse from the bottom drawer of her steel, county-issued desk. She opens the purse, and I wait patiently for her to pull her compact mirror out and dab powder on her nose. Then she pulls out a tube of bright red lipstick and glides it on her thin lips while watching herself in the mirror. Finally, she smooths her hands over the sides of her silver hair, which is pulled back into a severe bun, and smiles at her reflection. Minnie is old Raleigh and a Southern woman never steps outdoors without looking her best. Snapping her compact shut, she tosses it in her purse and stands up. “Do you need anything while I’m out?” “I’m good,” I tell her, although I’m dying to ask her to pick me up a bag of Hershey’s Kisses with Almonds. They are my addiction. To put it in drug-crisis terms, they are my crank…my smack…my horse. But I’ve made a resolution this year to cut back on my chocolate intake and, ten months in, I’m not about to break. I allow myself two pieces a day, and I always reserve them for after dinner at home.

Minnie steps past me and heads toward the door. “Be back in a flash.” “Take your time. My next appointment isn’t until four.” She calls out a “toodles,” which makes me smile because that’s so Minnie, and I sit down at her desk to review the file that I grabbed. It’s a run-of-the-mill case, which sadly I see all too often. While my job at the center is to provide counseling to anyone affected by drug or alcohol addiction, my chosen path is to work with at-risk youth and children whose parents have addiction issues. While I can’t pick and choose my cases, my boss, Ken Silver, understands my interest and tends to throw those types of cases my way when he can. This particular case file is for a young girl…a senior in high school, who got into her parents’ stash of meth and decided to give it a try. She overdosed on her first attempt, and while she swears she hasn’t tried it again, the temptation is still there since her parents are still very much using. Her name is Mara and she’s coming in to see me this afternoon for our third session together. Our services are free, paid for by the good taxpayers of Wake County, and the best thing going for Mara right now is that it scared the shit out of her when she woke up in the hospital hooked up to an IV. Since then, she’s diligently come to each appointment, on time and eager to talk me. Which is more than I can say for my two o’clock who didn’t show, which disappoints me to no end. Not because it was a compelling case, but because it was a career opportunity that shouldn’t have been passed my way at such a young age. Ken had told me earlier in the week that he was giving me a very special project, knowing it would be near and dear to my heart. Apparently the Carolina Cold Fury hockey team wants to start an anti-drug campaign that they can build locally and possibly take to a national level. The part that is near and dear to me? Well, they want to target at-risk youth, and I was all over that. Ken told me that they were assigning their top player, Alexander Crossman, as the spokesman and that I would be working personally with him to create and implement the program. The hallmark would be an outreach plan to use with all of the local area schools where Mr. Crossman and I would be talking to the students. Yay, me! I’m terribly excited because while I love counseling—wouldn’t trade it for the world—I want to make a bigger impact, and the way to do it is to reach the masses. Now, I have no idea who this Alexander Crossman is, because frankly, I know nothing about hockey. I mean…I know we have a professional team here in Raleigh, but besides knowing that they’re called Cold Fury, I don’t know a damn thing else about them. But if he can help me achieve my goals to target larger groups of youth, then he’s going to become my new best friend. So the fact that their shining star of a player didn’t show up for his appointment has indeed left a bad taste in my mouth. However, that could be par for the course. I’ve never met a celebrity or sports star, but I’m guessing arrogance and entitlement might be part of the makeup involved. In fact, this may be something I’ll need to learn to deal with as we are trying to set boundaries in our new working relationship. I may be a young woman but I’m not without moxie—that would be Minnie’s terminology— and I’m not without a pair of figurative cojones—my terminology—when I need them. The bell over the front door chimes, indicating a visitor. We don’t have much foot traffic with most appointments being scheduled, but none of the other counselors are showing any appointments at this time so it’s unusual for someone to be stopping by. When I look up, I’m momentarily stunned speechless by what may possibly be a mirage. It has to be,

because seriously…it’s beyond belief. He’s beyond belief. In fact, he’s beyond my imagination. A man walks in, the early afternoon sun outlining a massive body. He has to be at least six-five, six-six with a solid chest, narrow waist and pretty big guns hanging from his shoulders. For a man so large, I’m surprised to note he moves with a natural grace. Charcoal gray dress slacks and a lightweight black sweater are molded to his body, showcasing dips and valleys of muscles that you see only in men’s health magazines. If I thought his body was incredible, I almost pass out once I take full stock of his face. It’s enough to make angels weep, and I consciously close my mouth as I realize my jaw has flopped open in disbelief. Dark, dark hair…almost black, but most definitely the deepest mahogany, is worn midlength, chopped in helter-skelter layers around his face. The front portion of bangs sweeps left to right across his forehead, while chunks stick up this way and that around his entire head. His face, if cast in marble, would be sought after by all of the world’s finest art galleries. Strong jaw covered in dark stubble, high cheekbones, straight-as-an-arrow nose, and even from fifteen feet away and with the sun at his back, I can see the most crystalline blue eyes I’ve ever beheld on a human being. The last thing I notice about him—because holy hell, I’ve noticed quite a bit—is that his lips are full, the bottom one just a little puffier than the top. Said lips, which may be the most perfect in existence, are now quirking upward into a smirk and the first thing I think is, I wonder what he could do with that mouth. The second thing I think? He’s smirking at me because I am so openly checking him out, even at this very moment. Maybe because my brain has been addled by such magnificence, or maybe because I’ve never been one to get easily embarrassed, I don’t even have a shred of decency that will cause me to cast my eyes away in shyness or shame. So I hold his look as he walks up to the desk, places his palms flat on the Formica-topped surface and hits me with a brilliantly sexy smile that almost blinds me, and most definitely causes a pang low in my belly. “I can see you recognize me,” he says, his voice deep and slightly accented. I blink at him hard, his words penetrating, but not really. I’m still too dazzled by the whiteness of his teeth, and I’d swear I saw one tooth actually cast a sparkle. “Um…excuse me?” I say, because I have no clue who this is or why he’s here, or why I should recognize him. Maybe he’s a famous model or an actor, and I rack my brain trying to place his face. His smile turns into a bit of a frown and his brow furrows. “You don’t recognize me, do you?” For some insane reason, I feel terrible because I don’t know who he is and he seems to be hurt by that. No, not hurt…that’s not quite right. Intrigued? Yes, maybe intrigued. Sending my brain into overdrive while it searches my memory for every movie, soap opera or fashion magazine I’ve ever read, I flounder around trying to come up with this man’s name. “Alex Crossman,” he says, letting me off the hook. “I have an appointment with Sutton Price.” Son of a bitch.

This is Alexander Crossman? Star player of the Cold Fury and potential GQ model, my new cohort in creating an outreach program for troubled youth and overall putz for being late and not calling? I don’t know whether to have an orgasm or be pissed that he’s walking in thirty minutes after our scheduled appointment. “You’re late, Mr. Crossman,” I say, disapproval ringing through. “By about half an hour.” He doesn’t look the slightest bit chagrined, but his smile turns even brighter. Removing his hands from the desk, he actually sets a hip along the edge and I swallow hard as I notice the taut thigh muscles staring me in the face as the material of his slacks pulls against his leg. I make myself—absolutely make myself— immediately raise my eyes to his so I don’t inadvertently look at what may be in between those thighs, because somehow I imagine it has to be as magnificent as the rest of him. Nodding over to the couch in the corner, I say, “If you’ll have a seat, it will be a moment.” He doesn’t move from the desk but just stares down at me, his smile no longer showing the brilliance of white but rather tilted up in amusement at me. “Tell you what,” he says as he leans in a bit closer and murmurs, “I’ll go sit and patiently wait if you let me cook you dinner at my place tonight.” The muscles in my face go lax and with no means of support, my jaw drops open again. Alex Crossman, professional hockey player and most gorgeous man on the planet—nay, the universe—just asked me out? No wait…that wasn’t asking me out on a date…that was asking me to his apartment. For dinner. A private dinner…in a private place. Warning bells go off in my head and I realize with absolute clarity that Mr. Crossman extended that invitation with the hopes of getting in my pants. Of all the— Okay, again, not sure whether to orgasm or be offended. I choose to remain professional—since I’m still on the clock—and go with offended. Narrowing my eyes at him, I nod back over to the couch. “No, thank you. If you’ll go have a seat so I can get some work done…” Looking at me a moment longer, he shrugs his shoulders, and I watch as the amused smile slides from his face “Never hurts to ask,” he says with a wink before he walks over to the couch and plops down on it. I try to focus on Mara’s case file but can’t help sneaking glances at Mr. Hockey Hottie. Gah, he’s utterly gorgeous, but also completely full of himself. Oh, not because he asked me out. I mean, that was kind of flattering even though I’m not interested. No way I’d ever go over to a guy’s apartment for dinner as the first date. But he’s clearly full of himself because he thinks his time is more important than mine. It’s at this point I hope Minnie takes her time returning from the drug store so Mr. Crossman can cool his heels for a while and see how it feels for someone to be disrespectful. As if appearing just because I was thinking about her, Minnie breezes in the door in a cloud of Estée Lauder perfume and sunshine. “I’m back,” she chirps happily. “Thanks so much, dear.”

I grin at her. “My pleasure, Minnie.” Standing from the desk, I grab Mara’s file and turn toward the couch where Alex is seated. I debate about leaving him here for a bit longer, but then decide against it. I’ve never been a very vengeful person. “Mr. Crossman, if you’ll come this way…” He unfolds his large body from the couch and when he reaches his full height, I hear Minnie behind me give a slight gasp and murmur, “Oh, my.” Yup, Minnie. He’s definitely an oh my. As Alex walks toward me with those longer-than-long legs, his eyes run casually down my body and slowly back up again until he’s pinning me with a direct stare. Appreciation shines through loud and clear, and it makes me self-conscious as hell. Spinning on my heel, I call out over my shoulder, “Follow me.” As I walk through the locked door to the back area, my heels clacking on the tile floor, I can feel his eyes burned onto my ass the entire way. I’m only modestly thankful he’s probably ogling my body and not looking at the Sharpie-covered, scuffed heels of my shoes. When I reach my office, I push the door open and motion for him to precede me in. He does so and I follow behind, closing the door behind me. Walking past him, I say, “Please have a seat.” Rounding my desk, I put Mara’s file over on one of my bookshelves and sit in my cheap office chair with uneven wheels that squeaks every time I move. When I finally look at him across the desk, he’s gazing at me in stunned disbelief. “You’re Sutton Price?” “The one and only,” I quip. “Fuck,” he mutters, sifting his hand through his long hair in a show of irritation. “I thought Sutton was a dude’s name.” “Probably is,” I confirm. “Also happens to be my name.” “Christ,” he mutters again, and for the life of me, I can’t understand why my name seems to bother him. The more I’m getting to know Alex Crossman, the more I am definitely not liking him.

Chapter 3 Alex Son of a bitch! The totally smoking hot woman sitting across the desk from me—the one I was imagining going down on tonight—is the fucking counselor I have to work with over the next year to build this outreach program? This does not amuse me, because while I can actually be devastatingly charming when I want to be, I am loathing this whole charitable deal so much that I know I will probably be nothing but an asshole to this woman. I know she doesn’t deserve it, but that’s just the way it is. Yes, I know this is a worthy cause, and yes, like I said, I’m all for worthy causes. But it is chapping my ass that I’m being forced to do this as punishment and as a means to bring me to heel. The mere fact that I’ll be benched if I balk at doing this enrages me beyond my normal surly attitude, and I have a feeling that this poor girl is not going to know what hit her by the time we’re through here today. If it were just a matter of walking away from a career I hate, I wouldn’t be sitting here right now. I would have told Coach to blow me the other day and walked out. But unfortunately, this career that I hate so much is also very much needed, mainly because I have nothing else in life that I’m any good at. Good ol’ Pops made sure that I channeled all of my energy, efforts and talent into being one of the world’s best hockey players, so much so that I’ve never considered once what I would do when it was over. As a result, I count every penny I earn and I sock it away for that day when this career is no longer there for me, so at least I’ll have some money to live on while I figure out what the fuck to do with my life. So that’s why I live in a small, two-bedroom apartment and drive a used Chevy Suburban, while my teammates live in mansions and drive luxury SUVs. Because my earnings are my ticket to freedom away from an overbearing and abusive father incapable of loving his son, and a career I’d just as soon vomit or piss on as I would anything else. Looking at Sutton Price, I snarl inside over this unfortunate turn of events. I was hoping I’d get another crack at her before I left, fairly certain I could convince her to have dinner at my apartment. I’d even make something nice…certainly not Hamburger Helper. But no, this is essentially my jailer for the next year, which also makes her my enemy. And I can’t fuck the enemy. At least I don’t think I can. “You’re actually one of the counselors here?” I ask, my voice dripping with skepticism, because I truly am not ready to believe this woman won’t be lying beneath me tonight. She merely gives me a bland smile and says, “I can assure you, I’m a counselor here.” “You don’t even look old enough to be out of high school,” I mutter.

“I’m twenty-two and just finished my master’s degree. I’m qualified.” “Twenty-two and a master’s degree?” I ask skeptically. “I started my master’s coursework while still in undergrad. It took me about a year to finish it after I graduated.” I study her hard, pinning her with an icy look. It’s made many women cry and some men quake in their boots. She just cocks an eyebrow at me and returns my gaze. “Look, you might as well know I’m here under protest.” “Really?” she asks, her voice satiny smooth but filled with sarcasm. “I would never have guessed.” “You’ll find out soon enough that I’m not easy to work with.” “I’ve had experience with difficult people.” “I probably won’t show up half the time you’re expecting me and the other half I’ll be a prick.” “At least you’ve given me a heads-up.” Christ. Didn’t this woman know when to be daunted by something? Sighing loudly, I lean back in my chair and cross my hands over my stomach. Searching her face, I look for some sign of weakness that I can exploit. A trigger…an insecurity…something I can do to get under her skin the way she is apparently getting under mine. I get nothing but a pleasant smile and an unbelievable pair of green-gold eyes that pop because they’re surrounded by a mass of copper-colored hair. Fuck. I’m crankier than normal because I’m attracted to this woman, in a way I don’t quite recall being attracted to anyone in a very long time. That puzzles me, intrigues me slightly but, yup, mainly it pisses me off. Reaching into my back pocket, I pull out an envelope and pass it across the desk to her. “This is from Walt Prestonwood—general manager of the Cold Fury.” She takes it from me with curiosity and I watch as she takes a letter opener and breaks the seal. I don’t know what’s inside, but I have a very good idea. I watch her face carefully as she pulls out a single sheet of paper. I can see the Fury’s logo on the front and typed words, but past that the content is a mystery. Her eyes fly back and forth across the page as she reads, her eyebrows tilting inward. When she gets done, she surprises the shit out of me and hands the paper across the desk. Grabbing it from her hand, I read it quickly and it’s as I thought it would be. A letter to her explaining that the team is hoping this outreach opportunity can be used to help clean up my image, that I am here under protest and that the team would like Miss Price to report weekly on my behavior. It’s basically their secret way to keep their thumb on top of me, and I am absolutely stunned that she would let me read it. Particularly because the last line says, I would ask that you keep this letter private and not share it with Mr. Crossman. “I’m not happy to have to be your babysitter,” she says and my eyes snap up to hers. “I’m not exactly thrilled about it either,” I tell her honestly. Then she looks at me, with her head tilted to the side. “So, what’s your deal? Are you the team’s bad boy or something?” “Something like that,” I mutter, not willing to expound on the millions of reasons I’m sitting here. “Apparently I have a bit of an attitude problem.” Then Sutton does something that I don’t think I’ll ever forget as long as I live. She smiles at me, in a mischievous way, her eyes going more gold than green. She’s so fucking beautiful in this very moment, my

breath actually catches. “I can deal with attitude,” she says with a wink. “Makes things interesting.” I start to open my mouth—to say what, I don’t know—but then she says, “But seriously, Mr. Crossman —” “Alex,” I say. “Alex,” she says with a nod of her head. “If you truly don’t want to do this, I think you’ll only do more harm than good. We’ll be speaking to kids about drug addiction. They’ll spot a phony a mile away. They need to believe us. They need to trust us.” For the first time in years—many years—I feel something close to shame creep up the back of my neck. I’ve been an ass, a prick and an overall schmuck to many, many people in my life, because I act out my anger and daddy issues toward others. But never once did I feel shame or even the slightest bit of guilt for my actions. Yet, here I am now, and Sutton Price is making me feel pretty fucking small. The Alex Crossman who lives in Asshole Land would have come back at her with a snide remark, followed up with a punch to her self-esteem. Instead, I say, “I’m here under protest because they’re making me do this. But given the opportunity to volunteer for a project like this, I would have done it in a heartbeat. I may have an attitude problem, Miss Price—” “Sutton,” she says with a smile. “Sutton,” I acknowledge, “but I do think this is a worthy cause. If I have to do it, you need to know that I’ll put the effort into it and it will be sincere. I wouldn’t do anything to fuck a kid over—ever.” I watch in amazement as her eyes go warm and soft, and she gives me a humongous smile, causing my heart to start a mad tripping beat. That’s an odd sensation. “Awesome,” she says enthusiastically. “Because I have to tell you, I was so excited to get this project. It’s been my dream to be involved in an outreach program for at-risk youth, and to be able to do this at such a young age, and with the power of a professional hockey team behind me—” I tune her out, not hearing a damn thing she says after that. Instead, I stare at her, enthralled as I take in her words thrown at me so quickly, because she’s excited like a kid at Christmas, which makes me focus on her mouth and how fucking sexy her lips are. She’s beautiful, no doubt, but not in a classic way. More like in an earthy, casual way. She doesn’t wear a lot of makeup, but then she doesn’t need to. Her skin is clear and soft looking, her eyes and hair her best features by far. When she smiles, I notice right away that she has one tooth that is slightly crooked, but for some reason it adds to her overall allure. The fact that she’s not exquisitely perfect makes her almost perfect. She also has a small scar just below her left eyebrow—yet again, that somehow adds to her overall unique charm. Not gonna lie—her body is slammin’. When I walked behind her on the way back to her office, yeah, my eyes were pinned to her curvy ass that was molded by her narrow, gray skirt that just brushed the backs of her knees and her toned calves. Along with her flat stomach, it’s a no- brainer she works out. The only thing I couldn’t get a good read on was her breasts, but that’s because the silky cream blouse she’s wearing has ruffles down the front that don’t give much definition. They don’t look overly large but I’m betting they are a handful, which really, really makes me regret that she won’t be coming home with me

tonight. “…so, I think if we work hard, we could probably have something ready to launch in a few months, don’t you think?” I tune her back in and nod my head up and down, having no fucking idea what she just said. “Sounds good to me.” “So, how often do you want to meet? I mean—your schedule has got to be a lot more complex than mine, but I’m pretty flexible. I can do nights or weekends if you need.” “My schedule varies week to week, depending if our games are home or away. We’ll have to play a lot of it by ear.” “Sure,” she says brightly, but I can see that she is like a racehorse chomping at the bit to get out of the gate. Her enthusiasm is slightly infectious, and I find myself pulling my iPhone out of my pocket. “Tell me what days you have free over the next week and I’ll see what we can set up.” She turns to her laptop, and with a few taps of her fingers, she starts to tell me her schedule. Within a few minutes, we have a meeting arranged for the following Monday morning. Reaching down into a desk drawer, Sutton pulls out a thick binder and hands it to me. “What’s this?” I ask suspiciously. “Homework,” she grins. “It’s actually an outreach program they do out in California that I’ve been studying. I think it’s a good model and will save us a ton of work.” Looking at the binder like it’s a bug in my hand, I can’t help the way my nose wrinkles up. “Why don’t you read it and give me the Cliff Notes version?” Sutton laughs and my stomach clenches over the pure honeyed sound that pours out. Her eyes crinkle, her teeth show bright, even that little crooked tooth, and her voice is like music to my ears. And what the fuck? When did I start noticing shit like that about women? I’m a tits–and–ass man. Although apparently I’m now an eyes, hair and voice man too. With Sutton’s laughter still ringing, I shake my head and grumble, “I didn’t say that to be funny.” “No, I’m sure you didn’t,” she says while still chuckling, “but I’m not doing your homework for you.” Sitting up in my chair, I lean forward, placing my elbows at my knees and clasping my hands together. I pin her with a direct look, all kidding aside. “You’re not going to cut me any slack, are you?” “Nope.” “Even though I’m a hotshot professional hockey player?” “Especially not for that,” she says, glaring at me with mock disapproval. “Besides, I don’t know anything about hockey.” “You should cut me some slack—I’ll be less of a prick.” “Didn’t you know you catch more flies with sugar?” “So, if I’m nice you’ll cut me slack?” “Nope. Not even then,” she says with a smirk. I stare at her a moment, then before I even know what the fuck is happening, my head tilts back and I start laughing. Hard. And it feels natural, and fun, and…right. “So, you really know nothing about hockey?” I ask, chuckling.

“It’s played on ice, right?” “Last I checked,” I tell her with a snort. “Then that’s the extent of my knowledge.” “Tell you what—I’ll get you tickets for tomorrow night’s game and you can start learning about it.” “Oh, that’s really nice but I have plans tomorrow night,” she says, her cheeks turning slightly red. “I can get you four tickets, so if you’re going out with friends or something—” “Actually, it’s a date, so I’m not sure what our plans are.” Oh, yeah—no way she is going to have dinner at my apartment tonight. I don’t know much about Sutton Price but I can tell she’s not the type to play the field. I’m oddly disappointed she has a date tomorrow, but no clue why. Past the disappointment that she won’t be writhing around on my bed, I shouldn’t have any feelings for her one way or the other. “Well, tickets are available any time you’d like to give it a try,” I tell her with a smile. Sutton watches me, her face full of interest. “I’m not sure why you were labeled the team prick. I’m just not seeing it.” My laughter has completely faded and I’m sort of teasing, sort of serious when I say, “Get me closer to the ice and my jackass attitude will start shining through.” “What? Seriously?” “Seriously.” “You mean, you get grouchy when you play hockey?” “I mean I fucking hate playing hockey, so yeah…I get a little grouchy.” What. In. The. Hell? Why I just told her that, I have no clue. I’ve never admitted that out loud to anyone in my entire life, although it’s a mantra I repeat silently to myself on almost a daily basis. If the press ever got hold of that, if the fans ever found that out, I’d be finished—run out of town faster than my very own slap shot, and every team’s door would be closed to me. And yet, I can’t find it within me to care that I just told a complete stranger that little secret. I expect her to scoff at me, because frankly, it has to be unbelievable that a professional hockey player hates playing hockey. I think we are a rare breed. Hell, the more I think about it, I bet I’m the only one of the breed. I’m like the dodo bird, on the verge of extinction. Rather than scoff at or dismiss my assertion, Sutton’s eyes go sad and she says, “I’m sorry….That really has to suck.” I can’t fucking stand to see that look on her face. Pity. You can give me your ire, your hate or your disgust, but don’t ever fucking give me your pity. The pleasantly warm feeling that I held in the bottom of my belly just moments before has completely dissipated, and has been replaced by cold concrete. Standing up from my chair, I toss the binder on her desk with a resounding thwack. She flinches backward and her eyes widen with surprise. “Sorry, gorgeous, I don’t do ‘homework,’ ” I tell her with a sneer while pointing at the binder. “But my offer still stands: If you want to come over for dinner tonight, you can give me a summary of that

monstrosity. Or we could do other things.” I expect my barb to strike deep and offend her, maybe causing a little tremble to her lip that will help orient me back to my true self. She disappoints yet again, instead narrowing her eyes and curling her upper lip in disdain. “Ahh…there’s the prick you were telling me about.” “Get used to it, Miss Price,” I tell her with a mock bow. “You’ll be seeing quite a bit of him.” Turning around, I open her door and walk out of her office, feeling her eyes burn into my back until I turn the corner and head down the depressing gray hallway.

Chapter 4 Sutton “You seriously met Alex Crossman? And you’re going to be working with him?” “Yes,” I say for the third—maybe fourth—time as I set the lasagna in the middle of the table. “Holy shit. That is just so cool,” Glenn says, his eyes filled with excitement and yearning. “Watch your mouth,” my mom says sternly but I see my stepdad Jim turn away from the table because he’s about ready to bust out laughing. I catch his eye and shoot him a wink but try to keep my features bland so my little brother doesn’t know we think he’s freakin’ adorable when he cusses. Glenn’s eyes cast downward for a second in shame over his curse word but then they pop right back up to me, filled with hope. “Do you think you can get me an autograph, Sutton? It doesn’t have to be much… just on a piece of paper or something.” My heart tumbles, seizes and then melts over Glenn’s simple request. He’s an amazing kid, eleven years my junior and he never asks for anything. My mom and stepdad don’t make a lot of money but they have managed to give Glenn and me a damn good life. We may have grown up wearing thrift store clothing and having lean Christmases, but we never lacked for our basic necessities, and we were given so much love and devotion from our parents that we never missed the things we did without. At eleven, Glenn is old enough to know the bounds of our parents’ abilities, even as he watches his friends sporting expensive clothing and carrying the very best of iPhones, iPads, gaming devices and toys. He doesn’t ask for these things because he knows our parents can’t afford them, and he never pouts, whines or tries to lay a guilt trip on them about it. But as he sits here staring at me with bright, shining eyes, he knows the cost of an autograph is nothing more than a simple request for me to make to Alex, and I’m not going to deny him that. I’m pretty sure Alex would give me an autograph if I asked. He was quite the ass when he stomped out of my office, verifying for me that he must, indeed, be the team’s bad boy. But I feel there’s something else there too. I sense there is a reason for the way he is. Call it my counselor intuition, or maybe it’s just plain wishful thinking so I don’t have to deal with an asshole that is an asshole for no other reason than he likes being that way. Either way, it’s going to be interesting to see how this plays out. “Sure, kiddo,” I say as I tousle his hair. “I’ll get something from him next time I see him.” “Yes!” Glenn yells and gives a fist pump in the air. “Everyone at school will die when they see it.” “You’ll be the talk of the class,” Mom says, her eyes warm and grateful as she watches the exuberance on Glenn’s face. Then she lifts her gaze to mine and her expression to me says, Thank you, baby, for making Glenn happy. He deserves it.

I can feel tears prickle at my eyes so I blink rapidly, and say, “Okay, who is ready for some lasagna?” “I’m ready for my birthday cake,” Glenn says with a grin. Pushing the spatula into the pan, I lift out a slice and place it on Glenn’s plate. “Lasagna first, then cake,” I tell him. “Then presents?” he asks hopefully. “We’ll discuss it if you eat all of your dinner,” Mom says. Glenn picks up his fork and dives in before I even get the second slice out of the pan. I shake my head with a smile on my face, pulling another piece out. “Here you go, Jim-Dad,” I say affectionately as I place the cheesy pile on his plate. “Thanks, baby. Looks great,” he says. My stepdad is a real-life, bona fide angel. He took my mom and me in when I was just nine years old. We had been living at a women’s shelter for about five months, and while we were safe, warm and had food in our stomachs, we were lonely. My mom, Penny, met Jim Murdock when he came into the drugstore where she worked the front register. The story has been changed and manipulated so many times over the years, I’m not sure really what went down, but they both claim it was love at first sight. Of course, my mom was wary, having come out of a violent relationship with my father, but it didn’t take long for Mom to fall under Jim’s special brand of magic, and it didn’t take long for me to warm up to him either. Within a year, Mom had married Jim, and within another six months, he had become Jim-Dad to me. Another year after that my baby brother had been born, and my life was absolutely perfect. Considering we came from a pretty hellish life prior to that, it didn’t take much to give Mom and me security. But Jim’s kind words and soft touch, the roof over our heads and the knowledge that we would never suffer again gave Mom and me the best existence we could have ever hoped for. “Honey, I love what you’ve done with your kitchen,” Mom says as she looks at the curtains I hung last weekend. They were on sale at Wal-Mart, and while they were an expenditure I really shouldn’t have made, I couldn’t resist the cheerful pattern of yellow lemons that I knew would be perfect over the sink window. I had just painted the kitchen a similar color of yellow and did the dingy oak cabinets in a glossy white with new hardware I found on sale. I bought this house just shy of four months ago for practically a song and a dance. It’s not in the greatest section of town, it was in foreclosure—which is why I got it so cheap—and it needs a hell of a lot of work. But it’s mine. “Thanks, Mom. I think the house is coming along great.” I scoop out some lasagna for her and then put a piece on my plate, sitting down to enjoy our birthday dinner for Glenn. “Your bathroom sink still working okay?” Jim asks. “Yup. It’s proof positive that if you ever quit your day job, you have a career in plumbing,” I tell him with a snicker. I’m hoping one day I’ll be done with all of the “fix-ups” for this place. So far, it’s coming along well, and luckily Jim-Dad has been able to help me with the more complex repairs. But I single-handedly—and with great love—sanded down and refinished the old hardwood floors that run throughout the house. That took me nearly three weeks to do on my own, but it was worth saving the cost and it was a major accomplishment that I’m proud of. Jim takes a huge bite of lasagna and chews with a grin on his face. With a brief glance, I take in his kind

eyes, tanned face and scruffy beard. He’s a bear of a man, standing over six feet tall and built almost as wide. Jim is an auto mechanic by trade, working at one of the Ford dealerships for the past eighteen years. While cars are his specialty, he’s one of those dads who can just fix anything. We settle into the Murdock family tradition of cracking jokes while we eat dinner, snorting and laughing in between bites of lasagna and garlic bread. While my last name is Price, because my birth father still owns that part of me, I consider myself Jim’s daughter and thus a Murdock. When we’re done, I bring out Glenn’s birthday cake. It’s tradition in our family that the birthday honoree gets their favorite dinner cooked, and their favorite dessert. It doesn’t have to be a cake, but in Glenn’s case it was. Homemade red velvet cake with buttercream frosting. His eyes go wide when he sees the monstrosity that I’ve made. It’s so tall that it actually tilts to the left a little, slightly resembling the Leaning Tower of Pisa. I light the eleven candles and then we all sing a rousing rendition of “Happy Birthday” while Glenn looks around at each of us with a toothy smile on his face. By the time the last notes of the song die out, we’re all wearing matching grins. Glenn closes his eyes to make his wish, then gives a gusty blow to the candles, moving his head back and forth to give them all equal airtime. He blows them out like a champ, all except the one trick candle I had placed in the middle. We all laugh as he repeatedly puffs at it, watching it spark back to life time and time again. Finally, he gets the candle permanently extinguished, then I serve the cake. Glenn wolfs his down in about three huge bites, which is not surprising. He hit some sort of weird growth spurt a few months ago and seems to be adding inches and pounds to his frame every week. He’s going to be tall like Jim, and built like a Mack truck. He’s already a superstar on his rec football league, barreling over players that are two and three years older than him. When the last crumb of cake has been swallowed, my mom gives a big yawn, stretching her arms out wide. “That was just fabulous, Sutton. I’ll help you do the dishes and we’ll get out of your hair tonight.” I glance over at Glenn and his jaw is hanging open, his eyes disbelieving what he’s heard. “Good thought, Penny,” Jim-Dad says as he looks at her and pushes back from the table. “I have to get up early for work tomorrow and I’m beat. This was a great dinner, Sutton.” Another glance at Glenn and he’s staring slack-jawed at his dad. His eyes race over to mine and he’s giving me a look like, Are they serious? I can’t leave the kid hanging and my lips quirk upward. “Wait. We forgot about Glenn’s present.” “Oh, that’s right,” my mom says, slapping her palm to her forehead. “How could we have done that?” Glenn’s face relaxes and he purses his lips in amusement, slinging his arms back across the kitchen chair in a posture that says, I really wasn’t worried. I knew you guys were kidding the whole time. Standing from the table, I walk over to my small kitchen pantry and pull out Glenn’s present, which Mom brought over earlier in the day to hide. I had wrapped it for her in football-themed paper with a huge gold bow on the top. My heart seizes—in a good way—when I see the look of surprise on his face from the size of the box. I set it in front of him and say, “This is from me, Mom, and Jim-Dad. We all went in on it together.” His eyes look up into mine and he swallows hard. Then they flick over to Mom, and finally to his dad. Placing his hands on the gold bow, he says quietly, “This is the best birthday ever.” Leaning over, I give him a light noogie on his tousled blond head. “You don’t even know what’s in the

box, brat.” “Doesn’t matter,” he says seriously, looking to me, then to Mom, then to Jim-Dad. “It’s still the best birthday ever.” Mom’s eyes immediately fill with tears. Jim-Dad’s face suffuses with pride in his son and I stare at the wonder that is my brother and marvel that my parents raised such a good and kind boy. Then Glenn dives at the box, ripping and shredding the paper I painstakingly wrapped so that not even a seam would be noticed. When he pulls back a large chunk of paper and sees what’s inside, he squeals— yes, squeals. He sounds like a pig being murdered with a butter knife and I grimace. Pulling back the last shred of wrapping, he stares with love in his eyes at the Xbox in front of him. Glenn has never had an electronic gaming device before. Oh, he’s played on plenty when he stays over with his friends, so he knows all about them. But here’s the thing that makes this kid so fabulous. He’s never once asked for one. Glenn is considerate of our family’s boundaries when it comes to what we can afford, and he’s always been grateful for anything he’s ever been given. Now, watching him with the look of adoration and disbelief on his face, I wish desperately that my parents and I had it within our means to give this kid everything his heart ever desired. He deserves it, mainly because he doesn’t expect it. Reaching under the kitchen cabinet, I pull out two smaller items that I had wrapped. Glenn’s eyes widen even farther as his hand reaches out to take the gifts from me. “Can’t have an Xbox without games to play, right?” I tell him. Glenn doesn’t even bother unwrapping the gifts to see what I’ve gotten him; rather, he flies out of his chair and throws his arms around my waist, pressing his head onto my shoulder…because yeah, he’s gotten that tall. “Thanks, Sutton. You’re the best sister ever.” “Damn straight I am,” I tell him while laughing, and then squeeze him even tighter. *** I watch my family all hop into Jim-Dad’s big work truck, then wave at them as they pull out of my driveway. They have at least a thirty-minute drive ahead of them to make it to their little abode across town, and I have a kitchen to clean up. Walking back into my house, I realize I’m still riding high on watching Glenn fly over the moon, proclaiming this to be his best birthday ever. Amped up on his joy, I tackle the dishes and wipe down the counters, reminiscing over the evening with a soft smile on my face. I give a quick swipe with my broom to the old linoleum floor —which is my next upgrade project—and finish my duties by taking the garbage out. Finally, I’m able to pour myself a glass of cabernet sauvignon and pad into the living room—my sanctuary. After taking a small sip of my wine, I set it on the coffee table and flop down onto the big, fluffy cushions of my couch. Sinking into its comfort, I take a moment to appreciate the pale blue walls I painted myself and admire how they complement the dark hardwood floors with a calming serenity. My eyes roam the room, briefly touching on the various framed photographs—some rest on the side tables, others are hanging on the walls, and still more swamp the mantel of the fireplace. These are pictures of all the people who are most important in my life, and they truly make this not just a “living room” but a “family room.”

Kicking my feet up onto the couch, I study my toenails, which I just painted a steel blue color the other day. In fact, I notice with lazy interest, they sort of match my couch, which is done in a floral pattern of blues and yellows. While I have to wear professional clothes during the day, I like getting by with touches of crazy that can’t be seen while I’m in counselor mode. So that means unconventionally colored nail polish and naughty lingerie, neither of which is seen by anyone but me at the current time. Not that I mind. I mentally giggle to myself, wondering what Brandon would think of my blue nail polish. I’m quite positive he’d wrinkle his nose up at it, proclaiming that it’s not professional. Sighing, I lean my head back against the couch pillow and close my eyes. My date with Brandon is tomorrow night. At least, I think it’s a date. I meant to clarify that with him when he first called me earlier in the week, but then forgot because I had gotten sidetracked during the conversation by his natural charm. “Sutton?” I had heard Brandon’s voice when I answered my phone, a tad tentative but clear as a bell. “Brandon? Is that you?” I asked in disbelief, because in a million years I had not expected his call. “Yes,” he said exuberantly. “I was watching our movie last night before I went to bed, and it made me all nostalgic, so I told myself when I woke up today I was going to give you a call and check in on you.” Our movie? He was watching Zombieland and it made him nostalgic for me? “So, tell me what you’ve been doing with your life,” Brandon urged me, and then blew me away when he said, “Knowing you, I’m sure you’ve been extremely successful.” I can’t lie…his words of pride and confidence in me are what got me sidetracked. The way he sounded so happy to hear my voice, and the way he had been thinking about me just from watching a movie. It’s as if our time apart melted into nothingness, and we chatted away like old friends. Yes, we had promptly fallen into old times, talking about this and that, and all the things that each of us had been doing over the last year while we had been apart. Yes, apart. Brandon had been the love of my life…or so I had thought. We met our freshman year in college at N.C. State University in a mathematics study group that he helped tutor. He was in the engineering program and was pretty freakin’ brilliant when it came to math. I was pursuing an arts degree—sociology—and I basically sucked at math. It took less than two months for Brandon to go from tutor to friend to good friend to boyfriend to lover. We clicked right off the bat and spent a lot of time together. There was an underlying mutual attraction that just kept getting stronger and stronger the more time we spent with each other. By our sophomore year, we were in love and making plans to spend the rest of our lives together. He was everything I had desired in a boyfriend and potential husband. Smart, kind, caring, considerate, attentive, successful, upstanding…all the things antithetical to my birth dad. The list could go on and on. Brandon was made up of one long list of commendable virtues and it was just so easy to love him. Hell, even when he broke up with me, he was fucking commendable and lovable. Now, I’d heard of the old “I want to sow my wild oats” speech before. Even met a few girls who had suffered through it. I just never thought I’d be the one to get it, though. And Brandon, when he laid it out to me—told me he wanted to be with other women—did it in such a kind and caring way, I was nodding my head in agreement with him by the time he was finished. “Sutton…I am so, so sorry to be hurting you this way” were the first words Brandon said after he dumped me. He held my face gently in his hands so I would look at him and he could look back at me. So I could gauge the truthfulness of his words.

“I love and respect you too much, though, to cheat on you. I could never go behind your back, so I want to be honest with you as to why I’m doing this.” “Did I do something wrong?” I asked quietly, searching his eyes for the reason behind his crazy actions. “God, no,” he said, with such ferocity in his voice and conviction in his eyes I had no choice but to believe him. “In fact, I’m betting this may be the singularly most stupid thing I’ve ever done, and I’m sure it may eventually be one of my biggest regrets, but I can’t keep going forward with you when I have these doubts and these curiosities.” I nodded in agreement with what he was saying, because it did make sense the way he was laying it out to me. Sometimes, when I think back to that day—just three weeks before we graduated with our bachelor degrees, I want to go back in time and slap myself on the back of the head. Sometimes I think I must have been the biggest loser to ever look at a man I loved, a man who was breaking up with me, and be thankful and love him that much more for the way in which he did it. I didn’t even have one bitter feeling against him. I fucking congratulated him for the great job he did. Gah, I was so pathetic back then. I think I’ve changed a lot in the past year, though, in a good way, and much of it thanks to Brandon breaking my heart. Yes, Brandon felt that in order to be absolutely honest and candid with me, he had to let me know that he was thinking about what it would be like to be with other women. “You are the most incredible woman I’ve ever been with, Sutton,” he had told me, almost begging me to believe him. “But lately, I’m just wondering all the time what it would be like to be with someone else.” “Sexually?” I asked in bewilderment, because I was still shell-shocked at what he was telling me. His head hung low, almost in shame, and he admitted, “Yes…sexually. I want to be free to have sex with other women. I want to know if I’m missing out on something.” Oh, how those words had hurt, slicing and gouging at my heart. Yet I didn’t cry and I didn’t argue with him, which is odd because I am not a passive woman. “I don’t want to hurt you, Sutton,” he said as we sat in my dorm room. “I’m asking if we can take a break…explore the world apart for a while, make sure we have no doubts before we get married and have kids.” It seemed to make sense to me. It seemed to be the psychologically healthy thing to do at that point, even though I wasn’t having doubts about spending my life with him. I wasn’t looking at other men, wondering if their dicks were bigger or if they were better lovers. Well, okay, that’s not exactly true. My best friend and roommate Shelley and I would often gossip and secretly lust after hot guys we would see on campus. It was all in good fun, and so while I might have looked and wondered, I definitely never wanted to act on it. So Brandon said he wanted to take a break—no specific time period, though—and I just nodded my head in agreement, even though my heart was broken. I trusted that if Brandon and I were meant to be together, it would happen one day. And now maybe that day was here. Brandon and I were meeting for dinner tomorrow night, because he said that he wanted to talk to me…catch up with me…tell me about all of the things that had been going on in his life. It had sounded to me as if he’d had some sort of epiphany and it made me wonder if I was a part of that. I filter through my feelings, wondering what it is I truly think about Brandon entering my life again. I

don’t have a rush of excitement like I thought I would. I have some curiosity, for sure, but remember that broken heart I had? Well, it healed pretty damn fast. I didn’t sit around and pine after Brandon. I moved on with my life and while I had many days of disquieted sorrow, Brandon became just a fond memory a lot faster than I would have thought possible if I was so in love with him and ready to spend the rest of my life with him. I bring forth Brandon’s image in my mind, trying to rekindle some sort of feeling. Light brown hair, soft brown eyes, lean build, just slightly taller than me. I try to remember back to the last time we made love…what it felt like to have him inside of me. An image comes to me, Brandon’s face tucked into my shoulder, his hips pushing and pulling as he slides in and out. It felt good…always good with Brandon. In my memory, I mentally will Brandon to lift his face, to look down at me so I can try to remember what was in his eyes that last time we were intimate—just before he broke up with me. His head lifts, the stubble from his chin abrading my shoulder. He gives an extra hard push of his hips, and he slams in me just a bit harder. Definitely not Brandon’s style but I find that my body likes it—at least in my mind. Pulling out and slamming back in even harder, Brandon lifts his head as I watch him above me. When his face is fully revealed, I’m stunned to find crystal blue eyes staring at me and full lips tilted upward in a triumphant smile. Black hair framing the face of an angel as he looks down at me with lust-filled eyes. Alex Crossman inside of me, pulling back out with exquisite control, only to slam back in hard, causing a groan to tumble out of my mouth. My eyes fly open, seeking reality. I take in a water stain on the ceiling just above me and try to banish all fantasies of Alex Crossman from my mind. I mentally take a scrub brush and rub it hard over my brain, desperately trying to call back the image of Brandon, or Barney the Dinosaur, or sick starving children. Anything but Alex Crossman. I tentatively close my eyes again, and that gorgeous face is still hovering over me front and center, causing my heartbeat to pick up its pace. I pop my eyes open again and stare at the water stain, worrying my lower lip with my teeth. What in the hell? Sitting up on my couch, I reach over to my coffee table and grab my cell phone. I send a quick text to Shelley. She’s still my best friend, and I’m not sure if it’s lame or not, but really my only good friend. I’m actually quite an introverted person and don’t do well in crowds, thus I was never the kind of woman who had a large core group of girlfriends. But four years as college roommates and my bond with Shelley was sealed. Even when she got married this past summer and moved to Pittsburgh, the bond couldn’t even be dinged. We talked, texted and Facebooked several times a day. My fingers fly over the screen. Remind me again why Brandon wasn’t the love of my life? I don’t wait long. It’s almost 10 P.M. but I know she’ll answer me. Because he didn’t excite you enough. The most you did when he broke up with you was give a strong sigh and then you moved on. Right, I think to myself. There wasn’t as deep a connection as I thought. Still, Brandon and I had four years together. That’s a long time, and in those four years we made many, many wonderful memories. We were compatible in so many ways. It’s something I can’t neglect to consider, and maybe the second time would be the charm. Maybe we’ve both grown in ways that would add depth and excitement to the existing bonds we had.

Yes, I definitely should keep an open mind about this. I text Shelley back. Thanks babe. Love u. Night. Then I head to bed myself and hope to God that Alex Crossman isn’t going to star in my dreams. I don’t know if I can handle that type of excitement.

Chapter 5 Alex It’s Sunday afternoon and here I am—once again serving at the beck and call of the Cold Fury. Tucking the birthday present under my arm, I start walking up the driveway to the modest, two-story brick house of our trainer, Leo Getts. It’s his youngest son’s birthday today, and the entire team has been invited. I, however, was mandated to attend. I had an email Friday evening from Coach telling me if I failed to show, it would be a $5,000 fine. Now, this just made me want to stick my chin out and take the fine, because I don’t like being molded into shape. But the problem was, I really like Leo. He’s a wonderful trainer and has done an amazing job working me through some minor and major injuries. I decided I was coming to the party weeks ago when I first got the invitation because it was the least I could do for Leo. So I asked Cassie to buy the kid a present from me a while back and wrap it, and in return I gave her a couple of orgasms. It was an even exchange. Cassie wanted to go to the party with me, had even tried to talk me into it while I was fucking her from behind, but I just fucked her harder to make it more difficult for her to talk. No way was she coming to this party with me. That screamed too much like a date or a relationship, and I didn’t ever want her thinking that she was entitled to that from me. Here’s the thing about Cassie. She’ll talk out of one side of her mouth, assuring me that she’s all about the sex. I can’t tell you how many times she’s assured me she doesn’t do relationships. This worked out well for me, because I sure as hell don’t do relationships either. Never have—probably never will. But then she’ll talk out of the other side, trying to subtly push her way into my life outside the bedroom. That’s the Cassie I don’t like very much. When I met Cassie at a Cold Fury party last year, it took us only about twenty minutes after we were introduced to leave the party together, heading back to her apartment and fucking like champions all night long. In that respect, she was the perfect woman. Except now, she’s changed. I see it in her eyes, I hear it in her words, I know it by her actions. She wants her claws in me permanently and she’s been coming on strong lately. It’s something I need to put a stop to so she doesn’t think this will ever go any further than orgasmic release. Walking up to the house, I can hear the sounds of kids squealing and adults laughing from the backyard, so I don’t even bother with the front door, choosing instead to walk around the house. As I come around the east side, I’m brought up short by a small orange ball flying at my head. Luckily, my reflexes are good and I’m able to duck in plenty of time. “Shit—sorry, Crossman,” I hear and see my teammate Sergei Annikov standing there with an unapologetic grin on his face. He’s holding a small, plastic hockey stick, and I see a little boy of about

five standing up against the brick exterior of the house. The kid is wearing a goalie mask, decked out with a goalie glove and stick. Walking over a few feet, I pick up the lightweight plastic ball from the ground and toss it back to Sergei. “No problem.” Sergei drops the ball to the grass and says, “Okay, Darius, keep your eye on the ball.” Putting the small stick to the ground—which looks ridiculously minuscule in his large hands—he flips the orange ball gently to his son. At least I think that’s his son. Fact of the matter, I know virtually nothing about most of my teammates. The little boy tries to raise his glove to catch the ball but it bounces just off the tip and ricochets off the brick wall behind him. “Good try,” Sergei says in affirmation at the boy’s attempt. “You almost got it.” My head swirls and I feel faint, a memory clawing its way up to my consciousness and I try desperately to tamp it down. It’s too strong, though, and it assaults me hard. “I’ve never been so embarrassed,” my dad snarled as we pulled into the driveway. He took out a small flask from the inside of his jacket, angrily twisting the cap off and slugging back a huge gulp of liquor. Putting the flask away, he turned ice-blue eyes my way and glared at me. “Drills. Get suited up.” “Dad…it’s late and I’m tired,” I complained. It was something I knew better than to say, but I was so tired I just didn’t have it in me to play any more tonight. “Get your fucking gear on and get your lazy ass in the driveway,” he screamed at me. Sighing, I pushed open the car door and slouched my way into the house. I didn’t even bother going any farther than the mud room, where I reached into my equipment bag—which I had been carrying— and put on my pads, still wet with my sweat from the game I’d just played. I didn’t bother putting my jersey over them, but I did put my helmet on with full face guard. I needed that protection for sure. My older brother, Cameron, stuck his head in the doorway of the mudroom and whispered, “Bad game?” He was fifteen years old, and Dad didn’t mind him staying home alone while he took me to my hockey games; Cam never wanted to come watch. “I guess,” I replied, even though I thought I’d had a pretty great game. Two goals and an assist. “Dad wants to do drills.” Cameron just stared at me, his eyes sad. He watched me put on my helmet, grab my stick and head back outside. He didn’t say anything else, didn’t come outside to watch, didn’t offer words of encouragement. There was no way you could ever paint a good picture over what was about to happen. When I stepped out onto our driveway, softly lit by the two lights flanking the garage door, my dad already had his stick in hand and the driveway lined with hockey pucks. He pointed to the position he wanted me to take and I went to stand in front of the garage. “Why are we doing this?” he asked, his voice still tinged with anger. “Because I messed up,” I answered woodenly. “And how did you mess up?” he asked, toying with one of the pucks on the ground with the blade of his own stick. “I didn’t make the sacrifice,” I said tiredly. “You didn’t make the fucking sacrifice,” he affirmed, his voice filled with disgust. It didn’t matter

that his son scored two goals. Didn’t matter that his son got an assist. Didn’t matter that his son was the best player on the team. Didn’t even matter that we won the game. The only thing that mattered to him, at that moment, was that when one of my opponents shot a blistering slap shot at our goaltender, I dove out of the way so that my goalie could see the puck coming. I was standing directly in front of him, blocking his view. It’s true. It never crossed my mind to let the puck hit me. It was aimed in the general direction of my right thigh and it would have hurt had it hit me. Fear of getting hit with the puck played no part in my split-second decision to throw my body out of the way, though. No, I wasn’t afraid of pain, because God knows I’d become almost immune to it. I was just thinking of our goalie, and hoping to give him a split second of reaction time to make the save. I made a bad choice. The puck sailed past me, sailed right past our goalie’s glove because he couldn’t see it coming and right into the net. Had I just stayed still—let the puck hit me, I wouldn’t be standing out here getting ready to do drills. “I think twenty should do it,” my dad said quietly. “You’re not to defend and you sure as fuck better not move out of the way.” Swallowing hard, I gripped my stick tight and tried to relax. My natural instinct was going to be to try to deflect the puck when it came my way. But that would have earned me further punishment. Yes, punishment. My dad called it drills, but it was punishment. Fucking abuse was more like it. He wound his stick back, legs crouched. Didn’t matter that he’d been drinking. My dad had played in the minor leagues and he knew how to make a slap shot. The blade made contact with the first puck with a resounding crack and it came hurtling my way, so fast I could hear the whistle of it against the air. I closed my eyes and gritted my teeth, letting out just a small ooph when it caught me in my chest pads. It wasn’t exquisitely painful, because my dad didn’t have the strength he used to, but, more important, the drinking had made him a bit clumsy with his shot. But it still hurt like hell. The next puck came on the heels of the first, and I took it in the right thigh. My dad raised his arms in victory and yelled, “He shoots, he scores!” The fucker was proud he hit his ten-year-old son in the right thigh—exactly where I would have taken the puck tonight had I just stood still. My dad was having too much fun tonight. I was betting twenty turned into fifty before it was all said and done. “You okay, Crossman?” I hear Sergei ask, almost like he’s in a tunnel of some sort. Giving my head a small shake, I look at Sergei and he comes into focus. His face is worried and I wonder how long I just zoned out while I took a trip down memory lane. “Yeah. I’m fine,” I say gruffly and walk past him and his son. Rounding the corner to the house, I immediately take in the color and sound, all of it causing a momentary flare of panic to well up inside of me. Kids run around everywhere, screaming and laughing. There’s a clown wearing the brightest, most horrendous lime-green outfit I’ve ever seen. It actually hurts my eyes to look at it. Multicolored balloons are tied to everything, floating and bobbing on the early fall breeze. Classic rock music blares out from speakers set up around the yard, and the babble of adults partying slams into me. I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a flashback like that, and

I’ve often found that a quiet, dark place will help me come down from the terror of the memory. Instead, I’ve walked into a fucking circus filled with so much color and sound that I feel disoriented and woozy. No doubt seeing Sergei and his kid knocked me backward in time, but I was primed for it. On the way over to the party I listened to a voice mail from my dad that he had left last night. I saw his number on my iPhone screen but didn’t answer. I don’t ever answer when he calls, but it doesn’t stop him. He calls, does his duty and leaves a voice mail, then I won’t hear from him until my next game. This particular voice mail he complained about my line changes. Said I looked sloppy and slow coming off the bench, wasting precious seconds that could be detrimental to the team. I did what I always do, and deleted the voice mail while anger surged through my veins. It stayed with me, even as I was walking up to Leo’s house. “There you are,” Cassie purrs from behind, and I feel her fingertips slide up the back of my shirt. While ordinarily I would rebuke Cassie for any type of public display, the mere fact that someone I know is touching and talking to me is helping to ground me somewhat. I knew Cassie would be here. She’s at every Cold Fury party with her sister and Kyle. I can’t stand that fucker. He’s a pompous ass who thinks the world was built to serve him. His wife Allie is a bitch, and takes pride in spending every bit of Kyle’s money as soon as it’s earned. Can’t feel sorry for the dude, though. He screws around on Allie every chance he can get, bragging about it in the locker room. They are a fucking travesty together, and the worst part about it is that both Allie and Kyle have it in their heads that Cassie and I would make a beautiful couple. “So tense,” Cassie murmurs as she stands behind me and it kills me that her voice and touch are helping to calm me. I don’t want to depend on her—or anyone for that matter—to help me battle my demons. But especially not her. I will never see her as anything but a hot fuck and the more she tries to be otherwise, the more it pisses me off. We had an understanding about the way things were between us, but now she’s pushing past the boundaries I set and I’m not liking it one little bit. Taking another deep breath, I step forward and her hands fall away from my back. Turning to look at her, I try to make myself appreciate something—anything—about her that will let me see her as something more than just a diversion. I come up empty. It doesn’t matter how beautiful she is or how talented her mouth is, I see nothing within this woman that would do a damn thing for me other than to relieve sexual pressure. Cocking her head at me, she assesses my mood. “What’s wrong, Alexander? Not in the mood for me?” “I’m never in the mood for you,” I snarl, hoping to push her solidly away. She just laughs at me, smoky and deep, running a fingertip down my chest. “Now that’s a lie, Alex. You needed me on my knees just a few days ago.” “Yeah, well…wasn’t going to say no to those services freely offered. But I would have paid you if that’s what it took.” She flinches from my barb and rather than make me feel better, it makes me feel worse. It hits me suddenly that the reason I tolerate so much of Cassie is because her feelings have seemed indestructible to me in the past. The mere fact that she always takes the shit I dish out to her and keeps a smile on her face alleviates my conscience…makes it okay for us to fuck with no other strings attached and for me to be an ass about it. But now there is a flash of hurt on her face and it causes my gut to churn. “Look…I’ll catch up with you later,” I tell her, making my voice as gentle as humanly possible. It’s a tone she’s probably never heard from me so far in this fucked-up existence we live in, and I immediately

see I’ve made a huge mistake, because now hope fills her eyes and she gives me a radiant smile. Shit, I need to cut ties with this girl for good. It’s a pathetic mess of a relationship and neither one of us is getting what we truly want. She wants a hockey husband and I want…I want… I don’t know what in the hell I want but it’s clearly not a casual sex-only relationship with Cassie. Just then, an image comes slamming into my brain and I almost reel backward from the glorious nature of it. Sutton Price, with her copper hair flowing all around and her hazel eyes shining bright. She’s smiling at me and it causes warmth to swirl in my veins. Blinking hard, I banish her from my mind. That girl most definitely has no reason to be taking up any of my gray matter. Doesn’t matter that for the first time in like…ever, I had a natural conversation with a woman that felt relaxed and safe. Doesn’t matter that for the first time in definitely forever, I shared an intimate detail of my life with that woman, and she didn’t throw it in my face or try to exploit it. No, she looked at me with sympathy. No, pity. There’s a difference, and that is unacceptable to me. “Let’s leave this party,” Cassie says as she takes a step toward me. See—big mistake to have shown her even a hint of kindness. I take a step back, on the verge of reminding her just how nasty I can be, when someone thrusts a beer under my nose and says, “Here, man—looks like you could use one.” My hand comes up and grabs the frosty bottle, turning to see my new linemate and right-winger, Garrett Samuelson. He just got traded to the Cold Fury and played in his first game with us last night. I hadn’t even had a chance to talk to him, other than to say “Good job” when he scored a goal off a pass from me. “Thanks,” I tell him and take a sip. “Mind if we talk?” he asks, just as he shoots an apologetic look to Cassie. “Sure,” I say hesitantly, because I have no clue why he wants to talk to me. My other teammates pretty much know to stay out of my way, because I’m a cranky bastard, but Garrett hasn’t had time to acclimate yet. So I’ll cut him some slack and lend him my ear for a bit, particularly because it gets me away from Cassie. I’m sure after five minutes, however, he’ll be scampering to get away from me. Turning to Cassie, I hand the birthday present to her. I have no clue what it is, nor do I care. She takes it from me without a word, and I’m confident she’ll get it to Leo’s kid. Turning my back on her, I follow Garrett across the backyard. He leads me over to a couple of empty chairs under a huge shade tree, away from the screaming kids and blaring music. “So,” he says as he sits down. “How lame is this party?” “Pretty fucking lame,” I concur and take a healthy pull on my beer as I eyeball my teammate. He surprises me by his words. Most team members are very supportive of one another, and even if they did think it was lame coming to a kid’s birthday party, they would never voice those thoughts out loud. It seems Mr. Samuelson may be a bit of a rebel. “Looked like you needed rescuing back there,” he says, nodding over to where Cassie now stands next to Allie, talking about God knows what. “But if not, my apologies, man, for messing up your game.” I can’t help the laugh that bursts out of my mouth, shaking my head. “Nah…you did me a solid. She can

be a little clingy.” “Excellent. I’ve now ingratiated myself with you,” Garrett says with a laugh and clinks his beer bottle against mine. “Bros before hoes.” “So, what’s your story?” I ask him, not really caring but feeling the need to fill the silence. “No story. Love playing hockey, love fucking women, love spending my money. I’m a pretty simple guy.” I had heard some rumors about Samuelson when word came that he’d be joining the team. He’s supposedly quite the ladies’ man, and I mean the ladies adore him. Apparently not just because of his good looks, celebrity status and money—he supposedly is a modern-day romance book hero. But he never has the same woman on his arm more than one, maybe two nights in a row, and while he supposedly treats them like gold, he gets bored easily. Seems the rumors must be true. “Hey, man—wanna get out of here, go grab some beers somewhere and play pool or something?” Garrett asks. My eyes slide back over to Cassie and she’s watching me with thinly disguised hunger. Not sexual hunger…relationship hunger, and it gives me the willies. Turning back to Garrett, I say, “Sure. I’m ready to blow this joint.”

Chapter 6 Sutton I enter section 110 of the Cold Fury’s hockey arena and my first sight of the interior momentarily stuns me. The ice sits far below me, the steps leading down to it seem to stretch forever. All of the players are out on the ice skating around, and it looks like they’re taking practice shots at the nets on each end. I did a bit of research online before I came to the game tonight, and one of the first things I learned was that the team’s colors are black and silver. More precisely, their jerseys are black with a swirling, snowy tornado of silver moving across the front. The word Carolina is above the tornado, and the words Cold Fury below, in black outlined in silver and white piping. To look like a fan, I went ahead and wore a simple black turtleneck with large silver hoop earrings and a chunky sterling silver necklace. I looked the part, but I didn’t feel it. I don’t know a damn thing about hockey and I have to wonder why I’m here. Oh yeah, I know why. Because that jerk Alex Crossman cancelled our meeting this morning without any good excuse, but then later sent over a ticket to tonight’s game along with a note that we would meet after. I had half a mind not to come, but three things swayed me. First, I promised Glenn I’d get him an autograph and I figure the best chance of that is to be nice to the prickly bastard. Second, I kind of, sort of, okay…I really would like to learn about this game. Glenn loves the Cold Fury so much, and some of my friends watch hockey, so it’s probably time I got on the bandwagon. Finally, I’m dying to push our outreach program forward, and I can’t do it without Alex’s involvement. Looking down at my ticket, I see my seat is in Row A—number five to be exact. Glancing at the row of seats next to me at the top of section 110, I note they start at ZZ, so it appears I’m going to have to make the long descent down toward the ice. I wonder if it will be cold down there and hope the black leather blazer I put on over my turtleneck will be sufficient. Before making my descent, I pull out my phone and check in using Facebook. I take a quick picture of the arena and post At my first hockey game…damn, it’s cold in here! I guarantee that by the time I reach my seat, Shelley will have seen this and responded. Probably with some dirty comment about my nipples getting hard, which causes me to laugh to myself. God I miss having her here and don’t know what I’d do without the ability to talk to her daily through digital means. As I make my way down to Row A, I can’t help but get excited by the energy buzzing around me. The stands are packed and I think I read online that this arena seats nineteen thousand and is the loudest arena in the league. Loud rock music blares over the speakers and fans are screaming, holding signs and waving flags as the players warm up. It takes me only a moment to realize that my seat is almost directly behind the goalie net—and yes, I also learned that was a goalie net online—and that the Cold Fury are warming up on this end. I enter my row, sliding past a family of four…mom and dad and two little boys, all decked out in Cold

Fury jerseys. My seat is next, and to the left of it sits a young woman who looks to be about my age. She’s also wearing a Cold Fury jersey, although hers is white with the same tornado logo and black lettering. She has a beer in one hand and a pom-pom of silver and black in the other. When I sit down, the girl—a blonde with gorgeous, curly, long hair—offers me a warm smile and then screams out at one of the players as they skate by, not three feet from our seats on the other side of the glass. “Oh, my God,” she exclaims as she bumps me in the shoulder hard with her own and a little beer from her cup spills onto the concrete floor. “That was Garrett Samuelson. He is so fucking hot.” Glancing to the ice, I see the player she’s talking about and he is indeed hot. None of the players have their helmets on right now; he has dark brown hair that flows down to just past his chiseled jawline and I can see his green eyes glowing brightly. The girl screams louder out to the ice, “Marry me, Garrett!” and I start to roll my eyes at such a pathetic attempt to get his attention. Much to my surprise, though, Garrett’s eyes follow the trail of her scream and light upon her. He gives her a flash of white teeth and blows her a kiss, and I swear, she almost falls to the floor in a dead faint. “Oh, my fucking God…did you see that? He blew a kiss at me,” she squeals, and I have to resist the urge to stick my fingers in my ears to muffle the terrible noise she’s making. The hot hockey player skates away and the girl turns to me. “Hey, I’m Monica. I’m so glad we got another Cold Fury fan in that seat. More times than not we’re stuck with a fan from the other team and that just sucks.” “Uh…hi,” I say lamely. “I’m Sutton.” “Sutton? Oh, I love that name. So, who is your favorite player?” “Um…honestly, I don’t know. This is my first game.” Monica’s face drops for a second and she stares at me with her jaw hanging low. “You’re kidding, right?” “Nope. In fact, I really don’t know anything about hockey.” She blinks at me a moment, and I think she might be getting ready to call an usher to have me removed, but then she gives me a radiant smile and yells “Hockey virgin!” at the top of her lungs while pointing at me. Everyone within a twenty-foot radius turns their eyes on me and I just want to sink into my seat and die. Then Monica puts her arm around my shoulders and squeezes. “Don’t worry. I’ll teach you everything. You’ll be a pro by the end of the game.” Just then a tapping noise gets our attention and we turn to the ice. I feel Monica’s body freeze next to mine as our eyes rise to the player standing on the other side of the glass, hitting the end of his stick against it to get our attention. Okay, now that is holy fucking hotness right there. Alex stands there, his hair slightly sweaty around his temples but otherwise looking like a sex god staring at me. His blue eyes are intent as they caress me, and I feel my breath falter within my lungs. He’s utterly beautiful, making that other dude, Garrett, look like a reject. Flashing me a small smile, Alex shoots me a wink and then skates off. I stare after him, noting that the number on his jersey is 67, and I wonder if it has any significance. “Holy shit, girl,” Monica wheezes as if she can’t get her breath. “Alex Crossman just eye-fucked you in front of the entire arena.”

“What?” I practically shriek as her words penetrate my hazy brain. “No way.” “Yes way,” she murmurs appreciatively. “You could so hook up with him if you wanted. I mean, he may be the MVP of this team, but I’d do him in a heartbeat.” “MVP?” I ask lamely, because I have no clue what that means. “Most valuable prick,” she says matter-of-factly. “He’s a complete asshole to the fans. Rumor has it an asshole to his team as well. But God, he’s like the hottest player in the entire league, so I could definitely overlook that.” “Huh” is all I can manage to reply, as my eyes find Alex again and I watch him warming up. He’s fluidly graceful on his skates, his hair flying out behind him as he whizzes by once more. He never looks back at me again, but that’s okay by me. I can’t afford to continually be beaten over the head by his magnificence, particularly with Monica sitting next to me ready to have a fit every time a player looks our way. Finally, the warm-ups finish, the national anthem is played and then the game starts. And I am freakin’ hooked. I sit on the edge of my seat the entire time, my eyes hungrily soaking up the action. It’s a super-fast game and sometimes I have a hard time even following the puck. The first time the Cold Fury scores, I don’t even realize the puck has gone in the net, and I have no clue it’s Alex who actually scores. The only reason I come to find that out is that Monica is screaming that she wants to have his babies. While Monica does spend much of the game screaming in my ear and yelling obscenities at the players from the other team, she also takes the time to explain the game to me when she can. I now at least understand what offsides means and I’m starting to catch on to the concept of a power play. I still don’t understand the penalties, and I surely don’t understand why you’re allowed to fight in a game that penalizes you for doing so, but it’s exhilarating watching as one of the Cold Fury players drops his gloves and faces off with an opponent at mid-ice. The fans go nuts when the fight starts, surging to their feet. And while I very much want to see the action of the fight, my eyes can’t help wandering over to Alex, who is sitting on the bench. He isn’t even watching his teammate beat the crap out of the other player but rather seems to be looking down at his lap, completely uninterested in the brawl. I tear my eyes off him, because sadness wells up inside of me as I remember how he had told me he hates to play hockey. It hurts too much to watch him and then think that although he may be an asshole, he may have a very good reason to be that way. Just the thought makes me want to wrap him up in a hug and soothe his pain. The game speeds by in a haze, and long before the final buzzer sounds and the Cold Fury is about to celebrate a 4-2 win over the other team, I am officially obsessed with this sport. I spend a few moments jumping up and down with Monica, our arms wrapped around each other in excitement over the win. Many of the fans start leaving while some stay in their seats, but before I can ask Monica why, I hear the announcer’s voice come over the loudspeaker. Tonight’s game’s most valuable player, with two goals and three assists: number sixty-seven, Alexander Crossman. The fans erupt and I watch as Alex steps out onto the ice and does a slow skate around the lower half of the rink closest to our seats. He has his helmet off and his hair is soaking wet. He skates holding his stick raised high up in the air in salute to the fans, and they go crazy over it. When he approaches the glass by our seats, I’m clapping exuberantly and Monica is again offering up

her ovaries to him. Alex has his head tilted up, looking up at the fans in the sections above ours, but when he gets to where I’m seated, he comes to a stop on the other side of the glass and brings his gaze to mine. Monica shrieks beside me but I don’t turn to look at her. My eyes are pinned by Alex’s. He mouths the words Thirty minutes? to me while pointing to an imaginary watch on his wrist. I nod at him and he holds my gaze a moment longer, then pushes off to complete his lap and head back to the locker room. “Oh, you bitch,” Monica squeals as she wraps me up in a suffocating hug. “You’re going to hook up with Alex Crossman. I’m so jealous.” “No, I’m not,” I immediately deny. “I’m just meeting him over at Hoolihan’s across the street. It’s a business meeting.” Monica looks at me skeptically. “Business meeting?” “Yeah, we’re working on an anti-drug outreach program together. He gave me the ticket to the game, but we’re meeting just for business.” Monica’s eyes light up as her arms come up, pushing at me to leave the aisle. “Perfect. You can hook me up with him, then.” “What? Wait. No,” I protest, turning my head over my shoulder, even as Monica starts to push me up the stairs. “I have a business meeting to attend. You can’t come. I’m not going to hook you up.” “Of course you are,” Monica says, trampling all over my righteous indignation and giving me another push in my lower back to pick up my pace. “It’s the least you can do after I just taught you all about the game.” With a sigh, I move a little faster, wondering if I can possibly break out into a run and lose my new shadow. Wouldn’t matter, though. Without thinking, I told her where I was meeting Alex, so I know she’s going to just show up come hell or high water. Oh, well. Maybe I can make a quick introduction, they’ll fall instantly in love and exchange phone numbers, and then we can get to work. Except…just the thought of Alex hooking up with Monica gives me belly rumblings and I have to wonder why. The guy has been nothing but a jerk to me. Sure, he’s given me some intense stares and he’s like the most perfect specimen of a man I’ve ever seen, but that alone shouldn’t cause me to have any feelings for him. Besides, I need to focus on whether or not I actually have any feelings left for Brandon from which we could possibly build something again. Dinner the other night was nice. We spent a lot of time just catching up on each other’s lives, and the conversation was light. “So, tell me about the work you’re doing at the crisis center,” Brandon had said in between bites of the spicy tuna roll we were sharing. “It’s really rewarding,” I had told him after a sip of warm sake. “The center provides free counseling for low-income people. Of course, I adore the kids I work with.” “Of course you do,” he said with an affectionate smile. “It’s your passion.” He knows me…knows all about my father and what drives me to do what I do. We had no secrets between us when we were together. “Are you seeing anyone now?” he asked casually, giving nothing away as to whether my answer was even important or not. Shaking my head, I told him, “No. You?”

“Completely single,” he confirmed for me, a fact that did not cause a flood of pleasure to course through me. In fact, I didn’t feel much at all in response to his revelation. We didn’t discuss our relationship, or lack of one, but at the end of the evening, Brandon gave me a warm kiss on my forehead just before he hugged me, and asked me out again, to which I said yes. I have no clue what it all means. At dinner, I had expected to be hit with a rush of warm feelings based on years of wonderful memories. Instead, I didn’t really feel much at the end of the evening other than a general fondness for Brandon. He was my first love—and I do know it was love. But I’m not sure it was the type of love that was destined to last through the ages. I’m thinking it was maybe more of a “young love” type of thing. That would surely explain the way I moved past it fairly quickly and why I’m not filled with joy to reconnect with him. So, I’m not having the strongest of feelings for Brandon, but I most definitely should not be having any feelings about Alex Crossman. Not only was he a prick—the most valuable, if the rumors are to be believed—but I might have a chance to reconnect with a lost soul mate. No way am I going to ruin that over some silly celebrity crush. Not a crush. A definite appreciation of the male species, but not a crush, I correct myself. With Monica pushing and prodding me the entire way, we make it out of the arena and to Hoolihan’s in ten minutes. We’re able to get a booth in the back and order drinks, despite the huge crowd that has filtered over after the game. Monica is sipping on a beer, me a sweet tea, patiently waiting for Alex to show up. “So, how long have you known Alex?” Monica asks, her head turning every two minutes to the door to see if he walks in. “Just a few days. This is only our second meeting,” I tell her as I sip my tea. “I cannot believe you are not going to tap that,” she says in wonder. “You already have a boyfriend?” “No. Yes. I mean, maybe. I’ve reconnected with an old boyfriend recently and we’re working on things.” “Ah,” she says in understanding. “First love?” “First and only,” I tell her softly. “We’ve sort of been on a break over the last year.” “Well, lucky for me because I swear I thought Alex would be taking you home tonight. The way he was looking at you from out on the ice.” “He wasn’t looking at me from the ice. Just that one time to say hello and acknowledge me,” I say with exasperation. “Girl, you are either absolutely clueless or absolutely blind,” she says while rubbing her finger along the rim of her pint glass. “What do you mean?” I ask skeptically. “That boy couldn’t keep his eyes off of you. He looked at you every time he skated by, and half the time he was on the bench he kept looking over at you.” “You’re mistaken,” I tell her confidently. Besides, I was watching Alex during the game. He didn’t look at me at all. Except…the only times I was looking at him was when he had the puck, and then, there was no way he could have looked at me because he was concentrating on the play. But I didn’t look at him past that. I followed the puck and the game, not even thinking about staring at Alex the way Monica apparently was.

“Scoot over.” I hear the man of my thoughts before I even see him, as I have been staring pretty intently at my sweet tea. Raising my head, I see Alex standing there wearing a charcoal gray dress suit paired with a crisp, white business shirt opened at the collar. I assume he dresses up for game days, but he must have forgone putting a tie on. He is absolutely splendid, and my tongue seems to be tied up in a knot within my mouth. He just stares down at me, his eyebrows raised. “Scoot over, Sutton,” he repeats, a tiny smirk gracing his lips. “Oh, sure,” I say, my brain starting to fire up on all cylinders again. Pushing my purse aside and grabbing my tea, I move over close to the wall of the booth while Alex slides in next to me. He’s a huge guy and even with me pressed over as far as I can go, his leg rests up warmly against mine, causing my heartbeat to start fluttering. Alex stares at me a moment longer, then his head turns and he looks at Monica across the table. “And who is this?” he asks me, even as he holds his hand across the table for Monica. She shakes his hand and giggles, twirling her hair around her free fingertip. “This is Monica,” I mutter. “I met her at the game.” “That’s right,” Alex says smoothly. “You were sitting next to Sutton. Hard not to notice.” I want to roll my eyes and make a gagging motion with my index finger in my mouth, but yeah, that went out of style in the third grade, so I clamp my lips shut and stare at my tea while Alex and Monica make small talk.

Chapter 7 Alex Sutton’s leg feels fucking amazing pressed up against mine and for the life of me I can’t figure out why. But then again, I can’t figure out a lot of things about this woman. For instance, why did I send her only one ticket to the game? If I’m honest with myself, it’s because she told me she had a date the other night and I didn’t want her to bring another guy. Or, why was I compelled to pay more attention to her during the game than the actual game? Maybe it had something to do with the first time I saw her tonight, walking down the stairs toward her seat. I knew exactly where she’d be sitting and figured I’d catch sight of her at some point. I didn’t figure there would be like a magical, magnetic pull of my eyes that caused me to look up at the staircase splitting sections 110 and 111 as she was walking down. She looked amazing, dressed in a tight black sweater, with her gleaming red hair shining out like a beacon. Her eyes were wide as she looked around, taking in the sights of what was her first hockey game. I could almost imagine she would be feeling the excitement of the screaming fans and the bass beat of the rock music within her chest. It actually gave me a moment of excitement, knowing that she was probably in sensory overload as she took in the sights and smells of her first professional hockey event. It almost knocked me to my knees as I realized that it was the first time—probably since I was a teenager—that something about a hockey game had caused an almost giddy rush inside of me. I tried to hold the feeling, tried to let it seep into my senses, but it was fleeting and then gone. Then I just made do with watching Sutton whenever I could sneak a glance. I didn’t expect her eyes to be on me the entire time, and just as I expected, she immersed herself in the action. She was either on the edge of her seat or surging to her feet to scream out cheers, often jumping up and down with some blonde, their arms wrapped around each other. I was not happy to see said blonde sitting at our table when I arrived at Hoolihan’s. I had been actually looking forward to talking to Sutton alone. I mean, I knew it would only be about business, but fuck if she hasn’t been plaguing my thoughts the last few days, and I know that there’s something to this girl that I need to pay attention to. A gut instinct, so to speak. There was one good thing about Marissa…Melinda…no, wait, Monica joining us. It meant that I got to slide into the booth next to Sutton, and enjoy the warmth of her touch against me as I painfully withstood the flirting Monica was handing out. Glancing over at Sutton, I see that she’s pulled her iPhone out of her purse and seems to be reading a text. Clearly we’re boring her, and I don’t like not having her attention. “What did you think of the game, Sutton?” I ask her, noticing that she flinches slightly when she hears her name.

Putting her phone down, she says, “It was amazing. I’m unfortunately hooked.” “I can get you tickets any time you want them,” I tell her. “That seat in particular if you like it.” “Oh, that would be awesome,” Monica squeals in delight, clapping her hands. I don’t even spare her a glance but keep my eyes focused on Sutton, repressing a laugh over the way she winces when that unholy sound comes out of Monica’s mouth. “That would be nice,” Sutton says, “although I’d love to bring my little brother sometime.” “I can get you two tickets anytime. Just let me know,” I tell her and I’m blinded by the smile she gives me. “Thanks,” she says. “That’s really nice.” Yeah…me and nice, that doesn’t sound right together, but if I can get her to smile at me like that just from offering a couple of hockey tickets, I’ll keep doing it. “Oh. My. God,” Monica says dramatically, and both Sutton and I swing our gazes across the table to her. “I cannot believe I’ve been sitting here this entire time and haven’t even asked Alex for an autograph.” She looks at me with expectation, but I’m not sure what she expects me to do. Whip out paper and pen from thin air? I feel Sutton moving beside me and look to see her rustling through her purse. She pulls out a small pad of paper and a pen, and pushes them across the table at me. “Yay,” Monica squeals again, and this time I’m the one who winces. Then she leans across the table and says, “And I wouldn’t be averse to you putting your number on there too.” Okay, that’s just awkward but I give her a chastising smile as I quickly scrawl my name and number— jersey number, that is—on the pad of paper. “Now, now, Monica, save the heavy-duty flirting for some other time. Sutton and I do have business to discuss.” “Oh,” she says, her voice small and thin. Thank God the squealing seems to be done for now. Ripping the paper off, I hand it across the table to Monica and she greedily snags it from my grip, her eyes roaming over my signature like it’s a prime piece of beef or something. Seriously, woman, it’s just some ink on a piece of paper. Monica tucks the paper in her own purse and then turns her gaze back to us, flicking her eyes between Sutton and me. We return her stare, neither of us saying a word until a heavy, awkward silence lies between us. Finally, I say, “Hate to do this, Monica, but can you excuse us now? We really do have some important business to discuss and I’m running short on time.” Monica’s mouth drops open, disappointment practically oozing out of her pores. But then she stiffens her spine just a bit, realizing that she’s effectively been dismissed from our presence. “Monica…it was nice meeting you tonight,” Sutton says kindly. “And I hope to sit next to you again during a game.” “Sure,” Monica says as she slides out of the booth, looking at Sutton briefly then turning her gaze back to me. “I’ll just be hanging out at the bar if you finish up and want to have a drink or something, okay?” “Sorry, but I’m meeting some teammates a bit later and have to leave soon,” I tell her—which is an outright lie I feel no remorse for telling—and she finally takes the hint that I’m not interested. She nods her head and spins on her heel, pushing her way through the crowd until her blond curly hair is no longer visible.

Taking a deep breath, I let it out and say, “Wow. Just wow.” Sutton giggles and I turn to look at her. “Sorry. I let it slip where I was going after the game and she wouldn’t leave me alone.” “No worries. She’s gone now.” “Want to move to the other side of the table?” she asks me, her hazel eyes looking almost a deep green in the ambient lighting. I most certainly don’t want to move to the other side, already mourning the loss of her touch against me, but it would be silly to sit side by side in this booth and try to discuss the anti-drug campaign. So I slide out, take my suit coat off and toss it onto the seat opposite Sutton before sliding in behind it. When I’m facing her, she places her hands on the table and pushes the pad of paper across the table toward me. Sutton nods her head at it and says, “Can you give me an autograph for my little brother?” “No,” I tell her, pushing the pad back toward her. Those eyes now light up, turning gold as anger flashes through them. “Oh, you’ll give an autograph to a sexy woman who will happily sleep with you tonight, but not to a little boy?” she snarls at me. Chuckling, I hold my hands up in self-defense. “Easy there, tiger. I only meant no as to an autograph on a measly scrap of paper. How about a signed jersey instead?” Sutton’s mouth flies open and her eyes go wide. “What? No, that’s too much. The paper is fine.” “This is for your little brother, right?” “Yeah,” she says softly, her mouth forming into a smile filled with tenderness. It causes tiny warm fingers to start massaging deep within my chest. “And by that look on your face right now, I’m thinking the jersey is definitely not too much.” “I…if you’re sure. I didn’t mean for you to give him something so extravagant. I can’t afford a jersey, but he’s such a great kid. And a huge fan, and I’d so get him a jersey if they weren’t so expensive, but maybe you could sign just a picture or—” “Sutton, stop. The jersey is fine. I have dozens of them at my apartment. And you’re not paying for it. The team gives them to us to sign and hand out. It’s no big deal.” However, based on the shine in her eyes and the way her eyes are moist right now, I’m thinking I’ve done something akin to offering her the world. She blinks hard and her eyes dry up. Clearing her throat, she says, “Thank you. You can’t begin to imagine how thrilled he’ll be.” “It’s my pleasure,” I tell her sincerely, because for some stupid fucking reason, the fact that I put that look on her face is causing me immense pleasure right now. I know business is at hand, though, when her gaze loses some of the warmth and her voice comes out strong. “So…did you have something important come up this morning?” She’s referring to our meeting that I cancelled by text message about fifteen minutes before it was set to start. “Nope. I was too hungover to get out of bed.” Sutton’s perfectly arched eyebrows arch even higher and she quirks her lips. “At least you’re honest.” “Always. Painfully so,” I concur. “I suppose that’s a virtue, but I have to say—I’m worried that you were too hungover to come to a meeting at a drug crisis center to work on an outreach program for at-risk youth.” I blink at her several times, trying to determine if the censure I hear in her tone is real or not. When she

pins me hard with those eyes, that were just flashing all kinds of beautiful things at me a moment ago, I do, in fact, realize that she is disapproving. And, of course, that gets my fucking hackles up. I’ve led my entire life with my dad criticizing my every move, handing out nothing but looks of disappointment my way. I’m fucking done with that shit. “You’re not my drug or alcohol counselor,” I snarl at her as I lean across the table toward her. “So, you can keep your opinions to yourself.” I expect her to back down, to maybe even shed a few tears over the venom in my voice, but she just holds my gaze, softly staring at me as if she can see all the way through to my soul. It’s disconcerting, to say the least, but I’m not about to back down. “Look,” Sutton says with patience, her voice unassuming–nonthreatening, but still very serious. “I have the right to be worried about this. I told you, kids will spot a phony a mile away.” “I’m not a fucking alcoholic,” I grit out. “I never said you were an alcoholic,” she assures me softly. “But yet you let alcohol interfere with something that was important. I don’t know you, Alex, but what I’ve seen so far…I’m worried.” Son of a bitch. Her words cause anger to suffuse through me, and at the same time, a tiny thread of guilt filters in. It’s an emotion that I’ve felt plenty in my lifetime, my dad always making me feel terrible about myself. Rather than make me take stock of the fact that okay, maybe it wasn’t cool to cancel a meeting because I was hungover, it causes me to get even angrier. Because maybe the truth is hitting a little too close to home. If there’s one thing that will cause me to go apeshit, it’s making a comparison between me and my father. Suggest that we have anything in common, a tiny similarity, and I will tear you a new one. “It is none of your fucking business what I do in my private time, as long as it’s not publicly hurting our work together. I went out with a teammate and I tied one on. I don’t do it often, but I won’t apologize for it and I won’t sit here and listen to you berate me for it.” “I wasn’t berating you,” she says quietly…apologetically. “I’m sorry if you felt that way.” Fucking great. Her sympathetic words cause more guilt to pour through me, and now anger directed at myself because I let the baggage of my childhood mesh with my adulthood to create new baggage. My chest constricts painfully and I feel the sudden need to get some fresh air. Grabbing my coat, I slide out of the booth. Fishing in my wallet, I pull a fifty-dollar bill out and throw it on the table. “I have to get going.” “Alex, wait,” she says, but I’m already turning away. “Please,” she calls out one more time and I almost stop…almost. Then I’m pushing my way through the crowd and out the door. By the time I arrive home, most of my anger is gone but I’m left with a sea of culpability churning in my stomach. I briefly consider calling Sutton to apologize, but it’s late so I don’t bother. Besides, I’m not sure exactly what I’d say. It’s not in my nature to apologize, having long ago convinced myself that all the wrongs in my world are not my fault. It was the only way I knew how to protect myself against the monstrosity that was my father—by laying all those wrongs on his doorstep. I slowly walk up the steps to my second-floor apartment, my suit coat slung over my shoulder. When I reach the top, the hair rises on the back of my neck, knowing immediately that someone stands outside my door. My eyes lift and anger flushes through me hot again. “I told you not to come here again uninvited,” I tell Cassie, noting the confident way she stands leaning

up against my door. She pushes away and saunters up to me. “You don’t mean that and please don’t make me prove you wrong. It won’t help your self-esteem.” I watch, almost in a daze as her hands reach toward my crotch, oddly disgusted by the long, red nails she sports. Sutton’s, I noticed, were short and clear, her hands looking as soft as satin. Just before Cassie makes contact with my belt buckle, I snap out of it and push her hands away, taking a step back from her for good measure. “Get out of here, Cass. I’m not interested.” She laughs hoarsely, taking another step toward me, completely disbelieving every word I’ve said. I’m sure that’s because every other time she’s done this, I’ve capitulated and lost myself in an orgasmic stupor with her. “Let’s go inside, baby. I’ll make you feel good. You know I will.” Stepping past her, I walk up to my apartment door and unlock it. I push the door open and step inside, turning abruptly to stop her stride because I know she’s walking right behind me. “We’re done,” I tell her simply, noticing just for the briefest of moments that her eyes go wide and uncertain. But that’s all I see because I close the door in her face and lock it. Pressing my forehead against the cool wood, I stand there for a second but then she’s kicking at the door, yelling from the other side. “You son of a bitch! You can’t just cast me aside like that!” I turn away and head back toward my bedroom. Cassie stays out there, banging on the door and cursing at me. I ignore her, taking my clothes off and crawling into bed. I hear one of my neighbors open his door and yell at her to shut up. It doesn’t even slow her down and she renews her efforts to kick and punch at my door. Finally, I hear another neighbor yell, “I’m calling the cops!” and that seems to do the trick. She goes absolutely silent and then I don’t hear anything else. I assume she’s left but I in no way believe that’s the last I’ll hear from her. In fact, I’m sure I’ll get an earful from Kyle tomorrow at practice, but I’ll deal with that then. I roll over on my side, staring out into the dark of my bedroom. I let my mind clear and think of Sutton. I wonder to myself, how can this woman cause my heart to squeeze in pleasure one moment, and become black with anger the next? Is she purposely playing my emotions, or is she truly able to see through to my demons and confront them? She makes me uncomfortable…the clarity with which she seems to see me. She makes me curious as to what else she might see. She makes me want…something, but I’m not sure what.

Chapter 8 Sutton Oh, Mara…please stay strong, girl. That’s the mantra I keep repeating in my head as I type notes in her file. I just hung up the phone with her a few minutes ago, and she’s not doing well. Now that she’s past the fear of her overdose, she’s fixating on the rush she got from the crank. She talked to me, almost longingly, of how great the euphoria felt to her. It broke my heart when she told me that she knows it felt so good because her life is so painful. It was an escape from having parents so mired in their own drug addiction that they don’t have anything left to give to their only daughter. I urged her to come in to talk to me but she refused, and there’s not much I can do at this point. My talks with her are confidential, so I can’t reach out to anyone else for help. I certainly can’t reach out to her parents, who are the root cause of her issues. All I can do, and this is what is frustrating about my job, is talk to her, support her and pray to God she stays strong. I’m always terrified I’ll say the wrong thing. Even with all my training, and having lived through this stuff myself, I’m always painfully weighing my words and trying to gauge if I’m going too far, or maybe not far enough. It’s a constant battle with myself, wondering if I’m doing right by my kids, or could potentially say the wrong thing that will launch them into a spiral. I have many sleepless nights because I can never let it go when I get home. Tonight will be one of those nights, I can tell. Pushing back from my computer, I lean back in my squeaky chair and rub the bridge of my nose. I’m almost thankful for the distraction Mara provided me this morning, because I had been obsessing about Alex since that disaster of a meeting last night. Not for the first time in my professional career, I question myself. I’m thinking maybe I went a little too far with him last night, voicing a concern that maybe shouldn’t have been a concern at all. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with having a hangover. God knows I’ve had my share. And based on Alex’s reaction to me last night, I get the feeling that the subject of alcoholism or addiction in some form may be hitting close to home. It’s just a guess—a gut instinct; maybe I’m even recognizing something in him that I see in myself or in the kids I counsel. There’s definitely something there. But, if I’m completely honest with myself, I may not have been so much worried about Alex’s use of alcohol as I had been a bit angry that he blew me off because he had a hangover. So that took this whole screwed-up scenario in my head and moved it from a professional consideration to a personal one, and I have no business thinking about Alex in a personal light at all. Which is easier said than done, because there is something about him that absolutely fascinates and appeals to me as a woman. Which makes me want to lean forward and bang my head on my desk to chase those thoughts away, because it is absolutely wrong, wrong, wrong to look at him like that. First, Alex and I are working together on a professional matter—a matter that is extremely important to

me—and I need to maintain focus. On top of that, I was chosen for this project by my boss and I need to do a good job so that it boosts my career. Pushing up out of my chair, I walk to the window that overlooks the small parking lot at the rear of our building. Resting my hands on the ledge, I lean my forehead against the cool glass and think about the most important reason I need to put Alex Crossman far from my mind. It’s because I may have a chance to rekindle something with Brandon. We’re going to meet for dinner tonight, and this came on the heels of a text from Brandon saying he wanted to have “a serious discussion about our future together.” That text should have made me sigh with happiness but, sadly, I just felt a little “meh.” The fact that I don’t have strong feelings one way or the other concerning Brandon has me perplexed. I keep expecting the four years of happiness we had will come washing back over me. Instead, it feels like such a distant memory that it makes me question if what we had was really all that great. I’m sure it was —I mean great for that time in my life. Young, in college, experiencing first love. But in just the short year we were apart, I’ve become different. I’ve started my career, working long hours with little monetary reward, having nothing to show for my efforts, other than a few kids I’m able to bring back from the brink of destruction. Yet I live for those moments and they fuel me. I’ve learned to take care of myself. I’ve bought a home and I’ve completed many renovations to it all on my own. And it turns out I’m a pretty decent money manager, because after I pay all of my bills I even manage to put away some money into my savings account. In other words, I’ve grown up a lot since Brandon and I broke up and I find that the security he once offered me no longer has the same allure. All of these things rage through my mind, and because I’m so different, I have to wonder what it is exactly that Brandon can offer me. I have to wonder, why am I not feeling a strong pull to him? To the man I once loved? I don’t think he broke me, because I never felt broken after we were over. I don’t think I’m bitter or angry with him. Again, fond feelings abound. The feeling I’m getting is that maybe he’s just not enough for me right now, and that saddens me, because Brandon is truly a good man. The more I think about it, Brandon has spent the past year living large and making the most of his single life. He’s probably been with countless women and enjoyed, to some extent, having no responsibilities to a committed relationship. I don’t begrudge him that. He was honest with me as to what he needed, and I have to give him points for not cheating on me. But it makes me wonder…have I been missing something? So yeah, I’m really questioning this whole Brandon thing and whether it’s smart to open myself back up to him. Shelley and I talked about it last night, and she’s never been a Brandon fan after he dumped me. She’s obviously pushing me to stay far away from him. I also made the mistake of telling her about Alex last night after I got home and called her, and she now has it in her head that I need to be concentrating my efforts there. That, of course, was after she Googled him and saw his picture since, like me, she knows nothing about hockey. Holy shit. Look at this pic I found of Alex, she had texted me just this morning along with a photo of him taken while he was running outside. It looked like a professional shot because the lighting was perfect and he was staring straight into the camera with his blue eyes shimmering in the sun. He was wearing only a pair of running shorts that came to mid-thigh, and his chest was bare but slicked with sweat. He was

carrying his iPod in one hand and had his earbuds in. Slightly damp with sweat, his hair was sticking to his forehead and temples while the longer black locks bounced with his stride. God, he was stunning. Where did you find that pic? I texted back, because I was thinking of getting it and blowing it up to life size to mount above my bed. Article about him in a fitness mag. You and Alex would make beautiful babies. I had to laugh at her…blow her off, because it’s silly, really. But it was fun to giggle and whisper last night with my bestie about how hot Alex is while we both drank wine with our phones pressed to our ears, and it was fun to text her back and forth this morning over the picture she sent me. But that’s all this is…just a little bit of fun. My phone buzzes on my desk and I lift the receiver to my ear. “The fabulous Sutton Price at your service.” “Hey, doll face,” Minnie drawls into the phone. “Your lunch appointment is here.” “Lunch appointment?” I ask, confused, even as I pull up my calendar on my computer and see there’s nothing scheduled. “Yeah—tall, dark and handsome, pretty blue eyes,” she says, and my stomach flip-flops at the image of Alex standing in the lobby. “He’s right on time.” “He’s not on my schedule,” I say lamely. “No, but he called first thing this morning and wanted to know if you were free for lunch and I told him you were.” “Minnie!” I exclaim, both annoyed and pleased with her at the same time. Annoyed that she would take such a liberty and pleased for some unholy reason I cannot fathom that I will be seeing Alex soon. “Get your tush up here,” she says, completely unfazed. Then she whispers into the phone, “Oh, and don’t forget to put on lipstick.” Minnie hangs up on me and I just stare blankly at my computer for a moment. Placing the phone back in the cradle, I stand from my desk and smooth my skirt down. My fingers come up to push behind my ears some wispy strays that have fallen out of my ponytail. I step around my desk and start for the door. I stop. I turn back around and grab my purse. I head for the door again, then I stop. I reach in my purse and grab some lip gloss, dabbing a little on, because Minnie told me to and I don’t want to disappoint her. Yeah, right. When I hit the lobby door, my heart feels like it’s about to explode out of my chest at the prospect of seeing Alex. I’m nervous as all get-out, because last night I clearly stepped over a line with him, and I do believe I may have hurt his feelings. But I’m also excited at the prospect of just being in his presence. I remember the feel of him pressed up against me in the booth at Hoolihan’s, and I’m ashamed at how much I liked that feeling. I wonder if I’ll ever be able to see him without feeling a small punch to my gut. As I step into the lobby, I realize Minnie was right—tall, dark, handsome. His hair looks stylishly windblown, his blue eyes so bright they hold me captivated from across the room. He’s dressed in a pair of faded jeans, running shoes

and a long-sleeved Cold Fury black T-shirt that fits his chest and torso just a little too well. Walking up to him, I say, “I understand we have a lunch appointment.” He offers me a smile, the largest and warmest one I’ve seen on his face yet, and I feel my bones liquefy. “Yeah—hope you don’t mind. I enlisted Minnie this morning so I could have some time with you.” How could I mind? The way he says he wants to spend some time with me causes my brain to go fuzzy, and for a split second I forget completely that we actually have some business to discuss. Shaking my head to clear it, I look down at my watch. “Well, I have about an hour and a half until my next appointment. Where do you want to go?” “I’m not a picky eater. You choose.” “I have just the place,” I tell him with a smile and turn toward the door. *** “It’s a damn good hot dog, right?” I ask Alex after I swallow my last bite. Alex chews with a smile on his face and nods his head. When he swallows, he swipes his lips with a napkin and I can practically hear the paper scrape against the stubble. “I never thought you’d want to eat lunch from a hot dog street vendor.” “Well, it’s too nice a day to pass up eating outside,” I remark, looking around the shaded park that sits in the middle of downtown Raleigh, just across the street from the capitol building. “It’s one of the things I love about North Carolina,” Alex muses. “Warm weather in late October.” “I know. It’s great, right?” Alex nods and takes a bite of his third hot dog, so I use the opportunity while his mouth is full to alleviate my guilt. “I’m really sorry about last night,” I tell him quietly. “I had no business saying what I did. You’re absolutely right—there’s nothing wrong with having a hangover and I shouldn’t have judged you that way.” His blue eyes widen slightly and he swallows his food, wiping at his mouth again. “Funny. I came to take you to lunch so I could apologize to you. I shouldn’t have gotten so angry. You had a right to be concerned.” “No, I didn’t,” I assure him. “I think I was more pissed that you were blowing me off.” Alex’s eyes go dark, but not in an angry way. No, it’s like pure intensity instead. He leans forward, slinging his arm over the back of the park bench we’re sitting on. He’s so close to me now that I can smell his cologne, which is very light and subtle, but woodsy-smelling. It makes me want to lean my nose into his chest and sniff…hard. “I wasn’t blowing you off, trust me.” “Okay,” I murmur, while his eyes pin me in place. We stare at each other for what is, in my opinion, an inappropriate amount of time. We’re having a moment—a weird moment, but a moment nonetheless. I now have an insane urge to lean in toward him, to stick my face against his neck and rub up against him. The thought is so shocking to me, I scoot a few inches away, right out of the zone of his magnetic pull. He blinks his eyes at me, as if clearing the haze away, and then he pushes back a few inches as well. A tiny giggle escapes my lips and I put my fingertips to my mouth to quash it. My eyes rise to meet his, and they are sparkling at me in amusement. “Um…so, now that apologies are out of the way…” I say, trailing off because I have no clue why else Alex is here.

“I actually wanted to get that binder from you. The one with the California outreach program.” “Really?” I ask, pleased and skeptical all at once. “Really,” he says with a grin. “I’m leaving tonight, as our next three games are on the road. I figured I could read it on the plane.” “Wow, Alex Crossman is actually going to do his homework,” I tease. “And without being a jackass about it?” Alex takes his index finger and swipes an imaginary X over his chest. “Cross my heart.” “Okay,” I tell him, flashing my best megawatt smile—and is that my imagination, or does his breath hitch just a little while he stares at my lips? Not going to lie—if that’s the case, it makes me feel good as a woman and I’m starting to understand that I’m just not going to be able to banish these feelings that seem to surface around Alex. As a counselor, I know the best thing to do is explore them, and then address them…at some point. “When do you want to get together again? I’ll have the binder read by the time I get back on Sunday.” “I’m pretty good next week. A few appointments, but I’m flexible.” “Want to come watch our Sunday afternoon practice? Then we can go grab something to eat and start plotting how we’re going to save at-risk kids around the world?” I throw my head back and laugh, because I’m liking this side of Alex. The one that can joke around even while discussing something serious. “Maybe we should start with Wake County, then we can build outward from there.” With my eyes still crinkled in amusement, I see he’s staring at me, his head angled to the side a bit. “You know you’re extremely beautiful, but when you laugh you’re just stunning.” My smile slides from my mouth and my eyes go round, even as my heart starts slamming inside my chest. His words are sweet yet his tone is slightly erotic, and it causes my skin to prickle with awareness. “Alex—” I begin but he cuts me off. “I told you I’m painfully honest,” he murmurs, his eyes coloring with dark intensity again. “We can’t…this is professional. We can’t cross that line,” I say, with absolutely no conviction in my voice. I want him to tell me I’m wrong, and he sort of does. “Maybe. Maybe not.” “Maybe, maybe not?” I ask, confused over this philosophical approach he’s taking. “How about ‘not’?” “Maybe,” he says with a mischievous grin. “Huh?” Standing up from the bench abruptly, Alex takes from me the trash I had balled up in my hand and walks over to a nearby garbage can, depositing it all inside. Turning back to me, he says, “Come on. I’ll walk you back so I can get that binder from you and then I have to head home and pack. Are we good for Sunday?” I just nod at him, not trusting myself to speak. Because I’m afraid if I open my mouth, I’ll spout some sort of nonsense like “We should only meet during office hours.” Alex flashes me another huge smile, and again, it seeps inside and possesses me completely. I shouldn’t want that feeling, but God help me…there’s a part of me screaming to just roll over and submit to it. ***

And…my second date with Brandon goes a little something like this. I arrive ten minutes late at the small Italian restaurant we had agreed on because my last counseling appointment of the day ran over. I had sent Brandon a text to let him know I was running behind, to which he responded, I got here ten minutes early so I’m waiting. Up until that moment, I had forgotten that Brandon was a stickler for punctuality. Not that that was a bad thing, but don’t add your early arrival time to my lateness to measure your discontent over having to wait. Needless to say, that one text soured my mood, and by the time I follow the hostess back to our table, where Brandon is waiting for me, I’m ready for a fight. Brandon, ever the gentleman, stands when I approach and helps me out of the lightweight jacket I threw on because the air had turned cool. “You look nice,” he says as he does a quick rake of his eyes over me. Sort of pales in comparison to Alex saying words like beautiful and stunning today. “Thanks. So do you.” And he does…with his khaki pants, blue button-down shirt. I think it’s the standard uniform for engineers or something, but he’s just so…tidy and put together. His hair is perfectly combed, he’s freshly shaven, and oh, God—he’s the exact opposite of everything that attracts me about Alex. I peer hard at Brandon and try to remember what it was that attracted me to him. He was always so kind and considerate, a true gentleman to the core. That was sexy to me, right? No answer pops out at me, and before the waiter can even arrive to take our drink order, I do something that I wonder if I will regret until the day I die. I reach across the table and take Brandon’s hand in mine. “Brandon…I’m not really sure what it is we’re doing, but I don’t know that we can have a relationship again.” Brandon’s eyebrows furrow in and his lips draw downward. “I can’t believe I’m ready to move forward with a relationship and you’re not.” “I’m sorry. I’m just not feeling it. It doesn’t seem right to me,” I tell him honestly. “Doesn’t seem right? Sutton, we spent almost four years together. We were good together.” “Were being the key word,” I tell him gently…honestly. “That’s the past and I’m sorry…but you just don’t seem to fit into my future.” “Is there someone else?” “No,” I tell him firmly, because there’s not. Secret fantasies about another man don’t count. “I just think I’ve changed a lot since we were together, and I don’t know that you can give me what I need.” “How do you know until you try? Please give us a shot, Sutton,” he says urgently, his hand gripping mine tightly. “Let me at least have a chance to get you back.” Oh, God…I must have changed a lot. A year ago, Brandon begging me to let him woo me would have hit all my buttons. Now, the type of wooing I would like might involve a hot hockey player throwing me over his shoulder and carrying me to his bedroom. Which is so unrealistic but certainly a thrilling prospect. Maybe I should get to have my chance to sow my wild oats. I haven’t been trying very hard over the last year to do that, and as I reflect on why that is, it’s certainly not because I’ve been waiting for Brandon. He rarely crossed my mind. No, I realize that I’ve done no sowing because it just hasn’t been a priority for me. I’m twenty-two, have a new career that I adore and that takes up all of my time, and I’ve had no real desire to fall back into a relationship again. I’ve done some casual dating, but there’s not been anyone that has rocked my world. Not the way that I bet Alex Crossman could.

Get your mind out of the gutter, Sutton. “Brandon…I don’t know,” I hedge, because maybe I need to give him some sort of shot. We were happy together, and maybe I’m just stuck too deep in this odd attraction to Alex that probably will go no further than a mutual business relationship. “Just stay for dinner…let’s talk. Get to know each other again. We’ll take it slow, be friends if that is what you want.” I rake my eyes over Brandon’s face. It’s sincere, no doubt. He wants a chance at me, and while he broke my heart, he did it in about the most honest, upstanding way a man can. He never asked me to wait, and I didn’t. But I didn’t move on. Maybe I was still in the same place because this is where I’m supposed to be, and maybe Brandon is an opportunity that I’m supposed to consider. Trying to push thoughts of Alex firmly to the back of my brain, I remove my hand from Brandon’s and pick up my menu. “Okay, I’ll stay for dinner and we’ll try to start out as friends and see where this goes.” Brandon beams a sparkling smile my way and says, “You won’t regret it, Sutton. I’ll make you fall for me again.”

Chapter 9 Alex I take another pull on my beer and place the bottle on the bar. Looking down at the brunette that’s been attached to my arm all night, I try to figure out how to ditch her—politely, of course, because, dammit, Sutton is apparently inspiring the good in me. What started out as me and Garrett hitting a local hole-in-the-wall bar in downtown Toronto has turned into an orgy waiting to happen. We hadn’t been in here two minutes before he had a swarm of women all over him, and of course, he didn’t mind pawning the brunette off on me. But I didn’t come out tonight to get laid, which is odd, because it would be nothing for me to pick up a one-night stand during an away game. I have no formal commitments to anyone and I have always been up front with Cassie that she wasn’t the only woman to warm my bed. I remember her laughing at me when I said that, to which she responded, “Yeah, but I’m the most frequent.” That was true enough, so no need to argue. At any rate, I signal for the bartender to cash me out. Dislodging the dark-haired beauty’s hold on my arm, I spin around and clap Garrett on the back. He’s bent over, his lips pressed near a blonde’s ear, most likely whispering sweet nothings that are so not needed to get him laid tonight. When he turns his eyes my way, I say, “Hey, man, I’m heading back to the hotel.” His eyes flick to the brunette and then back to me, so I add, “Alone.” Garrett’s eyebrows go sky-high and he steps away from the blonde to turn fully to me. “What’s the deal, man? Your dick broken?” “No.” “Are you gay?” “No.” “So why not take that chick behind you? She’s willing.” Shrugging my shoulders, I notice the bartender approach with my bill and I hand my credit card over to him, not even bothering to look at the total. I only had two beers and I think I bought the brunette two drinks as well. “Just not interested,” I tell him. “What’s bothering you?” he asks, and I actually flinch at the question. I’ve never had a teammate ask me something personal before. Most take my surly, introverted character to heart, which means they stay just as guarded as I do. I look hard at Garrett and try to figure out what his game is. But he just returns my stare, and if I’m not mistaken, there’s a touch of concern in his eyes. Fucking weird.

“Nothing. Just a shitty night” is all I offer. “We fucking pounded Toronto and you scored a hat trick tonight. How can that be shitty?” The bartender returns with the credit card ticket and I scrawl a tip and my signature, handing it back to him while I pocket my card. Turning to Garrett, I look him dead in the eye and say simply, “My dad showed up. Nothing good ever comes of that.” I turn away before I can even gauge the expression on his face from my admission. I’ve never talked about my dad to anyone, and I’m surprised I let that out. But I’m definitely not about to talk about it further, so I walk away from Garrett, the brunette whose name I’m not sure I even got, and the half empty beer I hadn’t bothered to finish. I easily hail a cab within just a few moments, and then I’m in the back with my head resting on the seat, eyes closed. I hate playing in Toronto. It’s only about an hour away from my hometown of Hamilton, which means my dad will be at the game. I have to suffer through his voice mails after every game, criticizing and cutting into me with all of my faults. Then I have to suffer while he drones on and on about what I need to do to improve. I have to suffer when he calls me lazy, arrogant, worthless—all things I heard growing up, but fuck…it wears thin on a man, especially when it was practically beaten into me when I was younger. My dad can’t use his hands on me anymore. He has no say-so on how I train or what I do. So the only way he still tries to have power over me is with those fucking phone calls, and I hate them with all my soul. Yes, I have to suffer that all year long, but it’s still nowhere near as bad as having to see my dad in person those few times I play in Toronto. I had my obligatory ticket waiting for him at Will Call this afternoon, so I knew exactly where he’d be seated. I didn’t even need to look over at him when I’d scored my third goal and hats came raining down on the ice, to know that he’d just be sitting in his chair, his face stony. He never cheered me on. He expected the best, but was never happy when I gave it. That boiled down to the mere fact that he was jealous of the creature he had created. My dad drowned his sorrows in vodka for as long as I can remember. Those sorrows included losing his wife and my mother to cancer when I was just three years old and Cam was eight, as well as not being good enough to make it into the NHL. He floundered around the minors for a few years before he was released from his contract. That was about the time good old Dad decided Cameron and I were going to be professional hockey players. Fortunately for Cameron—yes, fortunately—he had no natural talent, and after playing only one season, he was promptly forgotten and Dad turned all his attention on me. Beyond getting my dad a ticket to the game, the other obligation I had to fulfill was meeting him for dinner. I could have come up with some excuse or another to bag out on him, but I made myself go. I made myself suffer his presence for an hour, so I could remind myself why I would never let him completely into my life again. Dinner started off as well as could be expected. We talked about his part-time job delivering newspapers, which was okay for about five minutes. Then that turned into a bitch-fest, during which he sucked down a double vodka tonic. This led to him complaining that I wasn’t sending enough money to live on, despite the fact that I pretty much pay all of his bills. His part-time job was to buy his liquor, because I wasn’t about to support that habit. I held firm in my refusal to send him some extra cash each month, which made him angry and caused him to suck down another double shot.

By the time our food and his third drink arrived, we got down to brass tacks and talked about the game. “Your ‘C’ cuts are looking sloppy,” he told me, his words clear and sure. He wouldn’t start slurring until about the sixth drink, and hopefully we’d be done with dinner before then. “Duly noted,” I said, because it didn’t do any good to argue with him. “And your wrist shot is weak. You’re not transferring your weight quick enough.” “That’s exactly what my coach said,” I agree, even though Coach said no such thing. My wrist shot is fucking perfect. Got me a hat trick tonight as a matter of fact, but I didn’t bother pointing that out either. “Stop humoring me,” my dad growled. “Fucking man up and admit your weaknesses.” I watched my dad for a moment as he glared at me. Red spider veins shone angry against the pale skin of his nose, his cheeks flushed cherry from the vodka and his temper. He was a fucking alcoholic who was angry at the world and angry with me because he wants what I have. These meetings between my dad and me never ended well, because there would always come a point where I would get tired of his harassment and let him have it. Leaning across the table, I spoke quietly for only his ears. “You want me to man up, Dad? How about this—I’m fucking tired of you taking out your woes on me.” “What?” my dad sputtered. “I’m not taking my woes out on you. I’m making you a great player. I made you what you are today.” “Yeah, Dad,” I said urgently, leaning in a little farther. “You did make me what I am today. A fucking professional hockey player who fucking hates playing hockey. But imagine what you could have created if you’d given a little bit of praise…a little bit of affirmation. You made me hate this game. You and you alone.” “You love the game as much as I do,” my dad scoffed, slurping heavily on his fourth double vodka. “No, Dad, I don’t. You made me despise it, the way I despise sitting here listening to your drunken shit.” My dad had never been one to take criticism. His already red cheeks blistered hotter and he seethed, “You should be thanking me for all I’ve done. You’d be nothing without me.” I looked at my dad and tried to find an ounce of sympathy for him, but my heart was black with bitterness and rage. Standing from the table, I threw a couple hundred-dollar bills down. “I am nothing, Dad. And that’s solely because of you.” *** When I make it back to my hotel room, I strip down to my boxers and crawl on top of the bed. Our flight to Montreal leaves early and I’m exhausted. Not from the game, not from the beer and a half I had, but from dealing with my dad. He takes it out of me like nothing else can. Reaching over to the nightstand, I grab my iPhone where I had left it charging prior to the game. Turning it on, I see there’s already a voice mail from my dad. I hit the “Play” button and listen. He definitely must have had his sixth drink before calling because his voice is slurred and almost unintelligible. But I’ve had years of listening to drunk John Crossman, so I was able to translate. Alex…buddy. I’m sorry. I tried the best I could. You know that, right? I only wanted you to be the best. And you could be, if you just tighten up a little bit. Put more hours in— I hit the delete button without listening to the rest. That zebra will never change his stripes. My dad was

never good enough, no matter how hard he tried or how much he practiced. Now he’s projected that on to me. I’ll never be good enough for my dad’s expectations, but that’s his cross to bear, not mine. I just wish Dad realized I was good enough. I mean, hello…NHL career here. Flipping over to my texts, my heart starts hammering when I see one from Sutton. It’s actually a series of three texts. I just learned what a hat trick was. Congrats! Just for good measure, I ran into my bedroom, grabbed my Durham Bulls baseball hat, and threw it at the TV. You were amazing tonight. I read back over the texts two more times, my mouth involuntarily pulling upward in a smile. I can just imagine her throwing her hat at the TV to celebrate my hat trick. Hilarious. My thumb idly grazes over her words on the screen and I take stock of the warmth they bring to me. It’s the first time I’ve had a friend who has taken pride in what I do. I’ve certainly never had a family member do it. I don’t recall my dad ever handing out praise and I’m not even sure if Cam has seen one of my games. And Sutton…well, I suppose she may be the first friend I’ve ever had. Even though my thoughts where she’s concerned stray far past what would be considered friendly. It’s getting late and I have no clue if she’ll see this tonight, but I go ahead and text her back. Thx. So it appears you’re a real hockey fan now, huh? I hit the send button then swing my legs off the bed to grab a water from the mini-fridge. Before I can even stand up, I get a text back. Yup. My fav player is #67. Leaning back onto the bed, I forget the water and decide to engage in some conversation with the lovely Miss Price. Before I can respond though, she says, I dont understand why that goal was disallowed. Ah. She wants to learn some hockey but that’s too complicated to do by text. So before I can talk myself out of it, I pull up her name in my contacts and hit her number. She answers on the second ring. “Hey, Mr. Hat Trick.” “Hey, Miss Curious About Hockey.” “You played awesome tonight,” she gushes. “I was so confused when people started throwing hats on the ice. I had to go Google what in the hell a hat trick was.” Chuckling, I say, “Then I’m surprised you didn’t Google your question about that disallowed goal.” “Nah. Why would I do that when I have an inside connection to a real live professional hockey player.” “Good point,” I tell her. “So, you can normally deflect a puck off your stick into the net, but it won’t be allowed if you raise your stick higher than the crossbar on the net.” “What’s the purpose behind that?” “An attempt to keep players safe…keep sticks away from faces. They put in rules to make us keep our sticks down low to help prevent facial injuries.” “Ah, that makes sense,” she says softly. “So, what are you doing right now?”

“Lying in bed. You?” “Same,” she murmurs and my imagination takes off. I can see her clear as day, lying naked on a bed of satin with her red hair splayed out all around. My cock twitches at the thought and I wonder if I could carry on a conversation with her while jacking off to that image in my mind. Sutton interrupts those lewd thoughts though when she says, “Teach me something else.” “Like what?” “How about…teach me about the various penalties,” she suggests. I settle back against the headboard of the hotel bed, masturbation forgotten, and we talk for the next thirty minutes about hockey penalties and the resulting consequences. It’s only when she yawns into the phone that I realize it’s just past midnight and I have to be up in about five hours to get ready for my flight. “It’s getting late,” I tell her. “We should catch some sleep.” “You’re right. I can’t believe we talked that long.” I could keep talking all night with her, I think to myself, and all of a sudden, I wonder for a fleeting but desperate moment, what it would be like to have someone like Sutton all to myself. To have someone who was mine, and I was hers, and we’d stay up for hours at night talking on the phone. I wonder because, sadly, I’ve never had a serious relationship with a woman in my entire life. I’ve never even had a fiveminute conversation on the phone with a woman, much less a half-hour conversation. “You still coming to watch our practice Sunday?” “I’ll be there. Did you finish reading the binder?” “Most of it. I’ve jotted down some ideas we can talk about when we meet.” “Awesome,” she says. “Thanks for doing that, Alex.” “No problem. Thanks for not bashing me over the head with that binder. I’ve given you a few reasons to do that.” She giggles into the phone and fuck, if that isn’t like the best sound ever. “Okay, go get some sleep,” she tells me, her voice floating over me like soft cotton. “I’ll see you Sunday.” “Good night,” I tell her. “Good night, Alex.” When I disconnect, I quickly set the alarm to get up at 5 A.M. and then flip off the lamp beside the bed, plunging the room into darkness. It’s funny how my night had started so shitty, yet ended on such a positive note. How can a thirty-minute conversation with Sutton bring me out of my funk? And we talked about hockey of all things. Hockey! That sport I fucking detest. But for some reason, whenever I talk to her about it, it’s fun. It actually makes me happy to share my knowledge with her. I’d even go so far as to say that the conversation brought me fucking joy tonight. Fucking joy. I can’t believe I’d use that and hockey in the same sentiment. I’m beginning to understand that perhaps I need to peel my blinders back a little bit. My dad molded me out of muscle, bone and raw talent but as he pushed me forward, he never let me look around at the world. He never let me form my own opinions. He never let me experience any joys. By the time I’d left home for good at the age of sixteen to join the Quebec Major Junior Hockey League, my dad’s influence had already damaged me greatly. My hatred for the sport had already been cemented, and I didn’t know any way to find happiness in hockey.

That is, until tonight, when I spent half an hour teaching Sutton about the game. Now, all of a sudden, I’m excited about her coming to watch me practice. I know she’ll have a gazillion questions afterward, and it will be my pleasure to show her all about my sport. I don’t know what it is about Sutton that sets her apart. Maybe it’s the way she refused to judge me when I first met her in her office. Or maybe it’s the way she lives her life with such zest. It could possibly even be the fact that the girl is smokin’ hot and I’m seriously attracted to her. Whatever the reasons, I like Sutton Price. I like her a lot and for probably a million other reasons. I probably like her most for the fact that she is getting me to reevaluate the way I look at things. I close my eyes as a smile lingers on my face, and drift off to sleep.

Chapter 10 Sutton Interestingly enough, I actually needed a ticket to get into the Cold Fury’s Sunday practice session and Alex had sent one over to the office for me. Not all of the practices are closed. When they practice at the actual Cold Fury arena, those are usually open to the public. But when they practice in this small, private facility, they let in people only by invitation, and so I needed a ticket. Had we not planned on working after, I would have asked for an extra ticket for Glenn, but I’m hoping I can get one for him another time. Alex also sent me an email with directions to the practice rink. He added a note that said, “Pay attention to our drills. I’ll quiz you after.” I had to smile at that because I had so much fun talking to him on the phone the other night, listening to his patient voice as he taught me all about the various penalties. He never got frustrated when I broke in with a question, and I swear, even the tone of his voice was the most carefree and light that I had heard since I met him. He told me once that he hated the game of hockey, but you couldn’t tell by our conversation that night. Shelley called me this morning, and I had to listen to her gripe for ten minutes over the fact that her husband, Sean, won’t pick up his underwear off the floor. Sean is in his first year of medical school at the University of Pittsburgh, and Shelley is completing her master’s in speech pathology. They’re both super busy and I suggested to her that perhaps she should just let that slide, because in the grand scheme of things it’s probably not that big a deal. Then we lapsed into an hour-long conversation about Alex. We both sat with our laptops opened and Googled him relentlessly. Shelley spent time ogling his pictures and I spent time reading tidbits to her from articles. It seems he did, indeed, have a reputation for being quite a prick not only to other players, but to Cold Fury fans as well. Apparently, the only reason it was forgivable was because he’s so damn good at what he does. I couldn’t find any information about his personal life, though. There were no mentions of his parents or other family members. There were no celebrity pictures of him with hot women on his arm. Nothing. The only thing that was apparently newsworthy about Alex was the fact he is a phenomenal player. Not completely weird, but it certainly painted him as something I already understood: He’s a loner. Once I get inside the complex, I immediately notice that none of the players are on the ice yet. The ticket just got me in the door and there is no assigned seating. The building isn’t much more than a huge hockey rink with about ten rows of seating that slant upward from the glass that surrounds the ice. I walk over to an area filled with what I’m thinking are family members as it’s heavy on women and kids, all wearing regular street clothes. The next section over seems to be more for fans, as they are decked out in Cold Fury jerseys and other franchise clothing. Taking an empty seat in the front row, I pull out my iPhone and idly thumb through my emails from

work. I check in on Facebook and post a message that says, Watching a Cold Fury practice session. Yay, me! I check my text messages and see one from Brandon. We’ve had some friendly banter back and forth through texts and Facebook. I think he’s making a genuine effort to start out as friends with me, understanding I’m just not ready to look at anything more with him right now. His texts are funny, sometimes sweet, but once in a while, he’ll say something that might feel a little pressurizing. Like right now. Missing you today. Any chance of dinner again? See…that steps outside the bounds of friendship and I wonder if I should say something to him—to nip this in the bud. “You know you can’t take pictures while you’re in here,” a voice causes me to look up and forget all about texting Brandon back. A beautiful woman stands there, looking down at me with haughty eyes. She has white-blond hair that comes down in a straight, silky curtain past her shoulders. She has on a pink fuzzy sweater that seems to be painted onto her and tight black jeans. Another woman who looks almost exactly like her stands just behind, peering at me. “Oh, I’m not taking pictures. Just texting,” I tell her apologetically, although I’m not sure why. I don’t think she’s part of the arena police. She doesn’t respond but pushes her way into the aisle that I’m in, and I hastily turn my legs to the side so she doesn’t trample my feet. She moves down about four seats past me, along with the other woman, and I’m promptly forgotten. I stare at her a moment more, while she bends her head toward the other woman and they whisper to each other. They look so much alike, I’m pegging them as sisters. Scraping-swishing noises cause my head to turn back toward the ice, and I see the players have arrived. They’re not wearing the jerseys they had on the other night, but rather some are wearing plain white jerseys and others are wearing yellow, and a few of the players have on red jerseys. One player steps out onto the ice, and I recognize Alex immediately. Even with his helmet on, I recognize his build, his grace, his swagger. His eyes come straight to mine and hold me briefly before he takes off to skate a large loop around the arena. I watch him, admiring the long, smooth pull of his legs against the ice. When he turns the corner and heads toward the area where I’m sitting, his gaze slides over to me and I’m amazed I can recognize the blue of his eyes from so far away. As he skates closer, I can feel my heartbeat speed up, almost matching pace with his skating. As he draws even with me, he reaches his stick out and taps the glass right in front of my face. He then spins around on his skates, now gliding backward, shooting me a wink as he pulls farther away. Yeah, I’m wearing a big ol’ goofy grin on my face right now. I so wish I could take a picture in here, because I would have killed a kitten to immortalize the look of happiness on his face as he went past. I’d then show it to him later, and say, “See…there’s still some love for the game inside of you.” “How do you know Alex?” I hear from my right, and turn my head to see the platinum blonde has moved down to sit right next to me. The other woman has followed, and sits just to her right. The question wasn’t asked in mere curiosity, and the frigid tone of her voice tells me to tread carefully. “He’s a business colleague,” I tell her smoothly, because that’s absolutely true. She runs her eyes down me with what I’m thinking might be disdain. I can’t help it when my own gaze

drops, doing a quick check of my outfit to make sure I didn’t mistakenly wear something that clashed. Nope. Dark washed jeans, a light gray, long-sleeved T-shirt and my black Converse Chuck-T’s. I’m confident I match and while I may not be oozing sex and pink fluffy angora from my pores, I think I look okay. “Business colleague? You’re with the Cold Fury?” she asks. “No. Alex and I are working together on a project for the Cold Fury.” “How did you get a ticket to this session?” I want to tell her, Just down the street at a little store that’s called “None of Your Freakin’ Business,” but I resist the very strong temptation. Instead, and for some reason that I can’t quite fathom, I give her a sweet smile and say, “Alex had a courier bring it to my office for me last week.” The woman’s blue eyes narrow at me and I can tell in that split instant that she has some type of proprietary interest in Alex. I’m not sure if she wants him, had him or maybe both, but there’s something there and damn if that thought doesn’t rankle me. I am here on a business-related matter, I tell myself firmly. I have no personal interest in Alex, I remind myself again. I need to stop fantasizing about Alex and me naked, I practically shout to my vagina. After repeating these words of motivation to myself, I give the woman a warm smile and say, “I assure you. This is just business. We’re putting together an anti-drug campaign the Cold Fury wants to sponsor, and Alex will be the spokesperson.” A crack against the glass causes all three of us to jump, our heads whipping toward the sound. Alex stands there, glaring at the woman with blond hair, his finger pointing down the aisle of chairs. He’s actually pointing for the woman to move away—from me, I guess. He looks furious and it makes me so uncomfortable, I have the urge to flee. Then his gaze flicks to mine and he gives me a reassuring smile before he skates off. “I’d get out of here, if I were you, Cassie. Alex doesn’t look happy. He could have you thrown out of here in a heartbeat.” Turning around, I see a woman sitting behind me. She’s got medium-length, curly brown hair and her dark brown eyes are focused on the woman sitting next to me. “It’s a free country,” Blondie seethes, causing me to whip my head back around to her. “I can sit wherever I want.” The woman behind me says softly, but with absolute certainty, “You’re acting like a brat. No wonder Alex kicked you to the curb.” I don’t bother turning to look back at her—my poor neck can’t handle the whiplash, but I see Blondie’s eyes go wide and then fill with rage. “Where did you hear that? It’s a lie.” This is interesting…in a soap opera sort of way. The brown-haired woman snickers and that causes me to look back at her. “What do you mean, where did I hear that from? I heard it from your sister,” she says as she nods to the woman sitting quietly next to Blondie. “And of course, she heard it straight from you.” Okay, I want to see this reaction, because that was shocking. My head spins supremely fast back to my right, and I’m just in time to see the red flush creep up Blondie’s neck, over her cheeks and straight into her hairline. She opens her mouth to say something, slams it shut, then turns to look at who I’m now

understanding is her sister. “I can’t believe you told her that!” she accuses. “I’m sorry, Cass. I didn’t know it was a secret,” the other woman whines. While the sisters start bickering, a soft hand squeezes my shoulder and I turn back to the woman behind me. “Come on…let’s go sit down a few seats away from this spectacle.” I immediately grab my purse and nod a smile at her. She leads me to the next section, a few rows higher and away from the fans. We sit down side by side and she turns to offer me her hand. “I’m Kelly Malone. My husband Mike is on the second line—left winger.” After exchanging a firm handshake, I tell her, “I’m Sutton Price.” “I know,” Kelly says with a grin. “Alex told Mike you’d be here and he told me. I think he was worried Cassie might pull some shit if she showed up, so he asked me to just keep an eye on you.” My gaze slips out onto the ice and I see Alex running some drills with the team. He and a teammate fly down the ice, passing the puck back and forth, bearing down on the goalie. Alex pulls back on his stick to take a shot, and just as the goalie commits to him, he gives a quick snap of his wrist to pass it to his teammate, who easily puts it in the net. “So, what was that all about?” I ask Kelly, even though I keep my eyes on the action. Alex said he’d quiz me and I’m not quite sure what that means, but I can’t stand to do poorly on tests. “Oh, that’s just Cassie. She and Alex had a thing but he broke it off with her, apparently. Her sister, Allie, is married to Kyle Steppernech, one of our defensemen. Allie usually drags her to everything so she always seems to be hanging around. Can’t stand the bitch, actually.” “I’m not sure she got the message Alex broke it off with her,” I murmur, watching him stand next to a teammate, while they wait for their turn at the next drill. “She’s not the brightest bulb in the pack,” Kelly says dryly, then lowers her voice and leans her head in toward mine. “But, man that was fun watching Alex go all caveman over you.” “What?” “The way he skated up and glared at Cassie, pointing at her to get away from you. Made my heart go pitter-patter.” I stare at Kelly dumbfounded, because surely she has that wrong. She sees the look on my face and offers a commiserating smile. “So, here’s the deal about Alex,” she says in a low voice. “No one on the team really knows him that well. He’s a loner, doesn’t really interact personally with the guys. So, Mike was like blown away when Alex asked him to have me keep an eye on you. It’s just not like Alex to ask anyone for help.” My mind starts racing as I consider what all of this means. Probably nothing. I mean, Alex is just being courteous because he has some loony of an ex-girlfriend who might have shown up and could have caused trouble for anyone. But it could mean something, since apparently Alex stepped outside of his comfort zone and approached another player for something personal. So maybe Alex is making some changes. He’s reaching out…he’s finding some joy in his sport. This all coincides with me, right? Or is that my ego talking? And why am I even giving this any thought? I’ll be meeting with Alex in a few hours to discuss our outreach program and I’ve hardly thought at all about it. I’m such a schmuck, I realize with a wave of guilt and shame that I might actually be more interested in my personal feelings for Alex than in helping at-risk kids.

Even though I’m swimming in contrition at the moment because of my inappropriate thoughts, I literally can’t stop myself from asking, “What’s the deal with that woman…Cassie? She seems serious about Alex.” Kelly snorts so loud, some of the fans down in the bottom row turn to look at us. She slaps her hand over her mouth and looks at me with round, humor-filled eyes. When she removes her hand, she leans over, chuckling. “Puh-leeze. That woman is out for nothing more than to score a hockey husband. Her sister got one, and she wants one too. I’m sure she’s serious about Alex only to that extent, but I can tell you—Alex was never serious about her.” “How do you know…I mean…if he’s not all that much of a sharer?” “Because he always blows her off at the various functions. She tries to latch on to him, but you can tell he wants nothing to do with her.” Interesting. Here I was assuming that they had been intimate, but seems to me maybe this woman is more like a stalker than anything. This makes me feel immensely better, and I can feel my shoulders relax. “But I do think they slept together,” Kelly continues in a lower whisper. “At least, that’s what Allie says, and she runs her mouth all the time. I think they’re like ‘friends with benefits,’ except they aren’t friends. They just have ‘benefits.’ ” She punctuates that last statement with another snicker. My stomach rolls at the thought, because even though it appears that Alex may have broken things off with her, it had to have been fairly recent since Cassie is still feeling clingy toward him. This, however, is not, nor should it be, my problem. Alex is a business colleague and nothing more. Yeah, keep telling yourself that, my subconscious pipes up. “What is the deal with you and Alex?” Kelly asks me. Her voice is a little hesitant, but I can tell she is dying to learn more about him. I look briefly over my shoulder at Cassie and Allie. They both are looking at me, heads bent together while they talk. Turning back to Kelly, I say, “Nothing to tell. We’re working on an anti-drug campaign together and we’re just friends.” “Well, friends can turn into something more,” Kelly says with a wink. “I don’t think so. It’s not a line we should cross considering we’re working together in a professional capacity.” “Bullshit,” Kelly exclaims and I actually jump over her exclamation. “Where is that written anywhere?” Blinking at her, my mind starts racing and I wonder to myself…is that written somewhere? It just seems generally inappropriate to me, but then I realize—it’s not like we work at the same job together. This is a volunteer opportunity for both of us, in essence. Suddenly, I’m wondering if there truly is a barrier. “I can see by that look on your face, you might think it’s bullshit too,” Kelly says with a huge grin. “Maybe,” I muse, my eyes searching Alex out again on the ice. “But, he hasn’t really given me any indication he’s interested. I mean…we actually didn’t start out on a great foot. Got into a couple of fights.” “Kind of like the little boy who pulls on the girl’s pigtails because he likes her?” I laugh at that analogy, because it could have merit…I guess. But then again, I don’t want to have any expectations as to what may or may not be, so I play it down. “I think it’s solidly just a friendship at this point. We’ll just sort of play it by ear.” “Well, if you two do hook up, we need to go out on a double date. Mike and I are the only married

couple on the team without kids and we never really get to hang out with the others that much.” “Sounds like a plan to me,” I tell her, even though I think chances of that happening are slim to none. Alex just doesn’t seem like the type to double date. Hell, he doesn’t even seem like the type to date. There’s no doubt I’m attracted to Alex. I mean really, really attracted. Maybe this is nothing more than chemistry. Maybe if something happens, it’s going to be nothing more than a single sexual encounter. But that’s not my style. I’m a commitment, love and roses type of person. I mean, I don’t believe you have to be married or even be in love to have sex, but I do believe you need to have some strong feelings for the other person. I’m not sure what I feel for Alex. He captivates me in a way that I don’t recall Brandon ever doing. Wearing a blanket of loneliness and anger makes him seem vulnerable to me, and watching him open up a bit makes me all the more intrigued. Add to that, he is without a doubt the sexiest man I have ever known. Yeah, I just don’t know what I feel for him, but there’s something. The bigger question is…does he feel anything for me?

Chapter 11 Alex Shaking my head in consternation, I walk out toward the lobby of the practice rink because that’s where I told Sutton I’d meet her. Outside of having to chase Cassie off at the beginning of practice, I actually had a pretty good time out there. I’m not sure if it’s because Sutton was there watching me or the fact that Garrett was cracking joke after joke as we were waiting for the next drill. The dude has an endless supply of jokes that are dirty as hell and were only suitable to be told amongst a group of comedically immature guys. No matter if I try to stay aloof with him, he won’t let me. It’s like he refuses to let me be an ass, and God help me, I’m starting to like that about him. It’s actually the first practice session since I joined the Cold Fury that I can actually say I enjoyed, start to finish. What’s even more enjoyable is, as I step out into the lobby with my equipment bag over my shoulder, my eyes immediately zero in and lock on Sutton. She’s standing by the front glass door, her back to me, gazing outside. Dressed super casual in just T-shirt, jeans and black Converse, she looks young, fresh and adorable—actually edible. Adorably edible and my pounding pulse seems to agree. I start toward her because she’s like a light at the end of the tunnel, when something grabs hold of my arm. Looking around, I see Cassie standing there, gazing at me with heated eyes. “We need to talk,” she says with determination. I pull my arm away. “No, we really don’t.” “What the fuck was that little stunt out there on the ice?” “You’re classy as ever,” I remark dryly, and turn to walk away. She grabs my arm again, her nails digging in. I arch an eyebrow up at her, my look giving her about two seconds to get off me. Luckily she takes heed, releasing me just as quickly. “Are you throwing me over for that girl?” she says loudly, nodding toward Sutton. I turn my gaze and follow Cassie’s stare. Sutton has overheard this little byplay and stares back at us, her face impassively serene despite being called out. Turning back to Cassie, I tell her quietly, hoping to bring the noise level down a bit, “I’m not throwing you over for her. I’m throwing you over for me. I’m just not interested anymore and the sooner you understand that, the sooner you’ll let this go.” I give my back to Cassie without giving her a chance to respond. In three long strides, I reach Sutton and take her elbow, turning her toward the door. With my free hand, I push it open and usher her through it before me. She gives me no resistance, trusting in my direction. We step out into the midday sun, and I note there’s finally a crispness to the air that signifies that maybe

fall has truly arrived. “So, is the life of a hockey star normally filled with stalker ex-girlfriends?” Sutton asks me as the door closes behind us. I turn to her with a grin. “I think it’s part of the standard résumé. And for the record, she was not my girlfriend.” “What was she, then?” she asks me with complete confidence in her nosiness. I’m not sure she’ll like my answer but I give it. “She was a hookup. Nothing more.” “Oh…okay,” Sutton says quickly and I’m pretty sure I just lost some brownie points with her. “Where’s your car?” I ask Sutton just to change the subject. “My car?” “Yeah…figured you could drive if you don’t mind. Mine is behind the complex in the players’ parking lot and yours is probably closer.” “Okay,” she says hesitantly and takes off toward the parking lot. “But I have to warn you…it’s a little junky. I’m not sure a celebrity of your status should be seen in it.” “I’m sure it’s fine,” I tell her with a chuckle, although when she stops at a rusted-out bucket of a car to unlock the door, I’m not sure it will get us to our intended destination. “It runs fine,” she assures me, the look on my face undoubtedly giving away my concern. “We can take your car if you’re worried about it.” “I’m definitely not worried,” I tell her as I walk to the passenger door and wait for her to unlock it. She shoots me a grin, unlocks the driver’s door with a key, and then climbs in to reach the passenger lock. Good Lord, it doesn’t even have automatic locks. I didn’t know cars this old still existed. I’m not even sure what type of car this is, but it’s small so I have to fold my frame practically in half to get in the seat after I toss my equipment bag in the back. Despite the car probably being made several decades ago, it’s very clean and well kept on the inside. When Sutton turns the ignition, the engine sputters to life and gives a lusty purr. She turns to me and grins. “Let me guess…you probably drive a sports car, right? Red, maybe convertible, goes from zero to sixty in about three seconds flat?” “You so have me pegged wrong,” I tell her with a mock glare. “I drive a used Suburban. While it’s not as old as this bucket, it’s got its share of miles on it.” “Wow,” she says, like I just told her the most amazing thing in the world, and puts her car in drive. “Consider me impressed.” “Why does that impress you?” “Well, because I just placed an unfair stereotype on you. I just assumed all wealthy sports stars spent money like it was going out of style.” I can’t help the bark of laughter that pops out. “It would probably surprise you, then, to learn I live in a small apartment and I hoard my money, although I do have an addiction to large flat-screen TVs.” “Definitely busting my stereotype,” she agrees. “So why the obsessive saving of money?” “So I have something to fall back on when I’m done playing hockey. I don’t know anything else.” “And just how long do you think you’ll be playing hockey?” Turning to look at her while she drives, I notice that the side view of her face is just as beautiful as the front view. Her long, red hair is hanging loosely with a slight wave to it, setting off the sparkle to her

eyes, which reflect the brilliant flecks of green from the sun angling in through the windshield. I notice for the first time that she has a tiny sprinkle of freckles across her nose and cheeks. She fascinates me like no other person I’ve met, and that scares me just a bit. It excites me too. The answer to her question should be easy, but it’s really not. I decide to lay it out honestly to her. “Just a few weeks ago, I was on the verge of quitting. I didn’t like the team pushing me…attempting to mold me into something I wasn’t. I didn’t love the game enough to let them do that to me.” “And now?” she asks quietly, shooting me a quick glance before putting her eyes back on the road. “Now? I’m looking at the game a bit differently,” I admit to her. “Why is that?” Her voice is so soothing, I absolutely want to capitulate to her. Rather than hide my feelings like I normally do, I want to tell her everything. Well, almost everything. There are some things I’d never be able to share with her. “Because you’ve made me look at things in a different light,” I tell her, and her head spins to meet my look. She stares at me a moment longer than what’s safe before she turns back to look at the road. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” she asks with a soft smile on her face. I have the unbearable urge to reach my fingertips out and trace them along her jaw but I resist. She’d probably slap me if I tried that. “Good, I think. I’m still testing the waters, so to speak.” Sutton turns into a parking lot that houses a cheap strip mall. She pulls in front of an Indian cuisine restaurant and turns the car off. Turning to look at me, she says, “Whether you dip a toe in or jump in headfirst, I’m glad you’re testing the waters. Experiencing new things, growing from that experience…I’m glad to see you trying that.” She looks at me with warmth and even a bit of understanding. Yes, she understands something about me when I’m not even sure I understand much. It’s like she is wise beyond her years and I feel like she could threaten to crumble the very platform that I’ve built my entire knowledge of the world upon. It’s a scary prospect, but one that I find challenging in a good way. Taking my silence as a hint that the conversation is over, she turns briefly to look at the restaurant, then back to me. “I hope you like Indian.” I don’t even spare the restaurant a glance. “Thank you…for taking the time to try to get to know me. And I think maybe for getting me when I’m not sure I even get myself.” She sucks in a small breath and her eyes go wide over my proclamation. Then she smiles at me, and it is filled with care and understanding. I want to fucking kiss her so bad, my chest aches, but it’s not the time…it’s not the place. I wonder if it ever will be. “Come on, let’s eat,” I tell her as I open the passenger door and pour myself out of the little seat. After we’re seated in a booth and have placed our orders, Sutton turns all business on me, which is fine. After reading the binder of information she gave me, I’m actually feeling pretty excited about this project. Mainly because I’ll be working in close proximity to Sutton, which is a schmucky thing to admit, but I’m also excited about the prospect of helping kids who may have suffered some of the same stuff I went through. Just being able to give them an outlet for help is beyond thrilling to me, because I always felt so trapped and helpless while I was growing up. “Did you finish reading all of the materials?” “Yup. And while I have no other programs to compare it to, the California program is very impressive. I’m not even sure we’d have to modify it that much, assuming all of the information about addiction is

accurate. That’s your expertise, though.” Sutton nods, her eyes gleaming with excitement. “It’s all accurate, and while we wouldn’t use their material verbatim, we can definitely follow the outline of the program. I’ve got all of the necessary materials we can convert over that have been produced by our crisis center.” “What do you want my role to be?” “Well, you are the spokesperson, so most of your work will come on the back end when we start traveling to schools and events, but I’d still love to have your input while I put the program together. As I draft the materials, I could forward them to you for review, and we’ll need you to do some photo shoots for the brochures and pamphlets, videos…that sort of thing.” “Will you go out to dinner with me tonight?” I ask, the words popping out of my mouth so suddenly, I have no clue where they came from. Clearly my subconscious decided to overtake my sensibility and make itself known. Sutton’s eyes go round and her lips part in surprise. Fuck…I’m completely surprised myself that I just asked that. “As in a date?” she asks carefully. “Or to work on this program further?” “As in a date,” I tell her while looking her levelly in the eye. “Of course, we can talk more about this if you want, but I’m asking you out on a date.” Sutton’s eyes fall to the table and she fiddles nervously with her fork. She sucks her bottom lip in between her teeth and her eyebrows scrunch with consternation. I wait patiently for her to answer me. When she looks back up, she doesn’t surprise me at all when she says, “Should we be crossing that line? The one that splits the professional from the personal?” “I’ve never given much of a fuck about labels and lines, Sutton. I do what I want, and I very much want to see you on a personal level. If you have qualms about crossing a line that’s important to you, I respect that and I won’t try to talk you out of it.” She glances back down at the table for just a moment, then her eyes come back up and look at me with a hint of mischief. “What if I want you to talk me out of it?” My lips quirk upward while my heart trips end over end. “Depends. How much convincing do you think you’ll need?” Sutton brings her index finger up and taps it against her lips while considering my question. “Hmmm. I’m pretty torn up about this. It might take a good effort on your part.” She’s teasing the fuck out of me and damn if it doesn’t feel good. If she’s expecting me to come back at her with some teasing of my own, she needs a quick lesson in the fact that Alex Crossman usually goes in for the kill pretty quickly. Standing up from the booth, a quick step puts me over on her side. With no hesitation I bend over and slip my hand around the back of her neck, pulling her up slightly toward me. A tiny gasp of surprise comes out of her mouth but I see her eyes fill with challenge. Game on. I angle my head in decisively and bring my mouth to hers. My kiss is confidently persuasive and she opens up to me. I don’t plunder her invitation though, giving her just a moment where our lips touch, move against each other’s in a whisper, then I pull back and release her. Standing up, I look down at her and say, “Convinced?” She nods back at me, her fingertips coming up to lightly touch at her lips, and I swear I can almost feel

the touch against my own. Moving back to my seat, I place my napkin back on my lap and ask again, “So will you go out with me tonight?” She smiles at me. “Yes, I’d love to.” “Great—” I start to say, but then she cuts me off with a slap of her palm to her forehead. “Shit, wait. I can’t. I have plans already.” My hackles immediately rise up high, because I assume it’s a date she has planned. My anger builds quickly but before I can say something, she says, “Unless…you’d want to come with me?” Blinking at her a few times so I make sure I understand what she’s saying, I ask, “Where would that be?” “To my parents’ house. Family dinner.” My immediate instinct is to say no and several reasons filter through my head. First, I want Sutton all to myself. I don’t want to share her right now. Second, seems kind of lame to meet her parents for our first date—and this could be our only date for all I know—and finally, did I mention I want Sutton all to myself? Then I remember that I’m leaving tomorrow for an extended away-game schedule and won’t be back for another five days. Suddenly I realize I’ll take Sutton any way I can get her. “Okay. I’m in.” “Really?” she asks, looking at me skeptically. “Yeah, why not?” “It’s just…seems kind of lame, going to my parents’ house for a first date.” “Thought the same thing when you suggested it.” “Painfully honest, right?” Grinning at her, I nod. “Yup. But I realized I’d just like to spend time with you, and if your parents are half as cool as you, I’m thinking this will be fun.” “They’re great. You’ll love them. My mom and Jim-Dad have achieved sainthood already in my book.” “Jim-Dad?” I ask with a laugh. “He’s my stepdad. He’s raised me since I was about eight.” “What about your real dad?” “Jim-Dad is my real dad,” she says, not with any censure but with genuine warmth and amusement. “Now, if you’re talking about the sperm donor who is my birth father—well, he’s floating around Raleigh somewhere. He flits in and out of my life on occasion, depending on whether he’s clean or not.” My mouth drops open and I stare at her in disbelief over what I think she just implied, and the way she said it with full acceptance and not an ounce of bitterness. “Your dad is a…?” “Drug addict? Yup. He’s definitely not father of the year, but I try to support him as best I can.” “And by support you mean…?” “Not financial. I mean I try to give him encouragement and emotional support, but it’s hard when I’ve watched him yo-yo back and forth.” I’m quiet for a moment, comparing her revelation to thoughts of my own father, who battles with alcohol. No, that’s not quite right. He doesn’t battle. That would imply he’s tried to quit at some point, but he never has to my knowledge. He has succumbed, nothing more. “Is that why you do what you do?” I ask her.

“Drug counseling? Pretty obvious, right?” “Pretty fucking impressive, I’d say.” Sutton’s face flushes red and she averts her gaze with uncharacteristic shyness. She picks up the fork and starts fiddling with it again while she continues. “My life was very bad when my dad was part of it. His drug addiction brought a lot of suffering down on my mom and me. My mom saved me, though. She got me out of that environment—as best she could. Then Jim-Dad saved us both.” Laying the fork back down, she lifts her eyes to meet mine, and she is smiling in a moment of happy reflection and love for her family. I want to hear all about her story, but I’m actually afraid to. I’m afraid to hear it because of the comparisons I’ll draw to my own life, and I hate thinking about my childhood. I also don’t want to hear her story because something churns a bit in my gut. It appears we both had crappy childhoods, yet Sutton seems to have adjusted just fine. At least from what I can tell. Me? Not so much. I’ve let my past shape me into something that a few weeks ago I was pretty comfortable with. But now? Now I’m not sure I like looking in the mirror and seeing the reflection. I’m pretty confident that while Sutton has been a beautiful, bright spot in my life recently, she could also cause me a world of hurt by peeling away my scabs. I like her, want to get to know her, want to spend time with her. Want to fuck her, no doubt. But I don’t want to get too close. I think that would cause repercussions that I probably couldn’t bear in the long run.

Chapter 12 Sutton I can’t believe I’m on a date with Alex Crossman. I can’t believe Alex Crossman just had dinner at my parents’ house. I can’t believe I want him to kiss me more than I’ve ever wanted to be kissed before, and my palms are sweating so badly over the prospect I keep wiping them on my jeans. The evening has been perfect so far. Alex picked me up at my house. When I invited him in and asked if he wanted a tour, he just gave me a slick grin and said, “Later. When I drop you off.” And that was when my insanely slutty side came to light. All I could imagine was him coming into my house and pushing me up against the wall…taking all kinds of indecent liberties with me whether I wanted him to or not. The image was burned so hotly into my mind that I kept revisiting it during dinner. Sometimes I even had a hard time concentrating on what was going on around me, my mind wandering toward my fantasies rather than my reality. And the reality was, that dinner was fun and wonderful, and the best part was seeing Glenn’s face when I showed up with Alex. I thought he was going to perish on the spot, and he got so tongue-tied that he could barely say hello. Alex had pulled a bag out of the back of his Suburban when we pulled up in front of my parents’ home, and when I asked what was in it, he just shrugged and said, “A few things for your brother.” A few things turned out to be a signed Crossman jersey, four tickets to the next home game for the entire family, a signed Crossman poster and a stick signed by the Cold Fury’s goalie, Max Fournier. I freakin’ had to turn my head and wipe my eyes on my shoulder when I saw the way Glenn’s face lit up. For a split second, he doubted the entire bounty before him, and looked to Mom for reassurance that it was okay to accept so many wonderful gifts. Then my little brother—my beautiful little baby brother—looked to Alex and said, “It’s too much.” Alex flinched slightly, then his face broke out with understanding. Treading a very fine line between encouragement to accept and understanding over Glenn’s sensitivity to money, Alex played it off beautifully. He said, “No way, dude. I’ve had this stuff just sitting around my apartment.” Which was a lie. The freakin’ stick was signed by Max Fournier, so Alex had taken the time to get this stuff for Glenn. I wanted to launch myself at him with a hug of epic proportions, but to everyone’s surprise, Glenn beat me to it. He stood up from his chair and flung his arms around Alex as he sat on the couch next to me. I couldn’t help but grin when Alex caught him in a bear hug and awkwardly patted Glenn on the back, looking over his shoulder at me with a soft smile. Dinner was amazing, thanks to the fact my mom is like the best cook in the world. Despite the crusty and surly side of Alex that I had seen on occasion, he was nothing but open and candid with my family. Glenn chattered away at him incessantly with my mom and Jim-Dad popping in questions every now and then. I did notice, however, that he gently steered away from any questions about his childhood or his own

parents, instead focusing on the fact that he had left home permanently to live with a foster family while playing in the Quebec Juniors. This was interesting to me because he focused on his early hockey career, when I know for a fact that he doesn’t care too much for said career at all. The counselor side of me knows he’s avoiding something that is more painful than his distaste for the sport. Regardless, my mom hugged him warmly when we were leaving, and Jim-Dad invited him back over anytime he wanted. Glenn was a bit shy, his prior spontaneous hug clearly related to the excitement of Alex’s gifts, so Alex bent down and held out his fist for Glenn to bump, saying, “See you next week after the game?” Glenn nodded shyly, but I could see he was about ready to burst from the prospect. “You’re awful quiet over there,” Alex says as we drive toward my house. “Just thinking about Glenn. You really spoiled him tonight.” “No way. You can tell that’s a kid who deserves to be spoiled.” I smile because that’s so true. “He hasn’t had a lot of nice things in life. Money has always been so tight, but he’s the most appreciative kid you’ll ever meet. So yeah…I guess he deserves it.” Alex reaches across the seat and takes my hand in his. It’s an intimate move, and I can’t stop the tiny shiver that runs through me from the contact. He squeezes my hand and says, “I think you might deserve to be spoiled too.” I turn to look at him, the ambient lighting of the car’s stereo system emphasizing the sharp angles of his face. He turns to give me a brief glance and his eyes are serious, intent as they watch for my reaction. “Alex—” I start to say, then I realize I have no clue what to say. His words are so heartfelt, yet tentative, because I can tell he has never spoken those words before. Turning his attention back to the road, Alex pulls my hand across the expanse of the vehicle and brings it to his mouth. He grazes his lips across the inside of my wrist then releases his hold on me. That touch… oh, that touch of his lips. So seductive yet full of caring at the same time, I feel practically dizzy from the overwhelming emotions coursing through me. “Sutton…I don’t know what this is…between us. But I know it’s something. I know it’s pulling me, and trust me when I tell you…nothing has pulled at me in a long time.” “I feel it too,” I admit in a whisper. “Then let’s see where this goes,” he says confidently, and I’m nodding my head in agreement even as I say, “Okay.” But I do wonder…where exactly am I pulling Alex? I’d know if I only knew what direction I’m headed in myself. Does this have the potential to be something serious? Or does someone like Alex even do serious? For all I know, his words tonight mean nothing more than he wants me to pull him straight into my bed. Maybe this is just sex. After all, that other girl—Cassie—she was just a hookup. Maybe I’m just a hookup. I search my feelings to see how I truly feel about that, and of course, I don’t like it. While I thought the other night that maybe my lack of feelings toward Brandon had something to do with the fact that I wanted to sow my wild oats like he had done, the simple truth of the matter is that I just can’t have casual sex. Looking out the windshield, I see that Alex is pulling into my driveway, and I start to freak out—what if he’s expecting to get laid right now? “I can’t have sex with you tonight,” I blurt out, because I need to be up-front with him.

His head jerks my way and even in the gloom of the dark car, I can see his lips curve upward. He ignores my statement for a moment. When he cuts the engine off, he turns to me and says, “Who said I want to have sex with you?” “But…you said…there’s something…and that other woman…I thought that’s what you might want….” I drift off lamely, because now I’m suddenly confused and feeling like I misread the signals. Alex gives a husky laugh. “I’m teasing you. And I didn’t intend to have sex with you tonight. Now, are you going to invite me in to show me your place, and then maybe we can hang for a little bit? I have to get home before too long to get packed for my trip.” Thank God it’s dark in the car because my face is flaming over my misconception of the matter. “Okay,” I mumble in response, and jump out of his SUV before he can make it over to my door to open it. Alex follows me up my front porch and waits as I unlock the door. Flipping the lights on as we enter, I wait for him to come in and shut the door behind him. After I set my keys and purse down on one of the end tables, I ask, “Do you want something to drink?” “No,” he says as he walks over and sits down on my couch. “Do you want a tour of my house?” I ask, which seems ludicrously stupid. “No. I want you to come sit down next to me,” he says as he pats the cushion. “I think I’d rather make out with you a little bit before I have to leave.” There go my palms again, sweating up a storm; I wipe them on my jean-clad thighs. He, of course, notices that move and I feel like an idiot. “Are you nervous?” he asks. “A little,” I admit as I walk toward him slowly. When I reach the couch, he lifts a hand out to me and I put mine hesitantly in his, praying to God I got all the moisture off. He clasps me warmly and says, “I don’t bite.” Some of my nervousness melts away and I relax marginally, but then he gives a tug on my hand and I go falling toward him with a yelp. I land on his lap, and he expertly turns me to the side so my legs drape across the couch and his arm supports my back. Alex is grinning at me, for some reason enjoying the tension that I’ve let build up because of my nerves. His other hand comes up, skimming his fingertips down my jaw. “You’re adorable when you’re nervous,” he says. “I like that.” “I’m sorry,” I blurt, but before I can get another word out, he leans in and kisses me. And even though this is the second time that his lips have been against mine this day, I realize that what he did to me before could not even be categorized as a kiss. In fact, I’m not sure that any other man’s lips touching mine—and there haven’t been that many—could have even been considered a kiss. I’m not sure if it’s the softness with which he first touches me, or the way that my lips seem to follow his when he opens his mouth to let his tongue slide in, but every nerve, tendon and muscle in my body seems to fire hot with pleasure. The contact is so explosive, so richly captivating, that I immediately feel like I’m drowning in a sea of desire. I’m completely embarrassed that at the first touch of his tongue to mine, I moan loudly into his mouth and my arms snake quickly around his neck to pull him closer. For a woman who just proclaimed not two minutes ago that I wasn’t having sex with him tonight, I sure as hell want to strip naked and climb on top of him right now. Alex’s arms come around me tighter and our mouths move more insistently against each other’s. My

fingers slide into his long hair and I marvel for a moment how soft and silky it is. Then Alex’s mouth breaks away from mine and he runs his lips across my jaw and down my neck, the stubble of his chin causing electrical sparks to fire across my skin. I feel so hot and needy, and I want him to go further. To hell with what I just said down in Alex’s car, I want to have sex with Alex—right this very minute. Mentally urging his hands to move, to explore, to strip, I almost beg him out loud to do those things to me. Almost, and I’m glad I don’t, because Alex ends up being the sane one of the two of us, and he pulls away from me with a frustrated sigh and a whole lot of heavy breathing. Leaning his forehead against my temple, he says, “God, I could do that all night.” “I couldn’t,” I grumble and he lifts his head to look at me in curiosity. “I mean…I couldn’t just kiss all night…I’d want to do other things,” I say quietly as I close my eyes in mortification. “Hey,” Alex says softly as he grasps my chin with one hand. I open my eyes and look into his, noticing that he actually has a circle of dark gray right around his pupils. “Don’t be embarrassed by that. There’s nothing more that I want to do at this very moment than to—” He breaks off quickly, and releases his hold on my face. Picking me up slightly, he moves me off his lap and sets me beside him. Turning toward me, he slings one arm across the back of my couch and runs the other through his hair. “Sutton, I want you badly and had you not just told me a few minutes ago that we weren’t having sex tonight, you’d better be damn straight I’d be fucking you right now. But I’m respecting that and we’ll get there when we get there.” “You could have had me tonight,” I tell him cautiously, part of me hoping he’ll take that as an invitation and will start kissing me again. I’d capitulate in a heartbeat if he kissed me the same way. “I know,” he growls low. “I felt it…that kiss was…” “Yeah, it was, wasn’t it?” “So fucking good,” he says and the way his words rumble out of his lips causes tremors to race up and down my spine. “The best,” I murmur, embarrassed slightly to admit that, and I hope that’s not a turnoff in any way. “The best,” he agrees and my heart melts a tiny bit because he actually sounds humbled by it. We stare at each other a moment more and I can feel a buzz of energy actually start to build around us while we get lost in each other’s eyes. Alex can feel it too, and suddenly it feels dangerous to be this close to each other. He stands abruptly and says, “I probably should get going. I think we both know what’s going to happen if I stay.” I stand up behind him and practically have to clamp my hand over my mouth to stop myself from saying, “Oh, to hell with it. Let’s have sex.” Instead, I follow Alex to the door, suddenly a bit shy now that we’ve pulled away from the coziness of the couch. But he doesn’t let me stay shy for long because when he reaches the door, he spins on me and pulls me into his arms, hugging me close. It’s endearing, the way he’s choosing a comfortably intimate embrace rather than a lust-filled kiss to say good night. “Will you watch me play while I’m gone?” he asks with some trepidation. Pulling back so he can see my face, I tell him, “Absolutely. I’ll be screaming for you here in my living room.” “I’ll call you after I get back to the hotel after our game tomorrow night,” he tells me, then leans in

softly to place a feather of a kiss to my lips. I’m beyond warmed by the fact that Alex is being such a gentleman, and completely mortified that I don’t want him to be. Which makes me curious. “Where did that prick go that I met that first day in my office?” Alex’s eyes cloud just a little, even though he gives me a smile. “He’s probably still there, Sutton. I’ve been a prick far longer than I’ve been charming. You’re seeing a new side to me, but you know the old is bound to come out.” I cock my head to the side and say, “We all have days when our monsters come out, Alex. You’re not going to scare me off if I see yours.” “I’ll be careful not to show you my true monster,” he quips as he steps out of the embrace. Turning to reach for the doorknob, I lay my hand on his arm gently. He stops and glances back at me. “I’m serious, Alex. You won’t scare me…I’ve seen a lot of stuff.” “I’m not worried about scaring you. I’m worried about hurting you,” he says with a haunted look on his face. “But not enough to warn you away. The bastard part of me is okay with you taking that risk.” “Always painfully honest,” I murmur as he opens the door and steps across my threshold. “Always,” he says as he turns toward me to shut the door. But he gives me a smile and a wink, and it lightens the mood. “Lock the door behind me.” “Okay. Safe flight tomorrow.” Then he’s gone. I lock the door dutifully and shuffle my way back to my bedroom, checking my email briefly on my iPhone. I’m startled when my phone buzzes with a text from Alex. Sitting in your driveway, wishing I hadn’t left. My fingers type furiously back to him. Me too. I’m so bad. I don’t wait long for his response. The wait will make it better. Promise. And I like you being bad. Sitting down on my bed, I lean back against it, clutching my phone to my chest. I want to text him—no, call him—and tell him to come back inside. I’m not sure I ever wanted something this badly before… except there was a time in my life when I wanted so badly for my dad to quit using drugs. But then I realized that was beyond my control and was nothing more than hopeful wishing. Running my thumbs over the phone, I text him back. It will make it better. Agreed. And you can see my bad side some other time. Alex’s text back is short. Looking forward to it. A lot. Smiling, I set my phone down on the bed beside me, and close my eyes…savoring this evening. Then they pop back open with insight and determination. Picking my phone back up, I dial Brandon and wait for him to answer. I’m going to tell him that he and I will never move past the friendship we have been trying to build again. I can’t let him go on believing that the possibility of something more exists. I can’t lead him on in any way. Because—after tonight with Alex —there is no way I could ever have something with Brandon. That is brutally clear to me right now.

Chapter 13 Alex Sitting on the bench in the visitors’ locker room, I contemplate sending a text to Sutton before I get dressed for tonight’s game. We’ve had a successful road trip so far, winning three of the last four, and tonight’s a very important game. If we win, we’ll take over the leaderboard for first place in our division. It’s a standing that didn’t mean much to me just shy of a month ago. But now? Now I want this win very badly. And I think I want this win because of Sutton. When I talked to her last night, she wanted me to explain how the league was broken down and how teams earned points for the rankings. She got so excited when I told her that we could take over number one in our division, fuck if I don’t want to get that win for her. I want to give it to myself too, because in a miraculous change, I’m starting to like the game again. Do I love it? No. And every time I get another voice mail from my dad following a game, it causes the loathing and bitterness to rise. The one I got just this morning is a prime example. He’s well aware of the importance of this game to the Cold Fury. So when he called this morning, I promptly ignored it and then was an immediate glutton for punishment by listening to his message. Alex…tonight’s an important game. You need to rise above your petty differences with me. I know you don’t listen the way you should, but your old man knows a thing or two about hockey. I expect nothing less than perfection from you tonight. Don’t screw it up. I really, really wish for the day that I can listen to these pearls of wisdom and just laugh about it, but that day is nowhere in the near future. I wanted to hurl my phone across the room and crush his arrogant, demeaning voice right out of the microchip processors inside. Instead, I did what I always do. I pushed delete, stewed on it for a few hours, and then let it go. It’s a process, one that is only marginally easier now that I’m an adult and my father no longer has a say-so in anything I do. Right now, he is nothing more than hot air and a painful reminder of my awful childhood. But maybe one day…if things keep getting better and better as they seem to be doing of late. “Crossman…need a word,” Coach yells from the visiting coach’s office. “Uh-oh,” Garrett teases in a singsong voice. “Someone’s in trouble.” Picking my jockstrap up as I stand from the bench, I throw it at Garrett and snicker when it smacks him in the face. “He shoots, he scores!” I yell with my hands raised in victory, and several of my teammates burst out laughing. I note with amusement that some of them are looking at me like I grew a pair of antlers out of my

head or something, shocked that the most valuable prick actually might have some humor deep within his bones. Walking over to the office that sits off the locker room, I enter and close the door. “What’s up, Coach?” “Just wanted to pass on to you that the Board has been very pleased with your work of late.” “Just doing my job,” I say, honestly not caring if they’re impressed with my game or not. “It’s not just how you’re playing. They’re very impressed with your work on the outreach campaign.” I stare blankly at my coach, because for the life of me I can’t figure out how in the hell they even know what I’m doing. Coach decides to fill me in. “Seems that woman you’re working with over there sent an email to Walt Prestonwood, extolling your virtues or some shit like that. Even said something like you were a role model for other players,” he says with an amused smirk on his face. I have to lower my head and bite down on my tongue so as not to snicker. God love Sutton and her attempts to make me look good to the brass. When I raise my head, Coach is still smiling at me. “Seriously though, I’ve noticed a difference too. You’re actually ‘present’ during the games and at practice, and by that I mean your head is fucking present. You were a great player before, but you’re on fire now, Alex. Keep up the good work.” I actually feel my cheeks get a little hot from the blatant praise and rather than roll my eyes as I normally do when I feel like someone is blowing rainbows up my ass, I actually feel a pleasant warmth creep through me. Standing up from my chair, I say, “Thanks. I appreciate it.” Turning to walk out of his office, I hear Coach say, “Oh, and do me a favor tonight. Try to kick some ass out there and bring the win home for us.” By the time I make it out of Coach’s office and to the locker room, I have no time to send a text to Sutton. I quickly strip down and start dressing for the game. Jockstrap, shin pads, socks, pants, shoulder pads, and elbow pads all firmly strapped into place. I put my jersey over my head and pull it down, securing the ends of the fight straps to my pants. Sitting back down on the bench, I pull my skates on and start lacing them up. “So, what’s up with you and Cassie?” I hear Kyle Steppernech ask from the bench opposite me. Raising my head, I give him a cursory glance before turning my attention back to my laces. “Nothing’s up. I broke it off.” “Why, dude? She’s a prime piece.” “That’s all she is,” I grumble as I finish the first skate and turn my attention to the other. “And what…the great loner, Alex Crossman, is looking for something more?” Kyle sneers. “Wake up, dude. You had it perfect. Free pussy whenever you wanted it and no nagging or bitching to go along with it.” Shaking my head, I don’t respond but finish tying the second skate. When I lift my head and glance at Kyle, he’s staring at me with eyebrows raised, waiting for me to deny what he’s said. “What’s the deal with you, Steppernech?” I ask, trying to keep the derision out of my voice. “You talk about free pussy and no-strings sex, yet you got yourself shackled to a woman who spends all your money and squirted a couple of kids out. You want to live vicariously through me or something?” Kyle snorts and then throws his head back in laughter. “I don’t need to live vicariously through you, man. I get all the free I want when I’m road-tripping with the team.”

He says it with such pride, cheating on his wife, that it makes me a little sick to my stomach. I mean, I wasn’t monogamous when I was with Cassie, but I was up-front about that. I didn’t trade rings with her or even any promises I’d buy her dinner. “The ladies must really love you,” I hear Garrett say from my left. He’s looking at Kyle with disgust on his face, and it’s certainly prevalent in his voice. Steppernech turns his gaze onto Garrett and his eyes narrow. “You’re one to be looking down your nose, Samuelson. You seem to fuck a lot of strange.” Garrett just gives an easygoing smile to Kyle. “Dude, I like it varied, no doubt, but I treat every lady I’m with with respect. Look it up sometime. I’m sure your wife might appreciate it.” “You fucking asshole,” Kyle growls as he lunges from the bench. I immediately step in front of Garrett, I guess to protect him, and it’s fucking weird that I would do that. Just two weeks ago, I would have sat on the bench and played a game on my iPhone while they tore each other to pieces. Luckily, a few of the other players near Kyle jump up and grab at his elbows. Luca Brassard, our team captain walks into the middle and shouts, “Knock it off and get your heads out of your asses. We’re here to play hockey, not have a fucking gossip session.” Kyle shrugs out of his captors’ holds and walks out of the locker room. I turn to grab my gloves off the bench and Garrett claps me on the shoulder. “You stood up for me, man. I think I’m going to cry.” Knocking his hand off my shoulder, I glare at him. “Shut the fuck up,” I say, but then I follow it with a grin. “You might make me cry.” We laugh all the way out onto the ice for our warm-up. *** She picks up after the first ring, as if she’s been waiting for my call, and that knowledge burns nicely right in the center of my chest. “You. Kicked. Ass. Tonight!” she yells so loudly, I have to hold the phone away from my ear. Yeah, I did kick ass. Two assists during regulation and I scored the tiebreaker in overtime, averting the need for a shootout. When the puck cleared the goalie’s left shoulder, I had my arms lifted in victory even before the red light went on. My teammates came hurtling out of nowhere, throwing their arms around me in celebration, the entire pile of us eventually crashing to the ice in a hodgepodge of arms, legs and hockey sticks. The smile on my face was a mile fucking wide, and I knew the camera was on me… showing Sutton that smile. I don’t even know what to say about her praise, actually a bit embarrassed by her exuberance. “You should have seen your face, Alex,” she murmurs into the phone. “After you scored that goal. It looked like the sun had just risen for you.” Her words punch me in the gut and my chest constricts. That’s exactly how it felt: like a brand-new sunrise, and I know that’s exactly what my face reflected. That she understood that…that she got me. That’s what punched me in the gut. “That’s about how I felt,” I admit to her. “It felt amazing.” “I’m glad,” she tells me sincerely. “Someone as amazing as you deserves to feel that way about yourself.” Wham!

Another punch…another painful squeeze to my chest. Is it supposed to hurt in this pleasurable way when someone shows care for you? I’m not sure, because this is all an unknown to me. “How is it that you make me feel so good about myself? About what I do? Christ, Sutton, I think I’ve smiled more in the short time I’ve known you than I have my entire life.” She’s quiet for a moment, and then she says, “I think I’ve smiled more than normal too since meeting you. It’s a two-way street.” I know it gets brighter in my room because her words make me fucking grin like an idiot. Settling back into the pillows on my bed, I say, “So…tell me about your day.” “It wasn’t as exciting as your day, that’s for sure. Actually…I have a difficult case…a young girl who’s really struggling to stay away from meth. Her parents are both addicts and the drug is within easy reach. I spent a lot of time talking to her today.” Whistling through my teeth, I say, “It’s just unfathomable to me, really. That parents would have that stuff in the house.” “Hell, her mom offered to do it with her,” she seethes into the phone. “What the hell? She needs to be removed from that home,” I growl into the phone. Sutton sighs wearily. “She turned eighteen a few months ago, and as an adult, she’s beyond the help of social services. All I can do is counsel her, urge her to stay strong. I’m trying to get her to join one of our support groups, but she’s resisting.” “Do you see this a lot?” I ask, not really wanting to know the answer I’m pretty sure is coming. “Unfortunately, I do. But I see a lot of happy endings too. I’ve been able to help some kids through.” I think of my own craptastic childhood with an alcoholic father who abused his son under the guise of teaching him to play hockey. Unfortunately, it wasn’t like anyone could see what was going on. My father’s abuse was varied but well played. He bruised me only where it wouldn’t show, and no one ever saw his brutal drills that went into the early morning hours and had me collapsing from exhaustion and dehydration. No, there was nothing classic that would raise a single teacher’s or coach’s eyebrow when it came to me. In fact, John Crossman put on such an affable attitude around others, no one would believe in a million years he would run his young son into the ground in order to develop him into a machine. What would I have done if I’d had a resource like Sutton when I was younger? Would I have listened to her advice? Her teachings? Would it have helped to have someone to vent to? To know there was someone who had my back? I have to think the answer is yes. I think I would have responded well to someone like Sutton, because let’s face it, I’m responding pretty fucking fantastically to her right now. “I have faith in you,” I tell her. “If anyone can reach her, it’s you.” “Yeah? Why so much faith in me?” she teases. “Because you reached this crusty bastard,” I tell her with a laugh. “You accomplished practically the impossible with me.” “You’re such a sweet talker.” “Yeah…so not a sweet talker, not normally. I guess you inspire the best in me.” She laughs softly into the phone and I want to immerse myself in the sound. I wonder if she laughs like that just with me—that smoky, rich sort of laugh that comes from a true delight deep down inside of a sexy-as-hell woman. It makes me remember something that I had pushed to the back of my mind, but now surfaces again.

“I’m curious,” I tell her, waiting until her laughter dies all the way down. “What ever happened to that date you went on when we first met?” I’m not sure what I expect her to say. Do I honestly think she’s going to say, I canceled it because I couldn’t think of anyone but you? Nice thought, but no, that’s not going to happen. She’s silent a moment before she answers, and I think I might have struck a bad nerve with her. I’m on the verge of telling her to forget I even asked, when she says, “The date was good…it was fine. I even had a second dinner with him, but it’s not going anywhere.” My interest is perked. “Why’s that?” “Because you came along,” she answers me honestly, and I can feel my head swell to epic proportions and fuck, my chest may even be puffing out a little. She continues on. “His name is Brandon and he was actually my boyfriend in college. We dated for almost four years and he broke up with me right before graduation.” Her words are matter-of-fact, no bitterness, no hurt. Yet rage starts to build inside of me on her behalf. “Why the fuck did he do that?” “Well, according to him, because he wanted to spread his love around a bit before he settled down with me.” “Are you serious?” I ask. “He actually told you that?” “Yeah…I mean, I kind of respected his honesty about it,” she says. “You know…he was painfully honest.” Painfully honest. A term that has been thrown about between Sutton and me numerous times. It’s something she respects, this I know. “Still had to hurt,” I take a guess. “Very much,” she says. “But I moved on. He contacted me out of the blue a few weeks ago and wanted to see me again. He’s ready to move forward with our relationship.” “So he expected you to just wait around for him?” “I don’t know what he expected,” she says with a sigh. “But I didn’t wait around. I went on with my life. Dated some but nothing serious.” “So what happened on those two dates?” I ask, my curiosity about to kill me, and depending on what Sutton says, I may want to kill this asswipe. “First date was fine—a lot of catching up. Second date, he made it clear he wanted to get back together.” “And what did you want?” “I wasn’t sure at the time,” she says in a murmur. “I really just wanted to try to be friends first and I was honest with him about it. Painfully so.” “Have you gotten any clarity on the matter since then?” “I believe so,” she says, and I can just imagine the quirk of her lips by the teasing tone in her voice. “Seems some hot hockey player has my attention now.” “Yeah? That’s ironic, because I’m sort of lusting after this hot drug counselor I met.” “Sounds like a match made in heaven,” she quips.

“I’m thinking it could be,” I agree, my mind turning dark with blistering hot images of what I would do to Sutton when we got around to trying to re-create heaven. “Seriously, though,” I continue on. “Is this guy still in the picture? Are you still interested in him?” I hold my breath for her answer because this guy could be a major threat. He has history with Sutton. I have two weeks. “It doesn’t matter,” Sutton says quickly. “I called him the other night and told him that I didn’t ever see us making it past friends and if he was harboring hope for something more, I needed to let him know that it was probably a waste of time. I told him that I didn’t want him trying to prove me wrong. I told him…” She drifts off, almost embarrassed to say what I think she’s getting ready to say. “Told him what?” I urge. “That I was seeing someone else. That I was very interested in someone else.” “And just so I’m clear on the matter, you are talking about me, right?” She laughs merrily into the phone, causing my smile to flare bright again. “Yes, I was talking about you.” “Can I see you after the game Saturday afternoon?” I ask her, completely changing the subject. “What did you have in mind?” she asks, her voice slightly husky and I know she’s thinking of something slightly indecent. “Well, I was thinking of taking you and your family out to dinner after the game. Then maybe we could do something…together.” “Like what, together?” she presses. “Hmm. I do have something specific in mind.” “Define specific,” she says, her voice light and breathy. “I think it might involve me putting my hands all over you,” I murmur, and I love the intake of her breath that is loud enough that I can hear it through our phone connection. She clears her throat. “Anything more specific than that?” A low laugh bubbles up in my throat. “You’ll just have to wait and see.” “I can’t wait,” she sighs with a bit of frustration that has my man card elevating from gold to platinum status. We talk for a bit more, a little of this and a little of that. We find we have a mutual love of B-rated horror movies and fried dill pickles. We are widely divergent in our musical tastes— she’s all hearts and sweet pop and I’m heavy metal and grunge. It is an easy agreement we make that whoever’s car we are driving in gets to pick the music. Which implies that we will be riding in each other’s cars in the future, and probably on more than one occasion. I’m not exactly sure what is happening here, but I suppose an outsider would say I’m developing a relationship with someone. My first. Sadly, my only, and I hope I don’t screw it up.

Chapter 14 Sutton “You seriously want to take the boys out with us?” I ask Alex for what I think may be the third time. “It’s a little too late to change my mind,” he says, looking in the rearview mirror of his Suburban to check on Glenn and his two friends in the backseat. “I’ve already invited them. I’m pretty sure they’d riot if I canceled.” Looking over my left shoulder, I can’t help but grin at Glenn and his two neighborhood buddies, Mickey and Tyrone. Glenn is sitting in the middle, wearing the Cold Fury jersey that Alex gave him. They are all three looking at the game programs they got when we arrived at the arena earlier this afternoon to watch Alex play. Alex had given me four tickets and the original idea had been to bring Glenn, Mom and JimDad. However, my parents backed out the minute they realized Glenn would be happier bringing two of his friends, a move that was sure to earn him cool points and bump up his street cred—especially since the tickets were given to him by Alex Crossman himself. Alex suggested that the boys and I take a cab to the game and he would shuttle us around after, an offer I was all too happy to take him up on—and Glenn and his buddies weren’t complaining either. Glenn glances up and catches me looking at him with what must be a dopey look on my face, because he shoots me back a toothy grin and actually winks at me. Rolling my eyes, I turn around and face forward. Turning slightly in my seat to face Alex, I take in the surety with which he is driving the huge SUV, his left wrist casually resting across the top of the steering wheel while he leans his elbow on the center console between us. His profile is as stunning as his front view—it’s a view that I don’t ever tire of looking at. “It was really nice to invite the kids. I hope it didn’t mess up whatever it was you had planned,” I tell him, turning back to look out the window. We had originally made plans to get something to eat with him after the game, but as soon as we were done eating, I figured we’d bring the kids back to Mom and JimDad’s house because Alex had teased me with the prospect of putting his hands all over me. Instead, Alex had leaned across the table and said, “You guys want to hang out with me and Sutton the rest of the day?” And of course, the boys screamed in excitement that they did. Yeah, that was the sweetest thing ever and all I could think was, Just great. How can he put his hands all over me with three kids tagging along? “It was no biggie. Didn’t change my plans any.” My head snaps over to his and he doesn’t miss my sudden movement. He glances at me, eyebrows raised in innocence and lips pursed in amusement. “Where are we going?” I ask with unbearable curiosity. Where is he taking us that the kids can tag

along and he can have his way with me? I must admit the suspense is killing me. He doesn’t answer but turns on his blinker as he slows to make a right-hand turn into the parking lot of the Cold Fury’s practice rink. I had learned during our first lunch date after I watched Alex’s practice session that this is actually a privately owned rink that is open all week for a variety of ice-related activities such as recreational league hockey and figure skating. Alex told me that it closes only when the Cold Fury need it to practice, although most often they practice in the team’s arena. The parking lot is only about half full and the boys are bouncing in excitement when they see where we are. “This is where you practice, right?” Mickey asks. “Sometimes,” Alex says as he opens the car door and I follow suit. Once we are all standing in front of Alex’s SUV, he asks, “Okay, everyone here know how to ice-skate?” Glenn, Tyrone and Mickey all nod their heads. I don’t know about the other two boys, but I know Glenn has been ice-skating at a small rink one of the local malls sets up at Christmastime. Alex turns to me and levels those blue eyes at me with seriousness. “And you?” Shaking my head, I say, “Sorry. Never been.” The light that overtakes Alex’s face with his smile almost blinds me, but I can’t contemplate it too long because he grabs my hand. Just before turning to pull me toward the front door of the rink, he leans toward me and murmurs, “That’s a shame. Guess I might have to put my hands on you to keep you from falling.” Incredulous, I turn to look at him as I nudge him in the ribs and whisper. “So that was your big plan to put your hands on me?” Shrugging his shoulders, Alex reaches for the front door. He opens it and the kids dart in under his arm, and then he motions me forward. Just before I step past him, he lowers his arm and stops my progress. His other hand reaches up and takes a lock of my hair that’s draping over my shoulder. Rubbing it between his fingers, he looks at my hair as if mesmerized, then slides his gaze to me. “That was my big plan, but trust me when I say I’ve thought of other ways too.” The tone of his voice is seductive, and a zap of electricity seems to course through my body, straight down to make my fingertips tingle. Alex even takes a step in closer to me, and bends down so we are almost nose-to-nose. “Have you thought of ways? Ways I would put my hands on you?” Swallowing hard, I can barely get the word out because my mouth has gone dry. “Yes.” “Good,” he says as he steps back and raises his arm so I can pass. “We’ll compare notes on that later.” My legs are so jelly-like from the words that Alex seduces me with, I have a feeling he’s going to have his work cut out trying to hold me upright on the ice. Somehow that doesn’t seem like a losing proposition to me. I follow Alex up to a large counter where a teenage boy is working. When he sees Alex walking toward him, his eyes get as large as saucers and he swallows hard. Alex pulls his wallet out of his jeans pocket and opens it up. “Two adults and three kids, and we’re all going to need skates.” We tell the boy our skate sizes and he about trips over his feet in his haste to get everything as quickly as possible. He rings the total cost and Alex pays him, winking at me as the boys grab their skates and run off to the benches in the lobby area to put them on. Taking his change, Alex turns away but the boy behind the counter says in a timid voice, “Um…Mr.

Crossman? Could I…?” His voice trails off as his eyes hit the floor. Alex is looking at him with his head cocked to the side curiously. “What’s up, bud?” The kid’s eyes pop back up over the reassurance in Alex’s voice and widen even farther. “Could I get your autograph?” “Sure thing,” he says as he steps back up to the counter and rewards the boy with a smile. Pushing paper and a pen to Alex, the kid is practically vibrating with energy as he waits for the autograph. When Alex pushes it back to him, the kid reverently holds it up and says, “Thanks, Mr. Crossman. You’re a lot nicer than a lot of people make you out to be.” I watch as something flickers across Alex’s face and I think it may be guilt…maybe even a bit of pain. His smile is a little dimmer when he nods at the kid, taking my hand and leading me over to the benches to put our skates on. Squeezing his hand, I ask, “Did that bother you?” “Nah,” Alex says, releasing my hand and sitting down on a bench. I plop down beside him. “Kid has it backward. I’m actually a lot meaner than what he just saw.” My heart tears open a little over the bitterness in Alex’s voice. “Don’t do that.” He turns to look at me in surprise. “Do what?” “Don’t fall into the mold that people put you in. You are only what you want to be. If you want to be nice, be nice. If you want to be mean, be mean. But don’t do it because anyone expects it of you. Do it for yourself.” Alex stares at me a long moment, then his hand comes up to grip me behind my neck. He squeezes gently but with enough effort to get my attention. “You’re seeing a softer side to me, Sutton, and I like that you like it. But don’t make the mistake of ever putting a coat of sugar on me. I’m a whole lot mean too. You’ve seen it once…I know you’ll see it again. I’m built that way.” Reaching up, my fingers curl around his wrist as he holds me by the neck. I don’t push him away but rather squeeze him to hold him in place. “Tell me, Alex, what exactly is this warning supposed to do? Scare me away? Provide me adequate notice so you don’t have guilt when you hurt me at some point?” Alex’s hands quickly migrate to grab my face and he pulls me in before I can even protest. He crushes his lips against mine, giving me a hard, quick kiss before pulling back. Resting his forehead against mine, he says, “I don’t want to scare you away. I’d come running after you. So yeah, I’m giving you warning so I can be the first to say ‘I told you so’ and so you know I’m a man who lives up to the expectations placed upon him.” “That’s a problem, then,” I tell him softly as I squeeze harder onto his wrist so he understands the urgency of what I’m saying. “Because I don’t have that expectation of you. In fact, I expect you to rise above it and prove yourself wrong.” Giving me a quick kiss on the forehead, Alex releases me and turns to start pulling on his skates. “You’re like the good little angel that sits on my shoulder telling me positive things and acting as my conscience.” “And that’s a bad thing?” I ask with a laugh as I kick my tennis shoes off. “Well, the corrupting little devil is usually dressed in a really sexy outfit and that is so much nicer to imagine.” Snorting, I pull on the first skate and start to tighten the laces. “I can be corrupting too, you know. I have

layers.” “I look forward to peeling them away, then,” Alex says as he leans over, placing his lips near my ears. Those words come out in a low growl and cause goose bumps to break out all over my skin. Whether I’m any good at ice-skating or not is irrelevant. I already plan to be clumsy and try to fall as many times as possible just so Alex can put his hands all over me. *** Alex pulls into my driveway and kills the engine. It was a quiet ride from my parents’ house where we had just dropped off Glenn and his friends. Without a word he gets out of the driver’s seat and walks around to my side. My heart is thrumming wildly within my chest because I’m thinking Alex is going to make good on his threat to put his hands all over me some more. He certainly did so at the ice rink, but his touches were gentle and chaste, suitable for public display. It may have been just holding my elbow to guide me around the ice, or swiftly grabbing me around my waist if I started to fall. Once, he even took both my hands in his and skated backward, leading me around the ice. I made the mistake of getting sucked into his cobalt gaze and lost my footing more than once, so he needed to wrap his arms around me to prevent a spill to the ice. But those touches left me aching and needful because I knew that whatever it was that Alex was showing me now would be only a fraction of what he could show me when we were alone. My door opens and Alex holds his hand out and I take it. He walks me across my sidewalk and up my porch, where I notice that my light to the right of my door is burned out. It causes the light on the left to cast dark shadows across half the doorway. As I reach the top step, Alex releases my hand and I move in front of him to unlock my door. I’m so nervous now my hands are shaking, and it’s a miracle I pull my keys out of my purse on the first attempt. Just as I’m about to insert my key into the lock, I feel Alex step up right behind me, and my hand shakes harder. He steps in even closer and places his hands on the door, palms flat and just to either side of my head, effectively caging me in. We’re not touching anywhere but I’m profoundly aware of everything. Heat radiates off of him and the subtle smell of freshness from his body wash hits my nose. I can practically feel the planes of his chest and abdomen touching my back, even though there is still a void between us. Alex doesn’t move, doesn’t say a word, and his stillness causes my pulse to slam harder, my imagination to kick into overdrive. Will he be soft or demanding of me? As if sensing my need for some type of answer, he steps in closer until his chest is whispering against my shoulder blades. The contact causes a shiver to run through me, and I know he can feel my reaction because he lets out a gust of breath against the back of my head. Ever so softly and still so very silently, he drops his right hand from the doorway. With utter assurance and no second-guessing how much I’m willing to give him, he slips his fingers up under the hem of my shirt, skimming over the waistband of my jeans until his palm rests flat and so very hot against my stomach. Another shiver runs through me, and my breath releases through my teeth in a shaky pant. Alex gently pushes against my stomach, forcing me backward until my entire backside rests against the front of him. Now I can feel every single detail of his body, from the thick cut of his pectoral muscles, to his iron-hard stomach, all the way down to the erection that is now pressing into my lower back. Alex lets

out a soft groan when our bodies touch. The minute I feel his hardness and I understand just how much this magnificent man wants me, I become completely overwhelmed with lust and desire. My head falls back against his chest and I whisper, “Oh God.” I wait…poised for Alex to make a sudden move. The sexual tension between us is so thick, it’s almost suffocating. I feel tight like a stretched rubber band, poised to snap at the first movement he makes. It’s a moment when two people might launch themselves at each other in a fury of lust and pulsing need. But rather than a frenzied attack to release the pressure that seems to have built to straining proportions, Alex leans his head down to the side of my own, placing his lips just near my chin. He then does nothing more than pull backward, running his lips and the stubble of his own chin along my jawline, deliciously scratching my skin. When his lips reach just below my ear, he presses a light kiss there. Left palm still lying flat against my door, he presses on my stomach lightly with his other hand, pushing me back just a fraction harder onto his erection. Pressing another kiss to my jaw, he moves his lips to my ear and says softly, “Good night, Sutton. I had a great time with you today.” Before I can even process his words, Alex releases his hold on me and steps back. I turn quickly to face him, almost reaching out with my hands to grab hold and draw him back. He’s staring at me with heated eyes but a soft smile. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” he says, taking one step down off my porch while keeping his eyes pinned to mine. “Now get inside and lock the door behind you.” “But…I don’t…” I falter for the right words, because I’m so completely stunned that he’s leaving after practically giving me an orgasm with just his hand on my belly. “Did I do something wrong?” Alex’s body actually jerks and his eyebrows shoot up quickly. With a soft smile, he steps back onto the porch and walks up to me, taking my face in his hands. Focusing on my gaze, he stares hard at me, making sure I’m looking at him and listening to what he’s getting ready to say. “You are doing everything right, baby,” he tells me and plants a soft kiss on my forehead. “But why are you leaving…I thought you wanted…I mean, I just assumed you felt the same…” My words stutter and falter, and I have never been so confused or tongue-tied in my life. Bending down and holding my face firmly, Alex pulls my face to his and he gives me a swift kiss with an open mouth, pushing his tongue roughly against mine. He kisses me deeply, darkly, and my muscles clench across my entire body. When he pulls back, his eyes are dark, appearing almost black in the shadows. “I want to fuck you so bad I physically ache, Sutton. It actually hurts. But I’ve always given in to my base desires, and slaked my lust without a care in the world as to who I was with or how fast and hard I’d give it to her. I don’t want that with you. I want something more.” “And what’s that?” I murmur. “I want a connection,” he tells me, and his voice holds such longing, I know that when I look back on this moment later in life, it will be a defining moment because it’s when I decided that my heart had already become deeply involved with Alex Crossman. “We have a connection already,” I point out, still wanting him to come inside my house with me so we can make love. And the hard and fast thing he mentioned before also sounds quite good to me. I’m sure we have time for both. Pressing a kiss to my forehead one more time, Alex releases me and trots down my porch steps. When

he gets to the bottom, he shoots me a grin. “Yes, we do have a connection. And after tonight…it got even deeper.” A feeling close to euphoria flutters through me over his proclamation and I can’t help but return his smile. “It did, didn’t it?” “Yup. Call you tomorrow, okay?” “Okay.” I just stand there staring at him, and he returns my gaze. Then he points at my door. “Inside. Now. Lock the doors.” Rolling my eyes, I turn away from him and unlock my door. I give him a brief glance before shutting my door, but not before I see him give me a wink. Then he’s gone.

Chapter 15 Alex Twelve…thirteen…fourteen…fifteen. I mentally count my reps, pushing out a harsh breath every time I complete one. I increased my weight today for the bench press and I strain mightily to get the last one finished. Garrett’s face leans over into my field of vision and he gives me a toothy grin. “Nice job,” he says as he helps to guide the weighted bar up the last few inches and back onto the cradle. Sitting up to straddle the bench, I reach down to the side and grab my towel and water bottle. “Thanks. That last one about killed me. Good thing you were standing there or I probably would have strangled myself.” “Plenty of people would pay to see that,” he jokes, and I can’t help but snicker. Garrett’s new mission in life is to bust my chops over my bad attitude, telling me once that he just didn’t understand it. He found me to be as warm and fuzzy as a baby bunny. Standing from the bench, I take a large swig of water and wipe my face. Today’s workout was brutally long, and what made it even worse was that all I could think about was the fact I was taking Sutton out to lunch today and I’d be seeing her in about two hours. A grown man, especially one as cynical as me, shouldn’t feel this giddy over a woman, but there you have it. I’m turning into a pussy. Garrett follows me back to the locker room. “What are your plans the rest of the day? Want to go grab a few beers and pick up some women?” Arching an eyebrow at him, I say, “Don’t you ever do anything but party and chase women? It’s freaking only ten in the morning.” “I’m a simple man,” Garrett says with a shrug of his shoulders. “It doesn’t take much to amuse me.” I laugh, because he’s not joking. He is simple in his tastes and pursuits, and sometimes I envy the ease with which he confronts life. “Well, I have to pass. I’ve got lunch plans.” “With?” he asks in a long-drawn-out sort of way. I don’t answer but open my locker and pull out my shower gear. “Man…you’re going out with Sutton again. Didn’t you just see her yesterday after the game?” “Yup. Getting ready to see her again for lunch. Got a problem with it?” Garrett knows about Sutton. He started pumping me for information after that practice session she came to, because he all too clearly noticed me noticing her. Much to my surprise, I’ve told him a little bit about her. He’s teased me about it relentlessly, mainly because he doesn’t understand the concept of developing a bond with someone. Neither do I for that matter, and while I have no misconceptions that Garrett is going to provide me

with sound advice—because let’s face it, he knows dick about relationships—it’s nice to at least give a voice to my feelings. “No problem, dude,” Garrett says with a laugh as he pulls his own shower gear out of his locker. “She’s smokin’ hot. I’d try to tap that too. You are trying to tap that, right?” “Fuck off,” I growl at him, which is basically admitting that yeah, I am so trying to tap that. Why in the hell I walked away from her last night is beyond me, and my perpetual case of blue balls has me questioning my sanity. And while I wanted nothing more than to take her up against the door last night, there was something about having her shiver in my arms just from grazing my lips along her jaw that had me backing off. It made me want to prolong the way this seduction is playing out. It’s not just me seducing her, though. She’s completely seducing me, and she has no fucking clue she’s even doing it. Since this is the first time in my life I’ve ever experienced something like this, I want to savor the feeling. I want to commit it to memory, because I’m bound and determined to fuck it up somehow. This is all probably too good to be a long-term reality for someone like me. Taking my iPhone out, I turn it on to do a quick check of my messages. I immediately see a text from Sutton and my heart sinks a little. Have to cancel lunch. Emergency with one of my kids. OD. Have to go to hospital. I stare at the message, contemplating how to respond. A terrible feeling of worry for Sutton rolls through me and I feel lost. I have no clue what to do, what to say. The way I’ve come to know Sutton over the last few weeks, I know that she is probably overwhelmed with concern for this kid and probably scared shitless. And there’s probably not a damn thing I can do about it. “Something wrong?” Garrett asks. Turning to look at him, I say, “Sutton had to cancel. Looks like one of her kids overdosed so she has to go to the hospital.” “Damn. That sucks. She has a tough job,” he commiserates over his shoulder as he heads into the nearest shower stall. I absently nod and send her back a text. What hospital? I can come there. I wait a few moments for a response but nothing comes through. I see her original text was sent not long ago so she’s probably driving. Putting my iPhone back, I decide not to worry about it for the moment and head into a shower. *** Checking my watch for what may be the hundredth time in the past hour, I peer down Sutton’s street, looking for some sign of her car. I’ve been sitting on her front porch step for about an hour, hoping she’ll come home at some point. She and I were texting back and forth for a few hours, but now I haven’t heard from her in several hours. It’s getting dark and I’m getting worried. Darkness I can handle. The worried part is a feeling I can definitely say I do not like. I have no clue why Sutton hasn’t texted me back. I learned that the kid who overdosed was stable and that Sutton would be staying awhile so she could talk to her. She hoped to be home around dinnertime, but that was the last message I got from her. After a few texts to her to ask if I could see her tonight—because again worried

about her and want to make sure she’s okay—I gave up after she didn’t respond to the fourth one and just decided to stalk her house instead. A car engine purrs in the distance and I can see headlights approaching. Standing up from the bottom porch step, I walk down to her sidewalk to get a better look. When a white Audi sports car comes into my field of vision, my heart slumps because I know that is definitely not Sutton’s bucket of bolts. Rather than pass on by, the white car pulls into Sutton’s driveway, but with the headlights on and dusk waning into night, I can’t tell who’s in the car. I don’t have to wait long because the driver’s door opens and a guy gets out. He has short brown hair and he’s neatly pressed in khaki pants and a pink button-down shirt. Rounding the front of the car, he walks toward me on the sidewalk. “Can I help you?” I ask, intent on asserting my position on Sutton’s doorstep. “Is Sutton here? I need to talk to her,” the man says casually as he approaches me. Once he steps into the yellow glow of the porch light, he can finally see me clearly and he says, “Holy shit—you’re Alex Crossman.” “Last I heard,” I respond dryly. “And you are?” The guy gives me a huge grin and leans forward, sticking his hand out to me. “I’m Brandon James. Sutton’s boyfriend.” My teeth clench even as I take his hand to shake, and before I can even address the fact that he has asserted himself as Sutton’s boyfriend, he rambles on. “Well, actually ex-boyfriend, but we’ve reconnected and I’m hoping to make something click again. I just…I can’t believe I’m standing here talking to Alex Crossman. Sutton told me she was working on some type of project with you, right?” I start to tell him I’m here on personal business but he doesn’t give me an opening. Moving at lightning speed and before I can protect myself, the douche jumps toward me, pulling his cell phone out of his pocket. “Hey…I got to get a picture of me with you.” Before I can protest, he slings an arm onto my shoulder and attempts to pull me down toward him, holding his arm outstretched with phone in hand. “Selfie!” he yells just as the flash goes off, and I want to strangle the dude. I would, if I could in fact see, but the damn flash has me temporarily blinded. Blinking a few times, I stare at Brandon as he admires the photo. His mouth turns downward and he practically whines, “Shit. Top of your head got cut off. You’re tall man, really tall. Next one, if you can lean down a little…” Brandon moves toward me, intent on roping me into another selfie. I stick my hand out in self-defense and if he doesn’t stop, I’m going to hip check him into the concrete. Luckily for him, I hear Sutton’s car coming down the street, chugging and sputtering along. Because Brandon’s car is in the driveway, she pulls along the curb and cuts the engine. It wheezes and whines, sputters and even coughs once before it goes silent. Then she’s out of the car and stalking across the grass toward both of us. She looks pissed and I don’t know who it’s directed at. “Hey, baby,” Brandon says genially, pointing at me. “Look who’s here…Alex Crossman. Can you believe it? We were just getting ready to do another selfie.” Sutton slides a glance my way and the tension inside of me eases a bit because in just that brief glance, I actually see apology in her eyes.

Turning back to Brandon, Sutton is calm when she asks, “What are you doing here, Brandon?” Sauntering up to her, completely forgetting his selfie with me, for which I’m grateful, he says in a placating tone, “I thought we could hang out…maybe you could even make your tuna casserole. I love that stuff. Then we can talk.” Sighing with fatigue, Sutton places her hands on her hips. “I told you on the phone that I had a rough day today and tonight wasn’t a good time.” Interesting. They talked on the phone today? “Yeah…but I figured we could just chill…that would be a great way to relax after a hard day,” he says, giving me a sideways glance. I’m not sure exactly what sets Sutton off, but I’m betting it might be the fact he asked her to cook dinner for him when she was clearly exhausted. Her face turns red as she walks up to him and pokes him in the chest with her finger, causing him to take a step backward as his eyes flare with surprise. “You can’t be that moronic,” she seethes. “I’ve been in a hospital all day hoping one of my kids doesn’t die because she took a lethal dose of meth, and I come home to find you waiting for me after I explicitly told you I was not in the mood to see you, and on top of that, you want me to cook you dinner, which does not sound in the slightest bit relaxing to me. It’s utter ridiculousness. Now…I’m tired, I’m hungry and I’m going in my house…without you.” Brandon’s jaw drops and his lips purse inward and out again, not quite sure if he should say anything. But Sutton doesn’t see that because she spins away from him and starts stalking up to her house. She doesn’t even spare me a glance but calls out over her shoulder, “Are you coming, Alex? We can order some Chinese. I’m starving.” Staring after her just a moment, I admire the strength still evident in her step, even though she looks like a feather could knock her over. I’m completely turned on by the steel rod that is her spine and the way she just stood up to Brandon. I resist the urge to do a football dance of victory around Brandon because I just got invited inside while he got sent packing. “He can come in but I can’t?” Brandon calls out to her pathetically. Sutton doesn’t even respond but opens her door and walks in, leaving it open for me to follow. Turning to Brandon, I try to look sympathetic. “Sorry, dude. But word of advice: Next time a woman tells you she’s tired and had a rough day, I’d try to refrain from asking her to cook for you.” Staring at me blankly, his lips purse in and out again, not quite able to formulate a response. Shrugging my shoulders, I turn away and trot up the porch steps and walk through her door, shutting it quietly behind me. I don’t see her and assume she may be in her bedroom getting changed, but I hear the satisfying sound of Brandon’s Audi starting up and backing out of her driveway. “Make yourself at home,” Sutton calls out from the back of the small house. “I’m going to grab a quick shower.” “Okay,” I call back to her. Spying her car keys on a small table near the door, I add on, “I’m going to move your car into the driveway.” “Be gentle with her. She’s an old soul,” she warns me. Snickering, I head out the door and move her bucket of rust off the street and into the safety of her driveway. I lock her doors, although I’m quite confident no one would steal it, and head back inside her house. I can hear the shower running, so I busy myself by looking around her small living room. Sutton’s house is a contradiction. It’s small and in a shabby neighborhood not too far from downtown

Raleigh. It needs some work, especially on the outside, but once you walk in, you can see she has put some real effort into fixing it up. Her living room has hardwood floors that have some scratches and dents, but they are clean and gleaming under the soft lamplight. Her couch is soft and cozy-looking, in a large flower print of butter yellow and pale blue. Definitely girly and so not my taste, but for some reason it fits Sutton. A large, shaggy area rug sits in the middle and plain but sturdy oak tables finish the decor. What really catches my attention, though, is her mantel. It sits over a fireplace that doesn’t look like it’s been used for years, but it’s crammed full of family pictures. Walking up to it, I study each picture one by one. They are of Sutton and her family. Some with Sutton and Glenn together, or just Sutton and her mom. There’s one of Sutton and Jim where it looks like Sutton is dressed for the prom or something. And there are several with all of them together, including a few of Sutton with some friends that look like they could have been taken in college. The photographs all come together to tell the story of a woman who has a very happy and healthy family life, which is amazing given that she is the child of an addict and an abuser. She has strength and resilience that cause me to marvel at her, and it’s one of the reasons that she has me captivated. “Admiring the craziness of the Murdock family?” Sutton’s voice carries softly from behind. I turn toward her, intent on letting her know her family’s brand of craziness is actually pretty fucking awesome. But the words get stuck in my throat. Sutton is standing there, fresh out of her shower. Her hair is pinned on top of her head in a wavy mass of fire-tinged locks, slightly damp around her temples and nape. She’s wearing nothing but a white silk robe that is tightly belted at her waist and barely hits the top of her thighs. This state of dress in and of itself isn’t necessarily enough to cause desire to surge through me, but the fact that she put the robe on while soaking wet, causing it to become practically transparent, has me almost dizzy with lust. The translucent material leaves nothing to the imagination. I can clearly see her breasts, which are fuller than I originally gave her credit for, and her pink nipples are puckered hard against the cool air of her living room. My dick starts to get hard just from a brief glance, and gets even harder as she walks toward me and I notice her breasts swaying against the thin material. Eyes hot with something I can’t identify, she walks by me and over to her purse that sits on the small table by the front door. Reaching in, she pulls out a small box and turns toward me, tossing it my way. I fumble to make the catch, bobbling the box a bit, but when my hands steady, I notice with surprise I’m holding a box of condoms. My eyes rise to meet hers and she stares at me steadily. While she seems poised, I can sense an urgency vibrating through her. “I had a really bad day,” she starts off, her voice softly washing over me. “And I’d really like to not think about it. I had intended to call you when I got home…ask you to come over, so imagine my surprise when I found you waiting here for me.” She steps in toward me and the scent of orange blossoms fills the air. I imagine she has slathered her skin with some type of silky lotion that is now permeating the air around me, and my fingers literally itch to touch her. She reaches toward the box I’m holding loosely in my hand and runs a fingertip gently across the glossy surface while she stares at it. “I stopped at the store on the way home…picked these up. This isn’t something I would normally do,” she says softly and I hear some nervousness in her voice that is contradicting the surety of her words. “I

think you know that about me and I hope you don’t think less of me. But I would just really, really like to not think about today and I would really, really like to take this to the next level with you.” Lifting her eyes to meet mine, she takes a step in closer and my cock gets harder yet. She practically purrs at me. “Are you going to help me forget about today, Alex?” Yearning such as I have never felt before in my life flashes molten in my veins and I have the vicious urge to throw her to the floor and pound my way inside of her. She has no clue the monster that she’s awakened inside of me. “Sutton,” I growl in warning, hoping (not really) that she’ll back away from me before I lose all semblance of control. She pays me no mind and takes a last step toward me, the hand that was stroking the box of condoms now wrapping around my wrist. She pushes my arm away and mashes her breasts into my body. A shudder of need rumbles through me and I close my eyes so I can’t see the plaintive look in her eyes. But her voice still carries strong. “Please. Help me forget today.” Releasing my pent-up breath slowly, I open my eyes and bring my free hand up to wrap around her waist. Pulling her in until my erection is pressing into her stomach, I look down at her. “You’re sure?” Nodding her head, she says, “I’m sure. And don’t be soft and sweet with me. Really make me forget today.”

Chapter 16 Sutton I know this boldness is stemming from the really crappy and stressful day I’ve had, but I know I want Alex more than I’ve ever wanted another man. He’s been taking his time with me because he wants to develop our “connection.” Well, the connection is developed. Done. Complete. I realized that the minute I pulled up to the curb by my house and saw both Brandon and Alex standing at the bottom of my porch. Immediate annoyance flashed through me when I saw Brandon. But Alex? An array of emotions and feelings overwhelmed me. Excitement, lust, tenderness, happiness, fear. Yes, even the fear I felt caused my skin to tingle in a delicious way, because I knew that after tonight, things were going to change between us. I knew that the rash decision I had made to pick up some condoms on the way home was probably the best decision I had made in a while, but it didn’t stop me from being a little scared about trying to seduce Alex into my bed. This was a first for me and I hope I didn’t make a fool out of myself. I really hope I didn’t make a fool of myself because I have to admit I did like the power I held while making my desires known to Alex. I truly wanted to forget the horrendous nature of today. Of watching Mara lying in a hospital bed, with pale skin and bruised shadows under her eyes. I hated seeing the self-loathing in her gaze when she first opened her eyes to look at me, just before turning her head away to stare blankly at the wall. I’m losing her…I can feel it, and I need something to scrub away the grit of hopelessness I’m feeling. I need Alex. His arm is strong and sure as he holds me pinned up against his body. I can feel his thickness hot against me, jerking every so often in anticipation of what’s coming. His eyes are dark as they stare down at me, and I feel a small measure of confident power that I created that look of need on his face right now. Leaning his head down, his eyes search mine for a brief moment before he closes the gap and brushes his lips against mine. I sigh, not in contentment, but a bit in frustration because I want more…more than just the slight touch he’s giving me now. Opening my mouth, I press in on him, slipping my tongue in his mouth. Alex drops the box of condoms to the floor and palms the back of my head. He holds me in place as we kiss, his mouth moving so softly against mine. His tongue moves in languid strokes, going ever so deliberately. It causes me even greater frustration and I involuntarily grind against him to spur him on. It doesn’t work, though, because he just continues to kiss me with lazy abandon, not in a rush to go further. Alex moves his lips from mine, skimming them across my jaw and down to my neck, causing my fingers to grab on to and curl tightly into the fabric of his shirt.

“Not like that,” I complain as I push against his chest, frustrated by the whisper-soft touches against my skin. I want—no, I need—more. Laying a last kiss against my neck before pulling back, Alex looks down at me, his face deadly serious with question. “How, then?” “Not soft. Rougher,” I whisper. “Faster. Just…more.” The groan that seeps out of Alex as he comprehends what I’m saying causes all of my low-lying muscles to clench violently. I expect him to kiss me now with a ferociousness that matches the look that’s on his face at this moment. His teeth are gritted but his gaze is filled with boiling lust. A small, triumphant smile starts to form on my lips, and I get ready for the onslaught of his lips. I’m ready to give it back to him just as hard. Instead, Alex drops his hand from the back of my head and with a speed that leaves me blinking in astonishment, he brings it down between my legs. Brushing right past the short hem of my robe, he pushes the palm of his hand against me roughly while his index finger enters smoothly because I’m soaked with need. My head falls back and my eyes roll upward before fluttering closed as I feel the sensation of what he’s doing to me. “Christ,” Alex growls as he pulls his finger out and then pushes two back inside my slickness. I can’t even respond; a guttural sound pours out of me while my hips flex against his hand. “Is that what you wanted?” he pants as he wraps his other arm around me even tighter, his fingers moving in and out of me in a not-so-gentle way. “Yes,” I cry out when his fingers curl inward, massaging a spot inside of me that I had read about once, but figured mine got misplaced or something. Now I know it exists. “Please tell me to slow down, Sutton,” he begs me softly, but I can tell by the tone of his voice, he wants it this way—wild, crazy, out of control—just as much as I do. “No,” I deny his request, feeling my blood racing in response to the movement of his hand against me. “I need more. Want more.” Alex finally kisses me, grinding his lips against me roughly as he pumps his fingers between my legs. I can feel the rumblings of an orgasm and this causes me some dismay because I’m not ready to let go of this feeling just yet. I need to see Alex just a bit more out of control with me. “Alex,” I beg as I grip onto his biceps…but I’m not sure what I’m begging for. Tearing his lips from mine, he stares down at me. “What? What do you need?” I can’t answer, because his fingers never stop moving, never stop pushing and pulling against me, causing my head to spin and my blood to rage. “Want me to fuck you now?” he asks, his voice sounding so dangerous that I almost climax just from the sexy timbre. “God, yes,” I say quickly and I finally reach out so I can touch that part of him that I want inside of me desperately. My hand wedges down in between us, my fingers wrapping roughly around his erection through the denim material. It’s huge in my hand and I can’t wait to feel it inside of me. I need to feel it inside of me. Pushing my other hand in between our bodies, I start to work at his belt buckle but I can’t seem to get my coordination down. The sound of our harsh breathing fills the air, adding to the excitement and intensity of the moment.

After just a few seconds of futile fumbling, Alex pulls his fingers out of me and pushes me away. Stunned, I look at him but he’s already bending over and grabbing the box of condoms. His hands are sure and steady whereas mine are shaking. He makes short work of opening the box and pulling a foil packet out. Thrusting the condom into my hands, he starts to unbuckle his belt. I don’t move but just watch him as he whips the belt out of the loops around his jeans and unbuttons them. My chest is heaving up and down, my breath coming in desperate pants. “Open the condom,” he commands me gruffly. I blink hard, then start tearing at the foil, my fingers slipping twice before I get it open. Looking back at Alex, I see he has his jeans opened and is pushing them down his hips until his cock is freed. He grasps it in hand and starts stroking himself, but he’s already hard and deliciously engorged. I stare at him, fascinated to watch the way he touches himself. He’s utterly beautiful in his masturbation and a shudder ripples through me at the sight. “Put it on me,” Alex demands and my eyes flick briefly up to his. His expression is fierce, his eyes glittering with desire. My own lust roils thickly and I already feel on the verge of exploding. I hate to admit it, but the way in which he is taking control is just as thrilling as the touch of his fingers inside of me just moments ago. As he steps forward, Alex’s hand falls away and I easily roll the condom on, my hands only slightly shaking as I make contact with the heat of the silky skin of his shaft, and hear the moan that he lets out. “Arms around my neck,” Alex tells me softly, but with no less authority than he has used before. I don’t even hesitate, and the minute my arms wind around his neck, he reaches down with his hands and grips my naked ass, hauling me up his body. I wrap my legs around him and feel the hot press of his erection between my legs. I have no clue what Alex intends to do with me but it doesn’t matter because my thoughts scatter as he attacks my mouth with his own. He tilts his head to angle in perfectly, and his mouth covers mine, his tongue taking complete possession. Our soft moans fill the air and I’m vaguely aware of Alex walking; then my back is pressed against my front door. His fingers dig into the muscles of my butt, one hand sliding lower to graze his fingers against my wetness— which causes me to cry out with more frustration. My hips tilt back and forth, rubbing myself against Alex’s cock in a frenzy, eager to get him inside of me. Pushing me into the door, Alex uses one hand to adjust himself and dips his pelvis slightly until he’s lined up perfectly. He takes a moment and his lips go still against me. His forehead falls forward until it’s touching mine and a harsh breath blows out of his mouth across my lips. Then he flexes forward and pushes into me in one burst of motion, all the way to the hilt…so very deep. The groan that Alex releases speaks of a hunger that’s about to get satisfied in a brutally fast way. I moan long and low, a tightening twinge of pleasure spreading from between my legs and snaking its way up my spine. I won’t last long…just a few moves from Alex and I’ll be finished. “God, Sutton…you feel so fucking good,” he whispers, his forehead still resting against mine. I respond by clenching my muscles around his dick and rotating my pelvis to grind down on him. “Shit,” he grates out, answering me by pulling out and slamming back into me, causing the door to shudder. “Oh, Alex,” I moan, because I think that was just the best feeling in the entire world. “Do it again.”

“I’m going to fuck you so hard,” he warns me. Nodding my head, I reiterate, “I told you I wanted harder.” Alex lifts his forehead and stares at me somberly for a moment. “We’ll try soft and sweet later, okay?” “Okay,” I agree breathlessly, just as eager to see him that way. But he doesn’t move, still staring at me. “There’s going to be a later, right?” My brows furrow in, surprised by this vulnerability I’m seeing from Alex, especially coming on the heels of his promise to “fuck me so hard” just moments ago. Uncoiling one of my arms from around his neck, I touch his cheek with my fingertips. “Yes, there will be a later. A lot of laters, I hope.” He rewards me with a smile that is relieved and grateful, but then is immediately replaced with carnal determination. “Then hang on.” I loop my arm back around Alex’s neck, using the leverage to pull myself up just as he draws backward. I come down just as he pushes back into me, creating delicious friction between our bodies. Alex pulls back with a sigh and surges forward with a grunt—over and over again. My own breath is forced from my chest every time he pounds into my body, causing my pulse to speed up. He’s hitting me so very deep and I feel light-headed from the fog of passion permeating the air. The sounds of our hard fucking are sinfully dirty, only adding to the excitement and fueling us on to go harder…faster…deeper. The door is rattling, our skin is slapping. Alex is groaning from deep within his chest, and he’s slamming into me so forcefully at times, I’m starting to make little mewling noises because it feels so good. A droplet of sweat rolls off of Alex’s temple and drops down to my upper chest, which is still gracefully covered by my robe. It scorches me, and my legs squeeze tighter around him as he tunnels into me deeper and deeper. Like an avalanche rumbling down an unsuspecting mountain, my orgasm starts right at that spot that his cock is hitting inside of me, then bursts outward in a cataclysmic explosion that catches me off guard. I have no choice. I cannot stop myself from screaming Alex’s name because this is the most intense pleasure I have ever experienced in my life. Whether Alex was just ready or he was excited by me calling out his name, he slams into me one more time, hitting me at the deepest point imaginable, and buries his face into the crook of my neck. “I’m coming,” he groans, and then he pulls back and slams forward again with a grunt. “Fu-u-u-ck.” I can feel him flex his hips inward as he orgasms, a shudder of ecstasy cascading through his body. He pumps in and out of me a few more times, the friction causing microbursts of pleasure to course through me. When he finally goes still, I become overwhelmed with emotion. This was utterly perfect. The most uniquely thrilling moment of my life. I have never felt so good and I wonder if this will ever be replicated. Alex gave me exactly what I asked for. Exactly what I needed. And without an ounce of shame, I realize I want more from him. Tightening his grip under my butt, Alex nuzzles against my neck and I can feel him pulse inside of me again. “Are you okay?” “Mmm-hmm,” I reply as I sift my fingers through his hair and arch my back. “That was amazing.”

Pulling his face back, he looks down at me, still keeping me pinned to the door. His eyes are curious and warm. “Was that what you needed?” “Mmm-hmm.” Leaning in to kiss me softly, he asks, “Can you say anything other than ‘Mmm-hmm’?” “I’m hungry,” I murmur against his lips. “Chinese?” “Mmm-hmm.” When Alex pulls out of me and sets me down, I keenly feel the loss of his warmth inside of me, and it makes me sad. My legs feel like jelly, so I just lean back against the door as I watch him pull the condom off and knot the end. “Bathroom’s first door on the left,” I tell him, pointing down the hall as I watch him pull up his jeans with his free hand. “I’ll order the food.” He gives me a soft smile and nods. Just before he starts down the hallway, he turns to me. “Then you can tell me about your day?” “Sure,” I say softly. Although not that long ago I wanted nothing but to purge the memories of today into a black hole of forgetfulness, I have an overwhelming desire to share my misery with Alex. I feel a need—almost painful in nature—to seek comfort from him. Something more than just hard and sweaty sex. I need to hear his voice, and maybe have his arms wrapped around me, while I tell him all about Mara and how useless I feel right now. *** Long after Alex fucked me up against my front door, and long after we stuffed ourselves with cold sesame noodles and fried rice while sitting on my living room rug, eating our meal from my coffee table, and only after Alex pushed me down to said living room floor and took me in a frenzy again, do I finally tell him about what happened with Mara. He pulls me up from the floor and into his arms, walking me back to my bedroom, where we crawl into my bed and pull the covers up snugly around us. He holds me while I share with him the details of Mara’s overdose. Alex doesn’t say a word while I talk but just strokes my back with his fingers and every so often grazes his lips against my temple. When I admit with no small amount of shame that I’m terrified I’m going to lose Mara, and that I am doubting my own abilities as a counselor, Alex takes his fingers and places them against my lips to silence my words. “Don’t,” he says quietly. “Don’t doubt yourself…not for a minute.” Turning my head to the side to dislodge his fingers from my mouth, I argue, “But I don’t think I can reach her. You should have seen her in the hospital. She wouldn’t even look at me. Wouldn’t talk to me.” “Some people don’t want to be reached. Some people love the misery.” “No,” I deny adamantly. “She doesn’t love misery. She hates what the drugs have done to her parents.” Leaning down, Alex kisses me softly. “But she took the drugs to avoid the misery. And she loved how the drugs made her feel. I imagine it’s going to be hard to reach her right now. She’s tried them twice… both times she didn’t die but experienced escape from her misery. I’m not sure there’s anything you could

say to her, Sutton, that will get her to stop. You’re just going to have to keep plugging away with her, and hope that you will eventually get through.” I let my gaze slide to the left and stare at the moon filtering through my window. Alex is right…I have to keep pushing at her and pray to God that she will be careful. “Let’s try to get some sleep,” Alex says as he continues to stroke my back. “I have to get up early to meet Garrett at the gym.” “Okay,” I whisper, wiggling in tighter to him as I wrap my arm securely around his waist. I listen to the sounds of our breathing even out and grow more measured. Just as my eyes start to droop, I hear Alex say, “Sutton?” “Yeah?” “You reached me. When no one else ever has.” My eyes pop wide open and my heartbeat skips erratically over his words. They are meant as a means of bolstering my confidence, because Alex Crossman by admitted history has some dark demons in his closet. I have no clue what they are because he hasn’t shared them, but I do know that they have shaped the person he used to be. And I do know that he’s apparently not the same person he was before we met. Tilting my head slightly, I bring my lips to the skin on his chest and give him a kiss. “Thank you,” I tell him with a smile on my face. He squeezes me tightly and then I close my eyes and drift off to sleep.

Chapter 17 Alex “This is starting to become a habit,” Sutton pouts but she doesn’t sound in the least bit perturbed. “It’s a good habit, don’t you think?” “Oh, yeah. I’m all for making this a permanent habit.” We’re sitting on the floor of my living room, eating delivery pizza from my coffee table. Sutton is wearing one of my T-shirts and nothing else. I hastily threw on a pair of workout shorts when the pizza dude rang the doorbell. I had intended to cook dinner for her tonight, something I’ve never done for another woman in my life. Hell, I’ve never even bought another woman dinner in my life. Yes, my plan was to cook dinner, then see if I could surpass the heights we reached last night when she confronted me with a see-through robe and a box of rubbers. I don’t know that I had ever been so turned on in my life. But unfortunately, when Sutton showed up at my apartment tonight and I saw her standing there, looking beyond amazing with her fiery hair in a high ponytail and wearing nothing more than her classic jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt, I was overcome with such lust, I pulled her quickly in and pushed her down on my living room couch. She didn’t complain or dissuade me—not that it would have done any good. Instead, she just gave the most pleasurable sigh I’ve ever heard when I made short work of stripping her bare and burying my face between her legs. I gave her no mercy and within seconds she was moaning and writhing on the micro-suede cushions, her hands gripping my hair for dear life. She tasted fucking divine and I plunged my tongue in and out of her ruthlessly, fueled on by her groans of pleasure and the way her hips would buck hard against my chin. It turned me on so much, I may have gone a little crazy on her. I put my tongue to work in other ways, licking and sucking at her while my fingers pushed in deep. She came fast, and hard, and she screamed my name again, and I swear I almost came just from hearing that. I laid my chin just above her pelvic bone and watched her come back to awareness. When the fog cleared from her eyes and she focused in on me, she grinned and said, “Get naked.” And then I had a condom on and was pounding inside of her and it was just as good, if not better, than last night. She urged me to go harder, deeper. She dug her nails in my ass and even bit me on my shoulder which in turn caused me to fuck her just a little bit rougher. And then I came super fucking hard, way faster than I ever have before. So hard, I had lights winking in my peripheral vision, and even after the shudders had gone silent within me, I found I wanted her again. But that’s when I noticed a burning smell in the air, and when I opened my eyes, I saw a haze of smoke

above us. “Fuck!” I yelled as I jumped up and ran buck-ass naked into the kitchen. Opening the oven door, I looked in and saw that the lasagna I had put under the broiler just before she rang the doorbell was burnt to a black crisp, smoke curling away from the pan and rising into the air. “Guess we’re ordering pizza, huh?” Turning around, I saw Sutton standing there—just as naked as I was—with a grin on her face. “Sorry,” I muttered with an apologetic grin. “Guess I got sidetracked when I saw you in my doorway.” Sutton sauntered up to me and wrapped her arms around my neck. She pressed her body in warmly to mine, and I felt my cock jump at the contact. “I’m glad it burned. I rather liked the way you greeted me tonight.” I kissed her then, softly, because I hadn’t even bothered to kiss her before when I was just fucking her in my living room a moment ago. Her tongue met mine and we moved our mouths against each other with delicate softness. And while the kiss was sweet and sensitive, it in no way diminished my lust, which was growing for her once more, as evidenced by the fact I was getting hard again. “How hungry are you?” I asked as I pulled away from her lips. “Not very,” she whispered, her fingertips grazing across one of my nipples. Fuck, that felt good. “We’ll order pizza later,” I told her as I bent down and lifted her up over my shoulder. Giggling, she braced herself with her hands on my lower back. “What are we doing now?” Smoothing my hand over her ass as I walked out of my kitchen and toward my bedroom, I told her, “Round two. Then we’ll eat.” Yeah, we went at it just as hard, and I love the wild, uninhibited fucking with Sutton. She loves it too, I can tell. Just the thought of it starts my dick twitching again, so I take another slice of pizza from the box to refocus my attention for just a few minutes. “So has Brandon tried to contact you?” I ask casually. I’m not worried about the moron. He doesn’t present a threat to me, but I don’t want him bugging Sutton if she’s not into him. She doesn’t need the stress. “Yeah, he called me a few times today but I haven’t called him back yet,” she says, picking a piece of pepperoni off her slice of pizza and folding it delicately with her fingers. Then she pops it in her mouth, licking the grease off. Yup…my dick jumps again just watching her do something as innocuous as eating a piece of pepperoni. “Why do you have to call him back? Just ignore him,” I say simply, taking another bite of pizza. Sutton shrugs her shoulders with a quick jerk, her brows furrowed inward. “I guess I feel like I owe him an explanation or something.” Setting my slice of pizza down on my paper plate, I wipe my hands with a napkin, ball it up and then throw it down on the table. “Why do you think you owe him? He dumped you, right?” My question isn’t asked with any censure implied. I’m genuinely curious as to why she feels this way. “I guess because there was a time I loved him. And because he once gave me an explanation. He didn’t have to, but it was important to him to do so. I may not like what he told me, but I’ve always appreciated his honesty.”

My gut clenches a bit over hearing her proclaim she had love for the guy. I know rationally that they once loved each other, but hearing it said out loud, in conjunction with the fact that she feels an obligation to him, doesn’t feel so hot. A flash of jealousy hits me hard and I try to tamp it down. And because I really need to know exactly how she feels about me, and because I’m too chickenshit to ask her outright about it, I go in a roundabout way. “Do you still have feelings for him? Want me to back out of the picture?” I pose the question in a lighthearted way, trying to convey that her answer isn’t really that important. Only I know—in this very moment—how fucking important it is, which I suppose is why I’m holding my breath awaiting her answer. Sutton picks up her own napkin and wipes her fingers. After she lays it down on her plate, she leans forward onto her hands and knees and crawls toward me across the carpet and around the edge of the coffee table. Without pausing a beat, she crawls right onto my lap and straddles me. My hands immediately go under her bare ass, gripping her softly, and the semi I have been battling since the pizza arrived goes full mast. She wraps her arms around my neck, leaning her head down and kissing me softly on my neck. When she pulls back, she looks at me thoughtfully. “No, I don’t have feelings for him. Nothing beyond a vague fondness for what we had. He was my first love, so that was special. And I most certainly don’t want you to back out of the picture. Any other questions?” “Actually…I do have another question,” I tell her. It’s something I’ve been mulling over since last night. “I was snooping through your medicine cabinet at your house before I left this morning, looking for some mouthwash.” Her eyebrows rise upward over my confession and she smirks at me in good humor. “Sneaky.” “I know,” I confirm. “I found your mouthwash, which I’m hoping made for a better kiss goodbye, but I also noticed the birth control pills in there.” “Yeah?” she drawls in question over where I’m going. I hesitate for a moment, which is completely un-Alex-like. I never hesitate over anything, which is a testament to the overinflated ego that my father helped to create. “I want to do away with the condoms. I want to fuck you bare—with nothing in between us.” I let my words penetrate, offering nothing more. She has nothing to worry about from me. I’ve always worn a condom. I’ve also been tested every year in my routine physical, which is required by the Cold Fury. I’ll provide her that information but I want to see what her reaction is first. Sutton’s eyes go wide in astonished wonder. I notice a stain of blush on her cheeks, and I start to think that maybe I’ve gone too far in my desire to possess her in a way that’s been different from all others. But then I notice the heat that seeps into those lovely hazel eyes and she licks at her bottom lip. She’d never be a poker player in the bedroom. I can see clearly that the idea turns her on. “Okay,” she whispers, her legs subconsciously gripping against my hips a bit harder. “I’ve never been without a condom before. I mean…the pills are to regulate my period. I was on them long before I ever had sex for the first time.” “I’ve always worn a condom before,” I assure her hastily. “And I’ve been tested. I can give you my records.” Shaking her head immediately, she tightens her arms around my neck. “No, I trust you—” “I don’t mind,” I interject.

Leaning in to kiss me, to silence me, she pulls back and looks at me deeply. “No…I trust you, Alex.” Guilt flashes through me because maybe she shouldn’t. I’m completely telling her the truth about my sexual history and the fact I’m clean, but the fact that she trusts me so implicitly means her feelings are getting deep. Mine are too, but let’s face it—anything more than a scratch against the surface is practically subterranean for me. I just hope she’s not falling in so far that I have the power to destroy her when my inherent nature takes over. “Okay,” I tell her, rather than warning her away, because I want her too much in this very intimate way to listen to my own misgivings. “Any other questions?” she asks cheekily. Grinning at her, I rub my fingertips over her soft skin. “Nope. That satisfied my curiosity and has made me very eager to fuck you again.” I start to lean in to kiss her, because damn, I want her bad. The thought of having no barrier between my hardness and her softness has my blood raging. But she pulls her head back a bit. “Well, then I have some curiosities of my own.” I raise my eyebrows, quirking my lips upward. “Really? What might those be?” “Have you ever had a serious relationship before? Been in love?” I hold my smile but it dims a bit. “No. Never.” “Not even in high school? Or whatever you call it in Canada?” Chuckling, I reach down and pull her legs so they wrap around my waist, and she settles down onto my erection with nothing but the material of my shorts separating us. She squirms a little but waits for my answer. Giving her a slight tilt of my hips so I rub against the heat between her legs, and just so she knows that I find that more interesting than this conversation, I tell her, “It’s called high school there too, and no—not even in high school.” “You didn’t have a girlfriend in high school? A stud like you?” she teases, and in other circumstances, I would enjoy the joking nature of this conversation. But she’s hitting close to a subject that doesn’t produce warm memories for me. “I was too busy training. My dad wasn’t big on me dating.” Sutton’s mouth hangs open and her smile fades some, but I can tell she’s not certain exactly what I mean by that. “You weren’t allowed to date? Ever?” “Never,” I confirm. She pulls her lower lip in between her teeth and chews on it thoughtfully, which is always a sexy-asfuck move. I contemplate leaning forward and grabbing it with my own teeth when she sidetracks me. “I remember reading online that you left home when you were sixteen to play in the Quebec Juniors. Surely then—” Shaking my head, I cut her off. “I left home then, but my dad still controlled me. He forbade me from dating or having a relationship with someone. Hell, he forbade me to have any friends. Training was my number one priority. He wanted me to be the best and to do that, I had no room in my life for anything else.” Sutton stares at me, her eyes doleful. It borders on the look of pity that I thought she had shown me before, which gets my hackles up a bit. “That’s terrible,” she says softly. “You didn’t have a childhood,

did you?” The sympathy in her voice completely kills my hard-on, and I find myself suddenly needing a bit of space. I easily lift her from my lap and set her down gently on the carpet beside me. Rolling to my feet, I busy myself with picking up the pizza box and paper plates from the table. Sutton follows suit and helps me clean up. As I turn toward the kitchen, I attempt to alleviate the darkness of the moment by saying, “It was a long time ago. I’ve more than made up for the fun I missed out on back then.” Following me into the kitchen, Sutton asks, “How? How do you make up for missing out on good times…having those memories?” “Who says I don’t have good memories?” I ask, hoping to throw her off the scent of tragic circumstances. Throwing the paper plates in the garbage, I turn to take the trash from Sutton’s hand and deposit it in the bin as well. She walks over to the sink and washes her hands. “Well…you said you didn’t date…didn’t have any friends. Always had to train. It sounds lonely.” I don’t confirm or deny that because it was lonely. She continues on. “I mean, you didn’t have a first love, or a first kiss with someone special?” I like Sutton. I mean, a lot. More than any other woman I’ve ever known. But I see the starry look in her eyes, the utter romanticism seeping out of her pores as she laments the fact that I didn’t have what she deems to be a pretty important rite of passage. I think that means she finds me broken in some way, and while that may very well be true, I don’t like being the victim. So I decide to give her a reminder that I am who I am, and that I’ve done just fine with the way things are. I also want to give her a reminder that there’s still a dark side to me that she can never take for granted. “I had a first kiss, Sutton.” Her eyes light up, just as I knew they would, and she looks at me expectantly so that I can give her some softly painted picture of my life that will make her feel better about my lack of a normal upbringing. “My dad bought a whore for me when I turned sixteen,” I tell her in a low voice. “I wanted to ask one of my classmates to a school dance, something my dad translated into meaning I wanted to get laid. And who knows, maybe I did want that too. So it wasn’t too much of a downer after my dad refused to let me go to the dance but instead brought me to a hotel room…shoved me inside after handing me a condom. Clapped me on the back and said, ‘Have fun.’ I mean…what’s a kid to do when he walks in and sees a naked woman on the bed. So, you see…I had my first kiss, Sutton. It just wasn’t very conventional.” I instantly regret telling Sutton that story, because now her skin pales and there is a light sheen of moisture in her eyes. The story has sickened her, no doubt, but she pushed and I let her have it. “Your dad was wrong to do that,” she whispers. “I agree,” I tell her as I take a step closer to her. “He’s done a lot of things that put him straight in the monster category.” “Like what?” she asks, no hesitation whatsoever in her voice. I take one more step and then I’m standing toe to toe with her. Lifting a lock of her hair that hangs over her shoulder, I tug on it thoughtfully. When I lift my eyes to hers, she’s staring at me with clarity, and the look of sickness is gone from her expression. Dropping her hair and reaching my fingertips out, I skim them across her cheek. “You don’t want to know those stories.”

“Maybe I do,” she counters boldly. Giving her a sad smile, I slide my fingers to the back of her head and grip her neck firmly. “Well, then I don’t want you to hear those stories. They have nothing to do with me anymore.” Sutton wraps her fingers around my wrist and I think briefly of pulling my hand away from her neck, but she holds me tightly in place. “Your past has everything to do with who you are today.” I start to point out that I’ve warned her I can be an asshole but my words dry up when she steps in and lays her cheek against my chest. The move is tender and caring, causing my heart to lurch in response. “But,” she says with utter defiance. “I’m finding I like who you are a lot, so maybe your past doesn’t have quite the hold on you that you think it does.” My stomach flips inward and a hollow, bottomless feeling courses through me because she’s so wrong about that. My past controls almost every action I take and every thought that comes out of my fucked-up head. Sutton’s arms wrap around my waist and she nuzzles against me, her cheek warm against my skin. It’s a move calculated to show me she cares for me, and the empty feeling is immediately filled with something warm and comforting. I wish I didn’t like that feeling so much, because it pulls me in deeper. It makes me want to experience it more, which is very dangerous for both of us. For me, it will make me susceptible to her goodness. For her, it will make her vulnerable to my darkness. Glancing at the clock hanging on my kitchen wall, I see it’s getting late. I have to get up early tomorrow for a practice skate and then a team meeting to prepare for our evening game. But I want her again, probably more than once, and I have to budget time for that. I want her to explore me as well, and this could potentially take hours. So we better get started. Reaching behind my back, I pull her arms away from the comforting embrace she’s offering me and lace my fingertips through hers. Turning, I lead her back toward my bedroom, neither of us needing to say another word. Both of us know that we are perfectly happy with getting lost in each other for a bit of time. In particular, I know that the comfort of her arms provides me with a peace that I’m starting to appreciate, and even starting to crave. Yes, I know it’s dangerous for me, but I’ve never been one who scares easily. I’m more worried about the time that will come when I’ll probably hurt her, but I’m still selfish enough to put that thought aside and take advantage of what she is offering me.

Chapter 18 Sutton As expected after a hockey game, Hoolihan’s is packed and there aren’t any tables or booths available. I decide to order a beer at the bar while I wait for Alex and Garrett. I know from past experience of meeting Alex here after a game that it will be a while before he gets here. I take a moment to check my phone. Brandon has finally stopped texting and calling me. I eventually called him and apologized for the way I snapped at him. He also apologized for not understanding what a crappy day I had had and said that he realized it was a little rude to just show up like that and ask me to cook dinner. Once the apologies were out of the way, it got awkward when Brandon immediately asked me out to dinner. It was at this point I had to tell him that this wasn’t ever going to go where he wanted it to. “I’m sorry, Brandon,” I had told him gently. “But I can’t go out to dinner with you. Not now, not ever.” He was silent for a moment, then he asked, “Is it me? What I did to you? Or is it something else?” At that moment, I knew he knew, so I laid the truth out to him. “It’s someone else, in particular.” “Alex” was all he said. “Yes. But even if Alex wasn’t in the picture, I don’t think you and I could have started over. I think we were done for good.” He was fairly understanding and we talked for a bit more. We made vague promises to keep in contact and to continue our friendship, but I knew that wasn’t going to happen. Those things never work out as we hope they can. I do have a text from Shelley. She’s taken to watching hockey now, in particular the Cold Fury, so we can dish about Alex. She thinks it’s beyond exciting that I’m dating an NHL player, but I never look at Alex that way. I just see him as Alex. Not a good game, she texted along with a sad face. I wrote her back, I know. I feel terrible for Alex. Love on him good. That will make him happy again. I wrote back a last message. Head out of gutter. Talk to you later. I’m nervous as to what type of mood he’ll be in. The Cold Fury have been on a winning streak and tonight’s game was only the second one they’ve lost since I met Alex. He didn’t look happy after the 3–2 beating they took by the lowest-ranked team in their division. It didn’t change the Cold Fury’s standing, but even I know enough about sports to know that a loss does not make for happy players. I texted Alex as soon as the buzzer went off ending the third period, offering to take a rain check on getting together. He didn’t respond, so I had no choice but to head to Hoolihan’s as we had originally

planned and wait for him. He had asked me earlier in the day if I minded if he invited Garrett, and of course, I didn’t. I was anxious to learn more about the man who was apparently becoming a good friend to the self-admitted loner, Alex Crossman. “Sutton?” Turning toward the feminine voice, I see Monica standing there, her blond hair in a riot of curly ringlets. She’s wearing a Cold Fury jersey, obviously having just come from the game. When Alex had gotten me a ticket for tonight, I was slightly surprised it wasn’t in the same spot where I had previously sat beside Monica. However, the change was nice because he put me in The Fury Club, which is a section of the upper-level seating that has plush leather seats, a food buffet and free alcohol. Not that I partook of any of that since I’d be meeting Alex later. Still, the seats were amazing and even though the Cold Fury lost, I had a wonderful time cheering on Alex and his team. I was even proudly sporting the Crossman jersey Alex had given me this morning just before I left his apartment, right after he had wrung two orgasms out of me. Sighing deeply over the memory, I smile at Monica and pleasantly say, “Hey! What are you doing here?” Monica leans in to give me a quick hug. “I came over for a drink with some friends after the game,” she says, pointing to the front door area where two other girls are waiting. “I saw you standing here and thought I’d come say hello.” “It’s good to see you,” I tell her genially, because it is. I truly had fun with her when I watched my firstever hockey game. Monica waves her friends over to make introductions and I give warm smiles to her buds, Amy and Carrie. They too are sporting Cold Fury jerseys and are bearing the slightly dejected look of having suffered a loss. “Sutton here is friends with Alex Crossman,” Monica says with a mischievous grin as she wraps her arm around my shoulders, giving me a squeeze. As Amy and Carrie squeal, I smile inwardly to myself and think, Yeah, I’m much more than just his friend now. This, unfortunately, brings scorching hot memories of the unbelievably stellar sex we had last night and this morning, and if I may recommend it to anyone who is considering a safe and healthy monogamous relationship, sex without condoms is the fucking bomb. I swear, I could feel Alex inside of me with such exquisite detail, the memory of it has me clenching my legs tight together to relieve the ache starting to build. I take a swig of my beer to moisten the dryness in my throat and tune back in to the conversation. “Are you meeting him here tonight?” Carrie asks. “Um…uh…yeah, I guess so,” I say lamely, because I know that it will probably be impossible to get rid of Monica and her cronies now. I assume that once they get a gander at Alex and Garrett, all hope of a cozy evening with my man and his numero uno buddy will fly out the window. The girls lapse into talk about the hockey game and I find myself enjoying the commentary. I realize how far I’ve come as a hockey fan when I can actually contribute to the conversation, joining in the lamenting of the fact that our boys just played shitty tonight. Alex looked off in his play, a thought that worried me a little, because I’m just insecure enough to wonder if I have anything to do with that. Or maybe that’s me having too big an ego? Still, after our conversation last night about his “first kiss,” I’ve been thinking a lot about Alex and the burdens he carries in his soul. I was shocked and disgusted that his father would remove his childhood

and then try to replace it with a whore. It’s despicable and I hope to God I never have the pleasure of meeting the man. Of course, the likelihood of that happening is slim, because while I believe Alex is developing feelings for me, he still remains closed tight as a clam when it comes to much of his personal life. We girls order a round of beer—their first and my second—and we continue our play-by-play of the game. I find myself enjoying their company, even Monica’s overt exuberance for all things that make up hot hockey players. It doesn’t even bother me—that much—when she waxes poetic about how beautiful Alex’s eyes are. I sort of have to agree with her. After an hour, my second beer is gone and I’m into my third. I’ve checked my watch only about a dozen times in the last ten minutes and my text messages just as often. No word from Alex, and I’m starting to think that he’s going to be a no-show. I’m hoping it’s just because he’s bummed about the game and not because after two nights of glorious, sweaty sex, he’s decided to move on from me. God, I hope he hasn’t decided that. The thought makes my stomach hurt, which makes me realize that my feelings run pretty damn deep where Alex is concerned. Glancing at the door to the bar one more time, I don’t see Alex and my bladder is close to bursting, so I lean over to Monica and tell her I’m heading to the restroom. I hope if she sees Alex come in while I’m gone she’ll let him know where I’m at. Turning away from her, I start to head toward the bathroom when someone grabs my elbow and pulls me backward. I can’t even get my body turned to see who has me when strong arms circle around my waist and I’m being drawn back into a tall, hard male body that smells faintly of citrus and eucalyptus. It’s the scent of Alex’s body wash and I immediately relax backward into his embrace, placing my hands over his arms as they enclose me completely. He hugs me…tightly…possessively, and relief courses through me because in all honesty, I had some doubts about how real these feelings between us were. Putting his mouth near my ear, he murmurs, “I’ve missed you.” Turning my body, I snake my arms up and wrap them around his neck. “I missed you too.” “Sorry I’m late,” he says, his face hovering over mine. “Coach gave us a ‘pep talk’ after the game.” My eyebrows rise in question and Alex clarifies. “That means ‘ass-chewing.’ ” “Oh,” I say softly, my fingers rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m sorry about the game. I thought you might be bummed and not want to hang tonight.” Rubbing his thumb along the waistband of my jeans, he says, “I am bummed but two things you should know about that. First, no matter how bummed I am about losing a game, I imagine being with you will make everything better. And second, it’s been a long time since I’ve been sad over a loss. I think that says something, don’t you?” His blue eyes search mine for understanding, because he wants to know if I get him. And oh, do I get him. I get what he’s saying. I get that he’s found some passion for his craft again, because otherwise he wouldn’t give a shit about a loss. It’s odd that the fact he’s bummed over a loss warms my heart. “I think it speaks volumes,” I tell him, standing on my tiptoes to give him a kiss. He has to bend slightly to meet my lips, and when mine lie against his, I revel in how soft they are yet still firm against me. It’s just me and him, standing here in this crowded bar, and it feels like the rest of the universe is a million miles away. I wish the rest of the universe was a million miles away, and it could just be me and Alex, right at this very moment, because the tenderness and longing revealed in the way his mouth touches mine makes me want to seclude myself in the feeling, without anything else to divert my attention. “God, you two need to get a room,” I hear a man say. Alex groans slightly into my mouth before he

pulls back and turns to look at someone to my left. The slight lift to Alex’s lips tells me he’s amused. “Fuck off, Samuelson,” he growls, but he’s not really mad. He releases his hold around my waist just enough to turn me toward a man I know is Garrett Samuelson, Alex makes official introductions. “Garrett…this is Sutton. Sutton…this asshole is Garrett.” Smiling warmly, I stick my hand out for Garrett to shake. Alex stiffens slightly next to me when Garrett takes my hand and brings it to his lips, grazing them over my knuckles. With a devilish grin and a smoky seductive voice, he says, “It’s definitely my pleasure. When you get tired of his grumpy ass, I’ll be waiting for you, Sutton.” When Alex growls the second time, it’s not with as much amusement. Garrett chuckles and releases my hand, after kissing it one more time. I just roll my eyes. “You love torturing Alex, don’t you?” “It’s so much fun to get a rise out of him, don’t you think?” he says with a wink. “You have no idea,” I say conspiratorially, although my definition of a rise and his definition of a rise are probably two different things. Turning back to Alex, I place my palm against his chest. I can feel the heat of his skin through the dress shirt he’s wearing. “I’m headed off to the ladies’ room.” He stares down at me with affection but deep within his baby blues I see possession and desire. As he leans in just a bit closer to me, his voice sizzles when he says, “I don’t want to stay long. Just one beer, okay?” “Why is that?” I ask silkily, although I know the answer. I see it in his eyes. Sneaking a quick glance over at Garrett, he leans in even closer, placing his lips near my ear. “Because I want you so bad I can actually taste it. Now, we both know that’s just my imagination on overdrive. So what I really want is the reality of your taste…on my tongue…my lips.” He accentuates his seduction by grazing his teeth against my earlobe, and I swear a mini orgasm courses through me. “Oh,” I breathe out softly. “Any other questions?” he asks gruffly, then pulls back to stare at me with a tight look on his face. I do nothing but shake my head, words not seemingly important at this moment. He smiles at me then— radiant, triumphant…joyful. Taking my shoulders, he spins me back in the direction of the restroom and gives me a slight push. “Hurry up. Sooner you get back, sooner we can drink a beer, sooner we can… well, you know.” I scurry off to pee, completely obsessed with how I can forgo the beer that Alex must have committed to drink with Garrett before we could make our exit. I briefly consider faking an illness, but instead quickly pee and opt to guzzle my beer. *** My legs are spread wide, my hips raised off the mattress because Alex has my ankles resting on his shoulders. He’s pounding away inside of me, pausing every few thrusts to ravage my lips, once even biting down when I dared to disobey him and closed my eyes in pleasurable abandon. He had previously ordered me to keep my eyes on his, but that proved difficult when I felt on the verge of slipping into a coma of lust. After a particularly hard kiss where we both try to push groans past each other’s lips, Alex pulls back and stills his hips for a moment. A sheen of moisture covers his face and his arms are locked at the elbow while he supports his weight above me, causing his muscles to look sharply cut. He looks down at me with such fiery need etched on his face, my heart skips a shocking beat as I return his gaze. I’ve never

seen anyone look so hungry for something before…like he is starving and there will never be enough sustenance to fill the void that is ravaging him. He opens his mouth as if he’s going to say something, and whatever it is, I can tell it’s going to be profound by the look on his face. But then something clouds his irises and he gives a slight shake to his head as if clearing it of cobwebs. Without warning, Alex pulls out of me, lowering my legs from his shoulders. He’s a large man in every way and I keenly feel the loss within me. Before I can ask what’s wrong, his hands grip my waist and he flips me over on the mattress, immediately pulling me up on my hands and knees. I hang my head low, letting my hair float in a curtain around me, not even daring to look over my shoulder at him. I’m afraid if I see the same intensity in his gaze that I can actually feel vibrating off his body, I might spontaneously combust. Alex’s hands grip my hips firmly, his thumbs grazing the skin on my butt cheeks. He wastes no time or energy as he pulls me back while thrusting forward, filling me up in one powerful move. Breath hissing through his teeth, Alex rocks into me deeply, sometimes groaning when he reaches in to the hilt. My own lungs seem constricted at times; so great is the pleasure he’s giving me that it’s almost impossible to breathe. I keep my face pointed toward the mattress, my eyes scrunched shut, only imagining what Alex’s massive body must look like as he takes me from behind with no mercy. There is no sweet tenderness from him, but I can still feel a world of care within his touch. I can sometimes hear it in the way he moans, but most definitely he gives it away when he talks as he fucks me. So good. Never felt like this before. Only you, Sutton. Only you. Every word is said with thick longing in his voice, and even though he’s getting exactly what he wants at this very moment, it tells me he is craving even more from me. That thought causes me such elation because I’m not sure I’ve ever been truly needed before by someone. I think Alex truly needs me, and every minute I spend with him, I’m afraid the feeling is becoming mutual. Our breaths come out harsher the faster Alex moves within me, mine practically wheezing out of my lungs. Digging his fingers into my skin, he endears himself to me further when he pants, “Are you okay?” “More” is how I answer him, and he groans in response. He also gives me more. I spiral out of control so very fast, and I don’t try to even hold myself back. I just imagine myself throwing my hands up in surrender and falling down into a vortex of mind-blowing pleasure as I start to orgasm. Alex feels me fracture…hears me as I come because I’m crying out in desperate relief. He answers me with a hard slam into my body, pushing me all the way down into the mattress where the entire length of his hard frame comes to rest on me. He comes beautifully as his hips continue to pump, his mouth resting by my ear as he murmurs, “So fucking good, Sutton. So fucking good.” My hair is covering my face as I turn it sideways to rest on the pillow. I can feel Alex’s fingers as they start to push the long locks away so he can look at me. I blink when the glow of his bedside lamp hits me, and I see his beautiful face covered in sweat and satisfaction as he gazes at me. His face clouds in

concern and his thumb sweeps just below my right eye. “You’re crying,” he whispers. “I am?” Moving off of my back, Alex lies down at my side, peering at me closer. “Yeah, you are.” “Tears of joy,” I assure him. “Tears of ecstasy. Tears of the best freakin’ orgasm ever.” Chuckling, Alex pulls me into his arms and I roll slightly so that he can pull me in tight. My outside leg slides in between his and I feel him still semi-erect and pushing hotly against my lower stomach. It makes me want him again—already. I curl my arm around his waist and snuggle in tighter. “Am I too rough with you?” Alex asks quietly as he strokes my naked back. “No,” I assure him hastily, because God help me I love him rough. “Why do you ask?” “I just don’t really know any other way to be.” His father deprived him of a normal childhood and gave him something twisted to replace it. I’m thinking that perhaps Alex may not have ever seen what love and care look like. I’m assuming his early sexual experiences were frenzied and wild, because no love or tenderness was involved. It makes sense to me, for a man who has never had a real relationship…he may just not know any other way to be. And while I love the way Alex touches me—possesses me—in bed, it makes me a little sad that maybe I won’t see more than his wild abandon. Trailing my finger along the warm skin on his chest, I ask, “Do you still talk to your father?” Alex flinches slightly from my question but doesn’t hesitate in his answer. “Sometimes.” He doesn’t offer me more and I can tell by the tightness in his voice that there is so much more to the story. Because it’s my job to listen to others, to get them to confront their demons, it is inherently part of my nature to push at him. “What kind of relationship do you have with him?” Sighing, Alex rolls to his back but pulls me along with him so that I’m lying partially on the right side of his body. “I’m not sure ‘relationship’ is what I’d call it. He criticizes my game and I pay all his bills. That’s about all there is.” I think there’s more, because I can sense it in the tired tone of his voice, but he’s not going to share more than that. “Any brothers or sisters?” I ask, changing the subject but still focusing on family. I’m dying to know more. “Older brother…Cameron. He owns a franchise hardware store back home in Hamilton.” “Does he have a relationship with your dad?” I ask, pushing…always pushing. Apparently, too far. Alex releases his hold, pushing me gently off his body. Rolling out of bed, he says, “I’m going to get some water. Do you want some?” Feeling self-conscious now that the heat of his body is gone and I’m exposed to his view, I pull the sheet up over me, anchoring it under my arms. “Sure,” I say softly, watching as he walks out of the bedroom, gloriously naked, stunningly uninhibited in his nudity, yet completely closed off in most other respects.

Chapter 19 Alex Looking in the mirror, I rake my fingers through my hair, not caring at all where the locks may fall, and give my appearance a quick once-over. I need to leave soon to pick Sutton up for dinner and I’m anxious to see her. You wouldn’t think so, considering I made an unscheduled visit to the crisis center to see her about three hours ago, compliments of some plotting with Miss Minnie, the front desk receptionist. Yes, I had been on a road trip out west for the last five days and even though I had plans to spend the evening with Sutton, I had found my mid-afternoon to be sorely lacking and took it upon myself to go see her. After I cleared it with Minnie, of course. When I arrived at the center, I was rewarded with a brilliant smile from Minnie. “Hi, Alex,” she said warmly in that soft Southern voice that I’d quickly come to appreciate. Who would have thought that I’d be charmed by an old woman with blue hair who smells like magnolias most of the time? Reaching into the large paper bag I’d carried in with me, I pulled out a small vase with an arrangement of red and gold flowers in them. I had no clue what type of flowers they were, nor did I care. I bought them spontaneously at the grocery store for Minnie, to show her my appreciation for having twice now helped me to see Sutton unannounced. “These are for you,” I told her with a flourish as I handed them across the desk. Her eyes lit up with joy as she reached out and took the vase. “Oh, Alex…you devil, you. How did you know mums were my favorite flower?” I had no clue what a mum was, but I never missed a beat when I flashed my pearly whites and said, “You just seemed like a ‘mum’ type of woman. Elegant and classic.” My compliment struck deep because Minnie flushed red and batted her eyelashes for a moment. Then her gaze hardened a bit as she stared at me directly. “And did you do as I suggested?” Shaking the brown paper bag so the contents inside rustled, I said, “Yup. Just as you suggested.” Smiling at me conspiratorially, Minnie stood from her desk and led me to the locked door that goes back to Sutton’s office. “That’s a good boy. You’ll steal her heart for sure.” I already had her body. I suppose her heart was up for grabs too, but did I really want it? I never wanted anyone else’s before, but there’s no doubt…Sutton is different. Minnie unlocked the door and ushered me through as I gave her a short goodbye. I practically ran down the hallway toward Sutton’s office, my long legs eating up the distance in my eagerness to see her. When I reached her office and looked in, my heart skipped a beat as she came into view. She was wearing her hair long and loose, coppery masses hanging over her shoulder and shining bright against the soft gray of her silk blouse. She had on a pair of glasses and I was momentarily shocked, because I didn’t know she

wore them. My presence in the doorway alerted her and she looked up at me, her eyes opening wide in delight. She stood up from her desk and gave me a stunning smile. “What are you doing here?” I stepped inside her office, dropped the brown bag on a chair and closed the door. I wanted privacy for what I was about to do. Within a few steps, she was in my arms and I first kissed her on top of her head. “I couldn’t wait until tonight to see you.” “Well, now, that just makes my day,” she mumbled with her face in my chest before she pulled back to look at me, her smile just as radiant. “Has anyone ever told you that you look smokin’ hot wearing glasses?” She was utterly fucking adorable when she blushed over my compliment and reached up to take them off. “Geez…I look like a dork with them. I only wear them when I’m doing a lot of computer work.” “You look beautiful…with or without them,” I told her as I took the glasses from her hand and set them on her desk. Once my hands were free, I brought them up to place them on her face, relishing the silky softness of her skin. It had struck me clearly that I had never touched a woman like that before Sutton. It felt bold and intimate all at the same time, and I had never felt so proprietary toward something as I felt right then. I couldn’t fucking help myself—I bent down and claimed her mouth. We were in the broad light of day, in her place of work, where anyone could walk in at any time. I couldn’t have cared less. I plunged my tongue past her lips, seeking her wet warmth, and continued to probe against her. She answered me with equal passion, her fingertips sinking down into the front edge of my pants to pull our bodies closer. A tiny moan escaped her mouth and I sucked it down, kissing her harder. The more I kissed her, the more I felt starved for her, almost as if my life depended upon that contact, and while it was the most amazing and unique feeling, a little kernel of fear took root. I became fearful that Sutton was becoming necessary to me, and that could be translated into a weakness. I had been conditioned my entire existence to cut everything out of my life that could divert my attention…that could claim any part of my being. And it’s not just my being that was at risk. Sutton could threaten to claim my very soul—this I knew to be true, and yet I still continued to kiss her, unwilling to let go of the perfectness that was lying against my tongue. When my dick reached epic hardness and I started considering a way to hike up her skirt and fuck her on her desk, Sutton had the sense to pull back, and our kiss was broken with a painful sigh. Opening my eyes, I gazed down at my girl. As her own eyes cleared up a bit, she gave me a tremulous smile and said, “God, I missed you.” Those four words tipped me over the edge and I pretty much fucking kissed my soul goodbye. I know I’m probably still destined to screw things up with Sutton but I’ve decided, until then, my soul is her bitch. Until I screwed it up I was going to be selfish and push forward to possess every bit of her that I could. Stepping back so her fingertips were dislodged from my pants, I reached down and adjusted myself, earning a sexy giggle. Turning around, I grabbed the paper bag from the chair and handed it to her. “I brought you something.”

“From your trip out west?” she asked with excitement as she reached for the bag. “Sadly, no. From the grocery store down the street.” She grinned at me and reached inside the bag, “Well, it’s the thought that counts.” Her brows angled inward as her fingers made contact with her gift within the depths of the brown paper. When she pulled it out, her face lit up with joy and she held up for me to see the bag of Hershey’s Kisses with Almonds. “How in the world did you know these were my favorite?” “I have my connections,” I assured her with a smirk. “Minnie,” she said emphatically. “That woman ratted me out.” “She was just trying to give me a leg up,” I said in Minnie’s defense. “I’m trying to get in good with you.” Stepping back toward me, she stood on her tiptoes to kiss me, so I bent down to oblige her. It was a sweet laying of lips upon mine, brief and soft, and then she stepped back. “You’re already in good with me.” “Yeah?” “Yeah…you give me some amazing orgasms.” I sucked in my breath so fast with an unexpected laugh that I choked, which in turn caused me to have a coughing fit. Sutton winked at me with a grin, and then handed me the bag of chocolate. I took it from her with my eyebrows raised. “You have to keep this,” she told me. “I only allow myself two a day. If I keep it, I’ll eat the entire thing the minute you leave.” “Fine,” I told her with a nod as I put the chocolates in the brown paper bag. “You can have two tonight after dinner.” “My hero, my jailer,” she lamented. “And before I forget,” she said as she rounded her desk again. “I finalized all of the material for the outreach program. I’m going to set up a talk with one of the local high schools and want to know if you can go with me. Sort of like a practice run.” “Absolutely,” I told her as her phone started to ring on her desk. “Let’s work it around my schedule and pick a time when I’ll be here a few days.” Holding up her index finger for me to wait, she reached for the receiver with a smile and said, “What’s up, Minnie?” I watched as the light in her eyes dimmed just a bit and she gave a sigh. “Okay. Go ahead and send him back.” Placing the phone on the hook, she turned to me. “My dad is here to see me.” “Jim?” I asked with uncertainty, because I knew based on the way she talked about her stepdad that he practically walked on water and wouldn’t cause that look on her face. “No…my biological dad. Who you will have the pleasure of meeting in about ten seconds.” Her voice was heavy with resignation. The prospect of meeting Sutton’s drug-addict father should have sent me scurrying, not only because it could be awkward but because it could remind me too much of my own father. But a protective instinct reared up within and I knew I would stay to make sure that Sutton was okay. A knock on the door sounded timidly and Sutton said, “Come on in, Cosmo.”

I turned to look at her and mouthed the word “Cosmo?” She shrugged her shoulders at me as if to say, Hey, I didn’t name the man, then put a smile on her face that looked a little plastic as she turned to face her birth father. The man who entered bore no resemblance to Sutton. She got her auburn hair and hazel eyes from her mother, and Cosmo had dishwater blond hair and soft brown irises. He was average height but was tremendously skinny, his Adam’s apple protruding out almost grotesquely and his cheeks gauntly hollow. He was wearing jeans that were smudged with dirt on the knees and a faded brown flannel shirt that looked about two sizes too big for him. While his clothes looked dirty and threadbare, the rest of him looked clean enough, although he clearly hadn’t shaved in several days. “There’s my baby girl,” he said as he opened his arms up to Sutton. She didn’t move from behind her desk but allowed her eyes to rake up and down her father. I didn’t miss the tightening of her lips and the ice that formed in her gaze. “What do you want, Cosmo?” she said, completely ignoring his request for a hug. Her voice wasn’t exactly mean, but it definitely sounded aloof. The smile on his face faltered and his arms dropped to his side. “I was in the area…thought I’d stop by and see how you were doing.” “I’m doing well, thank you. But as you can see, I’m with someone now,” she said as she gestured toward me, “and I don’t have time for a visit.” Cosmo turned to look at me and his eyes went round in surprise. “Holy shit—you’re Alex Crossman.” I stepped forward with a smile and held my hand out to him. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He took my hand with both of his and pumped an enthusiastic shake. “I’m Cosmo…Cosmo Price. Sutton’s dad. Are you and Sutton seeing each other?” I said “yes” at the exact time Sutton said “no.” Her dad’s head turned back and forth between the two of us, not sure who to believe. I looked at Sutton and arched an eyebrow at her. She closed her eyes briefly, letting out a pent-up breath. “I mean, yes, we are seeing each other. We’re also working on a drug outreach program.” “That’s fantastic,” Cosmo said, his smile beaming as he looked back and forth between us. Sutton stepped out from behind her desk and opened the door. “Well, thanks, but like I said, I’m busy. Alex and I have to go over the program materials.” “But…I thought we could talk—” her dad said but Sutton cut him off. “You know you can’t just drop by at my work. I’ve told you before, you need to arrange a time,” she reprimanded, and I thought that sounded a little harsh. “But I need some money,” he blurted out and I could see Sutton’s body stiffen with tension. “Yes, I know that’s why you’re here. You’re using again.” “I just need a few bucks to get something to eat…maybe get a motel room to stay tonight.” “You need money for your next fix,” she said, her voice staying calm but filled with ice. “You can get food and shelter down the street at the Savior Mission.” “I’m not using,” he said urgently, but Sutton held her hand up and he snapped his mouth shut. “Your eyes are dilated, your shoelace is missing and you’re scratching at the insides of your arms. You’re using,” she said emphatically. “And I’m not funding your habit.” Cosmo turned pleading eyes to me, and I then saw what Sutton saw. His pupils were large and black,

overtaking most of his irises. “Alex…buddy…I’m sure you could spare a few bucks for—” “Okay,” Sutton cut in and took her father by the elbow. “You need to go…right now, Cosmo. And don’t ever show up here again while you’re high. I work in a drug crisis center, for Pete’s sake!” She gave him a quick push out the door and I saw a brief glance he threw my way, and then the door was shut and Cosmo was gone. Turning around, Sutton leaned back against the door, her palms braced flat against it. She gave me a wry smile and said, “And that was Cosmo Price.” “Holy fuck,” I told her sincerely, my heart squeezing painfully over her misery. “Exactly,” she agreed and pushed away from the door to head back around her desk. “Now, let me show you those materials—” My arm snaked out and I circled my fingers around her elbow, halting her progress. She turned to look at me in question. “I’m sorry” is all I could think to say. Her smile radiated warm and tender as she placed her hand over mine and stroked my skin. “It’s okay.” “No…there’s nothing about that that is ‘okay.’ But you handled that phenomenally. I’m in awe, frankly.” “It’s hard to give tough love, but I have to do that not only for him, but for the sake of my own sanity,” she said as she pulled away from me, and I thought in that moment that Sutton had to be one of the most incredibly well-balanced people I had ever known. “What did you mean about his shoelaces?” I asked curiously. “Oh, that. A junkie will use his shoelaces to tie around his arm to plump up a vein. I noticed one of his was missing on the same shoes I last saw him in about a month ago. I’m sure he got so hopped up on the H that he pulled the lace off and left it in some dirty alley where he shot up.” My stomach curdled at the thought. Her dad’s life was crazy ugly and she had to deal with shit that was probably a lot screwier than my shit. Sutton opened up a desk drawer and pulled out a binder. Setting it on her desk, she started flipping through it. “I really don’t need you to review this, but if you want to, by all means.” That’s when I noticed it. Her eyes weren’t really looking at the pages, but seemed to be clouded. Her right hand shook slightly as she turned another page. In two strides I was at her side and pulling her into my arms. The minute they circled her, a shudder rushed through her body and her fingers dug into my back desperately. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t let him get to me.” “Shh,” I murmured with my lips pressed against the top of her head. “You have nothing to be sorry for. You were amazing the way you handled that.” With a stuttering breath, she squeezed me once and then pulled back. She looked okay…calm and poised once again. She raked her fingers through her hair and I noticed her hand was steady once more. “Thanks. I’m fine.” “Are you sure?” I asked skeptically. Giving me a genuine smile, she said, “Absolutely. I’ve got a hot date tonight and a bag of chocolate to look forward to.” “You have just two pieces to look forward to,” I reminded her. “Well, that will work too. As long as you’re the one feeding them to me.”

*** Breaking out of the reverie of my afternoon and brooding over having met Sutton’s birth father, I take one final glance in the mirror and walk out of the bathroom. Grabbing my keys and a light jacket, I open my apartment door and head out, my excitement over seeing Sutton starting to build yet again. Just as I pull onto the belt line, which is the quickest way to her house, my phone rings. Activating my Bluetooth, I answer the call through the car’s speakers. “Hello.” “Hey, Alex. It’s Cam.” My brother’s voice is tentative, unsure as to how I’ll react. What he normally gets from me is indifference, because I couldn’t care if he ever called me again. We had never been close growing up, and when he turned eighteen, he quickly escaped our father’s drunken rule and never looked back. He never thought twice about leaving me behind with a monster. Never bothered to check up on me. He calls me a few times a year to check in, see how I’m doing, but our conversations usually peter out after much awkward silence or one-word answers from my end. “What’s up?” I ask, trying to sound interested. Maybe I am…a little. It seems I’m caring about all kinds of shit these days. “It’s Dad…he’s in the hospital.” Even though my father rained terror and abuse down on me, even though he deprived me of a normal childhood, even though he twisted me into something that only vaguely looks like a human being at times, a fissure of fear quakes through me at those words. “What happened?” I ask, my throat rasping out the words. “He called me last night…was a bit disoriented. I went over to his house and found he had been vomiting some blood, so I took him to the emergency room.” “Same shit, different day,” I mutter. “Yeah…just thought you should know. He’s stable now and they’ll probably discharge him tomorrow.” “All right,” I say with a sigh. “Let me know if anything worsens.” Cam is silent for a moment and then he says, “I was thinking of coming down to visit you for a few days. Would that be okay?” My mind starts spinning. Cameron has never visited me since I became an adult and started playing major league hockey. He’s never even offered and I certainly never invited him. Before I can answer, he adds on, “I think we need to talk about Dad.” I want to say, “What’s to talk about?” Dad is going to drink himself into the grave. This most recent hospitalization is his fourth in the last two years. He has alcoholic hepatitis and probably cirrhosis from the abuse his liver has taken. His doctors have told him the only true treatment—the only hope of slowing the effects—is to stop drinking. He’s never taken their advice. It’s hard to worry about my dad’s health when he’s not worried about it. But again, before I can respond, Cam adds on, “Not to talk about treatment. We need to discuss what’s going to happen after…” His words trail off and his voice breaks. He wants to talk about what happens when our dad dies, and the way he is going—seems like it could be at any time. “Sure,” I tell him softly. “I’ll email you my travel schedule and you just let me know when you want to get together.”

We disconnect and I brood the entire way over to Sutton’s.

Chapter 20 Sutton “Alex,” I practically grunt as he drives into me. “Hold up a minute.” He doesn’t hear me or he doesn’t take me seriously, because he pulls back and slams back in just as hard. The feeling is so deliciously pleasurable, my toes curl up and my fingers dig into his ass. “Alex. Stop,” I practically plead. I’m not sure if it’s the supplicating tone of my request, or if he is surfacing from the almost drugged state our passion seems to induce, but he lifts his head—which had been buried in my neck—and looks at me with glazed eyes etched in concern. “Did I hurt you?” “No,” I assure him and tilt my hips upward so that he knows I’m totally digging the way he’s handling me. But I want something a bit different. “I want on top.” Answering my flexing hips with a push back that causes me to groan, he arches an eyebrow up at me. “You want on top?” “Yes,” I tell him with a grin. “I’m tired of you being in control all the time.” In a move so fast I feel like I’m on a roller coaster, Alex flips positions, falling to his back on the mattress while holding me in place. I swing around and come to rest on top of him, with his hardness still wedged deeply within me. The new angle causes tingles to race up my spine and my breath to catch. Alex gives sexy a new name as he raises his hands up and plants them behind his head, grinning up at me. “Do your worst, Sutton.” “How about I do my best,” I purr, using my thigh muscles to rise up slowly. I pull up and just before he slips free, I slowly sink back down on him. The amused grin on his face slides off and his eyes flutter closed as he grits his teeth. “Fuck, that feels good,” he says in an almost griping fashion. Resting the palms of my hands on his rock-hard stomach for leverage, I rise up again slowly, and push back down with equal force. He rewards me with a groan and so I do it again. And again. And again. I keep it slow as I watch his face register how pleasurable he is finding this. “Go faster,” he begs me as his hands come out from behind his head and grasp on to my thighs. He gives a slight push as I move upward, seemingly helping me along. When I start to slide back down slowly, he tries to push me along but I resist, my thigh muscles quaking against the force he’s exerting. When he is in as deep as he can go, his gaze pins me intensely. “Come on, Sutton. Quit playing around.”

I smile at him and push his hands off my legs. “You want it harder?” “God, yes.” “Faster?” “Yes!” “No,” I tell him emphatically and his eyes flare wide at my denial. “I’m in control now, so just lie back and leave me be.” Challenge burns within his blue eyes as he raises his head slightly from the pillow, and I can sense he is on the verge of flipping us back over so he can take control. I give him a warning look and say, “Don’t even think about it.” The defiance reverberates off him but he doesn’t move a muscle, other than to lay his head back down and give me a tight smile. He doesn’t say a word but brings his hands back up to rest on my thighs. His touch is light and acquiescent, born more of a need to just touch me rather than to be in control, and that makes my heart squeeze in contentment. When Alex picked me up for dinner tonight, I sensed that something was wrong. He was distracted, his mind definitely on something more than me or the delicious Peruvian food we were eating. I asked him twice if there was something wrong and he gave me an apologetic smile and assured me he was fine…just thinking about an upcoming game against a highly ranked opponent. I didn’t buy it for a second, but the second time he refused to give me any intel, I decided to drop it. After dinner, Alex said he didn’t feel like seeing a movie, and frankly, neither did I. It had been five days since we were last together and when I wasn’t worried about his distraction during dinner, I was fantasizing about all of the wicked things he would do to me once we got in bed. I had never in my life thought about sex as much as I did with Alex. It made me feel shallow, at times, because I feared that perhaps I was enamored of Alex only because he was a god in between the sheets. But no…there were plenty of other things about Alex that I was enamored of. I think about the kindness with which he treated Glenn, or how he pulled me into his arms earlier today when Cosmo got the better of me. I think of how he is enjoying the game of hockey after hating it so long and the patience with which he teaches me about it. The way he looks at me, the softness of his touch. The way he bribes Minnie with subtle flirting and mums so that he can squeeze into my schedule to see me. Yes, Alex Crossman is a self-proclaimed asshole, and he’s warned me that he will hurt me. But he hasn’t yet. So far he has done nothing but make my blood race, my heart thump madly and my soul sigh with contentment. The softness of the feelings I have right now for Alex demand that I continue the slow pace I’ve set while on top of him. We have always been “balls to the wall” when we’ve had sex—Alex’s characterization, not mine. We get so consumed with lust and sensation that we are always striving to go harder, faster, longer. Our movements are always frenzied and the talk filthy. It’s exciting but even more, it’s intensely intimate. But right now, I want to see if we are still as combustible at a different speed. Scraping my nails along the skin of his stomach, I ride Alex with long pulls against his cock, and every time I sink back down onto him, he gives me a groan of approval. His fingertips slightly dig into my skin but he doesn’t try to hurry me again. He capitulates, even closing his eyes so he can privately savor the sensations I’m providing.

I watch him carefully. I notice the pace of his breathing, the flex of his muscles, the sounds coming from those beautiful lips of his. It’s all a wonder to me…to have this time to savor the beauty of Alex. To be the one solely responsible for the orgasm that I’m going to give him. The thought of bringing him to a slow completion turns me on greatly. I’m searching for release myself and I can tell Alex is getting closer by the way his muscles have stiffened along his jaw and neckline and the rawness of his breathing. Tingles spark low in my belly as my own climax starts to break free, and I have to make myself keep the pace slow. My own nature wants to propel me faster, because Alex and I are best when we are wildly out of control. Yet this pace feels right too, and I want to prove that it will feel just as good when we come slowly… silently. “Baby,” I whisper and Alex opens his eyes. They are dark, clouded with quiet passion and they take a moment to focus. “I want you to come hard for me.” He groans at my request and his eyes squeeze shut again. He gives me no warning as his hands reach under my ass and he pushes me upward so suddenly that I have to grasp onto his biceps to steady myself. Then he pulls me down hard—so hard that he hits something deeper than I’ve ever felt before and I let out a curse of pleasure. Then Alex just holds me in place and flexes his hips upward, holding his breath as he starts to come. Watching the extreme release of pleasure on his face is my undoing and my orgasm breaks free. Throwing my head back, my heart is filled with immense tenderness over this experience. I swallow the cry that wants to release because I don’t want to drown out the other quiet sensations we are experiencing together right now. A low moan from Alex starts to work loose and my breath releases in an explosive gasp, both of our bodies shuddering so very quietly in relief. I don’t collapse forward onto Alex even though my body is thoroughly exhausted. Instead, I stay sitting up ramrod straight, his cock still hard inside of me, and I watch him. His chest rises up and down in short bursts and his pulse is hammering at the base of his throat. His eyes open slowly and he stares at me, almost blankly, for a moment. Then my heart drops a little when I see a touch of fear glaze over him. He shares it with me for just a second, so briefly that perhaps I imagined it, but then his hands grip my hips and he lifts me off of him, rolling me to the side so that I’m lying on the mattress. He rolls right over the top of me and I think it’s a move so he can settle back in between my legs to kiss me, but he keeps on rolling, right off the bed. “I need to use the bathroom,” he mutters and doesn’t look back at me as he steps out of my bedroom and into the hallway. It’s contagious…fear. It takes root in my heart and then zips outward through my veins and arteries, until I’m completely suffused with it. While Alex and I have always been intense in our passion, there has always—always— been cuddling after, usually followed by quiet talk. He’s never just left me so suddenly, so coldly. Clearly this experience was moving to him in a way that was different from the way it was moving to me. It was possibly too intimate for him, or maybe my ability to give him a good orgasm just plain sucks. Maybe I imagined the tenderness of this experience, and Alex didn’t appreciate it. Self-doubt overwhelms me and I can feel tears prick at my eyes. Swinging my legs out of bed, I lurch upward and out. I root around for my clothes and slip my

underwear on—backward and inside out, I think—but I don’t stop. The slickness of Alex’s semen trickles down the inside of my thighs and the thought of it almost makes me want to cry in loss, because I do think I’m losing him. I hastily pull on my T-shirt and reach down for my jeans, when Alex steps back into the room. “What are you doing?” As I glance at him over my shoulder, he looks stunning in the blue light of the moon coming through my windows. He is all hard angles and rolling valleys of muscle. His nakedness, while beautiful, makes me feel uncomfortable for some reason. I don’t answer but bend over once again for my jeans. Just as I grasp them, I feel him behind me, pulling at my shoulders until I straighten up. Then I’m wrapped up in his arms, the heat of his skin almost burning in nature. “Why are you getting dressed?” he murmurs in my ear, and his sexy tone causes a ripple of longing to run through me. “I just…I thought maybe you were heading home,” I tell him, although I have no clue why I was getting dressed. Clearly there was a need for escape, because the emptiness he left behind in the bed was freaking me out. “Home?” he asks in confusion. “Why would I do that?” I shrug my shoulders in response, completely unwilling to tell him all of my insecurities. He’s not accepting my silence. Turning me around so that I face him, he wraps both of his large hands around my neck and props his thumbs under my chin. Then he tilts my head up so I have to look at him. “What’s wrong?” he asks, worry evident in his tone and expression. My fear tells me to keep my mouth shut, that any confession of my feelings will send him scurrying. But the part of me that is still wise to the world and has handled things a lot scarier than this urges me to be honest. “You bolted out of bed pretty quickly,” I tell him in a firm voice, even though my stomach is tightening with unease. “I had to use the bathroom,” he enunciates emphatically, as if he’s talking to a child that needs reassurance, even as a hint of guilt flashes in his eyes. I know without a doubt he’s lying to me. I open my mouth to call him out on it, but it’s suddenly filled with his tongue as he crashes his mouth down on mine. His hands remain around my throat, thumbs under my chin to hold me in place. He plunges deeply into me, carnally invading my mouth, even as one thumb snakes up and strokes me along my jawline. The frantic nature of his kiss, along with the tender stroking of my skin, causes my head to spin and lust to course through me. It’s coursing through Alex too, because I feel him grow hard against me. He’s distracting me—I know it. He doesn’t want to talk about the reasons he bolted out of bed. I decide not to pursue it because I’m immensely grateful he didn’t bolt out of my house. He’s back…in my bedroom, in my arms, and he still very much wants me. Well, he wants my body. Alex is so skillful in the way he kisses me—and my body is so reactive—I let him have me. I let him distract me, and I choose not to worry about all of the ways that Alex still is not opening up to me.

*** As we lie in each other’s arms, I immerse myself in the feeling of security Alex is making me feel at this moment. Our bodies have quieted from our last round of sex, which showcased a very in-control Alex who was intent on making me remember the glory of frenzied lust. He growled the dirtiest things in my ear while he pounded into me. He kissed me roughly, biting and sucking at my tender skin. After an orgasm that almost lifted my entire body off the mattress, even with Alex’s heavy weight on me, I almost cried out in relief when he pulled me into his arms and held me close. He didn’t run, and maybe I was just imagining the cold shoulder from earlier in the evening. I was getting drowsy but I didn’t want to fall asleep. We may have caught up on the sex we had missed out on, but I wanted to talk to Alex. “Thanksgiving is coming up,” I tell him as my finger traces circles around one of his nipples. My head is resting in the cradling valley between his shoulder and chest, with an arm holding me tight. “And this means what to a Canadian?” he teases. “Canadians celebrate Thanksgiving,” I tell him firmly. “Yeah, but not in November,” he argues. “Did you celebrate it this year?” “Nope,” he says. “Not my kind of holiday.” “And why is that?” Shrugging his shoulders, he says, “It’s a family holiday and I’m not close with my family.” “Well, Thanksgiving isn’t just about family. It’s also about spending time with friends. So, you are coming to eat Thanksgiving dinner with my family next week.” “I can’t,” he says with what I’m grateful to note is actually a bit of sadness. “We have a game on Thanksgiving Day.” “I know. Jim-Dad noticed that when my mom suggested you come and she said we’ll just do Thanksgiving on Friday instead of Thursday.” “No way,” Alex says suddenly. “You are not moving a family holiday to accommodate my schedule.” “Shut up,” I tell him firmly. “It’s a done deal and if you want to argue about it, you need to call my mom and argue with her.” I literally can hear Alex snap his lips shut, on the verge of arguing with me, but I also feel his muscles relax even farther into our post-coital bliss. “Fine,” he grouses, but when I tilt my head up to look at him, I see the smile on his face. “You think we can invite Garrett too? “Absolutely, although I think having Alex Crossman and Garrett Samuelson in his home is likely to cause Glenn to stroke out.” Chuckling, Alex rolls toward me, dislodging my perch on his body. He brings his free arm around my waist and pulls me into the warmth of his body. Our faces just inches apart, he tells me softly, “I lucked out when I met you, Sutton.” I close my eyes briefly, just so I can memorize the look on his face right now and the reverence in his voice. It seems to dispel most of the doubts I was feeling earlier, but I’m still cautious that there is a part of Alex that is locked away tight. I know I didn’t imagine the fear on his face earlier, following what was

an intensely intimate moment between us. For now, though…I’ll take these words and I’ll live off them.

Chapter 21 Alex “I think I might barf,” Jim Murdock says with a groan as he slides his chair back from the dining room table and stretches his legs out. “Is it bad manners to unbutton my pants in front of our guests?” “It’s bad manners to unbutton your pants at the table, regardless if guests are here or not,” Penny Murdock says sternly, even though she has mischief dancing in her eyes. I feel like I’m going to barf too, I ate so much food, but damn, Sutton’s mom can fucking cook. I couldn’t stop eating, and as Garrett groans across the table from me, I can see he’s as miserable as I am. “Well, the food was amazing, Penny,” I tell her as I push my own chair back and stretch out just a bit. “I ate way too much.” “I was just trying to keep up with this little garbage-gut beside me,” Garrett says as he nudges Glenn with his elbow. The kid gives Garrett a starry-eyed look and blushes scarlet. “No way. You’re like ten times bigger than me and ate way more than I ever could.” “You are cold trippin’, kid,” Garrett says with mock anger. “You ate like five plates of food. I only had two.” “Four,” Glenn counters. “Three and we’ll call it even.” “Deal,” Glenn says with a grin and then pushes away from the table to copy his dad and me. Garrett follows suit. Sneaking a glance at Sutton, who sits to my right, a flush of warmth goes through me. She’s leaning forward in her chair, one elbow propped on the table, her chin resting on the heel of her hand. She’s watching the interplay between Glenn and Garrett with such a dreamy look on her face, completely in love with her younger brother and over the moon at the positive attention he’s getting. I love seeing how happy that makes her, but at the same time it causes a small pang of hurt to go through me because I never had a family member look at me like that. My dad’s gaze was usually too bleary and Cameron was lost in his own world, trying to ignore the fucked- up relationship we all had. As I watch Sutton, glowing with serenity and peace, I actually feel a bit envious of her. She had a shitty life to start out, same as me. But her life changed and mine didn’t. I’m not sure if the things we have in common drew us together, but I’m fearful the differences we have could cause a void because maybe I can’t be truly happy for Sutton and the life she’s made. Shaking my head from those thoughts, and needing a bit of distance, I stand up from the table and grab my plate. “Come on, guys. Let’s clean up the kitchen.” Glenn and Garrett stand up at my suggestion and start stacking plates. Penny makes a small attempt to

intervene as she stands up. “You’re guests, Alex. You boys sit down and I’ll get this later.” Before I can even say a word, Garrett says, “With all due respect, Penny, sit your butt down and let us clean up. You’ve earned the break.” Sutton starts to stand to help but I give her a hard look. “You sit your beautiful butt back down too. You helped your mom cook. Us men will handle the cleaning.” I look over to Jim but he just gives me a smirk. “Hey, my hard-earned money bought all this food. I think I’ll just sit back and relax.” “Fair enough,” I laugh and then we get to work cleaning. Okay, so two men in their mid-twenties and an eleven-year-old kid really aren’t the best at kitchen duties, but what we don’t have in efficiency, we make up for in determination. It takes us over an hour to clear the dining room table, put the leftover food in containers and wash all the pots and pans. By the time we finish, I’m exhausted and looking forward to maybe some couch snuggle time with Sutton. Garrett is in the dining room wiping down the table and as I dry my hands on a towel, I look over to Glenn, who just put the last container in the fridge. “How’s school going?” Shoving his hands in his pockets and looking at the floor, Glenn shrugs his shoulders. “Okay, I guess.” I recognize the move…it’s one I did repeatedly when teachers would ask how things were at home. I was a pro at averting my gaze so no one would see the truth in my eyes. “Hey, man,” I say as I walk up to him and put a hand on his shoulder. He finally looks up at me, so I continue. “If you need to talk about something…something that you can’t talk to your parents or even Sutton about, you can talk to me.” I’m not quite sure why I offer this, because honestly, what type of sage advice could I give him? I have no realistic idea of what a normal childhood looks like, and God help me if he wants to talk about girls. Until Sutton, I never treated a woman decently in my life. Still, I give him a reassuring smile so he knows I mean the offer is good. Shooting a quick glance in the living room, and satisfied no one is listening because Sutton, Jim and Penny are all sound asleep as a football game plays on TV, he says, “There’s this kid at school, who everyone picks on. When he comes to school, he’s always dirty, and smells bad. I think he and his mom may be homeless.” My heart lurches when Glenn sneaks another glance at the living room, then turns back to me in a whisper. “Anyway, the other day some kids were pushing him around and I told them to stop…” Glenn pauses and looks down with a shamed look on his face. “Hey, bud, it’s all right. You can tell me.” He looks back up and a hard glint is in his eyes. He whispers again while leaning toward me, “They wouldn’t stop…and I just…I got so angry I got in a fight with the other kids.” Of all the things I thought Glenn was going to say, I didn’t think that was it. My brain goes into overdrive, trying to think what an adult piece of advice would sound like, but Glenn doesn’t even give me a chance. “I ended up hitting one kid really hard and cut his lip.” “Did you get in trouble?” I ask, fascinated over the prospect that Glenn was involved in a schoolyard brawl. Shaking his head, he says in a low voice, “No…it broke up when the bell rang and the kid didn’t rat me

out. I guess he was afraid he’d get in trouble for pushing the other kid around.” “So what’s the problem?” I ask, genuinely not knowing why this should upset Glenn. To my way of thinking, he was a little hero. He stood up for someone weaker. One more glance into the living room, and I notice that he’s looking directly at Sutton. Then his eyes come back to me, filled with regret. “Because…Sutton says violence is never the way. She says violence begets violence.” I blink at Glenn hard, absorbing the almost biblical tone to his voice as he quotes his sister. He’s feeling shame over hitting another kid. “But surely she’d understand,” I say, but Glenn is shaking his head, cutting me off. “No…she lived in a violent household when she and Mom were with Cosmo. She’s been through things much worse, and she’s told me to always turn the other cheek.” I almost rear backward over this revelation. I’m surprised first that Glenn would even know any such details of Sutton’s life before Jim rescued her and her mother, and second, I’m stunned that violence was part of the fucked-up existence that Sutton lived in with her drugged-out father. Suddenly, I’m wishing I had punched Cosmo Price rather than shook his hand last week. “What exactly did Sutton tell you about when she lived with her—with Cosmo?” “No real details because she thinks I’m just a kid, but just generally things like hitting another person doesn’t solve a problem. She told me that she had been hit a lot and sometimes she wanted to react the same way, but she always told herself to be the bigger person. I want to be a bigger person like Sutton, but maybe I’m just as bad as Cosmo.” Holy fuck, but that’s a messed-up thought for any kid to have running through his head. Bending down into a squat so I can look Glenn in the eye, I tell him. “Look, Sutton’s right about what she’s saying. Violence shouldn’t be the answer. But sometimes…we all do things in a moment of passion. Sometimes we make decisions based on pure emotion, and sometimes they are wrong. Now, I don’t know if it was right or wrong that you hit that kid. Part of me wants to pat you on the back for it, because it was wonderful that you stood up for someone weaker than yourself. But all that really matters is that if you think it was wrong, then you are remorseful for it. It seems to me that you are.” Glenn nods his head in understanding and, yup, there’s relief there. “Should I tell Sutton?” “Only if you feel the need, buddy. Sometimes secrets are okay, but I’m sure if you told her, she would totally understand.” “Yeah,” he says, his smile breaking wide. “She’s pretty cool.” “The coolest,” I say emphatically. “How about I give you my phone number and if you want to call me at any time, you can.” “Really?” Glenn asks, his eyes going wide. “Sure thing. I can’t promise the best advice but I’ll help you figure it out.” “Thanks, Alex,” he says and I stand up, reaching out to ruffle his hair. “You two done with your bonding shit in here?” Garrett says as he walks back into the kitchen. “I’m ready to get my post-meal nap on.” “Eavesdropper,” I accuse even as Glenn chortles. “And don’t cuss in front of the kid.” Garrett snorts at me as he walks by and then grabs Glenn in a headlock as he drags him into the living room. “Kid’s heard far worse than that, I guarantee. I’ll give him my number too, that way he has a backup in case you’re not available.”

“That’s freakin’ awesome,” Glenn says, even as he tries to squirm out of Garrett’s hold before he gets a noogie on his head. Rolling my eyes, I follow them in, because I’m positive Glenn has heard worse than that. At least I’m sensitive to being a bit of a better role model than Garrett and try to keep my cursing to a minimum when I’m in his presence. As we enter the living room, Glenn lets out a squeal because Garrett indeed gives him a good noogie and the nappers all come awake with guilty looks on their faces for having dozed so quickly. “Come on, brat,” Garrett says as he releases Glenn and gives him a slight push toward the front door. “Let’s go take a walk around the block. I’m afraid I’ll slip into a coma right now if I don’t.” Glenn’s face lights up like he has just been awarded the Stanley Cup, and then they’re out the door. Blinking at me with a sleepy smile on her face, Sutton stands up from the couch. I walk up to her and she pushes me down into her seat, and then crawls onto my lap. Her mom, Penny, who’s sitting on the other end, smiles warmly at me. I cast a glance at her dad sitting across from us in his recliner, but Jim has his eyes glued to the TV, although there is a tiny tilt upward of his lips. I’m not sure if that’s approval of our display of affection or not, but I choose to go with it. Wrapping my arms around her, I sigh in almost contentment when she tucks her face into my neck and drapes one arm across my chest. After a few moments, I note that Sutton’s breathing has slowed down and it appears she’s fallen back asleep. I rest my cheek on the top of her head and watch the football game. I’m a little drowsy from all the food but I resist the urge to fall under. For now, I just want to savor my existence at this moment. I’m sitting in a family home, filled with kind and loving people. I just had a wonderful meal where we talked and joked. I helped a little kid with a problem and I have a gorgeous woman who I’m crazy about curled up on my lap. If you had asked me two months ago whether I could envision myself here, I would have said not a snowball’s chance in hell. I have a hard time believing the reality of the situation. Whether it will last or not, I don’t have a fucking crystal ball. So the most I can do is relish these moments. I am trying to make myself open to all possibilities. Last week, I admittedly got freaked out when Sutton made love to me. And yes, that was not fucking and it wasn’t hot sex…it was making love. She rode me so slowly, with such consummate carefulness, I had never been that in tune with a woman in my life. I swear I could feel her blood vibrating through her veins and feel the heat emanating from her skin. Her eyes were so lustrously warm, they caused my own blood to fire painfully hot in response. I was fucking overwhelmed with feeling, and then I experienced what was singularly the most explosive, intensely focused orgasm I’ve ever had in my entire life. It went off in me so unexpectedly and with such quiet force, I swear I almost passed out from the ferocious nature of the spasms that racked my body. When I drifted back down to earth and opened my eyes, I found Sutton watching me with naked emotion on her face. She was so open and vulnerable-looking, and I think she was searching for those same qualities within me, to see if perhaps we might have experienced a moment together that transcended the normal explosions of release we had experienced in the past. I couldn’t stand the thought that she was looking for something inside of me that probably wasn’t there. I was afraid I’d let her down when she delved in deep and came up empty. I wasn’t prepared to see the hurt in her eyes, so I did the only thing that made sense, and that was to get out of bed and away from her

probing gaze as quickly as possible. It only took a splash of cold water on my face, a serious look at myself in the mirror reminding me that there was a beautiful, naked woman in bed waiting for me, and I was ready to return. When I found her getting dressed and noticed the jerky nature of her movements, the uncertainty of her posture, I knew that I had hurt her by leaving the bed. I knew that she knew that I was running from the deep feelings that had just been unleashed. The thought of her disconnecting from me…the thought that I could have driven a wedge between us by some silly action, caused fear to stir deep in my belly. I wasn’t ready to let her go. I’ve always known that I’d probably hurt her in the end, but I sure as hell wasn’t ready to call it quits right then. Luckily, she let me kiss her. She knew I was doing it for distraction, for redirection, and she let me work my charms on her. Within moments, we were back in bed and clawing at each other, lost once again to the haze of sex and lust that overwhelmed us. “You two really are good for each other,” I hear Penny say softly. Pulled from my thoughts, which were bordering on depraved, I sweep my gaze around the living room and see Jim has succumbed back into slumber. Reaching my hand up, I stroke the back of Sutton’s hair and she doesn’t move a muscle. She’s out cold. Looking at Penny I ask, “You think so?” “Absolutely, and I know a little something about people who are bad for each other and people who are good for each other.” I nod in understanding. “I met Cosmo last week.” “Sutton told me you did. I hate that you had to see him like that. He’s a decent man when he’s not using. I don’t like him going to Sutton like that.” “She handled him well,” I tell her, so she knows that her daughter is okay. “I know she can handle him. I just hate that she has to handle him. I wish she’d just cut ties completely, but she won’t. He’s still her father.” I can empathize with that sentiment. I’ve thought long and hard about cutting my dad completely out of my life, but I’ve never been able to make the move. Sure, I still have bitter feelings over what he’s created, but for the most part we don’t deal with each other. He comes to a handful of my games and calls me on drunken rants to complain about some aspect of my game. Other than that, we don’t communicate, but for some reason, I just can’t imagine cutting ties permanently. “You look as if you understand what I’m saying,” Penny murmurs, and I realize I’ve gotten deeply lost in memories without having responded to her. “Yeah,” I say after letting out a long-held breath. “I know something about having a dysfunctional parent.” “I’m sorry” is all Penny says and she doesn’t push for anything more. She just gives me that same soft smile, leaning her cheek into the palm of her hand. “Sounds like you and Sutton have something important in common and that’s always good. You can lean on each other.” I don’t respond because I hate to tell her that I am not the best crutch for her daughter to lean on. While Sutton seems to have made lemonade out of the sour lemons in her life, I’m still swimming in the harsh acidity of having an abusive, alcoholic parent. It’s not something I’ve been able to let go of, and I see no way to achieve healing grace.

I hate to tell Penny—so I don’t—but Sutton and I have nothing really in common regarding our past.

Chapter 22 Sutton My heart is slamming so hard inside of my chest cavity, I swear Alex might be able to hear it through the door. My blood is pumping so fast through my veins that I’m afraid I might stroke out. I am exhilarated and scared shitless, a duality of emotion that causes my skin to tingle and my throat to tighten in anticipation. Raising my hand, I knock on Alex’s hotel door. I had been waiting impatiently for Garrett to text me after their game against the New York Vipers, telling me that Alex was back in his room. I flew to the Big Apple with the help of some scheming from Garrett, as a surprise for Alex’s birthday. Alex never said a word about his birthday, and we were so new in our relationship, I never thought to ask him when it was. I was overcome with guilt when Garrett mentioned it to me at Thanksgiving. He pulled me aside before he left and asked if I was planning anything special. I blinked at Garrett, almost not understanding his question, then regained my senses. I practically hissed at him, “When’s his birthday?” Garrett gave me a wide grin and whispered back to me, “Next week—November thirtieth.” “How do you know?” I whispered back, glancing at Alex while he talked to Glenn on the front porch steps while Mom was loading him up with leftovers. “Because that shit’s on the team roster and I notice shit like that.” “Oh” was all I could think to say, and I told him I would think of something. Except, Garrett ended up coming up with a great idea and suggested I fly to New York secretly to surprise Alex after the game. They were going to be in New York for two days as the Cold Fury had backto-back games with the Vipers and then the New Jersey Wildcats. So here I stand, my knuckles tingling from the sharp rap against the door, and I wait with my breath held for Alex to open up. When he does, I could kick myself in the ass for not having a video to memorialize the look on his face when he sees me. He blinks a few times and then rubs his eyes, almost as if he doesn’t trust the vision that is standing before him. He looks at me in question, his throat muscles working but no sound coming out. “Happy birthday,” I say coyly as my hands unbelt the loose knot that holds the trench coat I’m wearing closed. When the belt works free, I peel open the coat, revealing his present. It’s nothing more than my body scantily clad in scraps of blood-red lace, complete with garters, black silk stockings and a pair of sinfully sexy black pumps—an outfit that I purchased just yesterday before flying out that, along with the plane ticket, put a huge dent in my meager savings account. Alex slowly drags his gaze down my body, his tongue swiping over his lower lip when he looks at my breasts, which are barely hanging into the bra I’m wearing. His eyes move over me leisurely, all the way

down to my toes, then slowly back up again. When he meets my eyes, I’m rewarded with nuclear heat shining bright in his blue irises, and he reaches out to me. Grabbing the ends of the belt hanging loosely by my sides, he pulls me into the room roughly, straight into his hard body, causing me to gasp in surprise. He kicks the door shut with his foot. “What are you doing here?” he asks, his voice growling in what seems to be anger, but I know better. It’s full-blown lust, and this is verified by the very heavy erection that is pulsing against my belly right now. “Surprise,” I say with a gentle laugh, my fingers starting to work at his belt. He must have just gotten into the room because he’s still in dress pants and shirt, only his shoes and socks having been discarded. Alex swallows hard as I remove his belt and toss it to the floor. My fingers then go to the buttons on his shirt, and I work quickly to remove it along with the soft white T-shirt he has on underneath. When I look up at him, his jaw muscle is ticking and his gaze scorches me. I lower my hand and palm his erection through his pants. “I want you in my mouth, Alex. I want to suck you off until you scream my name.” Alex’s look darkens as he curses, “Fuck…when did you learn dirty talk like that?” He flexes his hips toward my hand, urging me to stroke him through the material. “That’s not dirty talk,” I tell him as I give him a squeeze. “That’s what I’m telling you is going to happen.” “Oh, fuck no it’s not,” he growls as his hands come up and jerk the coat from my shoulders. “You can’t show up at my room, wearing lingerie like that, and tell me you want to suck me off, not thinking that’s going to produce a certain reaction.” His words are harsh, guttural, and slice deep into me with urgency and need. “Reaction?” I whisper. Taking me by the shoulders, Alex turns me around and pushes me up against the door I had just walked through. The wood is cool against my skin, but Alex presses in tight against me from behind, providing blazing heat to counterbalance the sensation. “Yeah…reaction. The reaction is I need to fuck you—right now, really hard and really fast.” I start to argue, because I really wanted to give him a blow job for his birthday, but my words drown in a moan as Alex reaches down and rips my underwear from my body. There’s a sharp bite as the lace digs into the skin on my hip, and then it’s gone. Intense urgency must be his game because he no sooner rips my panties away than his hand is curling around the front of my body and he sinks two fingers into me…roughly. And damn, it feels so good, I can’t do anything but spread my legs farther and hope to God he makes good on his promise to fuck me. “You’re already wet, Sutton,” he murmurs in my ear while grinding his erection into my lower back. “Did thinking about having your lips wrapped around my cock do that to you?” “Y-e-s-s-s-s,” I stammer out, bracing my palms against the door and pushing my ass backward into him. “Good, because that little proclamation of yours got me hard as a rock and I want to be inside of you so bad.” He doesn’t need a response from me and I hear the sound of his zipper being lowered. I close my eyes and hold my breath, preparing myself for his delicious invasion. Alex doesn’t make me wait. He pulls my hips back slightly and I assume he bends his knees to bring himself in alignment, but then he’s pushing his way into me.

I’m so wet right now…I can feel it, but I’m also tight and he’s not getting easy entrance from this standing position. He pulls back and pushes in with short bursts of energy, working a bit deeper each time. “Are you okay?” he grunts in my ear. “Yes,” I grit out. “Good,” he snarls as he pushes in deeper. “Because I wouldn’t stop if you asked me to. I couldn’t stop. Not possible.” I smile, resting my cheek against the door. That’s an absolute lie. Alex would stop in a heartbeat if he thought he was hurting me, but he’s fueling our passion with his own brand of dirty talk, and it makes me slicker and my flesh welcomes him in deeper. After pulling out and then giving one more hard push, Alex is seated in me to the hilt and I can feel the stinging nip of his pants zipper on my skin. He groans in satisfaction and I hear a tinge of triumph in it. I smile even brighter, because there is something immensely fulfilling for a woman to know that she has the power to turn her man into an animal. There is nothing for me to do. I concentrate on standing in my high heels as Alex starts to drive in and out of my body. He’s relentless, slamming into me with such force that he’s banging me into the door. Anyone walking down the hall has got to know someone’s having sex on the other side. Alex brings one hand to a breast and plucks at my nipple while the other goes in between my legs to stroke with sure fingers. He’s so huge, and I concentrate on the feel of him inside of me as he pounds on and on and on. “God, you feel good, Sutton,” Alex snarls by my ear, just before reaching down and biting me on the soft skin between the base of my neck and shoulder. My entire body bucks against the sensation, and he soothes me by running his tongue along my tender skin. “You drive me crazy,” he pants, banging into my body harder and wringing out the most unladylike grunts from deep within me. Everything becomes overwhelming to me all of a sudden. The feverish need Alex has for me, the feel of him burying deep into my body, the fact that we are making a lot of noise and assuredly someone has heard us, the way he talks dirty to me with almost a starving compulsion. It all comes crashing down on my senses and my entire body starts to tighten. With just a light stroke of his finger against my clit, I fall over the edge and cry in release as my orgasm explodes outward. My legs buckle and Alex quickly grabs on to my hips, holding me up. “Fuck, that was sexy,” he says in awe and slams into me once, twice more, and then he stays deep as he says, “I’m coming. Oh, fuck…fuck…damn, Sutton.” He continues to mutter curses, punctuating each one with another thrust of his hips into me. He seems to climax forever, and it’s thrilling to me to feel this uninhibitedness that I’ve not seen before…at least not to this extent. Alex completely let himself go and it’s like he has never wanted anything more in his life than me at that moment, and it makes me immeasurably joyful inside to think that. When he stops shuddering against me, Alex pulls back and slips out of my body. I feel the rush of his semen start to pour out of me and slide down my inner thighs. I hear him zip his pants up, but I still keep my eyes closed. Stepping into the bathroom, Alex grabs a towel and returns. I haven’t moved, unsure as to whether my

shaking legs would support me, so I keep my knees bent and balanced while my palms keep me leaning against the door. Alex kneels on the floor and gently cleans himself off me, rubbing softly between my legs and making me gasp because I’m still very sensitive. When he’s done, he drops the towel to the floor and lifts me in his arms. Walking over to the bed, he lays me on it and stands over me. He just stares at me for a long moment as I lie there, his face almost impassively blank. Then he crawls onto the bed, in between my legs, and makes his way up my body. But when his head reaches my stomach, he stops and drops down on me gently, laying his cheek against my belly, and curling his arms underneath me to hold me tight. Rubbing his stubble against my sensitive skin, he says, “Best birthday present ever.” Reaching down, I run my fingers through his hair and giggle, “You didn’t get the present I wanted to give you.” “I got the present I wanted, though,” he counters. “You mean you didn’t want a blow job?” I tease. “Every guy always wants a blow job,” he sets me straight. “But I needed to be inside you so bad…I couldn’t control myself, Sutton. I’ve never been turned on like that before. I felt like an animal.” Gripping his hair, I pull slightly so he turns his face and looks up at me. “I like you like that. I like the animal side of Alex Crossman.” He grins at me then raises up, supporting his weight on his arms. “Let’s take a shower, then maybe you can give me my birthday present.” “Now you’re talking,” I tell him as I push back on his head, urging him to get up from the bed. He doesn’t get up though. Instead, he places his lips in between my breasts, right in the center of my chest. He gives me the lightest of kisses there, then looks up at me. “Seriously…you being here is the best present ever.” I can’t respond to him. He’s looking at me with such happiness, such sincerity, I’m afraid that if I let any words out of my mouth, I may tell him that I’ve fallen in love with him. That would be foolish to do, because I know he doesn’t feel the same way. I know he cares—a lot. But he’s still holding back from me, and until such time as he opens up all the way, I know love is not going to be part of the equation. Long after we shower and long after Alex’s knees almost buckle while I lick and suck every inch of him, we lie in the bed facing each other and talk. I fill Alex in on how Garrett schemed with me about his birthday, and I can tell he’s touched that he had a friend care enough about him to get his girl on a plane to visit. We talk about the game tonight. I was there, Garrett also having secured me a ticket. Alex was spectacular tonight, and he actually surprises me by telling me how pumped and excited he was before the game. It’s an enthusiasm that’s stronger than any I’ve heard before from him, and it gives me the courage to ask, “What happened to the guy who hated playing hockey?” I’m not teasing him when I ask that question. He knows I’m being serious. Taking a finger and running it along my jaw, Alex seems deep in thought while he watches the path he’s making. He trails his finger from my chin, down my throat and to the middle of my chest. Tapping a finger lightly against that area where my heart beats the strongest, he says, “I don’t know. I just know that I see things differently.” “Why?” I ask, almost afraid of his answer. Because while I think I might be a changing factor in his life, even if he doesn’t acknowledge that change will hurt, I know it will.

His gaze leaves his finger, which is still resting against my heart, and moves up to meet mine. “You’re a force, Sutton. I felt it from the moment I laid eyes on you when I walked into the crisis center. You just radiate this—I don’t know what to call it—but it’s like a confidence I’ve never seen before. You have command of your life. You love life. It’s a little intimidating, but it attracts me all the same.” “Why is that intimidating?” I ask him breathlessly, impatiently waiting for him to reveal more of his soul to me. Reaching out, he grips my chin with his hand, holding me in place so I can’t look away. I wouldn’t…not even if a herd of stampeding animals went by. “Because you turned your life around. You had a shitty start and yet you conquered your past. You used it to give you strength and resilience, and you in turn give others strength and resilience. You made me look at things differently, and apparently I’ve found some joy for things that I thought were long dead and buried for me.” “I still don’t get why that is intimidating?” I ask, not exactly getting how it all connects. “Because,” he says softly, then he leans in to kiss me. His lips touch my mouth softly, sliding back and forth with a hint of whispered breath, then he pulls back. “Because…I had a shitty start too, and I think it destroyed the best parts of me. I let it destroy the best parts of me, and honestly…it sometimes makes me angry that you were able to get past it and I can’t. It sometimes makes me angry at you.” I blink a few times, unsure of what I just heard. He’s staring at me openly, and he has laid something on me with such brutal honesty, I don’t doubt a word of what he’s just said. But unfortunately, rather than express tender emotions I thought he might have for me, he’s just admitted that there’s a part of me that he apparently doesn’t like. Because it makes him feel bad about himself. Gah, that is some fucked-up thinking. I’m affronted, and I can’t help it. I pull back and he releases the grip on my chin. I stare at him a moment, and he returns my stare, eyes unblinking. I push away and roll out of bed, turning to look at him again now that there is some distance between us. “You’re mad at me because I’ve made something of my life? Because I’ve moved past the trauma of my past?” I know my voice sounds shrill but I can’t help it. Alex moves from the bed quickly and then I’m in his arms. “I’m only being honest, but you didn’t let me finish. While I find myself angry and envious and probably a whole slew of other negative emotions, that only makes up a very small part of what I feel when I’m with you. It pales in comparison to the respect I have for you, for the desire I feel. It gets paler every day I spend with you.” I feel the tension leave my body, unaware of how stiff I had been until I heard those words. Pulling my face back, which he had tucked under his chin, I look at him. “Alex…you don’t have to be trapped by your past. You’ve already busted through so many barricades you had in place.” “I know,” he says while bringing a hand up to stroke my hair. “I’m trying. I don’t want the bitterness I hold toward my past. I want to let it go.” My heart aches for the longing in his voice. I plaster myself back against his body, wrapping my arms around his waist tightly. I feel the thump of his heartbeat reverberating against me, and I squeeze even tighter. I will do whatever it takes to move Alex completely away from that darkness.

Chapter 23 Alex I pick up my wallet and room key, shoving both in my back pocket. Bending down in the early morning gloom, I kiss Sutton on the forehead and she stirs. Opening up her eyes slowly, she stretches her arms above her head and gives me a sleepy smile. She then reaches out and takes one of my hands. “Hey, you. Why are you up so early?” Standing back up straight, I keep a grip on her hand and squeeze it. “I have a breakfast meeting. I’ll be back in a few hours and we can go out for a while and walk around the city. Sound good?” She nods with a goofy grin on her face and yawns. “Okay.” Bringing her hand to my mouth, I place a kiss on the inside of her wrist and release it. “Go back to sleep.” She rolls over at my command, curling her hand up under her chin, then she’s out like a light. I stare at her a moment more, my heart giving that sweetly painful squeeze that comes more often than not when I’m looking at Sutton. She’s precariously close to becoming my everything, a thought that scares the daylights out of me. I’m not sure I’m ready for that responsibility, particularly not when I have so many ghosts that continue to torture me. Turning away from her, because more than anything, I just want to crawl back in bed with her and spend the day there, I head out of my hotel room. We are staying another night in New York because we have an afternoon game just across the Hudson with the Wildcats. I have an afternoon practice skate, but that gives me a few hours to hang with Sutton. She’s going to stay in New York and watch tomorrow’s game, so I have her again tonight too, the thought causing a smile to plaster across my face as I walk to the elevator. After a short ride down to the lobby, I make my way to the hotel’s restaurant, which is surprisingly empty, and immediately spot Cameron. We had made plans to meet in New York because that was a shorter trip for him than coming to North Carolina. I’m assuming he arrived last night as he drove in, and he planned to head back after our meeting. Cameron spots me as I walk toward him and he stands from the table. I haven’t seen him in almost three years, the last time when I made a short trip to Hamilton in the summer while I was visiting my hockey coach, who was sick. We look a lot alike in the face but he wears his dark hair in a buzz cut and he’s starting to develop a little bit of a gut. Outside of his looks and knowing that he owns a hardware store in Hamilton, I really don’t know much about my older brother at all. I approach him and he looks at me awkwardly, not sure if we should shake hands or hug. I take the decision out of his hands and grab hold of the chair opposite where he was sitting and pull it back. I glance at him briefly and say, “Cameron,” then I sit down. He follows suit, taking the napkin on his plate and placing it on his lap. “It’s good to see you, Alex. I

caught the game last night…on TV, of course, in my hotel room. You looked great.” My head pops up at that revelation, because as far as I’ve known, Cameron was not a fan of the sport and never talked to me about my career. I don’t even know what to say, so I take a sip of water that had already been poured and cut to the chase. “So how is Dad doing?” Cameron’s face goes slightly red, and I guess he’s a little miffed I’m not engaging in small talk. “He’s fine right now. They gave him some steroid medications to reduce the inflammation and the bleeding stopped.” “Is he drinking?” The look Cameron gives me says it all, so I press forward. “Have you suggested rehab to him?” “Yes and he won’t do it. Maybe if you talked to him—” “He’ll never listen to my advice. Half the time he can’t even stand to look at me,” I snap. “I think you’re wrong,” Cameron says. “He’s proud of you. He admires what you’ve become. I think he’d do it for you.” I stare at Cameron as if he’s just fallen out of the crazy tree and hit every branch on the way down. Is he living in a dream world? Has he just buried his head in the sand, pretending that the first sixteen years of my life weren’t traumatic? Has Cameron truly forgotten the ways in which my dad abused me, both physically and mentally? The thought causes rage to build and I want to tear into my brother. From the corner of my eye, I notice a waitress approaching and I level a look at her that sends her scurrying. But that moment was enough of a reprieve that I bring myself under control. With my voice as calm as I can make it, but still gritty and raw, I tell Cameron, “I know you didn’t fail to notice the shit storm that Dad rained down on me for most of my life. I know you are aware of it, because you sat blissfully untouched while Dad focused all of his attention on me. And by attention, I mean using pain to forge me into a hockey machine.” “Alex—” Cameron says in a pleading tone, but I cut him off. “No…you know what I went through, and you may not know it now, because we don’t talk, but I go through it still with him. He’s still to this day trying to control and manipulate me—that is, when he’s sober enough to put the effort into it. So what makes you think, first, that Dad would listen to me, but, more important, what makes you think that I give a shit if he goes to rehab or not?” Cameron jerks backward over the vehemence in my voice but his eyes look sad when he says, “Because he’s your dad. And yes…I know he was a monster to you. I wish I could have done more…as your older brother, I should have—” “You’re fucking right you should have done something,” I growl as I lean across the table. Cameron just looks at me patiently, eyes still sad. When I lean back, he continues, “I regret I didn’t do anything—step in, redirect his attention, whatever. I can’t change it. But maybe you need to consider…my life with him wasn’t all that great. You might have had negative attention from him, but you had all his attention. I had none. Once he realized I had no talent for the game, I was forgotten. I raised myself in that house, and you can spout all you want about how terrible he was…but there were good times too. I remember them. I remember you and Dad watching hockey together on TV, laughing and joking. I remember you getting extra presents at Christmas, and I remember Dad telling all of his friends about how proud he was of you. Not me, you. So don’t think you were the only one who suffered, Alex. My suffering was just different.”

My heart starts pounding over Cam’s words and I flush heavy with guilt. Holy shit…is it possible I’ve been so mired in my own bitterness and self-pity that I failed to recognize that I wasn’t the only one my dad warped? “Cameron—” I say softly, unsurely, no clue what to say. “Listen, Alex,” he cuts me off. “I don’t want to rehash the past. It wasn’t pretty—enough said. But Dad is going downhill and I just really want you to be prepared for it. He’s going to die if he doesn’t stop drinking.” Taking a deep breath, I rub my finger around the base of my water glass. Lifting my eyes to my brother, I ask, “What do you think I might be able to do to convince him to go to rehab?” “I don’t know that you can,” he says in resignation. “I just think it’s worth a try. He won’t listen to the doctor, he won’t listen to me. Maybe he’ll listen to you, maybe not. But at least we’ll know we tried everything.” A terrible thought takes root in my brain, causing icy fingers of dread to squeeze my chest. Swallowing hard, I say quietly, “I should have done something sooner. Instead, I ignored him for years, letting him drink himself to death because I hated him. If it’s too late now, then that’s my fault.” Cam leans across the table and grips my forearm tightly. I refuse to meet his eyes but I hear what he says next. “No way, Alex. This is all on Dad. Nothing you did or didn’t do…nothing I did or didn’t do, made him this way. This is not on your doorstep.” I look at my older brother and find no comfort in the intensity of his gaze. I know he believes what he just said, but I don’t—not for a minute. Pulling my arm away from his grasp, I sit up straighter in my chair. Clearing my throat, I signal the waitress that we’re ready and say, “Let’s eat breakfast and figure out the best way for me to talk to him.” Cameron stares at me a moment, his eyes searching deeply to see if I’m carrying the guilt. I’ve tamped it down deep but it’s still there, though I know he can’t see it. I show him assured, calm and in control Alex Crossman. I’m used to this facade and I find it falls back easily into place. *** I’m exhausted and for the first time in weeks, I don’t have a thrill of anticipation running through me at the prospect of seeing Sutton. Tonight’s game was brutal, I fucking played like shit and I can’t stop thinking about my deadbeat dad, whom I’m feeling compelled to save to alleviate my guilt. For the first time that I can ever remember, there is a certain appeal to getting shit-faced drunk and letting my worries drown along with my misery. Opening the room door, I anticipate Sutton will greet me with a hug and a warm smile, and I’m not wrong. There she is, wearing one of the robes and smelling like fresh rain from the shower she just clearly had. “Oh my God, are you okay?” she asks as she runs her fingertips lightly over the eight stitches in my left temple. “I saw you get injured.” I jerk back slightly, not because it hurts but because I don’t want her care right now. Stepping out of her arms, I walk over to the minibar and pull out a beer. Twisting the cap off, I toss it in the garbage can and take a long pull. After swallowing, I say, “I’m fine.” And I am. Sutton preferred to stay at the hotel and watch the game on TV, so I know she got a close-up, slow-mo view of the stick that I took to my temple from one of the Wildcats’ defensemen. Head wounds

bleed like a bitch and mine was no exception. But it didn’t stop me from launching myself at the fucktard, immediately dropping my gloves to the ice so that he knew it was on. He dropped his just as quickly and we circled each other on the ice, our arms held in a fighting stance, fists curled tight for maximum delivery of pain. Even though blood was pouring down the left side of my face, it thankfully stayed clear of my eye and I had good vision, plus I had anger. I was pissed off and I made the first move, grabbing hold of his jersey with my left hand and landing three solid jabs to his jaw with my right. That’s all I got in before both of his hands were gripping my jersey, grappling to get leverage against me. I tried to jerk loose to land some more blows but both of our skates shot out from under us and we were on the ice. It was all over then as the officials swarmed in and pulled us apart. We both landed five-minute majors, but I went off the ice and headed back to the locker room so our team doctor could stitch me up. We still had another period and a half of play left and a small cut wasn’t about to stop me. I should have just stayed my ass back in the locker room. Once back out on the ice, I played some of the crappiest hockey I’ve played since I was about ten years old. I couldn’t make a clean pass, my shots were wide and my skating was hesitant. Some viewers would blame it on my injury but that didn’t have a damn thing to do with it. I had just lost my focus, plain and simple, and I’m sure it had everything to do with my meeting with Cameron this morning. Walking over to one of the large armchairs that grace the room, I sit down with a heavy sigh. Sutton watches me cautiously. I must be giving off some bad vibes, because she isn’t moving any closer. “What’s wrong, Alex? Is it the game?” I can’t help the snort that comes out or the wry smile that I give her. “Sure, we’ll say it’s the game.” I take another deep pull on the beer and watch her. She’s so fucking beautiful, and I know she’s naked under the robe. But the thing that I focus on—right this very moment—is the look in her eyes. They are filled with such worry and care for me, that it physically hurts to receive it. It’s alien to me, a concept I don’t understand. It makes me feel weak and small, and I don’t want any part of it. “Drop your robe,” I order her, my voice low and gruff. I take another sip of beer. “Alex?” she says, uncertainty ringing clear, but her hands go to the belt to undo the knot. My pulse quickens when she pulls the belt away and I get just a peek of her skin underneath. “Come here,” I tell her, and I know she’s not hearing the normal sexual rumble of passion that fuels me. I know I sound cold and controlling. It’s the same tone I’ve used on Cassie time and again, and that thought makes my stomach curdle. It doesn’t deter me, though. When she reaches me, her feet stopping just short of mine, she just stares down at me, not understanding what I want or need. Hell, I don’t know what I need. But I do know I want her. I want her to make me forget for just a little bit. “Get on your knees for me, baby,” I taunt her. “Show me what you’ve got.” Fuck, I’m being a dick and I can’t stop myself. My own dick lengthens and goes rock hard at the prospect of her mouth on me. I smirk at her, waiting to see what she does but I’m wholly unprepared for the glistening of tears that form in her eyes. I feel like someone took a sledgehammer to my gut. “What’s wrong with you?” she asks in a small voice, her bottom lip quivering slightly.

Fuck, oh fuck. What the hell am I doing? Jumping up from the chair and dropping my bottle to the floor, I pull her into my arms and hug her tight to me. “I’m sorry,” I tell her quickly, placing a kiss on her temple. I squeeze her again. “I’m so sorry. I’m just having a shitty day and I took it out on you.” Pulling back slightly, I look down at her and she blinks hard at the tears so they slide down her cheeks. I’m relieved that no others take their place. Reaching up, I wipe the wetness from her face and wait for her to say something. “Alex, please tell me what’s wrong?” she pleads, her hands cupping my jawline. “Talk to me.” I feel the soft graze of her fingers on my skin and I breathe in deeply the smell of her hair. She is everything I could possibly want in life and yet I have never been more unsure of the path I should take. It was a fucking self-fulfilling prophecy. I told her she’d see the asshole side of me again, and she just got a good dose. I told her I’d hurt her, and I did. I’m really not worthy of her when it boils down to it. “I need to take a walk,” I tell her as I step away, watching her hands drop down to her sides, so she can re-belt her robe. She covers her skin, removing the tempting vision, and helps to push my final wall in place when she tries one more time to get me to open up. “Please just tell me what’s wrong. Let me try to help you.” I viscerally pull back from her offer of talk and comfort. I can’t accept it and don’t want it. It’s not within me to let her in any further. “I’m sorry,” I tell her as I lean in and kiss her on top of her head. “I’m going to go out for a walk. I’ll be back, but don’t wait up for me.” Sutton drops her head so I can’t see her eyes, and I leave her there, staring at the floor as I leave the hotel room.

Chapter 24 Sutton I find a parking spot and pull my car in, leaving the engine running because I’m a bit early and have some time. As tends to happen with me when my brain gets a break, I think of Alex. It’s been two days since our trip to New York and I haven’t spoken to him. He’s supposed to meet me here for our first talk as part of the outreach program and I assume he’ll show. Actually, I’m going to be doing the talking and Alex is going to be there for star support, relegated at this point to just a small, prepared paragraph he’s going to read. We haven’t quite decided the details of how our tag team is going to work out when we start traveling this summer to launch the program, but I figured this would be a good way for us both to test the waters. I can’t shake the heavy feeling that has surrounded me since New York. There was a moment in that hotel room when I was utterly afraid. Oh, not afraid of Alex in any physical sense. I was afraid that he was gone…lost…erased. I saw something in his eyes that was cold and beyond reach, and while I have no idea what caused it, I do know that he was on the brink of reverting back to the Alex Crossman that he has always warned me about. Ordinarily, it would thrill me for Alex to ask me to give him a blow job, but the way he commanded me to do it? He was emotionally detached and looking for a release with no feelings involved. I sure as hell wasn’t about to give that to him. I needed more and he needed more. But then he snapped out of it, sort of, apologized and left to go take a walk. I lay in bed, unable to sleep and unable to turn my mind off because I was so worried about him. His walk lasted four hours, and when he came in around 3 A.M., he didn’t even say a word. By the glow of New York City through the windows, I held my breath as he shed his clothes and crawled into bed with me. His first touch was to skim his fingers across my face and kiss me ever so softly. I opened my mouth to ask where he had been, and he made the kiss deeper. Then he pulled back and looked down at me. “Just don’t say anything.” I nodded and then he kissed me again. And then Alex Crossman made love to me. I mean the type that is slow, luxurious and tender. He never said a word…not one dirty or filthy thing. His hands were gently probing, his touch everywhere felt like a warm caress. This soft nature he showed me was almost unbearable and I was writhing on the bed seeking more, almost begging him to take me more forcefully. But I didn’t. I held my tongue and let him do whatever he wanted. And for some reason, Alex wanted to

take his time with me, and he wanted to do it quietly. I have no concept of time, but it seemed to stretch on forever, and yet in my mind it would never be long enough. He filled me with torturously slow strokes that went deep but never came off a leisurely pace. The only quickening was our breathing, but even that had a more subdued quality. When we came, we did it together with our hands clasped and our lips pressed together as our breath ran warm across each other’s skin. It was a hauntingly beautiful experience, the most touching sexual experience of my life. I have no clue if he was showing me that his feelings were running deep, or he was giving me something I could remember before he cut things off. Alex never told me what was wrong, he never discussed where he went for his walk, and when I woke up the next morning, he was gone and all I had was a note on the pillow beside me. His note apologized again for his behavior after the game and told me that he had to make a quick trip back home to Canada to take care of some family business, but that he would see me back in Raleigh for our scheduled talk at Pope High School in two days. I didn’t call him and he didn’t call me. I worried myself sick over this, but I felt that he needed some time. Besides, any contact almost guaranteed that I would press him for details as to what in the hell had been going on with him. I figure he didn’t call me because he knew that and wasn’t in a mood to share. So, as I sit here in this parking lot, all I can do is hope Alex shows up, not just physically, but emotionally as well. *** Glancing over at Alex, I give him a small smile and then turn back to the podium in front of me. I have some notes jotted down, but I know I probably won’t even look at them. He showed up—true to his word, and just as the program was about to start. I didn’t get a chance to even say hello but pressed into his hands the sheet of paper that held three paragraphs I’d need him to read when I was done, announcing the Cold Fury’s support for this outreach program. Looking out over the audience, I try to focus in on a few of the students who stare back at me. Some are interested, some are texting on their cell phones. Regardless, I know there’s at least one person in this room who will find what I’m about to say interesting. “Hi. As Principal Snyder just introduced me, you know I’m Sutton Price and that I’m a counselor at the Wake County Drug Crisis Center. What she didn’t tell you, though, is that I was raised, at least for a portion of my life, by a parent who was addicted to drugs.” Stepping out from the podium, I check to make sure the portable mic is on, and move out onto center stage. I always feel more comfortable talking this way, as it feels less formal. I’m not nervous about talking to these kids, but knowing that Alex’s gaze is pinned on my back gives me some tingles for sure. “My dad was and still is addicted to heroin. My mom and I stayed with him until I was nine years old, and she was able to break away. My dad has his good moments. He’s gone months at a time staying clean, but unfortunately he’s always relapsed.” The auditorium is silent and I see more faces watching me than not. “What I want to talk to you about today is how you can get help…if you have a parent that is using. You see, my dad as an addict was pretty terrifying, and I spent a lot of time alone with him because he was unemployed and would watch me in the afternoons when I got home from school. When he was high on heroin, he would mostly just sleep, which meant he left me alone. When he was waiting on his next fix, and couldn’t get his drugs, he got mean. Really mean.”

I pause for effect and take a few steps across the stage. “He would hit me…sometimes with his hands, sometimes with his belt…it’s how I got this scar,” I say, pointing to my left eyebrow. “Sometimes he’d kick me. Once he dragged me across the floor by my hair and I only got away after a chunk of my scalp tore loose.” Someone in the front row gasps, but I don’t look. I turn and walk back across the stage. “I had a wonderful mother. She worked to try to support us, but unfortunately she didn’t make enough to support us and his drug habit. That made my dad even meaner. She’s the most wonderful woman in the world. She loves me more than life itself.” I turn and risk a glance back at Alex. His eyes are glittering intensely as he watches me. Turning back to the kids, I continue. “But even though she loved me, and I knew she would do anything to protect me, I didn’t tell her about what my dad was doing. I told her lies about my cuts and bruises. I was afraid because I didn’t want my family to break up. Even though my dad abused me, he didn’t do it all the time. I mean…he loved me, and he was always so sorry after he hurt me. So I kept silent.” I let this sink in for a few seconds. “And by me keeping silent, it just ensured he kept doing it.” Walking up to the podium, I rest my forearm on it in a casual stance and place my other hand in my pocket. “It was a teacher at school who noticed a bruise on my arm and asked me about it. I was so afraid of telling because I didn’t want to let my mom down, and I was afraid of losing my dad, because even though he did those terrible things to me…he still loved me.” Now, as I gaze out over the kids, I see that several are leaning forward as they listen, and I see one nod her head up and down in agreement. All I need to do is reach one…that is all. I go on with my talk, pushing the truth that you need to reach out for help. That teachers, school counselors…they are all prepared to help you deal. I tell them how my story turned out successfully. My teacher reached out to my mother, who in turn made my dad go to rehab for the first time. I don’t sugarcoat it; I tell them how he failed at rehab, and how my mom and I were homeless. But I also tell them about Jim-Dad, and how my life turned around, and how my past is what fuels my desire to help others. Most important, I make sure they understand addiction comes in all forms, that my dad’s poison was heroin but that there are a variety of drugs, not to mention alcohol and gambling and sex, that can wreak havoc on peoples’ lives. Finally, I end my talk with my contact information, including my personal cell phone number. I point out some of the crisis center materials we brought with us that are laid out on tables at the back of the room. I finish to resounding applause, then I introduce Alex, and the cheers turn deafening. I can’t help but smile, because while I had the personal message, Alex’s star still shines brighter than mine. They will listen to him for sure. I sit in Alex’s chair and listen to him. He doesn’t read from the paper I handed him word for word but he summarizes it nicely, putting his own flavor on it. He then does something that surprises me. “Before I head out, I want to encourage you to really listen to what Sutton said,” he says as he turns and points to me with a smile. “I’ve come to know her pretty well over the last few months, and there is nothing more important to her than helping out others in need. You can’t be afraid to ask for help. It could make a big difference not only in your life, but maybe to your loved one who is addicted as well.” Alex thanks the kids for listening and they give him a standing ovation. I want to roll my eyes, but I don’t. I’m too proud of him, as well as myself, because I think this went off far better than I could have ever expected. We don’t stay around to talk to the students. The principal suggested and we agreed on a quick exit,

because as kids will be kids, most were probably only interested in the hockey star in their midst. Still… I’m betting there is at least one kid here today that got the message and will reach out. I’m sure of it. We walk out of the school and head across the parking lot. I see Alex parked his Suburban right beside my car. The silence between us hangs a bit heavy, but I don’t know what to say. Apparently Alex doesn’t either, because not a peep comes out of him. When we reach the cars, he walks beside me to my driver’s door. When I reach out with my keys to open it, he grabs my arm and halts me. Turning to him, I have a moment’s hesitation, afraid to look in his eyes. I don’t even know if we have a relationship at this point, given the radio silence between us the last two days. I finally have the courage to raise my eyes, and relief courses through me as I see warmth and pride on his face, complemented by a big smile. He reaches up and tucks a lock of hair behind my ear, then leans in to give me a soft kiss. “You were amazing, Sutton,” he says quietly. “I’m truly blown away.” His gaze turns a little sad and then he pulls me in for a hug. “I’m sorry you went through that with Cosmo. I had no idea.” I shrug my shoulders, as if it’s not a big deal. I mean, I know it’s a big deal, but I’ve made my peace with it. I don’t want him to be sad for me, because I’m not sad for me. He holds me for a long time, and we just listen to the quiet. Finally, I pluck up the courage. “I missed you.” Alex squeezes me in response and murmurs in my ear. “I missed you too. A lot.” Taking two steps back, Alex pulls me with him and leans back against his Suburban. Spreading his legs, he pulls me in between and rests his hands on my hips. “I’m sorry I didn’t call while I was gone.” I give him a smile that tells him it’s okay. “I didn’t call you either.” “I’m actually glad you didn’t,” he admits with a wince. “I…um, was sort of caught up in some family drama and just needed some space.” He doesn’t want to talk details. I can tell by the look on his face and the tension in his shoulders, so all I ask is, “Are you okay? I mean, did everything work out okay?” “Yeah, I think so,” he says, then looks off across the parking lot. The late afternoon sun hits his eyes and lightens them to a pale blue, which pop even brighter because of his thick, dark lashes. When he turns to look back at me, he says, “I wanted to apologize again…for the way I acted in New York. I don’t have any excuse.” I’m surprised by how bothered he still is by that. He already apologized to me, and clearly I accepted it, because I let him inside my body after that. I thought that spoke volumes, so I’m not sure why he still feels the need for forgiveness. “Alex…it’s okay—” I start to assure him but he cuts in. “No…it’s not. It’s not okay because I’m afraid it will happen again. I feel like I’m on a tightrope sometimes, a balancing act that I’m constantly maintaining just so I can be with you. But I feel myself tilting off it more and more lately. It’s a constant push and pull within me, and half the time I feel like I should break things off with you to avoid hurting you more down the road. Honestly…it’s why I didn’t call you the last few days. I was thinking of ending things.” I suck in a deep breath, trying to expand my lungs past the hurt that those words create. “Can you share with me what happened to cause this? I want to help you.”

Releasing my hips and bringing his hands to my face, he peers at me intently. “The details aren’t important, just some shit going on with my dad. I think I got it handled.” “So where do we stand?” I ask hesitantly, because for all I know, his next words are going to break my heart. Still cupping my face, Alex leans in and kisses me. Soft at first, but then his mouth opens and he slips his tongue inside of me, causing all of my troubles to melt away. I step in closer to him until my pelvis is resting against his, and no matter that we are in a public high school parking lot, I grind against him slightly and feel him go hard. It’s a desperate move on my part— hoping that my sexual allure will keep him pinned to my side. Alex gives a deep groan and kisses me harder, for just a moment, just to make his point clear. When he pulls away, he says, “I can’t let you go. I don’t want to hurt you but I don’t want to be without you either. I’ve said it before…I’m a selfish bastard. I’ll risk hurting you just so I can have another day, another week, another month. Tell me I’m a bastard.” His words are urgent and filled with need. He needs me to call him a liar and I’m going to do just that. “You are not selfish. The heart wants what the heart wants.” “Is it my heart that wants you, Sutton?” he asks on a low murmur. “Or is it just my cock?” “Only you can answer that,” I tell him breathlessly. “But my heart is involved, so whether you hurt me right now, or hurt me down the road, it’s going to hurt all the same.” Alex pulls me into him hard and hugs me again. I never would have taken Alex for being much of a hugger, but he seems to find a measure of comfort in the intimacy of the act. Placing his lips against my cheek, Alex tells me, “I’m so afraid of hurting you that I think it’s safe to say my heart is definitely involved.” “So, try not to hurt me.” “I’ll try,” he answers, and I’m thankful that his voice is sincere.

Chapter 25 Alex “Crossman…in my office…now!” Garrett slaps a comforting hand on my back and gives me a look of sympathy as he walks out of the locker room, his game bag slung over his shoulder. “Call me later, dude, if you want to go grab a beer or something.” “Sure thing,” I tell him, but I know after the ass chewing I’m about to be handed, I’m not going to feel like going out. Especially not on top of that miserable performance I just turned in for my team, and especially not after we lost our third game in a row. Walking into Coach’s office, I take a seat and pick a nonexistent piece of lint off my slacks. When I look up at him across the desk, he’s looking at me with a mixture of anger and worry. “What the fuck’s the problem?” he asks. “No problem,” I answer, the smart-ass in me showing up early to the game. “Try again, Crossman. For a guy who averages at least a goal or an assist per game, something is fucking wrong that you haven’t had a point since we got back from New York. Now, I want to know what the fuck the problem is.” “Gee, Coach, you’ve really been working on your motivational skills,” I taunt. Pretore looks at me for a moment, eyebrows raised at my audacity, then he gives me a sly grin. “What is it? Pussy you getting not good enough? Did they discontinue your favorite ice cream brand? Fuck, maybe your panties are too tight. It’s gotta be something.” I can’t help it—I crack up laughing, even bend over and clutch at my stomach. When I look back up, Coach is smiling at me, but his eyes are worried. “Seriously, Alex. What can I do to get you back on track? You were playing so well…really had your shit together.” The laughter dies and bitterness wells up inside of me. “I don’t know. My focus is off.” “Well, no shit, Dick Tracy. How do we get you focused again?” “I’ll work harder,” I tell him quickly. “It’s not your skills and we both know it. Your slap shot doesn’t need polishing—your confidence does.” “You think my confidence is gone?” I ask, surprised by his conclusion. I still feel as cocky and egocentric as ever when I step out onto the ice. Granted, I get frustrated easily, and that may take away some of my focus and drive, but surely I still have confidence. I’m Alex Fucking Crossman…most valuable prick and all that. “Look, buddy,” Coach says, really taking on the paternal tone with me. “You need to evaluate your

life…figure out what is causing you stress and get rid of it. You get into a mental funk, it’s hard to break free. Don’t ignore it, okay?” His words cause me immense discomfort because there are a couple of things stressing me out, one of which is my constant worry that I’ll hurt Sutton. It’s something that I think about every day. The other is my father. I’m worried he’ll quit rehab, start drinking and kill himself. If that happens, I don’t know if I can survive the guilt, because no matter what Cameron said to me that day at breakfast, I could have stepped in long ago and gotten him help. That was proven by the fact that when I went to Canada last week, Dad easily rolled over on me when I suggested rehab. He cried when I told him I didn’t want him to die, and then I packed his bags and took him to a facility that Cameron had already arranged. Shaking my head, I stand up and look down at Pretore. “I’ll get it together. I promise.” “See that you do, kid. I expect great things from you.” Great…more pressure. Now I’m worried about letting my coach down. Things were certainly a lot easier before… Before I cared about the game. Before I met Sutton. Before I stepped in to help my dad. All of it was easier and I find myself resenting the sudden burdens placed on my doorstep. It makes me wish for easier times when I could be a loner and, if I wanted to fuck someone, Cassie would be there to give me release and then leave quickly. Leaving Coach’s office, I pull my cell phone out and see a text from Sutton. Come over tonight. That’s all it says, but it doesn’t need to say more. I didn’t need the invitation either, because despite my obsessive worrying about Sutton, she’s like my drug and there’s no way I wasn’t going to take a hit tonight. I need her to maintain some level of sanity, because just her voice coats me in soothing balm. Her touch makes me feel peaceful. When I fuck her, the world melts away and only she exists. Making my way out to the players’ parking lot, I sign a few autographs for some of the fans still lingering. Then I get in my car and head for Sutton’s house. *** When she opens the door and I see her for the first time today, I feel immersed in serenity. I forget about the shitty game and letting my team down. I forget about my dad, and my anger and my resentment. It’s so easy to let it go when she’s standing there looking even lovelier than when I left her bed this morning. She smiles at me in welcome and doesn’t even wait for me to walk in before she’s wrapping her arms around me and giving me a hug. Standing on the threshold of her house, I let her comfort me for the shitty game, letting my team down and the mess that is my father. She doesn’t know that she’s comforting me for all of those things, but I’m taking it all the same. Then she’s kissing me with such delicate care that my soul twists, and it only reinforces my desire to have her, no matter what the cost. “Come on in,” she says softly and takes me by the hand. Her living room is glowing with flickering light as the hearth crackles with a small fire and her

Christmas tree—which she put up Thanksgiving Day—twinkles with multicolored lights. It looks magical and romantic, and causes me to want to just cuddle with her on the couch, which is odd because my first thought would normally be that I want to fuck her on the couch. Leading me to the sofa, she releases my hand and I take a seat. She sits beside me and curls into my side, as I wrap my arm around her shoulder. Laying her hand on my chest, she strokes me softly through the material of my dress shirt. “So what did you think of the game?” I ask her, curious as to how she will address the fact that I played like an amateur in a local rec league. Will she sugarcoat it or give it to me straight? Idly running her fingertips over the center of my chest, she doesn’t mince words. “You don’t look focused.” “I don’t feel focused,” I say with resignation, and also gratitude that she talks honestly to me. Painfully so. “Then that means you have something heavy weighing on you. Want to talk about it?” Do I? Do I want to share my demons? Will she understand or will she make the same inevitable comparison that I made between our lives, and judge me to be unworthy because I can’t seem to get my shit fully together? The mere fact that I’m worried over her reaction tells me that my confidence in general has taken a hit. At least the asshole that is Alex Crossman wouldn’t ever apologize or make excuses for his actions or reactions. Soft, cuddly Alex is a different story, and I mentally sneer at myself to man up and lay it on the line. “When I went to Canada…it was to put my dad in rehab,” I tell her, letting the impact of my words sink in. This will hit close to home with Sutton. She jerks in my arms and sits up straight, dislodging my arm from around her shoulders. Thankfully, her gaze is sympathetic, not piteous. She also gives me a small smile of appreciation, which I know is because I shared with her. Raising up on her knees and flipping her leg over my lap, Sutton straddles me, resting the palms of her hands on my chest. The warmth of her touch seeps in with soothing effect, which helps to relax me marginally. “Oh, Alex,” she says gently. “I’m sorry. That’s a very brave thing to do, but it’s also so scary.” Exactly. Scary as shit. “His doctor says if he doesn’t quit drinking, he’s going to die.” “He’s had a long history, then,” she guesses. “Ever since I can remember,” I say wryly. Sliding her fingers up to just above my open button at the top of my shirt, she grazes her fingers over the skin of my collarbone. It’s not sexual, but speaks more of a need to have skin-on-skin contact—to promote more closeness, so to speak. I’d be lying though if I didn’t admit my dick twitched just a bit. “Do you want to talk about it…tell me details? Sometimes it helps to share.” My hands, which had previously been resting on the couch on either side of my hips, move up to grip her thighs. I rub my thumbs over her legs, pushing in so she can feel it through the coarse denim of her jeans. Staring at the base of her throat, because I’m not sure I can reveal my story while looking in her eyes, I tell her all about my dad.

“My dad was a hockey player, but wasn’t good enough to make it out of the minors, and wasn’t even good enough to stay there for very long. When he had kids, he decided to have us live his dream.” Maybe because she’s fully aware that this is hard for me, probably because I won’t look her in the eyes, Sutton leans in and lays her head on my shoulder, pressing her chest against mine. She then grabs on to my wrists and forcibly removes my hands from her thighs, directing them to wrap around her back and hold on to her tight. With her plastered up against me, and my gaze now focused on the fire, I continue my story. “My brother, Cameron, is five years older. He had no talent, so Dad basically ignored him his entire life. But that left him to channel all of his energy into me—” My voice breaks, not with any overwhelming emotion, because I’m pretty ice-cold when I confront these memories. Instead, I find my mouth to be dry merely because I’m getting ready to lay my heavy story on Sutton’s doorstep and I have no clue how she’s going to react. As if sensing my hesitation, she murmurs, “Only tell me if you want, Alex. No pressure.” Not quite realizing that my chest has been tight, my muscles loosen up a bit and I can breathe easier. Her insistence I go at the pace that I feel most comfortable with makes the fear lessen. “He was abusive. Drunk most of the time, but verbally and physically abusive. No matter how good I was—and Sutton, I was fucking good—he always found fault with my play. And fault required punishment.” I squeeze my arms a little tighter around her, for my comfort and maybe hers as well. “I’m sure it was to soothe his own conscience but my dad disguised punishment as ‘practice.’ He’d shoot pucks at my body and wouldn’t let me defend. I’d have bruises all over and it hurt like a motherfucker. Or he’d make me do drills, sometimes for hours on end, often into the wee hours of the morning. He wouldn’t let me stop to drink anything, and only after I’d collapse in exhaustion was the ‘practice’ over. He’d berate me… constantly, and in front of others. If I dared to talk back to him, or even plead with him for a break, he’d use his fists, or a hockey stick, or his belt…whatever was handiest.” One of Sutton’s hands, which is still resting on my chest, digs into my skin in angst and she lets out a stuttering breath. “He was a monster,” she whispers. “Yes,” I tell her. “Most of the time, but not all. There were some good times.” “I know,” she says simply, and she does. She said as much the other day, that there were some good times with Cosmo. “He stole your childhood.” “Yes,” I agree. “He made you hate your career.” “Yes.” “I don’t like your dad,” she says, almost petulantly, and it makes me laugh. “I don’t like him much either,” I agree again, giving her a slight kiss on her head. “But you’re worried about him. Just like I worry about Cosmo.” “Yes,” I tell her, but I don’t tell her everything. I don’t tell her about the crushing guilt that I’m suffering under, because I think it’s my fault that he got to be this bad. I spent the last eight years of my adult life, out from under his ruling thumb, just watching him drink his life down the toilet. I ate dinner after dinner with him while he pounded double vodkas, almost wishing for him to drink faster so he’d pass out and forget

about me. Never once did it cross my mind that he could be killing himself. I enabled him to keep going, often wishing it so. Maybe subconsciously I wanted him to die, so he would be out of my life for good. Those thoughts cause a violent shudder to run through me and bile to back up in my throat. Those thoughts are going to cause me to go to hell, and I’m not sure I can ever atone for them. Sutton pushes up off my chest where she has been lying and when our eyes meet, I notice hers have a light film of tears coating them. She’s sad for me…crying for me, and that touches me deeper than anything ever has before. Reaching one hand up, I sift my fingers through the hair at her temple and push them back. When I cup the back of her head, I give it just the gentlest of shakes so she knows I mean business. “Don’t you cry for me, Sutton. Don’t waste your tears on that story. You have far more important things to shed them over.” Sutton’s own hand comes up and grips my wrist that’s holding her head. Her smile is tremulous. “I can’t help crying for you. I love you.” Emotion such as I have never felt in my entire life wells up inside of me. It seems to bubble up from the center of my stomach, spreading outward…down my legs, my arms…up my spine. It blankets my skin with a warm tingle, and the center of my chest feels like it’s going to erupt in a fountain of released tension. I urge the feeling on, waiting on the euphoria that I feel is ready to break free because of Sutton’s revelation that she loves me. I wait for it to expel my bitterness and fuel me with peace. I wait for it, and wait for it, and wait for it. But it never happens. Instead, the tingle dulls and while a light feeling of warmth remains behind, an ache centers in my chest, folds in on itself to a focused intensity, and throbs with drum-like precision. It’s the pain of realization that I don’t love Sutton back. At least I don’t think I do. Otherwise, why didn’t the joy leap free? Why did my heart become pained instead? I search for the feeling again, will it back to life. I’m left empty. Sutton stares at me, the twinkling lights from the Christmas tree dancing in her eyes. She’s not waiting for the words to come back to her. I know this because I see no expectation or disappointment in her gaze. I only see love, and care, and tenderness. I only see her waiting for me to accept her gift with absolutely no assumption that she’s going to get something in return. She’s the most fucking amazing and selfless person I’ve ever met, and it has never been more clear that I am the most unworthy person for her. I should let her go…right now, right this very minute. But I’m a selfish bastard and I’m not going to do it. I’m going to keep her until I’m ready to destroy her, and then I’ll just add that to the pile of guilt I’m already suffering under.

Chapter 26 Sutton “Stop fidgeting,” Alex tells me. “You look nervous.” “You’re fidgeting too,” I point out dryly. “That’s because I’m nervous. I don’t do shit like this.” Laughing, I hook my arm through his elbow and we wind our way through the party guests. “It will be fine. Just smile, make small talk and drink a few beers to relax.” Alex is admittedly nervous because he doesn’t socialize with his teammates. Or, at least he hasn’t in the past. I’m definitely nervous because this is the first time I’m meeting the rest of the team and their significant others, and I feel like a spotlight is on me. Especially since I know Alex’s former flame was transparent in her quest to land a hockey husband. I just don’t want anyone to think that about me. Kelly and Mike Malone are having an Ugly Christmas Sweater party. This is apparently the second year they’ve hosted it and it’s adults only. According to Alex, it’s one of the few times the team gets together sans children and parties it up hard. He’s already assured me he is designated driver, which doesn’t surprise me, and he’s told me to tie one on if I want. Alex rarely drinks more than two beers, and I have to wonder if that’s because of his father’s problems. We wind our way through the throng and into the kitchen where an entire bar of wine, beer and every liquor on the face of the earth is set out. Kelly is standing there with a group of women and when she sees me her face lights up. Coming around the kitchen island, she reaches her arms out for a hug. “Sutton…I’m so glad you came. And your sweater is a hoot.” Looking down briefly and then stepping into her hug, I give a grin. My sweater is pretty hideous. It’s bright red and green with an embroidered fruitcake on the front and a red bow that’s made of some type of shaggy red material that poofs out across my chest. Alex took one look at me when he picked me up and demanded I change. I told him to kiss my butt—it was an Ugly Sweater party, after all. After releasing me, Kelly turns to Alex and playfully punches him on his bicep. “How come you’re not wearing a sweater, Alex?” “Uh…yeah, I don’t do ugly sweaters,” he says seriously and Kelly gives him a mock glare. “Party pooper,” she says and then lays her palms on his shoulders and pushes him out of the kitchen. “Go. Find the boys. Go play and do whatever you boys do together. I’m stealing Sutton.” Alex doesn’t budge at first and shoots a panicked look to me. He really doesn’t want to be here but is making the effort to be sociable. I know he’d feel more comfortable with me by his side. I almost feel sorry for him, but then realize that this will be a good learning experience. Giving him a little wave with my hand, I say, “Shoo. Go play.”

The look Alex gives me is priceless. It says, The only playing I want to do is with you…in the bedroom. But he takes it like a man, shoots me a grimace as he grabs a bottle of beer out of a large ice bucket on the kitchen floor and leaves. Kelly takes my arm and turns me around to the gaggle of women hovering. She makes introductions and I’m relieved that everyone is gracious and warm. There’s the team captain’s wife, Mely Brassard, a petite Midwestern former college cheerleader who has plenty of pep and feels it’s her duty to cheer on all of the players’ wives and girlfriends. I like her immensely and you can see she’s sort of the glue that holds them together. There’s also Karen Something-Or-Other, who I think said her husband is the backup goalie; Becky Couldn’t-Pronounce-Her-Last-Name-If-I-Tried, whose husband is from the Czech Republic; and Gina Toast—yes, Toast—who is like me, just a girlfriend of one of the players, but has been around for a very long time. She’s been dating Zack Grantham, a second-line left-winger, for six years and they have a two-year-old son together. “I cannot tell you how happy I am to see Alex dating,” Mely says with a brilliant smile and a punctuated, singsong voice. Almost like she was—you guessed it—doing a cheer. “He’s always just been so withdrawn. I know he comes off as angry and a jerk most of the time, but I always found it sad,” Kelly throws in. “Zack idolizes him,” Gina says softly. “Always has. But lately, Alex has really been working with him and has been so supportive, Zack pretty much thinks the sun rises and sets on Alex. He’s a completely different person now.” “I think we have you to thank for that,” Mely says. “Absolutely,” Becky throws in and then leans forward and lowers her voice a bit. All the women, including me, lean in to hear her tidbit. “Besides, that bitch Cassie was all wrong for him.” All the women vigorously nod their heads up and down and I’m starting to understand the dislike for Cassie is pretty pervasive throughout the team. “Well, at least you won’t have to worry about her anymore,” I say, hoping that now that Alex’s gaze is turned my way, Cassie is a thing of the past. “Whatever,” Kelly says with mock dismissiveness. “That girl is already on the prowl again. All the single guys on our team are within her crosshairs.” “She tried to fucking hit on Zack tonight,” Gina growls. “I hate to tell the bitch but just because we aren’t married doesn’t mean he’s available.” “She’s here?” I ask, swallowing hard. Not for one minute do I believe she’s ready to give up on Alex, all the other single guys be damned. She has history with Alex and I remember all too clearly the possessiveness she exhibited when I had the misfortune to meet her. “Yeah, I saw her trolling around a while ago,” Kelly laments. “I just wished I was bitchy enough to insist she not come.” “Well, I can guarantee you I’ll blackball her from any future parties Zack and I have,” Gina says. “Blackball who?” I hear from behind me and turn to see a ruggedly handsome man walk into the kitchen. He’s tall—but then again, all of the Cold Fury are—with amber eyes and warm brown hair that is worn fairly short. He’s looking straight at Gina with a look that says he wants to eat her for dinner, and a semi-licentious smile on his face. I watch as he walks around the kitchen island counter, straight up to Gina, and bends her backward with

a kiss. “Who you blackballing, baby?” When Zack lets her up, Gina is all starry-eyed as she stares at her man, her fingertips gripping hard at the tremendously ugly sweater he’s wearing. It has a huge reindeer face with buckteeth, done in bright green. “Talking about Cassie,” Kelly supplies, because Gina has apparently been struck stupid from Zack’s kiss. “That woman is a mess,” Zack says good-naturedly, oblivious to the catty looks the rest of the women are giving as they all nod in agreement. Turning to Gina, he asks, “You ready to head home?” “What? We just got here,” she says in surprise. “I know,” he says with sexy charm oozing out of his pores. “But since we have a babysitter all night, I figured we could…you know, get some alone time.” Gina’s face goes beet red but she doesn’t hesitate in turning back to the kitchen counter and grabbing her purse. “We’re out of here,” she says to all of us. Turning to me in particular, she says, “It was lovely to meet you, Sutton. Let’s plan on getting together soon, okay?” “Sure,” I tell her with a smile, and think to myself that I wouldn’t mind if Alex came up right now to whisk me away. While I’m absolutely enjoying these women, nothing compares to alone time with Alex. Speaking of which, I decide to go on the prowl for a black-haired, blue-eyed devil that I’m feeling the need to kiss. While the women all give hugs goodbye to Gina, I whisper to Kelly that I’m going to go find Alex and she gives me a wink before I walk away. Leaving the sounds of soft Christmas music behind, I start heading toward a cacophony of loud male shouts and laughter, through a door off the main hallway and down a flight of stairs into the basement. In Mike Malone’s man cave, decorated with Cold Fury memorabilia from top to bottom, I find Alex sitting at a bar with Garrett and a few other players I recognize but whose names I can’t place. He’s laughing at something Garrett said, his eyes crinkled in genuine happiness and camaraderie. It makes my stomach flutter a bit to see him so loose and relaxed around his teammates because I know that has been a work in progress. I wind my way through the crowd, eyes pinned on Alex. When I get within ten feet, it’s like he senses me because he turns three-quarters of the way around on the stool he’s sitting on and lasers his eyes onto me. One corner of his mouth tilts up and his gaze slides over me like a warm blanket. We stare at each other as I walk his way, even as Garrett is trying to say something to Alex, who is completely ignoring him. I vaguely notice as Garrett actually punches Alex on the arm to get his attention, but he remains neglected. Then Alex is on his feet and with one step meets me the rest of the way, and I’m in his arms. He leans down to give me a soft kiss on my lips and I can hear Garrett and the other guys making snide remarks in the background. Even as Alex’s lips start to pull back from mine, his hand comes up and he slides his fingers along to the side of my neck, his thumb grazing my jawline. He looks at me with a smile. “Have enough female bonding time?” “It was great,” I tell him in a teasing tone. “Not as much fun as bonding time with you, but still enjoyable.” I didn’t mean for my remark to mean anything other than a lighthearted poke at our insatiable desire for each other. But Alex takes it in a different way and I know this because of the fevered look that he gives me.

“Bonding time,” he muses, his voice smoky and rich and full of promise, and I want nothing more than to leave with him right now to let him fulfill said avowal. His thumb continues to graze my jaw, and he’s lost in thought at what I’m assuming is a reverie of what we could do during some serious bonding time. “I’d kill to know what’s going through that mind of yours right now,” I whisper so only he can hear me. His eyes search mine, flicking back and forth as if pondering the very deepest mystery. “How about I show you instead?” Without waiting for me to answer, Alex’s hand falls away from my face and grabs hold of my elbow. He spins me away from his cronies and pushes me gently, but quickly, back toward the staircase that leads up to the main level of the Malone house. We pass other partiers, who give us smiles and nods of the head. One person tries to stop Alex to talk to us but he half growls, half utters an apology and propels me forward. Down a hallway, up another staircase to the second floor, and right into the bathroom at the top of the landing. Flicking on the light, he pushes me in and closes the door behind him, turning the lock with a click. When he turns around, his gaze is practically lecherous and my blood begins to boil. “Are we having some bonding time?” I tease, thinking surely he wants a quick and hot make-out session where we won’t be disturbed. Pushing away from the door, he stalks me…hunts me down. In just one step, he’s grabbing my shoulders and pulling me in for a punishingly hot kiss. Now this is what I’m talking about…quality bonding time. Alex kisses me deeply, biting at my lower lip before ripping away. He spins me around quickly and pushes me toward the sink until my pelvis comes to rest up against it. The move startles me and I look in the mirror, gasping at his reflection staring at me. His eyes are feral…his breathing already shallow. This is way more than just a kiss. Dropping his arms down, he grabs at the material of my long, black skirt and slowly starts hiking it up my legs. I watch the progress in almost a dream-like state, my head cocked to the side in curiosity. The air is cool as it hits my skin and when the edge of the material hits the bottom of my panties, I raise my eyes up to the mirror to look at Alex. As if sensing me, his own gaze rises to meet mine in the reflection and he gives me a wicked smile that causes a shudder to run through me. “What are you doing?” I whisper. He just arches an eyebrow at me, and yes, I know it was a stupid question. “Just watch” is all he says. And I do. I watch as he pulls my skirt all the way up, bunching it around my waist. I watch as his arm curves around me and his hand goes in between my legs, rubbing me through the wet silk of my panties. I suck in a lungful of oxygen and my body tenses all over. “Someone might come,” I warn Alex. “Need to use the bathroom.” He doesn’t respond but just stares rabidly at the way his hand is moving against me. The contact is not enough for him, though, and he slips his hand down the front of my underwear, sinking a finger inside of me, at the same time grinding his erection into my butt. “Oh, God,” I moan and my head falls back onto his shoulder, my eyes helplessly pinned to his hand as his finger moves in and out of me. “Need to be inside you, baby,” he rasps near my ear and while my mind is thinking, No, we’re in

someone else’s bathroom in a house full of people, my head starts nodding in agreement. I’m not even sure Alex got my nod of assent but he makes short work of pulling my panties down, lifting just one of my booted feet up to quickly pull the material free. With my unmentionables now pooled around just one ankle, Alex stands back up and bends me over the sink. I watch, spellbound, while he works at his belt and zipper, his movements quick and efficient because he knows exactly what he wants. When he frees himself, seductively hard and pulsing with need, his eyes catch mine in the mirror one more time. He holds me…won’t let me go, and we just stare at each other. So much passes through that mirror between us. Need. Desire. Insatiability. I don’t look away…not once. Not even when he sinks into me with one fluid push and his eyelids flutter closed in rapture. He holds himself inside of me deep, his hands gently resting on my hips and his thumbs caressing my skin. Alex lets out a faltering breath, and then his eyes open, fixed intently on mine. Then he starts moving. Slowly at first, but before too long the fever builds between us like a volcano before eruption. I push my hips back as he slams forward, and I cannot help the moans that are now coming out of my mouth. I get so loud, at one point, Alex caresses his hand up my back and winds it round me, covering my mouth gently but firmly. With one hand on my hip and the other stifling the sounds of my pleasure, Alex rides me…pushing both of us higher and higher. To the summit, where both of us explode—almost catastrophically. My cry of release gets blocked by Alex’s hand, but he can’t help the low moan of a curse that bursts out. “Fuck, that feels good,” he whispers with his hips still pumping in and out as he climaxes hard. Alex moves his hand from my mouth and leans over me, pushing me down onto the sink with his chest against my back. His movements inside of me slow and then ultimately stop. Our breaths start to slow, and eventually Alex pushes up off me. Our eyes connect once more in the mirror and while the molten heat in his eyes is gone, there is a warmth there that makes me go gooey inside. We just had animal sex in someone else’s bathroom, yet it was wholly intimate, something that only the two of us could ever share. It didn’t matter where we were, or what position we were in. We were immersed in each other, with no room for the outside world. With no care for the outside world. Alex helps me clean up, gently pulls my panties back into place, smoothing my skirt back down. He runs his hands over my hair and then kisses me on the forehead. “Ready to head back out?” he asks, his eyes glittering with satiation and mischief. “Not sure my legs can move, but sure…I’ll give it a try.” “That’s my girl,” he says and then opens the bathroom door. He exits quickly, holding my hand, and I follow right behind. As soon as he turns right to head back down the staircase, he stops suddenly and I run into his broad back. Peeking around him because I’m sure

we’ve been busted by someone, my stomach drops when I see Cassie leaning up against the wall outside the bathroom. She spares me a brief glance before turning her icy gaze back to Alex. “Nice. Fucking your whore in Kelly and Mike’s bathroom. Real classy, Alex.” I start to open my mouth to disabuse her of the notion that I’m a whore, but Alex beats me to it. “Fucking? No, there wasn’t any fucking. Not like what you and I did.” My face goes beet red over his proclamation and I almost jerk away from his hold. But he senses my discomfort and a thumb skims over my knuckle in reassurance. “No, Sutton and I have something different,” Alex continues in a low voice. “Something you would never be able to comprehend. Hell, I’m having a hard time comprehending it myself, but I know it’s unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before and probably nothing I really deserve.” Cassie’s eyes go large and round, disbelieving the conviction of what Alex is telling her. And it is with conviction he said those words. Turning away from Cassie, so he’s looking at me…only at me, he says, “You’d be so lucky, Cassie…to find something as real…as intimate, as what I’ve found.” I smile at him and he returns it for a moment, filled with so much emotion in place of those three words that he has yet to tell me, but in my heart I believe he feels. Then he turns back to Cassie. “I really hope you find it one day. Truly. But make no mistake…you talk badly about Sutton again—in her presence or out—and I will rain so much misery down on you, you’ll wish you’d never heard the name Alex Crossman. Are we clear?” Cassie just stares at him for a moment, almost not understanding what he’s saying. Then I see her swallow hard and a look of sadness comes over her face. “We’re clear.” “Good,” Alex says jovially. Pulling me along, we walk past Cassie and he shoots her a solicitous smile. “Have a merry Christmas, Cassie.” Now that we have had some one-on-one bonding time, Alex leads me back down into the party and never leaves my side the rest of the night.

Chapter 27 Alex It’s Christmas Eve, and Sutton should be here any minute. She was having dinner at her parents’ house, to which I was invited and declined. I wasn’t much in the “familial” mood tonight, not with my own dysfunctional family plaguing my thoughts. Truth be told, I’m not even in the mood for Sutton to come over tonight, but it’s not like I can cancel plans with her on Christmas Eve, especially not when I leave tomorrow for a three-game road trip. Cameron called me late last night to let me know that Dad had checked himself out of rehab after only nineteen days and well before his release date. I’ve heard from him twice more today. Each time he called he was fairly frantic because Dad had not gone home. He was nowhere to be found. My worst fear was that he was drunk and lying in a ditch somewhere, which in Canada in December is a death sentence. The most likely scenario, and one that didn’t bode well either, was that he was sitting in a bar somewhere…drunk. The thought of him being out of rehab, of entering my life again as nothing more than a failed addict, causes my skin to itch so bad I have to restrain myself from clawing at it. Just when I thought maybe…just maybe I could have a chance at normal, my dad goes and starts to fuck it all up again. The doorbell rings and I stand from the couch, wiping my damp hands on my jeans. Why I’m so nervous about seeing Sutton is beyond me, but I feel a little out of sorts…maybe a tiny bit out of control, since getting the news from Cameron last night. Taking a deep breath before opening the door, I paste a smile on my face and pull the handle toward me. There, looking fit and healthy, stands my dad. He’s holding a small suitcase in his hand, but that’s not what really gets my attention. It’s the fact that his complexion has a healthy glow, he’s gained a good ten to fifteen pounds since I last saw him and his eyes are clear. I can’t remember the last time I saw his eyes clear. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” John Crossman says to me. Blinking hard, I open the door wider and motion for him to come in. “What are you doing here? Cameron called last night…said you’d checked out of rehab?” My dad walks in and I shut the door behind him. He drops the suitcase and I get the not-so-subtle message. He’s staying. Turning to me, he starts to shrug out of his winter coat. “I’m doing great, Alex m’boy. Really got control of things. I wanted out. They wanted me to stay for a few more weeks. But it’s my choice and I decided enough was enough.” My mind starts frantically taking in all of the places I have alcohol around the house. I’m not a big

drinker, but I have a stash. A few beers in the fridge, a bottle of wine on the counter that one of my teammates gave me for my birthday, and a bottle of Jack Daniel’s in the kitchen cabinet. I start thinking of how I can surreptitiously get those hidden. I don’t even know what to say. I want to chastise him for leaving rehab, but damn he looks good and I feel like I should praise him. I’m ill-equipped to deal with this situation, and my first reaction is to call Sutton because she would know. Fuck…Sutton’s on her way here, and I’m not prepared for them to meet. And as if this day couldn’t get any more stressful, the doorbell rings and there’s no doubt as to who that is. Stepping past my dad, I open the door and let Sutton’s beauty infuse me with just a few moments of unfettered happiness. She’s got her flamed hair loose, and it sparks hot against the coal black of her wool coat. She’s wearing a dark green knit scarf and matching beret, and she’s holding a large, red foil bag that I assume holds my Christmas present. I just stare at her, wanting to pull her into my arms at the same time I have the crazy thought to shut the door in her face so she and my father won’t meet. He won’t like her. He won’t like her for the mere fact that she provides a distraction from my game. Cocking her head to the side, Sutton must see the indecision in my eyes. “Is everything all right?” I give her a tentative smile and step back from the door so she can come in. “Of course, it’s just…I have some unexpected company.” Sutton steps over the threshold and I close the door behind her. When I turn, she and my dad are facing each other. Sutton has an open, easy smile on her face and my dad’s is stoically blank. Running my hand through my hair and feeling as if I’m marching to the gallows, I say, “Dad…I’d like you to meet Sutton Price. Sutton…this is my dad, John Crossman.” I have to give her credit. Sutton doesn’t even flinch. She knows he’s not supposed to be out of rehab, but she never reveals the depth of her knowledge. Instead, her smile gets even brighter and she steps forward, holding her hand out. “It’s so wonderful to meet you, Mr. Crossman. Did you just arrive?” My dad shifts his gaze to me briefly and I can see a world of questions in that one look, but he is at least polite when he turns back to Sutton and shakes her hand. “It’s nice to meet you too, and yes…I just got in for a surprise visit with Alex.” While my dad is courteous, the air is a bit frigid from the tone of his voice and Sutton can read the signals loud and clear. I suppose it’s a bit of a benefit that she knows a little about my history with him, and she never hesitates. Turning to me, she says, “Look…let’s you and I get together another day to go over the outreach program and you just enjoy Christmas Eve with your dad.” She lies beautifully because we had no intentions of discussing business tonight. My intention was to spend a few romantic moments opening gifts and then taking her to bed to fuck her silly. She pivots back to my dad. “Mr. Crossman, it was nice meeting you and Merry Christmas.” He nods at her with a smile and heads over to the couch to sit down. I walk Sutton to the door and when I open it, I lean in to murmur, “I’m sorry. He literally showed up like a minute before you did. I have no clue why he’s here. He should be in rehab.” She gives me a sympathetic look and pats my chest. Sutton is a savvy girl and she knows just from what

little I told her about my dad that he most likely doesn’t know about our relationship. Given what she knows about how he’s deterred me in the past from having any type of relationship, she’s playing it close to the vest and not giving us away. “No worries. Call me later when you can.” I nod at her and then watch her walk down the stairs. I don’t close the door until she’s out of sight, but then I do with a sigh and turn to face my father. “Friend of yours?” my dad asks genially. “Yeah,” I answer but don’t provide anything more. “Seems like more than just a friend.” “You heard her…we were going over some business together.” “On Christmas Eve?” Shrugging my shoulders, I say, “Sure, why not?” “Why are you lying to me, boy?” my dad asks in censure. “Because if I don’t, you’ll make a big deal about me having a girlfriend,” I say in exasperation. “Girlfriend?” He actually wrinkles his nose in distaste. “Yes! Girlfriend. And it’s none of your business. I’m an adult and allowed to date.” My dad holds his hands up in surrender, but he’s not fooling me. I can see it in his eyes. Yet it is with seeming nonchalance he says, “Your life, not mine. Got any coffee for your old man?” I lock eyes with him, dying to know what he really wants to say but dreading it all the same. Instead, I just nod and head into my kitchen to make a pot of coffee, making a mental note to call Cameron later to let him know I’ve found our wayward father. As I busy myself pulling out the coffee and filters, I try to take stock of my feelings. I’m mostly pissed that my night with Sutton got canceled. Even though I had been having some dark thoughts earlier, there’s no doubt that my spirit was rejuvenated the minute I opened the door and saw her. She just does good things for my soul. I am, however, oddly relieved that my dad is here, because I can gauge that he looks to be okay. In fact, I can’t remember him ever looking healthier. The sickest part, though, the thing that means I should be checking myself into a mental hospital just for having the thought, is the fact that there is a part of me that is wanting to get my dad’s advice about my game. It’s still been sucking donkey ass and while I’m scoring again, I’m certainly not playing to the potential of the first line. I simply haven’t been able to regain complete convergence on my game, and it seems that my thoughts are all jumbled among Sutton, my dad, my brother and hockey. I know, without a doubt, that my dad has been following my progress and I’m sure the minute I ask, he’ll have a ton of advice to give. Yes, I know it will be destructive and negative. Yes, I know I shouldn’t listen to a damn word he says. But God help me, I can only think that this man made me into the great player that I was up until a few weeks ago. Up until he went into rehab and went off my radar. Up until he stopped dispensing said advice. I want to knee myself in the nuts for even thinking that perhaps the reason for my crappy play is because I haven’t had my dad riding me these last several weeks, but to hell with it…I’m going there. I need to

know what he would say. After pouring a cup of coffee for my dad, I grab a bottled water for myself from the fridge and head back into the living room. He’s sitting on the couch, his chin resting in his hand, and he’s staring pensively into the fire I started earlier as a romantic gesture for Sutton. Now all it seems to do is make my apartment feel sweltering. “Here you go,” I tell my dad as I hand the cup to him. He looks up at me with a smile as he accepts it. I head toward my loveseat that sits perpendicular to the couch, mainly for distance and so I can easily face him as we talk. “So, you don’t think you need rehab anymore?” “Not really,” he says. “I need to get into AA as soon as possible, but I’m not sure what more I can learn there.” “Why are you here?” I ask bluntly, because my dad and I are long past the point in our relationship where we have to tiptoe around each other. After taking a sip of coffee, Dad sets the cup down on my end table and looks back to me. His eyes are limpid and soft, and he’s giving me a look such as I’ve never seen before. It’s almost caring—tender— and it makes my belly tighten because it is awkward. “I, um…I needed to come see you. Face-to-face. I needed to apologize to you—” I cut my dad off by holding a hand up. “No, you don’t,” I say quickly, because hearing my dad sound so considerate is sort of freaking me out. It’s evoking emotion inside of me that I had been conditioned by this very man to ignore, and I feel like this could be a trap. Maybe he’s doing this to see if I will prove to be the weak and delicate man he always accused me of being. “Yes, I do,” my dad says firmly and with a tone that tells me not to interrupt again. “This is hard on me…to admit this to you, but it needs to be done. I was wrong in many things I did to you growing up. I’m an alcoholic, and my drinking led me to do things that I am so very ashamed of.” “Dad—” I try to interrupt. But he talks right over me. “I’m even more ashamed that some of the things I did to you…I’d probably still have done even without the alcohol lowering my inhibitions…so desperate was I to make you into a star. That is probably my greatest shame.” I stand up abruptly from the loveseat and start pacing. This conversation is extremely uncomfortable and I want to flee. Straight to Sutton, so she can tell me how to handle this. My dad looks at me, his eyes slightly shining with moisture. “Alex…I need to make amends. I need you to forgive me.” “Why?” I ask, somewhat demandingly. “Because I don’t know if I’ll stay sober or not. It’s going to be a hard battle…so they tell me. But if I don’t…if I can’t and something happens to me, I need my conscience clean.” My dad doesn’t wear vulnerable well, but he’s talking straight from the heart, I can tell. Part of me wants to punch him but part of me wants to hug him—for what would be the first time in my life. Neither one seems right to me, so I say the words he wants to hear. “I forgive you, Dad.” *** My dad and I eventually struggled through an awkward hug. We talked about him leaving rehab before

completing, and the concerns I had. While he understood them, he wasn’t willing to go back. He felt he was equipped to handle his addiction, and had grand plans to join AA as soon as he got back home. Didn’t stop me, though, from hiding the alcohol when he went to take a shower. His plans are to leave in the morning for home, because I’m leaving for my game road trip. So we have tonight to start to forge some type of new relationship before we head our separate ways. I slapped a frozen pizza in the oven and I’m cutting it now as he walks into the kitchen, his hair still damp. He doesn’t waste any time, cutting through to the other elephant in the room. “So what’s going on with your game?” he asks as he sits down at the kitchen table. His apology, while heartfelt and accepted, does nothing to erase the years he dictated to me how I should model my behavior, so my hackles rise up. “What? You mean you’re not going to tell me what my problem is? Not going to tell me how to correct it?” My dad swallows hard. “I’ll give you advice if you want it. If you want to tell me what you think the problem is.” I put a couple of slices of pizza on two plates and bring them to the table, setting his down in front of him. After I take my chair, I look at him while picking at a pepperoni. “I’m not focused,” I admit. “Can’t focus your brain on something, maybe it’s focused somewhere else,” he offers, and I know this is a direct slap at Sutton. “You mean my girlfriend,” I accuse. “What else is there?” he counters. “Well, let’s see,” I say sarcastically. “Maybe because my dad is a drunk and is killing himself. Maybe because my dad has been in rehab and I’m dealing with all that shit.” At least my dad has the grace to blush at my words, but his tone is censuring, “You can’t blame me for all the wrongs in your life.” “Can’t I?” I throw at him. Pushing his plate away, my dad rests his hands on the table. “Look, Alex…I know you’re angry at me and you have every right to be. I did wrong by you. But I also did right. You are a superstar. You have an amazing career and more money than you know what to do with. There are a few things that you could thank me for, perhaps.” It’s surreal how his words have a sting of truth, even though his methods were for the most part completely barbaric. Before I can respond, my dad continues. “Look…I’m sure that girl…Sutton is perfectly nice. But you’re twenty-six. You have, at most, another four to five years of top-level play in that body before you’ll start to get overtaken by the next hot young player out there. That’s not a long time, and you shouldn’t waste it on things that don’t lead toward an intense focus on the game. It’s professional suicide.” His words penetrate deep, and for once, I can say that my dad is absolutely one hundred percent correct in his evaluation of the situation. Hockey careers are fleeting, particularly because it’s such a violent sport. I have only a few more years to stockpile my way to an early retirement. While every cell in my body wants to buck against what he’s saying, I can’t say the idea hadn’t crossed my mind. That perhaps my focus is too fractured, between my newfound love for the game, a new girlfriend who is in love with me but whom I’ve yet to truly figure out my feelings for, and my alcoholic father, who could die. Maybe I need to lighten the burden. Cut something out.

Cutting the game out wasn’t possible, because after all, that is the one thing I can pretty much say is my best chance at success. And I can’t cut out my father. Not now…not after he’s trying to get sober and trying to make amends. So, that leaves Sutton, and just giving credence to this idea makes my gut churn with bitter acid. But unfortunately, she’s the newest thing in my life. She’s the great unknown and by far the biggest risk. She makes me feel too much sometimes. It’s a kaleidoscope of feeling with patterns that play out across my heart, some round and soothing yet others sharp and angled, causing a small bite of pain. Some would say feeling is good. Others, like my dad—and clearly this resonates with my way of thinking—might say it could be distracting. Perhaps it’s better to stay ice-cold, like the surface upon which I play my game. This is something I need to think about. This is something I need to take action on.

Chapter 28 Sutton It’s been fifteen days, six hours and twenty-seven minutes since I last saw Alex. It’s been fifteen days, six hours and twenty-seven minutes since he broke my heart. And while my heart is on the mend, it still hurts badly on most days and just twinges annoyingly on the others. My anger has at least subsided, and while I don’t accept his reasoning for breaking things off, I do understand it. Just because I understand it doesn’t mean it isn’t painful. Because God…it’s so painful. I wish I didn’t understand why he did it, because it would be easier to mire myself in hate and bitterness, which I’m sure would stop the pain that emanates from the center of my chest. But I do understand him, in ways that most others never would. Just fifteen days and some change ago, my day had started off wonderfully. I had an amazing counseling session with Mara. She looked healthy, although not quite happy. However, she had told me the words that I had longed to hear, that was she was staying strong to fight her desire to use meth again. More important, her parents had agreed to come in and talk to me the next week. I didn’t have high hopes they’d make it in, because I knew how easy it was to make those promises yet so very hard to keep them. Still, I was feeling more confident that Mara was taking the right steps so she didn’t stray down the same destructive path as her parents. My day got even better from there. Cosmo called me. Which in and of itself isn’t all that strange. He’s called me over the years for a variety of reasons. But that day? That day he called from the lobby of Crested Pine, which is an excellent local rehab facility just one county over. He was getting ready to go in, hoping five times was a charm when it came to getting clean. He called me, knowing that there would be no means to communicate for the next thirty days, but he felt it important that I know he was taking the step. He told me that he was doing this for himself, but more than anything, he hoped that I would be the one who truly benefited from it in the long run. They were the perfect words and something in the tone of his voice made me think he could do it this time around. But that is where the sun set and dark clouds rolled in on me. Dramatic, I know, but that’s exactly how it felt. Alex flew back into town from his game road trip, which followed on the heels of his father showing

up at his apartment unexpectedly. I never did get to see Alex on Christmas Eve, but he called to tell me what was going on, and that his dad had left rehab early. He sounded stressed and I did my best to reassure him that there was a chance his dad would be okay. In my mind I knew chances were that he’d relapse, since he had not finished the program, but I didn’t want to worry Alex further. So I wished him a merry Christmas, told him I loved him, and wished him good luck on his upcoming games. He thanked me quietly for the well wishes, ignoring the words of love I gave him. I remember giving myself a once-over in the bathroom mirror before he arrived that night, snickering to myself. My eyes were bright and dancing with eagerness to see Alex, and I almost could imagine what a junkie must feel like right before he gets his next hit. My doorbell rang and I almost squealed in delight, but I didn’t, because I was a mature professional woman. However, that didn’t stop the mile-wide grin that was on my face as I practically ran down the hall and into the living room. Skidding to a halt at the door, I took a deep breath and opened it up. And yes, he was just as breathtaking as ever. More so, if you took into account I hadn’t seen him in four days—unless you count hungrily watching him on TV. We had talked on the phone, not often because he’d said he was so busy between travel, games and practices, but enough to keep me primed and ready. If he seemed a little distracted or distant, I chalked that up to the incredible stress he was under. Between not playing up to par and his dad leaving rehab early, I knew he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. Stepping forward, I wrapped my arms around his waist and rested my head on his massive chest. “I missed you.” He gave me a light squeeze and then released me, stepping past me into the house. In my line of work, perception is key, and I immediately sensed a tense energy surrounding Alex. I quietly closed the door and turned to face him. “What’s wrong?” I asked, not even needing the nervous look on his face to confirm my suspicions just based on that one, perfunctory hug. “Nothing,” he said hastily. Way too hastily, and the fact he wouldn’t quite meet my gaze head-on caused warning bells to start a five-alarm chorus. “Alex,” I said softly and took a step toward him with my arm reaching out. “What’s wrong?” He took a short step back, and then turned away from me, raking his fingers through his dark hair. His shoulders were tense as he walked over and sat on the couch. “Actually, I guess we need to talk.” Alex turned his body on the couch so when I took the seat next to him he was facing me. He laid an arm across the back of the sofa, putting his hand near my head. I was heartened briefly when he reached out and stroked his fingertips across my hair, and equally saddened when he moved them away. “You’re kind of scaring me here,” I tried to tease but it came out all panicked and needy. His eyes rose to meet mine and they were sad and just a tiny bit aloof. “I’ve been doing some thinking,” he began and my stomach started to knot. “About us. About my career…my dad. Just a lot of shit has been processing in my head.” “You’ve had a lot of stress on you,” I agreed, reaching out to rub my fingers on his knee. His gaze dropped from my mine, and he watched my fingers play absently on his denim-covered leg. He had an almost pained look—which never left his face—when he decided to look at me again. “I think I have too much on my plate. And it’s affecting how I play. I’ve lost my focus and it’s really

starting to bother me that I’m letting my team down.” My words were measured and careful. “I can see that.” Alex gave me a small smile and then scooted forward on the couch so he was sitting on the edge of the cushion. This effectively dislodged my hand and the loss of contact with him left me cold. He braced his elbows on his knees, his hands hanging down loose as he stared at the floor. Giving a helpless sort of laugh, he said, “The ironic thing is…you’re the one that got me loving the game again. It’s solely to your credit that I even give a shit that I’m letting my team down.” He turned his face toward me, giving that sad smile again. “You…who knew nothing about the game of hockey, about what it takes to really make it in this league. The girl who had to Google what a hat trick was. You renewed my spirit when it came to playing hockey.” With his words trailing off, Alex faced forward again to stare at the floor. “I’m sensing a ‘but’ in there,” I prompted. I needed him to say it because I could already tell by the dejected tone in his voice and the defeated body language what was coming next. “But,” he picked up where I left off, “I think you may be the one who’s distracting me from my game.” Okay, so that’s maybe not where I thought the conversation was going. I sensed that I was in the middle of what was going to be a very painful breakup, but I didn’t think Alex would blame his poor play on me. If anything, I thought he’d say this was moving too fast, or that he simply wasn’t ready for a committed relationship. The fact that he seemed to be laying his woes on my doorstep sort of pissed me off, so I know my words came out harsher than I meant them to. “You seriously can’t be blaming me for your poor stats.” “It’s not blame, Sutton,” he said apologetically while turning to face me again. “It’s about distraction.” “Distraction?” I asked, a tad shrilly as I stood up from the couch. “You call what we have…what we’ve done…what we’ve meant to each other a distraction?” Sitting back up, Alex rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “No, that’s not what I’m trying to say. You’re twisting it.” “Well, make it clearer to me.” I put my hands on my hips and glared down at him. Standing up slowly from the couch, he took a step toward me but made no move to touch me. Instead, he placed his hands in his pockets. “I have a lot of stuff going on in my life right now. A career that could be on the verge of collapsing, a sick, alcoholic father and—” “Me,” I provided for him angrily. “You have me. To support you, to help you out, to love you. But you don’t see me like that, do you?” “I just—” he started to say, but I had heard enough. “Say it, Alex,” I taunted him. “Tell me you don’t love me, because you sure as hell never said the words to me, despite the fact I’ve given them to you along with my heart. Tell me that I’m just a distraction and that you think I’m hurting your precious career.” “That’s not what I’m trying to say!” he shouted at me, pulling his hands out of his pockets and throwing them out to the side helplessly. “Then what are you trying to say?” I asked desperately, tears pooling in my eyes. “Because this is a breakup, right, Alex? This is all leading to us going our separate ways tonight, right?” Taking a deep breath and letting it out, he looked at me apologetically. “Yes, that’s where it’s going.” Turning my back on him, I looked blankly at my fireplace, and when I blinked, the first rush of wetness

slid down my cheeks. I wiped at it quickly with the back of my hand. “Well…at least you’re honest,” I mutter. “Painfully so,” he murmurs sadly. “I don’t understand,” I said, my voice quavering. “I thought we had something special.” Walking up behind me, Alex put his hands on my shoulders and leaned in to kiss me on the top of my head. His voice was soft but the ringing tone of finality pierced my eardrums. “It was special, Sutton. Very special. But I need to get my focus back, and the only way I can think to do that is by taking a break from you right now.” Turning around to face him, I asked incredulously, “Take a break? Sort of the way Brandon wanted to take a break from me? So he could go sow his wild oats? What? You want to go live out your career while being single, so you don’t miss out on a damn thing with an anchor tied around you?” Alex blinked at me in surprise and I could tell he never once considered the similarity between what he was doing and what Brandon did. This infuriated me even more, so I really let him have it. “You’re a coward, Alex,” I told him, a small sob bursting out of my mouth. “You’re too afraid to take the risk that something might actually be really good for you. You’re too scared to step outside of the little, protected, fucked-up world that your dad created for you, and really take a chance at love. You’re so much of a coward, you gladly use me as your scapegoat, when what really is going on is that you’re still just that sad and scared little boy that your dad twisted years ago.” My breaths were shallow and I’d worked myself up to a simmering rage. Alex was starting to get angry as evidenced by the splotches of red on his cheeks. Pointing a finger at me, he said, “You don’t know what it was like—” “Save it,” I cut him off. “I know more than you think I do, so you can’t bullshit me. I’m not saying it’s easy to overcome, Alex, because it’s not. It’s fucking hard as hell. But you know how you overcome it?” He stared at me blankly for a moment then shook his head. “You overcome it by hard work. By not giving up. By striving for something better. You learn to forgive and move on, and you learn from your pain. You don’t let it control you, and you certainly don’t hide from it.” Alex’s gaze fell to the floor, and I could tell by the way his shoulders sagged that my words hit home. I waited for that crucial moment, where maybe he would decide to accept the challenge I laid on his doorstep, and start putting his life back together. I waited hopefully for him to realize that a shot at love is worth the hard work and pain. Instead, he turned his back on me and walked to the door. I had to restrain myself from calling out to him. When he opened the door, he hesitated for just a moment, then said quietly, “I’m sorry.” He never looked back before walking out of my house and out of my life. — Blinking hard, I try to dispel the sad memories as I stare at my computer screen. It’s almost time for lunch and I didn’t bring anything to eat, so I need to run out. The only problem is, I’m not very hungry. I’d rather gorge on and choke down my own pity party, which has kept me surprisingly full the last few weeks. The phone on my desk rings and I pick it up. I’m at a complete loss for something cool to say as usual, so I just answer, “This is Sutton.” “Of course it’s Sutton,” Minnie says with exasperation. “I dialed your extension.”

Yeah, Minnie has had enough of my moping around, I can tell. So, I make my voice just a bit more cheerful. “Sorry. What’s up?” “You have a hockey god out here to see you.” My pulse flutters wildly at the prospect that Alex has come to see me, but then Minnie brings me crashing down when she says, “A Mr. Garrett Samuelson. Wants to know if you got some time for him.” Letting out a pent-up breath of disappointment, I say dejectedly, “Sure. I’ll be right out.” *** “It’s uncanny, really,” Garrett says as he takes a huge bite of pizza and gazes at me across the table. “What’s that?” I say, fiddling with my crust but making no effort to take a bite. Garrett’s visit was a complete surprise. He suggested we get a bite to eat, so we came to this local pizza joint just a few blocks from my office. “That ‘someone kicked my puppy’ look both you and Alex seem to be wearing these days. It sort of brings me down.” Glaring at him across the table, I say, “I’m sorry to be ruining your mood.” He shrugs his shoulders and grins at me. “Just sayin’.” “Why are you here, Garrett?” I ask tiredly. Setting his slice of pizza down and wiping his hands with his napkin, he leans across the table, resting his forearms on the cracked Formica top. “Because I’m worried about Alex. He won’t tell me what happened, just that you broke up.” “That’s true enough. Well, he broke up with me. I didn’t seem to have a say-so in it.” My words are brittle and I can’t even bring myself to make the effort to lighten the mood. “Well, he made a mistake,” Garrett says as he sits back and picks up his pizza. “Then why aren’t you having this conversation with him?” “I intend to,” he says with a wicked smile. “I just wanted to talk to you and see how much groveling he’d have to do to win you over.” I blink in surprise, because surely there is no way in hell that Alex Crossman, Most Valuable Prick, would ever grovel to a woman. Besides, I don’t want him to grovel. I don’t find that attractive. What I would kill for, though, is for him to realize that he was wrong. That letting me go—letting us go —was wrong. I’d be happy with a few simple words telling me that exact thing. “He doesn’t have to grovel,” I voice my thoughts out loud. “I’m not that type of woman.” “Glad to know it,” he says around a mouth full of food. “It’s moot anyway. Alex doesn’t believe this was a mistake. He believes he needed to do this for the benefit of his career.” “Bullshit,” Garrett says loudly and I look quickly around to see if anyone is looking. I mean, outside of the ordinary stares we got when a Cold Fury hockey player walked into this little restaurant. Lowering my voice, so he’ll follow suit, I say, “Why is that bullshit?” “Because I believe you were one of the best things to happen to him. You got him playing better than ever and loving the game again. I’m not blind or stupid.” “Again, doesn’t matter what you think or what I think…it’s what Alex thinks.”

“It will matter once I get done with him,” he says slyly. Reaching across the table, I lay my hand on his forearm and when I have his full attention, I say firmly, “Don’t. Just don’t, okay? Leave him be. He made this decision because it gave him some peace of mind, and it’s not up to you or me to take that away from him.” “Don’t you still love him?” he asks skeptically. “Of course I do.” “Then just shut up and let me work my magic.” “I’m not playing around, Garrett,” I say, leaning across the table and digging my fingers into his arm. “It’s not meant to be.” “Whatever,” he says, almost in a pout-like way. “I’m serious. This is my life. Promise me you won’t say anything to Alex.” Garrett stares at me a moment, the look on his face going eventually from annoyance to acceptance. “Fine.” “You swear?” “Every fucking day,” he says with a wink. “Garrett,” I warn. “Fine. I swear. I won’t say anything to Alex.”

Chapter 29 Alex “Dude,” Garrett says after he takes a sip of his beer. “We need to talk about Sutton.” I raise my eyebrows at him and peel at the label on my bottle. “What about her?” “I saw her the other day, and she made me promise I wouldn’t say anything, but fuck that…I suck ass at keeping promises.” “Is she okay?” I ask urgently, because all sorts of horrific things run through my mind. She’s sick with cancer, and has only days to live. Or she got fired. Or something happened to Glenn. Or Penny. Or Jim-Dad. “She’s fine,” he says with a dismissive wave. My heart rate takes a nosedive upon hearing that and my defenses come into play. “Then there’s nothing to talk about.” “Worried about her, huh?” he asks with a devious smile. “Nope. You just said she was fine.” “Before that, asshole. You were worried before that.” “So what? I cared for her…that’s a natural reaction.” “Care for her,” Garrett says with finality. “What?” “Present tense. Care. For. Her.” The fucker is starting to really irritate me. “So what?” “Sooooo,” he drawls. “I’m tired of you moping around with your heart flayed open. Win your girl back.” “No,” I say quickly. “It was for the best.” “Best for who?” Garrett asks incredulously. “For me,” I say with determination. “Yeah…and how’s that working out for you?” I don’t answer because I don’t know what to say. My life has gotten immensely shittier since I walked out of Sutton’s life a little over two weeks ago. My game hasn’t improved, my dad is riding my ass again and I suspect he may be drinking, and the only good thing I had going for me is nothing more than a ghost of a memory. “I’m fine,” I say, without a lick of conviction in my voice.

But I’m truthful to my soul when I think, I’m far from fine. I’m miserable. “I’m going to let you in on a little secret,” Garrett says as he leans forward. “You are utterly lost and it breaks my fucking heart to see it.” “You’re such a poet,” I sneer, only to hide the fact that his words hit deep. “I’m serious, man. And how could you not be? You cut out of your life a beautiful woman who loves your cranky ass. You have to be miserable is the way I see it.” “What do you know?” I say with as snide a look as I can muster. “Mr. Love ’Em and Leave ’Em is now a philosopher on love.” “Not at all,” he answers smoothly. “I just happen to be one smart motherfucker, and I know something good when I see it.” I pick up my bottle and take a healthy swig of beer. We have a rare two days off in a row and I’m killing time with Garrett in a bar because I’ll just sit depressed in my apartment otherwise. It seems any downtime I have is spent thinking about Sutton. It is, without a doubt, the dumbest thing I’ve ever done in my life, cutting her loose. I was so wrapped up in my own misery that I couldn’t see what I had standing right in front of me. And I was scared. Scared of giving up that carefully controlled life, of letting in the potential for hurt when I had been hurt enough. Sutton was absolutely right. I’m a fucking coward. I miss her so much. So very fucking much, and my body aches with emptiness. I put Sutton last in my list of devotions when she should have been number one. Yes, my priorities were screwed up, made even worse by the fact she fulfilled me more than any hockey career could, and she was the only one who truly knew what I was going through with my father. None of it matters, though. Because as sure as I’m sitting here, there’s not a doubt in my mind I fucked this up beyond repair. I did the same thing to her that Brandon did. I made it clear she wasn’t good enough at that moment in time. Brandon wanted to go chase some tail, and I wanted to go chase some sort of peace that was never on the path that I chose. “Dude, where did you go?” Garrett breaks into my thoughts, snapping his fingers in front of my face. Shaking my head, I mumble, “Nowhere.” “Yeah…remember that part where I told you I was one smart motherfucker? Well, I’m going to go out on a limb here and say you were silently agreeing with me that you made a dumbass move and you were mulling over the thought that you really couldn’t fix the problem.” My jaw drops open just a little. “What are you? Like a fucking mind reader or something?” Garrett grins at me and taps his temple with his forefinger. “Smart. Mother. Fucker.” “Okay, fine. I admit it. I screwed up. It will probably go down as the single dumbest thing I’ve ever done in my life. But it’s done. I can’t fix it.” “Chickenshit” is all he says. “What is it with people questioning my courage?” I grumble. “Because if you don’t fight for her, it’s a pussy move. You might as well strap on a pink jockstrap next game.”

Rubbing my temple and staring blankly across the bar—because Garrett sometimes has a way of inducing a migraine—I try to think of a good comeback. Garrett doesn’t give me the opportunity, though. “Besides, I have it on good authority that you won’t even have to grovel to get her back.” My eyes snap to his. “What do you mean?” “I mean, I asked Sutton point-blank what it would take to fix this shit.” “And?” I prompt. “And she assured me no groveling would be needed. She still loves you, buddy. More important, she understands you. She understands your moment of weakness, so just show her it was nothing but a moment.” His words are simple, yet they cause elation to swell within me. I had for sure thought I ruined everything with Sutton. In my world, things are black and white, and forgiveness is a foreign concept and a tough pill to swallow. “Seriously?” I ask, smiling for what I’m betting is the first time in over two weeks. “Cross my heart,” he assures me. “So what’s the plan?” Picking up my beer and downing the rest, I stand up and throw some cash on the bar. Turning to Garrett, I say, “Well, you said groveling isn’t needed but I’m thinking Sutton deserves a little something more than just a lame-ass apology. I have something in mind and I need your help, and Glenn’s too, for that matter.” Standing up, Garrett slaps his hands together and rubs them briskly. “I love it. A devious plan.” “Exactly,” I say with a grin. “Let’s get to it.” *** Garrett just left my apartment and we have worked out a solid plan, which in my estimation will put Sutton in a position where she has no choice but to take me back. We had to call Glenn first, to make sure he was on board, because he’s instrumental to the plot. The little dude was not happy to hear from me, which was beyond adorable. I mean, I’m his hockey idol, but he worships the ground Sutton walks on far more than he does my terra firma. When he got on the line and I told him “hello,” he said, “You hurt my sister and I don’t want anything to do with you.” I had to do some fast talking so he wouldn’t hang up on me, but thankfully he listened, and after much groveling on my part, he finally agreed to help me. Garrett had his part of the scheme secured and planned on meeting Glenn tomorrow for the handoff. He gave me a fist bump and a grin before leaving, saying, “This is going to be so much fucking fun. And you know you’re going to get an ass-chewing from the management, right?” “It will be worth it,” I told him, and it would be so worth it. Now the only thing left I had to do before I reclaimed what was mine and what I so foolishly let get away, was to make a very important phone call. My dad answers on the second ring and he sounds coherent, which is excellent, because I really need him to hear what I have to say. “Hi, Dad.” “Alex…buddy…what’s going on?” He sounds jovial and clear, which is a good sign. I take that to mean that he’s staying sober, a concern

I’ve worried over every single day since he visited a few weeks ago. “Just calling to check in on you. So how are things going?” “They’re going fine,” he says nonchalantly. “You’re not drinking, are you?” I have no choice but to ask point-blank. I hope I can detect the truth of his answer. “No way. I’ve been sober thirty-five days now.” I’m silent because he sounds truly happy about that. I’m truly happy about it, but it doesn’t mean that he’s won the battle. “That’s fantastic, Dad. Is it tough?” I can hear my dad take a deep breath and let it out, then he says quietly, “Hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life.” “You can do it,” I assure him. “I know you can.” “I appreciate the vote of confidence,” he says with a chuckle. “The AA meetings really help and my sponsor is a great guy. I call him if things get too rough.” The tightness in my chest eases up a bit and I allow myself the permission to let go of some of this worry. I have to remind myself, and accept, that whatever path my dad chooses, it’s out of my control. All I can do is support him when he’s standing tall, and reach a hand out if he falls. “Listen, Dad…there’s another reason I called.” “What’s up?” “Remember when you asked for my forgiveness when you came to visit?” “Of course.” His words are soft and appreciative. “I didn’t mean it when I told you I forgave you,” I tell him bluntly and then hold my breath for his reaction. “I see,” he says sadly, and I can tell he’s hurt. Before he can say anything else, I tell him what he really needs to know. “I said those words to you because you asked for them. Because you needed to hear them…not because I wanted to give them to you.” “Alex—” “But,” I cut him off quickly, so I can hurry up and get the words out and ease his pain. “I want to say them to you again…right now…and let you know that I want to give them to you. I need to give them to you and I very much mean them.” I can hear my dad take in a shaky breath and his voice quavers slightly. “That means a lot, buddy. And I do understand there’s a difference. Now you’ve truly forgiven me.” “Yes,” I tell him softly. “I really do forgive you for the things you did to me. I want you to have peace with that, because I do.” “Thank you, Alex,” my dad says sincerely. “You make your old man proud. You’ve reached some pretty amazing achievements in life and I didn’t think I could ever be more proud, but you’ve outdone yourself. I think this shows the true measure of what type of man you are, and God help me, I did nothing to create that. You did that on your own and it’s the proudest I’ve ever been of you.” I can feel my eyes sting because my dad has offered me words that I never thought I’d hear. My heart constricts almost painfully but then it immediately unwinds, and I swear I can literally feel darkness

releasing outward. “Thank you for saying that, Dad.” “Sure,” he says simply and with that, we’ve done as much father–son bonding as we can handle. “I need to tell you something else,” I say quickly as I want to finish this conversation off with probably the most important reason I called. “You were wrong about Sutton…that it would be a waste of my time to focus any attention on her. That my career was more important than anything I could have with her. It’s because of Sutton that I forgive you. It’s because she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me in my life, and in order to have her, I need to move past my pain. I can only do that by letting it go…forgiving you. If I didn’t want her so bad, I probably wouldn’t be having this conversation with you right now.” My dad is quiet for a few moments, but then he says, “Sounds like my son has become my teacher now.” I swallow hard, because those words also pack a punch. “I was stupid and cut her out of my life, but I’m going to get her back. Forgiving you was just one of the steps I needed to take.” “Is groveling another?” my dad jokes. Chuckling, I tell him, “Fortunately, she’s not that type of woman. But I do intend to wow her with my apology.” “Well, one thing I know about my son…there is nothing that can stop him from reaching success when he puts his mind to it.” “That’s right,” I agree softly with my dad. “And that is definitely something you taught me.”

Chapter 30 Sutton I’m uncomfortable, sitting here in the front row, right on the glass to the left of the Cold Fury’s bench. I didn’t want to come to this game. Hell, I don’t want to go to another hockey game ever again, because the memories are too bitter. And damn that Garrett Samuelson. He sent two tickets to Glenn, which I thought was the sweetest gesture ever, and assumed Jim-Dad would go with him. But Glenn begged me to go. I resisted at first, telling him I had just lost my interest in hockey. I certainly wasn’t going to tell him my heart was broken and I didn’t want to be anywhere in the vicinity of Alex Crossman. But he kept at me, finally threatening to give the tickets away to friends if I wouldn’t go with him. And of course, I capitulated. I didn’t want Glenn to miss this opportunity because—let’s face it— Garrett was going to fade out of the picture. He developed a pretty great bond with Glenn over Thanksgiving and has been in touch with him a few times, but now that Alex and I are over, I’m sure Garrett’s attention on Glenn will dissipate. I tried to surreptitiously find out from Glenn if he was upset at all that Alex wasn’t around anymore, and he surprised me by showing anger. I had been honest that Alex had called it off, and that’s apparently all Glenn needed to know in order to cut ties with his hockey idol. He didn’t understand all of the underlying issues. He had merely said to me, “He hurt you, Sutton. I don’t like him anymore.” So here we sit at the Cold Fury’s arena, with Glenn’s face pressed up against the glass waiting for the teams to come out for a warm-up. Just to show he really had cut ties with Alex, he didn’t even wear his jersey that Alex had given him, choosing instead to wear a simple black Cold Fury sweatshirt to the game. I, on the other hand, had no problem showing my support for Alex as a player and wore the jersey he gave me. I was here to see a hockey game with Glenn and “when in Rome”… Loud rock music blares from the speakers and a small cheer goes up from the visitors’ fans when the other team takes the ice for warm-ups. This starts my pulse pounding because I know within just a few minutes, the Cold Fury will be out and Alex will be just feet away from me. I don’t even think I can bear to look at him, and I sure as hell hope he won’t see me. I doubt it. Even though we are sitting at the glass, most of the hockey players don’t even look at the fans as they are so focused on their game. Still, I sit back in my chair and keep my eyes on my cell phone while I browse Facebook and Twitter, trying not to acknowledge the frantic pounding of my heart. You will not look at him, you will not look at him, I tell myself over and over again. A deafening roar goes up from the Cold Fury fans, and I know that means the team is coming onto the

ice. From the periphery, I can see Glenn banging on the glass and yelling out Garrett’s name, so I know he’s at least on the ice now. I manage not to look up, but I sure as hell don’t see a damn thing on my cell phone as my vision is a bit blurred from trying to restrain my eyes from involuntarily seeking out Alex. I start to realize something isn’t quite right when Glenn goes still and is no longer yelling. Even as I peer hard at my cell phone, I can see his body turn to look at me, so there must be something wrong if he’s not focused on the ice action. Then I hear a rapping sound…it’s one I’ve heard before…a stick beating on the glass. And if I thought my heart rate had been racing before, now I can hear the thunder of its beat pulsing deep within my eardrums. The rapping sound comes again, quicker…more insistent. Against my better judgment, against the pledge I made earlier to myself not to do it, I drag my eyes slowly upward and look at Alex Crossman standing on the ice directly in front of me. His gaze is soft and his brow is furrowed just enough for me to know that he is worried. About seeing me, about communicating with a “fan” rather than warming up…I’m not exactly sure, but he looks ill at ease. He just looks at me, in such an intimate way, that the sounds of the arena seem to die out and there is only blessed silence cocooning the two of us. I have no clue what he wants. I search the emotion on his face and I try to figure it out, but I just don’t get it. He’s an enigma to me, bewildering me so profoundly, I can do nothing but return his stare. Movement to the side causes our gaze to break and I slide my eyes over to see Garrett skate up and come to a stop a few feet from Alex. He rests his arms on top of his stick and looks at me with a sly grin. Then Alex moves and my attention is back on him. He throws his stick and gloves down to the ice and bends down at the glass, doing what, I have no clue. For a brief second, he’s gone from view and then he stands back up. He skates backward a few feet and I’m stunned to see he’s holding a stack of poster boards in his hand. He smiles at me and my face flames red as I realize that he’s getting ready to do something in a very public arena in front of several thousand people. I look quickly left and right, and sure as shit, everyone in the vicinity is looking right at Alex in curiosity. A brief look at Glenn shows him grinning like a fool, and I realize that I’m probably going to murder my little brother later. My gaze slides back over to Alex, and it’s clear he is patiently waiting for my focus to remain on him. Holding the boards up in front of this chest, he pulls the first one away and tosses it to the ice, revealing a board underneath with writing on it. It says, I’m sorry for letting you go. My eyes shoot up from the board to meet Alex’s and I can see the apology swimming there as well. He pulls that board away, slinging it to the ice, and I read the next board underneath. I stole this idea from the movie Love Actually. My eyes rise again to meet his, and now I see him grinning at me. I can’t help it that my lips curve upward in response. He reveals the next board to me, and my smile gets even bigger. Garrett—big girl that he is—had seen the movie and recommended this as an idea to win you back….

Laughter from the fans who are watching this breaks out around me and I have to chuckle too. I look over at Garrett and he’s glaring daggers at Alex, who returns a sheepish grin to him before turning back to me. He pulls that board away and drops it. My heart slams inside my rib cage when I read the next message. I love you and I was a fool to let you go. I can’t even raise my gaze to meet his, reading the board over and over again, hungrily soaking in the message and vaguely aware of the fans starting to clap. Alex takes the board away, revealing the one underneath. I will do whatever it takes to get you back. The clapping gets louder and people start cheering. I don’t even have time to read the message a second time or look up at Alex before he reveals the next board. I’ll fight hard for you. And the next board. I won’t give up. And the next board. Because you are the most important thing in the world to me. The cheering has now started to make its way around the arena as everyone is now watching what is going on. I look over at the players’ bench and the coaches are watching, none too happy about this display, but they don’t stop him. Alex throws that board to the ice, and I’m looking at what I believe is the last message he’s got for me tonight. Please say you’ll give me another chance. Before I can even comprehend Alex’s request, Glenn is diving under his seat and he pulls out two poster board cards, slightly smaller than the ones that Alex has on the ice. I take them from his hands, noting that his smile is lit up with excitement. “You’re in so much trouble,” I growl at him, but he just grins wider. Looking down at the cards, I see one says “Yes” and the other says “No.” I do a slow look around me, and most of the people are smiling at me as they clap. A chant starts up, Yes, yes, yes, yes. Standing up from my seat, and looking down at the cards, making sure I have the right one, I hold it up for Alex to see. Yes. His face breaks out into a smile filled with relief and happiness. I can tell by the look he is giving me that this is a choice that I will never regret. Surprising me further, Alex pulls his last message away, revealing another underneath. Do you still love me? Tears start to fill my eyes. I nod my head as I hold the Yes card up again, and the crowd roars in approval. I’m shocked when Alex drops that card to the ice and the next one says, You won’t regret it.

Before I can even look up at him so he knows that it’s not even possible for that to happen, he drops that board to the ice. Don’t you think Garrett is a big girl for watching Love Actually? The crowd goes nuts and it’s at this point that I see this whole scenario is being shown on the Jumbotron above. I give Alex a disapproving look and hold up the card No for him to see. To show how well Alex knows me, and knew what my answer would be, I can’t say that I’m all that surprised when he drops the top board and his next one says, Great. Guess I’ll have to watch it with you at some point. I nod my head at him with a smile, not even bothering to hold a card up for him to see. Alex skates forward, coming up to the glass. I step forward to rest my hands beside my head and get as close to it as I can without fogging up the smooth surface. Before reaching me, he drops another board and I look down to read the next one, Gotta go play hockey now. Okay, I mouth at him. He drops the last card and his hands are empty. Coming right up to the glass, he places his hands opposite mine and I swear I can almost feel his touch even through the barrier. Alex stares at me with such love, my legs feel like jelly. The sound of the crowd dies down again, not because they have stopped cheering, but because I have chosen to focus only on Alex. I’ve chosen to look at this man, who loves me and whom I love in return, and I’m overwhelmed with the knowledge that nothing else matters except what we have. Holding my gaze for just another brief moment, Alex mouths the words I love you to me before giving me a wink and skating off. I don’t even get to return the words before he is gone. That’s all right. I’ll make up for it tonight after the game. *** “Oh, Alex,” I moan as he sinks into me with one sure push, my hands gripping his shoulders hard. This is going to be some stellar sex, I can tell. Not only have Alex and I reconnected and claimed our love very publicly, but the Cold Fury kicked some major ass tonight, winning 6-2. Alex had two goals and two assists, and yes, I’m really proud of him. Leaning down, he gives me a soft kiss then pulls back just enough to look into my eyes. He’s lodged deep within me but he doesn’t move a muscle. “I love you.” He doesn’t give me a chance to reply with the same, because he’s kissing me again. A little deeper this time but still in a leisurely fashion. He hasn’t moved an inch otherwise. I taste myself on his lips, because when I opened my front door to him tonight, he made short work of carrying me to my bedroom and stripping me naked. After he pushed me back onto the bed, he pushed his face between my legs and didn’t surface again until he had made me come twice. Then he pulled himself up my body, sank into my wetness and told me he loved me. Now his kissing is becoming a little more urgent and a whole lot deeper. He makes a tentative move of his hips and damn…he goes just a little deeper still. Pulling back once more, he looks at me again. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t,” I whisper and place my fingers against his lips. “It’s all forgiven.” He looks down at me from above, his dark hair hanging forward and his eyes glittering in the soft glow of my lamp. Tilting his hips back, he pulls out of me and then pushes back in slowly…all while holding my gaze. He does it again…pulling farther out, pushing back in just a little deeper. Each time, some air is expelled out of my lungs and my heart pulses in response. Alex is gentle with his pace, matching the emotion in his eyes. When I get close…when my body starts to tingle, and tighten, and my veins are pounding with blood, Alex goes just a little bit faster to help propel me over the edge. A strangled sound comes out of my mouth as I splinter apart, just as he sinks slowly into me one more time, holding his body still and staring at me tenderly while he comes. Propping himself on his elbows above me, Alex gives me a warm smile before leaning down and kissing me on my forehead. He then rolls to the side, taking me with him and tucking me in for a cuddle. “I love you, Alex,” I tell him, because he said it last and never gave me a chance to reciprocate. Squeezing me closer, he says, “I can’t believe you’re lying in my arms right now. I thought I had lost you for good.” “Why did you change your mind?” I ask, immensely curious as to what prompted his turnaround. “I think I knew within five minutes of walking out your door I’d made a mistake, but I was too stubborn to admit it. Every day that passed, I started to accept it more…that I was wrong to let you go. But every day that passed, I convinced myself you had moved on. That I had hurt you too bad.” “I understood why you did it, Alex. I didn’t agree with it, but I understood.” “What did you understand?” he asks me, with just a tinge of unease, because he’s asking to be put under the microscope. “I understood that you were struggling with concepts that were very foreign to you, especially after having been raised in an atmosphere where you were to eschew all outside interference with your career. You were waging years of training and molding against just a few weeks of getting just a glimpse of what love could be. I think most people would have had a hard time taking the shot at love and not just going back to what they knew…safety.” “Is that why you accepted my apology so easily?” “That…and the fact I love you. Like insanely. There was no hesitation on my part, Alex.” “Garrett told me that I wouldn’t have to grovel.” Pushing out of Alex’s arms, I practically screech, “Garrett told you about that?” “Yup,” I say with a grin. “He admitted that he even promised you that he wouldn’t, but I think his exact words were ‘I suck ass at keeping promises.’ ” “That ass-wipe,” I mutter before sinking back down and laying my head on Alex’s chest. “You should be thanking him, not cursing him, baby. He spurred me into action.” “You would have come to your senses eventually,” I say with conviction, tracing my fingers through the hair that starts a dark trail just below his belly button. “Yeah, I would have. But at least this way, it got done a lot sooner.” “I guess,” I grumble. “You need to be mad at Glenn too. He was complicit in all of this.”

Snaking my hand down farther, I glide my fingers over Alex’s cock, which starts to swell from the slight touch. “Let’s not talk about my baby brother while I’m doing this,” I admonish with a laugh. Alex reaches his hand down, covering my own and forcing my fingers to wrap around his length. When I’m holding him within my grasp, Alex tightens his hold on me, causing me to squeeze him almost roughly. He groans over the sensation and that spurs me to start a slow pumping motion. I barely get two strokes in on my man, when he’s rolling over on top of me, kicking my legs apart to make room. With a twist of his hips, he drives into me, and I feel such exquisite pleasure that tears prick at my eyes even as a groan tears out of him. “I’ll never let you down again,” Alex murmurs near my ear. “I swear it.” “I love you,” I answer him, but then I’m lost, as he starts to make love to me with a ferociousness that drives all rational thought out of my mind. Instead, I give over to the sensation and let Alex show me with his body all the ways that he loves me in return.

Epilogue Alex I had to enlist Minnie’s help…yet again. It didn’t cost me a thing other than hearing Minnie squeal into the phone when I called her last week to discuss my plan. It was her job to make sure that Sutton’s schedule stayed clear for lunch today. This plan has been two weeks in the making and it’s getting ready to go down in just a little bit. Sutton will have no clue what hit her and I can’t wait to see her face. As I open the door to the crisis center, Minnie pins me with a glorious smile and a wink. “All set?” I ask her. “Absolutely,” she says conspiratorially. “Ready for me to buzz her?” “Let’s get this show on the road,” I tell her with a grin. Minnie picks up her phone and buzzes Sutton’s office. “Hey, doll…you have a gorgeous hockey player up here to see you.” Minnie listens to Sutton for a second, and gives me a short nod as she smiles and hangs up. “She’s on her way.” How is it that I’ve been with Sutton for almost eight months now and yet I still get filled with nervous excitement every time I get ready to see her? Why does she never get old to me, and how can someone own me so completely? I really don’t want to know the answers to those questions, because in the grand scheme of things, who really gives a fuck? What matters is that Sutton is mine and I’m getting ready to makes sure that’s a permanent deal. The door to the back office area opens with a squeak and a groan, and then Sutton steps through. She’s wearing a lightweight blue linen dress that is sleeveless and silver sandals. Her hair is up in a ponytail and she is absolutely stunning. I mean, I saw her in this when she left for work today, but seeing her again…wow! Just wow! “What are you doing here?” she asks with a welcoming smile. She steps up to me, tilting her face up for the kiss that she knows is coming. I grasp the back of her head lightly and touch my lips to her forehead. No tongue in front of Miss Minnie. “It’s such a beautiful day outside…thought we’d grab some lunch. Interested?” “Absolutely,” she says, grinning brilliantly, and we are out the door. I take her hand in mine and we stroll down South Saunders Street along with all the other downtown workers out to grab something to eat. My nerves are starting to fire up and I hope my hand isn’t sweating. When we reach Café Lina, the hostess is expecting me, but as planned, she shows not a hint of recognition. Sutton is happily chirping away about talking to Cosmo this morning, and while I’m definitely

interested in how he’s doing, my mind is a bit more occupied in making sure everything goes off without a hitch. We’re shown a table on the outside sidewalk and I make it past the first hurdle, terrified that Sutton will insist on sitting inside. If she had done that…ultimately not a big deal, but it would have made this not as perfect as it could be. I hold out the chair that will have Sutton’s back to the street and, once she’s settled, I take the other chair. Lunch goes smoothly. I’m able to relax a tiny bit and get my head back in the game where Cosmo is concerned. He’s doing well following this latest stint in rehab and he and Sutton talk frequently. He’s even come over to our house for dinner a few times. Note how I said “our house.” That’s because I dumped my crappy apartment and moved in with Sutton, at her invitation, about three months ago, just as the hockey season was winding down. We made it through the first round of the playoffs, but when our star goalie, Max Fournier, went out with a groin injury, we just couldn’t hang in the second round and got soundly defeated in just five games. I was bummed about it for quite a while, but moving in with Sutton made it better. I’ve been busy this off-season bumping up my training. Garrett and I work out together every morning, and on a few sunny Carolina afternoons you’ll find us at one of the local golf courses hacking up the grass. We both suck but are convinced that we’ll get better the more we play. My nights, though, are the best of all. Sutton comes home from work and I’ll often have dinner ready— yes, I’ve been learning to cook…well, grill, mostly. We’ll eat on her back deck and she’ll tell me about her day at work. I’ll regale her with the dirty jokes that Garrett told me, which usually has her nose wrinkled in distaste. Sometimes we’ll just sit outside and talk for hours. Sometimes we’ll play a game or even watch TV. Nine and a half times out of ten, though, we’ll end the evening with me pounding away inside of her beautiful body and then falling asleep in each other’s arms. Fuck, but I love this girl so much. “Was your dad able to call you today?” Sutton asks and brings my head back into focus and away from the sex-filled images that were just clustered in my brain. “Yeah,” I say as I motion for our waitress to come over to the table. “But let’s get some dessert first, then I’ll tell you all about it.” “No, thanks,” she says just before wiping her mouth and then putting her napkin on her plate. “No, thanks?” I say with an eyebrow cocked at her. “This is Café Lina. They make your favorite dessert —chocolate ten-layer cake.” “I know but you’re always plying me with chocolate. I’m going to look like a hippo if you don’t stop.” An image comes to my mind of Sutton pregnant, her tummy round and her walk bordering on a waddle. It’s something I’ve been thinking about a lot lately, and I hope she wants more than one kid. But no time to think of that now. I have to get Sutton back on track with my plans today. “Baby,” I say as I lean in close to her ear, my voice dropping low so the waitress can’t hear me. “One slice of your favorite dessert in the world isn’t going to kill you. Besides, I’ll help you work it off tonight. You can be on top.” Sutton’s eyes go wide, her nostrils flare a little and her mouth opens on a soft gasp. I don’t give her control often so this is indeed a special day. “Okay,” she says with rough desire, and fuck, I want to haul her out of here right now and take her home.

Turning to the waitress, I hold up two fingers. “Two slices of your chocolate cake.” The cake is brought out quickly and the waitress shoots me a sly wink as she sets Sutton’s down in front of her. Then I tell her all about my conversation with my dad this morning. He’s back in rehab, but this is a good thing. He’s entering his third month and he’s committed to completing the program. He understands that by leaving early the last time, he left a lot of helpful coping skills and tactics behind that he had not had a chance to learn. Sutton and I are planning to fly up in a couple of weeks to see him. I notice Sutton has only a few more bites left of her cake, and she’s so engrossed in what I’m saying, she’s not really paying attention. “So we’re still a go for visiting him week after next, right?” she asks and then takes the last bite of her cake, barely glancing at it as she scoops it with her eyes pinned on me. I nod assent to her question but then shoot a pointed look at her plate. “You scarfed that down.” She grins at me guiltily and then looks down at her empty plate. This is the moment I’ve been waiting for, and Sutton’s eyes fill with tears as she stares at the crumbs she left behind. Because the plate has a message for her. It’s a very simple question, really. It says, Will You Marry Me?, and I can’t help but hold my breath until I get the answer. Her eyes lift to mine and a single tear escapes. I smile at her softly and wipe it away. “Yes,” she says as she nods. She stands up quietly from her chair and my heart is beating so hard, I’m sure everyone walking by on the street can hear it. Walking up to me, Sutton turns her body and sits down on my lap. My arms go around her waist as her face tucks into the crook of my neck. “I love you,” she says with so much happiness in her voice, I almost start crying. “Being your wife would make all my dreams come true.” I hold her for a few seconds and try to get my raging emotions under control. I listen to her breathing and smell her sweet shampoo. We share a quiet moment together…just me and her. Finally, I give her a little push to sit up on my lap so she looks at me. “We need to go ring shopping. I want you to pick out what you want.” Grinning at me in excitement, she says, “This weekend?” “Nope. Now,” I tell her and turn her around in my lap so she looks across the street. Finneman’s Jewelers is directly across from where we sit, and Sutton’s jaw drops open when she sees the huge banner that is displayed. It wasn’t there as we walked up to the restaurant earlier, but it was surreptitiously hung while she was eating her cake by the wonderful owner, Mr. Solomon Finneman. The banner says, Closed to Public—Private Ring Viewing Sutton turns her head slowly to me, her mouth still hanging open. I push my finger under her chin to close it. “Careful…a bee might fly in there.” “We’re going ring shopping now?” “Yup. You can pick out any ring in the store that you want, although I’ve had Mr. Finneman pull several that I like. But completely your choice.” “Right now?” she says, still in bewilderment. “I did just ask you to marry me and you said yes, right?” “Right,” she affirms. “Then let’s go,” I tell her as I stand up, gently setting her feet to the ground. I don’t need to pay as I had arranged all of that ahead of time with the restaurant. Instead, I step up to the iron rail that separates the

outdoor seating from the rest of the sidewalk and step over it. No problem for my tall frame. I lean over and pick up Sutton, careful so her dress doesn’t ride up and lift her over to the other side. I grab her hand and we wait for a break in traffic, completely jaywalking our way over to Finneman’s. She still has one more surprise and this is going to be my favorite by far. As we step inside, Mr. Finneman is waiting for us. He’s impeccably dressed in a charcoal gray suit with a bow tie. He’s a third-generation jeweler, or so he told me when I came in to see him yesterday to make sure everything was set and to pick out some of my favorites so he could display them together. “Miss Price…Mr. Crossman…welcome,” he says and motions us up to one of the glass cases. “I understand you’re going to be picking an engagement ring today?” Sutton nods with a dopey smile on her face, and if I had to guess, I think she might be a little addled in the brain over all of this. She steps up to the case, where Mr. Finneman pulls out several velvet displays with rows upon rows of diamond rings. “No,” Sutton says as she holds up a hand. “I only want to see the ones that Alex liked.” Putting my hands on her shoulder and my lips near her temple, I tell her, “Sutton, you can have any ring in this store. You may not like what I picked out.” “Yes, I will,” she says firmly. Then raising her eyes to Mr. Finneman, she reiterates. “Just the ones Alex likes.” Mr. Finneman gives her a gracious smile and his eyes are sparkling. He pulls out the velvet display that has the rings I chose. There are seven in all and none of them has a price tag under five figures. Oh, well! I haven’t spent a damn bit of my money on anything nice in six years, so it’s about time to splurge a little. “Oh, Alex,” Sutton says in wonder as she looks at the rings. “These are all so beautiful. They’re too much.” “There’s no such thing as too much, where you’re concerned,” I tell her and kiss her on the head. “Now try each one on.” She picks up the very first one and slips it on her left ring finger. It looks stunning there—three-carat oval in an antique setting with diamonds surrounding the center stone. It’s set in platinum, but then again, all of them are. Sutton’s not big on gold jewelry, so I figured she wouldn’t want a gold ring. Holding her hand out, she admires it. Then she turns to look at me and says, “I don’t know how I’m ever going to choose. These are all just spectacular, and a little overwhelming.” Smiling at her big, I say, “Well, then, I guess you could use some help.” On cue, the door behind the glass case opens, which I know is the door to Mr. Finneman’s office, and out walk Penny, Jim, and Glenn. Sutton’s mouth opens again, but this time she closes it quickly, only to open it again and say, “Oh, my God. What are y’all doing here?” Her family comes out from behind the case and then it’s all hugs and kisses and tears. Her mom starts crying pretty hard and Jim is patting her shoulder. He turns to me, sticking out a hand for me to shake. Glenn just leans against the glass case, checking out the rings. Sutton turns to me and throws her arms around my neck. “You are too much.” “I’m not done yet,” I tell her and then turn our bodies around toward the door that her family just came out of. It opens again and her best friend, Shelley, walks out. I’m rewarded with a piercing shriek from Sutton as she tears out of my arms and practically vaults the case to reach her. I know they haven’t seen each other in over a year and a half, and I know Shelley will undoubtedly be her matron of honor, so I knew that she should be here for this occasion. I had her flown in

last night and she’s going to stay with us for a few days. Sutton and Shelley hug, and cry, and laugh. Sutton turns to me with tear-stained cheeks and mouths, I love you. I just smile back at her, because this was nothing. There is nothing I wouldn’t do for this woman. There is nothing I wouldn’t give up, nothing I wouldn’t sacrifice for her. She is the most important person in my life and always will be, because she showed me that life is about overcoming struggles and opening yourself up to possibility. She brought color into my otherwise gray existence, and for that I owe her everything. She’ll always be first. Above all else. Forever.

To my daughter, Parker. All I do, I do for you.

Acknowledgments First and foremost, I would like to give my dad, Jerry, a big old high five for introducing me to the sport of hockey many years ago. He took me to Pittsburgh to watch his beloved Penguins play the Islanders. I remember one of the players took a puck to the face, right in front of one of the goals. He bled all over. The refs just kicked and scraped at the frozen spot of blood until they made a big pile of blood slush, and then kicked it out of the way into the back of the goal. I turned to my dad and said, “This is a cool sport!” I’ve been a fan ever since. I have found this business to be a lot about chance. I want to make sure to give my heartfelt thanks to my editor, Sue Grimshaw. Thank you for reading my work and for taking that chance on me. I’m a big believer in partnership and I think we make a hell of a team! The other person who took a chance on me is my agent, Pamela Harty. She was the first one in this business to believe in me, and as she pushed me forward, she made me believe she wouldn’t be the last. To the man who took the biggest chance when he married my crazy ass, my husband, Shawn. He supported me when I decided to stop being a lawyer so I could become a romance author, and he’s been my biggest cheerleader ever since. If you want to know where my source of romantic inspiration comes from, well…you can guess. Finally, thank you, thank you, thank you to my readers. You are the reason I do what I do. Without you, I am nothing.

BY SAWYER BENNETT CAROLINA COLD FURY HOCKEY SERIES Alex Garrett (early 2015)

THE OFF SERIES Off Sides Off Limits Off the Record Off Course Off Chance

THE LAST CALL SERIES On the Rocks Make It a Double Sugar on the Edge Shaken Not Stirred (coming soon) With a Twist (coming soon)

THE LEGAL AFFAIRS SERIES Objection Stipulation Violation Mitigation Reparation Affirmation Confessions of a Litigation God

THE FOREVER LAND CHRONICLES Forever Young Forever Lost (coming soon)

BOOKS OF THE STONE VEIL The Darkest of Blood Magicks To Catch a Dark Thief If I Return Uncivilized (fall 2014)

P HOTO: MARIE KILLEN

USA Today bestselling author SAWYER BENNETT is a snarky Southern woman and reformed trial lawyer who decided to finally start putting on paper all of the stories that were floating in her head. Her husband works for a Fortune 100 company that lets him fly all over the world while she stays at home with their daughter, Parker, and three big, furry dogs who hog the bed. Sawyer would like to report that she doesn’t have many weaknesses but can be bribed with a nominal amount of milk chocolate. Don’t miss another new release by Sawyer Bennett!!! Sign up for her newsletter and keep up-to-date on new releases, giveaways, book reviews, and so much more. Stay connected: Website: www.sawyerbennett.com Twitter: www.twitter.com/bennettbooks Facebook: www.facebook.com/bennettbooks

The Editor’s Corner Halloween is my favorite holiday, and every year I decorate my house to the nines with ghosts and goblins, jack-o-lanterns, and spider webs. There’s nothing like good old scary fun to get your heart racing…well, almost nothing. Romance novels may not be frightening, but they do make your heart beat faster…just in a different way. Our new Loveswept releases will give you heart-pounding entertainment, I promise. Our first release in October is Cecy Robson’s raw and steamy series debut, Once Perfect, which is perfect for fans of Monica Murphy and J. Lynn. Then comes USA Today bestselling author Sawyer Bennett’s Alex, the first novel in a new hockey series that’s hot enough to melt the ice. Then we end the month with a bang with Sidney Halston’s Full Contact, the sexy second book in her fun Worth the Fight MMA series. And to kick off the holiday season, we’re also re-releasing three tantalizing holiday novellas from amazing authors: Play with Me, a warm and enticing Thanksgiving romance from Lisa Renee Jones; Snowfall, a moving Christmas tale from Mary Ann Rivers; and After Midnight, an explosive New Year’s story from Serena Bell. In Flirt news, Lori Adams reaches new heights in Unforgiven, the final installment in The Soulkeepers series, where questions are answered, secrets are revealed, and immortal love is tested. And we also have an exciting debut from Renita Pizzitola, Just a Little Crush, an emotional novel of heartache and seduction, where a college freshman’s little crush could prove to be a huge mistake or the first step to forever. ~Happy Romance!

Gina Wachtel Associate Publisher

Read on for an excerpt from

Truth or Dare A Dare to Love Novel

by Mira Lyn Kelly Available from Loveswept

In Maggie Lawson’s defense, the apartment door had been open. Wide open. And she’d tried to warn him. But with the hard rock sound of Queens of the Stone Age pounding out of the speakers within, her new upstairs neighbor hadn’t heard. So he didn’t know she was standing there when he walked by…rucking his T-shirt overhead as he stopped at a stack of cardboard packing boxes marked “Office.” She should have said something. She started to, but whatever apology or alert she’d been poised to deliver died on her tongue as she stood transfixed by the hypnotic shift and flex of this man’s half-clad physique. Because, wow. Just, wow. Talk about some ripped jeans, skin showing. Okay, it wasn’t like she’d never seen a shirtless male before. They were everywhere, littering magazines, billboards, and TV. Chicago wasn’t suffering any shortage when it came to quality hotties. But up this close, and not just one of the guys, it caught her by surprise. Enough to stall out her brain function mid-ponder on whether she should bring her plate of “welcome to the building” cookies back later or try again to announce her presence behind him. And now, all she could see was skin. An abundance of it. Dark and flushed from hours of exertion. Glistening with a sheen of sweat that beaded up even as she watched, until one fat drop slid over a hard-cut terrain of taut flesh and banded muscle before soaking into the low-slung denim at his hips. Trim hips. On a body that was tall and broad and distracting her in a way she wasn’t accustomed to being distracted. She should probably take off. Dragging the rag he’d made of his shirt across his face, her neighbor gritted out a curse that had her mouth snapping closed and her chin pulling back. Not because of what he’d said—please, she heard worse on an almost hourly basis—but because of the way he’d said it. There was something altogether too revealing in that one word. Something broken and tired and raw and, yeah, she should definitely go. She’d keep the cookies. Except, then his head swung around. “What the—?” “I’m sorry,” she gasped on a nervous laugh, trying to pull it together in front of this guy who’d just busted her fresh off the ogle and was going to be living above her for some unspecified duration. “I just— I came up and then—there you were—and I wasn’t expecting—” This was totally something they could laugh about, if he got with the program and gave it a shot. Only, the flinty gray eyes that locked with hers were totally devoid of humor. Shoving his arms back into his shirt, he stalked to the door, making his big body as imposing a “Do Not Enter” sign as she’d ever encountered. “What do you want?” Well, she had cookies. Still warm from the oven. And a pint of milk. He had spent hours moving into the apartment directly above hers. He was her new neighbor. What did he think she wanted? It didn’t matter. An instant on the receiving end of this guy’s glower was enough to tell her he wasn’t going to be another swell addition to her group of friends.

Not a problem. But for the sake of civility and because she was actually standing there, baked bounty in hand, she pushed into place an imitation of the smile that had been genuine when she’d started and tried again. “Sorry to interrupt. I just stopped up to say, ‘Hey, neighbor,’ ” she offered, adding one of those cheesy half-circle waves that smacked of a Karate Kid wax-on. “Tyler, right? Yeah, okay. So. I’m friends with Ford—our landlord—and he asked me to swing by. I live down in Apartment Two.” “The girl next door,” he bit out, eyes pinching closed in what looked suspiciously like a plea for patience. Though honestly, it couldn’t have been even a full minute since she’d first darkened his doorstep, so, seriously, what was with the attitude? Sure, she’d been looking. But the door was open. And he’d been the one stripping in front of it. “Mmm-hmm…okay, or…umm…girl downstairs, really. But either way—” His jaw ticced twice. “Christ, I don’t need this.” Maggie’s wide-eyed stare shifted from the six-foot-plus stretch of hard-cut, stubble-rough, and overtlyhostile male braced against the door frame, down to the seemingly benign plate of cookies and back. Was she missing something? Only then the guy raked a hand through the damp mess of his hair and blew out a strained breath. “Look, Apartment Two. Whatever you’re offering, I’m not interested.” Maggie’s chin snapped back. No. Way. “Whatever I’m offering?” The hard slant of his mouth and pointed jut of his chin were as much as he had to say on the subject. More than enough to make his meaning clear. Her mouth gaped as disbelief and outrage kicked off a turf war deep within her chest. Did this knuckle dragger actually think he—? And worse, was he suggesting she—? Not in this lifetime, bub. Sure, the guy wasn’t an eyesore. He had a built-tough body going on with all the hard-packed and highdefinition to boot. But so very special? So irresistible Maggie figured her best bet for getting a jump on the competition was to make her move…with cookies at nine on a Sunday morning? Uh-uh. And to think, she’d felt bad for him lugging all his crap up the three flights on his own. But yeah, didn’t that make perfect sense now. What a dick. “So we’re clear, the only thing on offer here, Apartment Three…” Maggie tucked the milk into the crook of her elbow and folded the plastic wrap back from the plate, infusing the air around them with the pure essence of melted chocolate, toasted oats, and the rich buttery goodness of a family recipe so sacred that only three people in the world knew it. Helpless under the aromatic assault, the jerk-off’s eyes went briefly unfocused before dropping to the cookies. Selecting the biggest one, Maggie lifted it to her mouth and bit, chewing with deliberate relish before

cracking the lid on the milk and taking a long, slow swallow. Satisfied when the muscles of the guy’s throat worked up and down, she re-covered the plate. “…is my suggestion you look over your rental agreement regarding noise pollution and turn your music down. Or at least close your—” The door swung shut in her face. Unbelievable. But at least she didn’t need to waste another breath on the jerk. *** “He actually called you ‘Apartment Two’?” Ava Meyers, Maggie’s best friend and fellow abstainer in all things relationship, shook her head, her mahogany shag catching in the light breeze and blowing around her face. They were settled in on their favorite bench with the usual Sunday assortment of accumulated mail, magazines, electronic devices, and what remained of the cookies. “Like you didn’t merit an identity beyond the female occupying space beneath him.” Maggie scrolled through headlines, her snit too distracting to commit to any one bit of news. “Ford says he’s in marketing. Freelance. And he’s from New York, I think, renting month to month, so maybe we’ll luck out and he’ll be gone by September.” “Month to month? Weird. Why?” “Your brother. You ask.” Ava let out an indelicate snort. Ford was…distracted. That they’d even gotten this much information was a minor miracle. Picking through the cookies, she added, “I love it that he thought you were putting a move on him, though.” “I know. Because that’s so me,” Maggie snickered. “Scoping out the meat market twenty-four-seven.” Talk about a headache she didn’t need. Not when at twenty-seven, her life was pretty well perfect just the way it was. Stable. Secure. On track. Built on a rock-solid foundation of priorities any guidance counselor would swoon over. Maggie had completed her education, had savings and a financial plan, a solid job managing the Shrone Gallery and her boss’s cosmic blessing to buy into the business as a partner hopefully within the next year and eventually buy her out. Add to that, the friendships that “completed” her in ways no romance could…and she was good. The whole ever-after business? She didn’t have time for it. Correction: She had plenty of time. It was the inclination that was lacking. Maggie tipped her face to the sky, basking in the warmth of June’s sunshine and her contentment with the lot life had given her. Sure, there’d been dues to pay. There always were. But it was because of those rough patches that she was able to fully appreciate this tranquil little corner of Platonia she’d carved out for herself, where her circle of friends reigned supreme and the forecast always called for good times. Constancy, support, and reliability. Chance of romantic strife or bitter betrayal raining on their parade? Zero. Yeah, Maggie was satisfied with her life, exactly the way it was. Period. “So, hey,” Ava drawled from beside her. “Obviously Apartment Three was a total weenie and I’m not talking about him. But do you ever look around and…you know…wonder?” “Hmm…about what?” How to reduce her carbon footprint? Whether the new Italian place was as good

as everyone was saying? If her buyer for the Stovitz oil was serious about a second piece? If she’d be able to get Hedda to sit still—and not in a meditative state—long enough to discuss her buying in? If her parents would finally relax and believe she was capable of taking care of herself? Ava squinted, her mouth turning down in distaste. “That.” Maggie followed her friend’s gaze to the red-checked cliché in action nestled into a shady corner of Wicker Park. And blinked. Twice. “The couple?” she gasped. Then checking herself, she let out a laugh. Because, no way. Ava didn’t date any more than Maggie did—which meant only under the most dire of circumstances. And unless Maggie had missed significantly more than she’d realized this morning, these were not them. “I…yeah, I’m pretty sure…I’m serious. I think maybe it’s time I stopped shutting down every guy who asks me out and start—I don’t know—opening myself up to the possibilities.” Eyes cranking around a beat before her head, Maggie gasped. “Wha—?” This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be. Except that sour look of disgusted resignation on Ava’s face as she frowned across at the picnic set for two told Maggie…it was happening. Her friend was serious. “What’s going on? I mean, where’s this coming from?” Picking at the crumbs from a half-eaten cookie, Ava slumped deeper into the park bench, looking in that moment more like a sullen teen than the coolly confident, ball-busting lawyer she played in real life. She shook her head. “Everything’s so perfect now, you know?” Yeah, Maggie did know. Hence the confusion. “But what’s it going to be like in ten or fifteen years?” She let out another heavy sigh. “The guys, Sam and Ford—they’re idiots.” “Of course.” The best kind. Ford was Ava’s older brother, their landlord and the odd nut behind the number one phone and tablet app on the market, Hibachi Catapult. And Sam Farrow, general man-whore and go-to guy for all things fix-it, was their oldest friend. Maggie loved them like family. Together Sam, Ford and Ava were her core group of go-to friends. All romantically impaired with their own individual brand of relationship dysfunction. And it worked. Only apparently, Ava didn’t think so. “Some morning in the not-too-distant future, one of them is going to notice a few hairs on his pillow and an extra quarter inch of forehead where it hadn’t been before—and he’ll decide it’s time to stop sleeping his way through Chicagoland and set up house with some nice girl. And because neither of them are trolls and both have next-to-zero standards, whichever one it is will be married in less than a year. Six months max before the other goes lemming and follows suit. They’ll have kids and dogs and hockey practice at the crack of dawn on Saturday mornings and clay models of the solar system due for the science fair to finish on Tuesday nights. And”—Ava swallowed and took a breath, shaking her head —“they’ll take their wives to weddings instead of us.” Maggie coughed, choking on the thought of the last wedding she hit without Ford. The stilted small talk and smarmy expectation gleaming in her date’s eyes. God help her, she never wanted to go there again. But seriously…“Ava, the guys are not getting married.” “Not today, but you know the girl Sam’s been seeing—Bethanne? She told me she thought they were getting serious.” Not likely. “Bethanne’s delusional.” “Yeah, I agree. But one of these days…one of these girls…”

A beat passed before she went on. “Look, Maggie, I’m not talking about anything drastic. Just taking a chance once in a while. Giving someone else a chance for a change. Who knows, maybe finding out what it feels like to have a guy look at me the way those two look at each other. I mean, they seem happy,” Ava offered, sounding less enthused than resigned. “In love.” “Blindly so,” Maggie agreed. And that was the crux of it. Maggie already knew what it was to have a guy look at her like he’d do anything to stay with her forever. And no doubt, it was a heady thing. But there were risks inherent to that kind of ardor. Once a person experienced it, there wasn’t a lot they wouldn’t do to protect it. Like lie. To their partner. To themselves. Arms crossed at her chest, Maggie gave the picnic guy a thorough once-over. Sure, he seemed sort of harmless, with the whole goofy smile and I’m-so-putting-myself-out-there eyes. But he could be anyone. He could be an embezzler or top chef at the Meth Emporium. Oh yeah, he probably planned to reform. Turn over a new leaf. Be the man his girl deserved. But would he ever tell her what he was into? Not if it meant there was a chance he’d lose— Stop. Ugh. She didn’t want to be that person. The glass-half-empty girl who wouldn’t let anyone else believe it was half-full. She wouldn’t be that person. Angling closer on the bench, she leaned in shoulder-to-shoulder with Ava. “I think it’s great you’re opening yourself up to the possibilities. and I’ll support you one hundred percent. But I’m just wondering —and I don’t want this to sound like I think it’s going to be a problem or anything, but—you don’t actually like anyone. Ever. At least not in a more-than-friends way.” “Right.” “So, umm, how are you planning to get around that?” Ava outlined the rough plan she’d come up with: A single, mandatory date each month, where she gave the guys who met her criteria a chance—regardless of whether they floated her boat or not. And if she missed a month, she suffered a consequence. Some penalty stiff enough to ensure she didn’t just blow it off. “Nice. You’ve got to make it something that’ll really hurt, though, so you can’t slack. And tie up all the little loopholes you’ll be trying to wiggle through too.” Hey, this was kind of fun. “Make rules about what constitutes a legitimate date and going out with the same guy over and over when you know it isn’t going anywhere. Tough love and all,” Maggie snickered, maybe enjoying the idea of Ava not making her monthly quota a little too much. Ava finished her cookie and then wiped her hands together, brushing off the crumbs. “Agreed. So you think this is a solid plan?” Blehh, but whatever. If Ava wanted to get her date on, who was Maggie to stop her? And it would be a riot to watch. So working up some captain-of-the-Cheer-Squad enthusiasm, she beamed. “Totally. It’s a fantastic idea!” Honestly, there was no excuse for not seeing what was coming next. But reading the writing on the wall had never been Maggie’s strong suit. Especially when it came to the people closest to her. “I’m glad you think so.” Ava grinned back at her, the glint of steel in her eyes unmistakable. “Because we’re making a pact, and you’re doing this with me.”

Hell.

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