Chapter 15
I gaze around the beautiful suite that Kolt, Walker, and Smith booked for Paige, Poppy, and me for the night in Tampa. It’s directly on the beach, and it has more than enough room for us—and probably all the other wives and girlfriends on the team.
Paige and Poppy have been gushing about staying in a room with their husbands tomorrow night and how they can’t wait for a romantic night before we all return home to Maine. Me? I’m kind of scared to stay in a suite with Smith. It somehow seems as though feelings would be harder to fight in a place like this one. We might be fake dating, but the last thing I want to do is send mix signals.
Either way, I’m going to try my best to enjoy my new friends’ company before I lose them to their husbands tomorrow.
“Let’s go sit on the porch,” Paige calls out, sliding the door open. “It’s so warm out.”
“Only if there’s an umbrella,” Poppy grumbles. “I’m fair-skinned, and I didn’t bring sunscreen, and I’m not showing up at my husband’s game, looking like the product of a whale who fucked a lobster.”
A laugh bursts from my throat. I never know what’s going to come out of her mouth, and I can’t imagine hearing her and Saylor together. Although they’d probably argue to see who was funnier.
“You’ll be fine. Vitamin D is good for you,” Paige yells from the porch.
“I’ll get plenty of vitamin D tomorrow night,” Poppy chimes, clearly impressed with herself, before shuffling toward the door behind me. “But, fine, I’m coming out.”
Once we’re all outside and Poppy plops down on a cushiony lounge chair, Paige takes it upon herself to move the huge umbrella toward her friend. Seeing how heavy it is, I decide to help.
“Now, you’re making me feel like a needy bitch,” Poppy says before grinning. “I kinda like it though. But I should help.”
“No!” Paige and I say at the same time.
“Good. I was just kidding anyway.” Poppy pulls her sunglasses down and lies back. “All right, this beats the hell out of December in Maine, I’ll admit.”
“That’s just because you’re a Georgia girl,” Paige teases her. “You’re still not used to New England winters.”
“Are you from New England?” I ask curiously, and she nods.
“Yep, born and raised in Vermont and then moved to Maine from there,” she says, taking a seat in the chair next to me. “What about you?”
“I grew up in Maine, about three hours from Portland; left for about five years; and then came back.”
“Where’d you go?” Poppy asks curiously.
“California,” I breathe out, hoping they don’t ask any more questions, but also knowing I’m not that lucky.
“Wow.” Paige seems impressed as her head bobs up and down. “What brought you back to Maine, if you don’t mind me asking?”
In that moment, vivid images—me getting hit, choked, smashed against a mirror, pushed into a car window, and so many more sickening things—run through my head. I see myself crying in the bathroom. Or lying in my kitchen, a crumpled-up mess. I put up with so much, and it all haunts me daily.
Closing my eyes for just a second, I inhale through my nose and let it out through my mouth to clear my brain.
I open my eyes, plaster on a brave face, and snap back to the present. “I just wanted to be closer to my family,” I lie, “so I moved back to the state.”
“Makes sense,” Poppy says, taking a sip of her water. Suddenly, her free hand flies to her stomach, and she sucks in a breath.
“Are you all right?” Paige says, shooting up from her seat. “Poppy, talk to me. Are you good?”
“Oh, yeah, I’m fine.” Poppy grimaces, rubbing the same spot on her stomach. “Sometimes, the baby decides to rub his head against certain parts in there that really fucking hurt.” She looks at Paige, and she looks like she said something she shouldn’t have. “I’m sorry, P. I hope that didn’t sound like I was complaining. I’m not—”
“Stop it right now,” Paige commands before sitting on the edge of Poppy’s chair. “I’ve told you, just because things haven’t gone my way yet, that doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy your pregnancy. I want to hear all the things, and I know you always feel like you can’t talk about the baby in front of me.”
This is one of those moments I feel I shouldn’t be around for. I don’t know what they are talking about, and I feel like an outsider.
But after a few seconds, Paige looks at me, smiling, though it’s pained.
“Kolt and I tried for years to have a baby. Ultimately, our infertility struggles tore us apart.” She nudges her friend lightly. “Now, when she’s around me, she feels guilty for even being excited about the precious baby in her belly, and it drives me crazy!” She looks down at Poppy. “Is he moving right now?”
Hesitantly, Poppy nods.
Paige lifts her hands, but before placing them on her friend’s belly, she smiles. “May I? I want to feel my nephew kicking!”
Poppy nods, and even through her sunglasses, I can tell she’s crying.
Paige’s hands rest on her stomach, and she giggles. “Oh my Lord, we might have a future soccer player on our hands. Or maybe a boxer—who knows?”
Poppy grins, pulling her sunglasses off and wiping under her eyes. “Just don’t tell his daddy. He’s probably hoping for another hockey player.”
It’s a special moment, and I can see the love between the two of them. It’s obvious that Paige is in pain, and yet she’s masking it because she loves Poppy so much that she’d never want to take any joy away from her when it comes to her pregnancy. Paige is one of those rare humans who almost has a sparkle effect when she walks into the room. She’s just that pure and good.
“Hellooo, bitches!” I hear a familiar voice shout from inside the suite.
My eyes fly to Paige and Poppy, who look confused. Within seconds, I’m barreling through the door because I’d know Saylor’s voice anywhere .
The bags in her hands fly to the floor when she spots me, and we rush toward each other, hugging and crying.
“You’re here,” I sob, rocking back and forth with her. “You’re really here.”
“Damn right I am! Thanks to my brother, who paid for my flight and Uber,” she cries. “South Carolina is a helluva lot closer to Florida than it is Maine. There was no way I wasn’t showing up here and spending the night with my best friend.”
When I was in California, we’d go months or even a year without seeing each other. And yet here we are; it’s been a week and some change, and we’re acting like it’s been decades.
I inhale her scent, which might be weird, but I don’t care. Saylor is the sister I never had and as close to family as anyone else is to me.
Once we finally release each other, she moves on to Paige and Poppy, hugging both of them and rubbing Poppy’s belly. Without permission, of course. Luckily, Poppy doesn’t seem to mind.
“Yay! Now, we can have the ultimate girl party tonight,” Paige cheers. “Kolt sent us a ton of cake pops. I hope you all have a sweet tooth!”
“Maci and Amelia are next door; we should have them stop over too!” Poppy says before looking around. “Where’re those cake pops anyway?”
Normally, I wouldn’t want to hang out with a huge group of women. But every single one of these women is really fun to be around. Maci is Logan Sterns’s girlfriend, and Amelia is his daughter. I met them both briefly at Friendsgiving. Maci seemed very down-to-earth, and Amelia—who can’t be more than three or four years old—is adorable.
“Oh, yes! I’ll text Maci.” Paige grabs her phone and types furiously. “Done.”
My own phone vibrates in my pocket, and I pull it out, trying to fight a smile from tugging at my lips when I see Smith’s name. It’s totally fine to be excited when a friend texts you though. I mean, I’m excited every single time Saylor texts me. Completely normal.
Smith: How’s the suite?
Me: It’s amazing! Thank you.
Smith: Thank you for traveling to Florida for the game. How was your flight with the girls ?
Me: It was good, though you didn’t have to upgrade my ticket to first class. Thank you though.
Flying in with Paige, Poppy, Maci, Amelia, and a few other Sharks’ girlfriends and wives was actually kind of fun. Amelia is the cutest little kid I’ve ever met, and she was an absolute rock star on the flight.
Smith: No prob, Firefly. So, look, tomorrow’s game is going to be one of our biggest of the season. Before it starts, walk down to the plexiglass, and I’ll skate over.
Smith: You know, for publicity reasons.
Nerves bubble in my stomach. I know we agreed to this fake dating thing a few days ago, but we haven’t put anything into action yet. This will be the first time that we’re putting it out there that we’re an item. Well, an alleged item.
I can’t help but worry that it will become too real. I’m scared that the line between what’s fake and what’s real will blur and my heart will get confused. But Smith is right; this is what has to be done.
Me: Okay, sounds good. Good luck tomorrow.
Me: Oh, and thank you for my surprise.
Smith: Anything for you. Have a fun girls’ night. Be safe.
My heart speeds up, and warmth spreads across my chest. Since I moved in with him, he has done nothing but shown me the utmost respect and been so kind and thoughtful. Like when he surprised me a few days ago with the best chocolate croissant and éclair I’d ever had.
Smith: Oh yeah, check the front pocket of your luggage.
My eyes narrow, and I’m thankful his sister is busy talking to the other girls because that message has me rushing to my room. And when I unzip the bag and pull out a jersey with the name Sawyer on the back and his number below, there’s a tingly feeling that washes over my body. And, yeah … I don’t think that feeling is so normal when it comes to friends.
Me: Nicely played.
Smith: I know. I’m smooth like that.
Smith: You’re lucky I promised to be respectful; otherwise, you’d be getting a few dirty-minded messages right now. See you soon, beautiful.
Just from the word dirty , my stomach does a flip, and butterflies erupt in my belly. And the craziest part is … I’m not even feeling upset over it.
I shouldn’t be grinning this hard over the simple fact that Gemma didn’t text back with the middle-finger emoji or the words fuck off , but, Christ, I can’t help it because … progress.
Sitting in my hotel room, I feel my cock stir, just imagining Gemma in my jersey with nothing else. I’ve been so good and so respectful because she’s been through a lot, but it’s been hard, and my cock has taken a beating—literally—because all I can do is think about fucking her again.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I imagine her walking into the hotel room, a sexy smirk on her lips as she struts toward me. Unbuttoning my jeans, I unzip my fly and pull them down just enough to grip my hard, aching cock in my hand, thankful as hell that I got my own room this trip and didn’t have to share with my teammates. I need this release to fucking function.
“Hey,” she says, licking her plump lips.
Her hair is tousled, and her smooth legs are out, making me want to run my palms up them.
Pushing me back on the bed, she straddles me, giving me a perfect peek at her pussy. I reach between her thighs, brushing my knuckles across her heat.
“No panties, Gem?”
“Why would I need panties when I came in here to sit on your face?” Her lips turn up, and she reaches down, running her hand over the bulge in my pants. “You’re so hard. It’s like you knew I was coming to see you.”
“Yeah, I’ve been waiting for this moment for six years.” I swallow before lying on my back. “Sit on my face, baby. Let me eat that pussy till it quivers on my tongue.”
I stroke my cock harder, with the image of her crawling up my body.
“Grip the headboard, Firefly, and ride. ”
“You don’t need to tell me how to get myself off, Smith,” she growls before lifting herself onto my face.
She tastes so fucking good. It’s like eating your favorite thing that you haven’t had in forever, making it even better. She’s soaked, dripping on my chin as she begins to bounce.
I pump my cock harder and faster, tipping my chin toward the ceiling, as I picture her body above me, riding me like she’s at the fucking rodeo.
“Ahh,” she moans, throwing her head back, making the jersey pool on my shoulders.
Her hair is dancing on my knuckles, so I fist it and give it a tug.
“I’m going to come.”
Her hips buck harder, damn near suffocating me, and I fucking love it.
“Me too, baby,” I growl. “Right in my pants from eating this pussy.”
As her heat convulses around my tongue and her body heaves while she tries to catch her breath, I blow my load inside my pants, simply from her riding my face.
When my eyes pop back open, I look down at the mess I’ve made all over myself.
“One day, I’m going to actually taste you again,” I utter, still breathless from the fantasy of Gemma Jones. “One day, baby—I promise you that.”