Chapter 3
3
Elle
A udrey was able to snag us two seats thanks to clients of ours having zero interest in accompanying their husbands to the game. It only cost us a year’s worth of free cuts for the whole entire family. I feel bad for the husbands’ friends that got booted, but my needs are greater than theirs. Audrey wanted to come with me to the parking lot, but I told her that there was no reason for both of us to get arrested and/or permanently banned from the Bobcats’ arena.
Tickets were the easy part. Sneaking into the Bobcats’ back parking lot will not be. Sure, I’ve gotten through the gate a few times before, but that was only because Christian vouched for me.
Today, the first game of the series for the finals, I don’t even recognize the short but stocky man in black standing closest to the players’ back gate entrance. I stroll up to the chain-link fence, shouldering my way between dedicated sports reporters with their phones out, hoping to catch glimpses of players.
The man standing guard at the charter bus has a small hawkish bird logo on his polo. I’m guessing he’s part of the visiting Warhawk’s security team.
“Players and staff only,” the one and only burly security guard in the lot says when he glances at me.
“Hi. I know it’s player’s only, but I was hoping you would make an exception.”
“No exceptions. You’ll need to go to the fan entrance on the other side of the street.”
“But I’m a friend of the team.” I don’t tell him I have connections because I used to sleep with the star player of the Bobcats. “I just need to talk to Preston. Preston Lawrence. He plays for the Warhawks. It won’t take but a moment of his time.”
“I know who Preston Lawrence is, woman. Are you press or something?”
“Sure,” I say, hoping it’ll get me in.
“Yeah, right. Even if you are, Preston doesn’t do interviews before, during, or after games.”
“Ah, right. He’s not a people person, doesn’t date, doesn’t take questions about his personal life, punches people who try to take photos of him without his permission. Trust me, I’m aware of all that,” I tell the guard because I’ve done my homework on the defenseman. “But this is super important.”
The man lifts his eyebrows as if to challenge that statement.
“Okay, so maybe it’s not super important to Preston Lawrence. It’s important to me and I…”
“The answer is no, blondie. Preston Lawrence doesn’t do puck bunnies. Now don’t make me arrest you for trespassing.”
I start to tell him he’s not an actual cop so he can’t arrest me when, by some miracle, the big, and I mean BIG man himself walks off the bus. At least I think it’s him based on the image search Audrey and I did on the web. It’s hard to tell since he’s wearing a suit that had to have been custom made to fit his enormous frame. He looks more like a giant businessman than a hockey player. But players like to dress nice when traveling for away games. Playoffs are apparently no exception.
From about twenty feet away, the woolly mammoth, as Audrey referred to him, makes eye contact with me, then the guard, then his dark eyes return to me. There’s not a hint of emotion on his scowling face. Not that you can see most of it thanks to his thick, black beard and long, floppy hair.
“Hi, Preston. You are Preston, right? Could I have just one moment of your time?”
The sports reporters around me scatter like mice, as if avoiding the man’s wrath is more important than getting his photo or a sound bite. After watching the GIF of him punching a guy in the face so hard it knocked him out cold, I don’t blame them.
But I stand my ground when the brute freezes with his big black duffle bag hanging on his shoulder, his squinty eyes staring at me like I’m a crazy person. And I am, but he doesn’t even know that yet. He wouldn’t hit a woman, would he? Nah. I have a feeling the dude who got his nose broken did something to deserve it.
That’s why I bravely pull my phone from my purse. The Warhawks security guard flips out.
“Are you insane? Don’t take his photo!” he hisses at me. “I’m sorry, Mr. Lawrence,” he calls out over his shoulder while using his body to block me from his view through the fence. “I’m trying to get rid of her. I’ll call Bobcats’ security out here to do their damn jobs!”
“What does she want?” his deep, growly caveman voice demands, as if I’m not capable of answering the question for myself.
The guard humphs as if it’s obvious, making me grit my teeth and roll my eyes at him. “I’m not a puck bunny! I just want a selfie, or an ussie since I would like for you to be in the photo with me too, of course.”
“No.”
“No? You won’t take pity on a recently dumped, pathetic woman?”
“No. You’re wearing Bobcats’ colors,” he murmurs, narrowed eyes sweeping over my top.
I glance down and realize that the cropped blue, white, and yellow striped tee was probably not the best choice of attire when asking a Warhawk player for a favor.
Desperate times call for desperate measures. “What if I took the shirt off?”
Grinning from ear to ear now, the guard says, “Told you she’s a puck bunny.”
“I’m not a puck bunny!” I shout. “The only hockey player I’ve ever been with is Christian Riley.”
I didn’t know the woolly mammoth could get scarier, but he looks so furious I’m surprised thunder doesn’t roll through the sky with a clap of lightning.
“I changed my mind,” the big guy says. “The answer is hell no to your selfie request.”
“Ah, so you don’t like Christian either? Well, join the club, buddy,” I tell him. “He loathes you too, by the way. Honestly, I think he’s terrified of you, scared of facing you in the playoffs because he actually thinks you may slice his throat with the blade of your skate.”
“Thanks for the idea,” Preston replies before he’s apparently had enough of me wasting his time and starts walking away toward the arena.
“I hope you inflict some pain on him!” I yell to his back.
And okay, that sounded bad. But this is hockey, so bumps and bruises are all part of the game.
Preston stops again and turns toward me in his fancy dress shoes that are so long I could probably use them as paddleboards. “Why is that?” he asks.
“Just your typical bad breakup rage,” I say with a wave of my hand. “Anyway, if you enjoy hurting him, then you should know that psychological warfare can sometimes be just as effective as causing someone physical pain.”
Okay, maybe I’m getting way ahead of myself. I doubt if Christian would even see my pitiful post trying to look like I’m moving on, much less waste a second being jealous. But a girl can dream. It’s the only card I’ve got up my sleeve to play against him.
Before Preston walks inside, I quickly explain my plan. “All I want is a photo with you to put on Insta to try to piss Christian off. I know you don’t do press or photos, but I thought you might make an exception this time since you’re rivals or whatever. It probably seems stupid to you, but it may mess with Christian’s head if he thinks I’m hanging out with the enemy. Not that you’re my enemy. I don’t know you. I’m sure you’re a very nice man who just scowls a lot…”
My words trail off when he actually starts walking back in my direction instead of running the other way toward the arena. A mobile mountain of fury.
“You were Riley’s flavor of the month? Or was it less than a week?” the grump asks.
Ah, so he is familiar with Christian’s playboy ways. I really should’ve known he was too good to be true.
“We broke things off recently, like yesterday. Although, apparently, we weren’t ever really together.”
“Good. He’s an asshole.”
“No kidding.”
“And you want to use me to hurt him back?”
That sounds so bad when he says it. “I don’t want to use you. I just want one photo to try to hurt him back for using me for months. I think you’re my only chance to make that happen. He won’t care about any other guy.”
“But you think it’ll burn his bread if it’s me with you?”
“Yes. Exactly. Nobody likes burnt bread, right?”
He takes a deep breath that rolls his barrel chest up and down then mumbles something that sounds like, “Fine.”
“Fine?” I repeat to make sure I heard him correctly.
“Do you want your picture with me or not, cupcake?” he huffs.
“Cupcake?” I repeat in a whisper, not sure if I should be insulted or not.
“Yeah, you look all cute and innocent, but I’m not the least bit tempted for a taste because I hate sugary sweets.”
“You hate sugary sweets?” I say in disbelief, refusing to think too much about how he basically just said he’s not attracted to me. It’s not like I care. I’m not asking him on a date, just for a quick picture.
“You’ve got three seconds to get your ass over here if you want your photo.”
“Oh. So, like, you’re actually going to do this?”
“If you stop talking long enough to get it over with. I’ve got a game to get ready for, you know.”
“Right. Sorry.”
“Let her through, Steve.”
“Thank you so much!” I exclaim as the annoyed guard opens the gate to allow me inside the parking lot.
“Move it,” Preston says, so I hustle over to stand next to him.
My finger trembles as I press the icon on my phone’s screen to pull up the camera app. Then I hold it out, trying to get us both on the screen. But Preston is nearly a foot taller than my five-seven, so it’s impossible to get both of our heads in the frame at the same time.
“Ah, maybe you could stoop down or hold up my phone?” I suggest.
“You mind, Steve?” Preston asks the security guard. But the guard just stands there staring at him, frozen in place. “Steve?”
“You’re serious? You’re going to take a picture with her ?”
The woolly mammoth growls low and threatening in answer. The sound causes an internal shiver that vibrates deep inside of me.
“You’re not gonna punch me, are you?” the guard asks softly, like he knows his life is in jeopardy.
“Just take the damn photo!”
Woo-boy. He gives him a command in a booming daddy voice that I would never, ever tolerate.
Except maybe in the bedroom.
Fine, definitely in the bedroom.
“Yes, sir,” the guard finally replies before his daddy sends him to his room without dessert. He holds out his hand for my phone that’s trembling more than my own.
“Thanks,” I tell him, a little smug that Preston not only agreed to the picture with me, but he also yelled at him.
What I wasn’t expecting was for Preston to wrap his arm around my shoulders, pulling me close enough to his side that I can feel his warmth through his suit. He smells good, like, ah, warm laundry right out of the dryer and…sweet vengeance.
“Ah, okay. I got a few,” the guard says. I hope my eyes weren’t closed in all of them because I was too busy sniffing the man.
“Thank you both,” I tell them as I scroll through the images, making sure our heads both made the cut. “Do you mind if I post one of these online?” I ask while trying to decide which one to use.
“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t,” Preston says.
“Well, thanks again,” I say as I drop my phone into my purse. “And good luck with the series. I’m still a Bobcats fan, though, so I hope you lose the seventh game.”
“You’re a hockey fan, but not a puck bunny?” he asks.
Turning to face him, I say, “Why else would I call in every favor I could until I found someone who had tickets for today’s game? It’s trophy time, baby!”
I think he almost smiled underneath all his fur. “Right, well, if you really want to piss Riley off, you should hold up a sign that says my stick is bigger than his.”
A huge smile stretches my face when the stern-looking man actually makes a joke. “That is a great idea. He would absolutely hate that!”
“I was kidding. Obviously.”
I prop my hands on my hips. “I’m not. I have plenty of time before the puck drop to make a sign. Except…”
Preston’s brow furrows like he hates when someone leaves him hanging. “Except what?”
“Except, well, I can’t put that sort of declaration on a sign and wave it over my head in front of thousands of people if it’s not true.”
A gruff scoff. “It is true.”
That’s a mighty big claim to make. And I can’t resist when my eyes lower to the front of his pants as if searching for proof.
Even the guard seems shocked when he does a laughing cough into his fist.
“Of course, you would claim it’s true. Any man would. Sorry, but I’m not a liar, no matter how much I hate Christian.”
“Trust me, my…stick is bigger.”
Christian may be a cheating piece of dogshit, but he is well endowed, that much I do know.
“Again, I want to believe you, Preston, I really do. But without proof, I can’t paint those words on a sign and cover it with glitter.”
“Glitter?”
“Oh, yeah. There would definitely be lots of glitter over my perfectly spaced stenciled lettering.”
“Now I definitely have to see this sign.”
“Too bad. I can’t make it happen without evidence.”
“You want me to give you evidence?”
“Ah…” Is he asking me what I think he’s asking? That’s the look I give the guard, who is still observing our conversation with his mouth gaping. “Yes?” The word comes out as a question.
Cocking his head to the side, he asks, “Sight or feel?”
“Huh?”
“Do you want to see or feel the proof? Lady’s choice.”
Do I want to see or feel his…stick. Wow. “You’re not serious.”
Turning to the guard, who is still silently observing us, Preston says, “Can you take my bag inside and give us a minute?”
“Sure thing. I’ll just go wait…” he trails off as Preston hands over his duffle. The guard staggers under the weight of the bag, then stares inquisitively at the hockey player until a glare from Preston sends him scurrying into the building.
Once we’re alone, Preston says, “I really do need to see that glitter sign of yours today in the stands, so whatever it takes…”
The way he phrased that comment, using the word need, it feels like I’m missing something important.
“Why do you need to see my silly little sign?”
“A big silly sign. And let’s just say I have a bit of a rage problem whenever I see Christian Riley’s fucking face.”
“No kidding?” I grin.
“Your sign, the meaning behind it, would give me a chance to hold some shit over his head for once.”
“He usually holds shit over your head?”
“Something like that.” Preston frowns.
“So, we would be helping each other out? You gave me an ussie and I give you a big, glitter sign in the stands?”
“Yes. Only fair, right?”
Knowing it’s a two-way street of revenge makes me feel a little better about using the man’s photo against Christian.
“Then my answer is both.”
“Both?” He looks confused for a moment.
“Yes. I need to see and feel the, ah, proof. Just to be certain.” Great, now he’s got me using that word need when it’s really just a want, not a need. I want to feel and see a part of this man that I shouldn’t. “How exactly can we make that happen?”
Preston glances around me at the nervous sports reporters and, yes, a few gathering puck bunnies on the other side of the fence. “I think I have an idea if you’re willing to play along.”
“Trust me. I will do whatever it takes to rattle Christian.”
“Whatever?” he repeats as he takes several slow steps toward me. As if on instinct, I retreat backward until I feel the fence behind me.
When his tongue slips out to wet his lips, I figure out his intention. It’s way more than a selfie, especially with witnesses watching nearby with phones already in their hands.
“Yes,” I whisper, giving my permission and approval.
He reaches up to grab onto the chain-link fence next to my head and leans forward. “What’s your name?”
“Elle. Elle Townsend.” Crazy how he can make me feel like a twelve-year-old girl towering over me.
“Well, Elle Townsend, I think we’re about to go viral.”
“Good. Christian specifically told me I could sleep with literally anyone in the league but you.”
“In that case, you were the best fuck of my life.” That compliment shouldn’t make me feel like I’m glowing. I know it’s not true, but boy, does it sound good to hear.
“Agreed. So much better than him…” The words barely escape my lips before his are covering mine.
It’s a lover’s kiss, nothing shy or awkward about it even though it’s our first and we’re complete strangers. There’s a lot of enthusiastic tongue on Preston’s part. And my own, if I’m being honest. My palms press against the cool material of his button down under his suit jacket, feeling his hard abs underneath. Getting more turned on by the second, I grip the fabric to pull him closer until our bodies are touching from chest to…oh boy. As promised, I feel him pressing against my stomach, proving his assertion that he’s bigger than Christian beyond a doubt.
An embarrassing moan lets him know that I know. It’s followed by a rumbly chuckle that shudders through his chest to my breasts. A bolt of desire stirs throughout my body, making me forget where I am, who I am, until he unfortunately pulls his mouth away, leaving us both panting.
“Sorry. It’s been a while,” he says as he catches his breath.
Been a while? Since he kissed a woman?
“No…no. It’s fine.”
“Can’t wait to see that sign.” His smirking lips barely brush mine again, and I swear I can hear the click of actual cameras snapping photos of us.
Unable to resist, my eyes lower, needing to see the proof of not only his claim but his obvious need for something other than a little revenge.
His need for me.
“It’s huge,” I whisper, cheeks reddening at my slip of tongue. “I mean, the sign will have to be huge since I’m in the nosebleed section.”
“Then I’ll have to find you a better seat.”
“S-sure,” I agree. “That would be great and all, but I’m with my friend Audrey, and I can’t leave her to tend to her nosebleed alone.”
“I’ll see what I can do. Check with Will Call in half an hour.”
“Thanks,” I tell him. “For everything.”
“I think I’m the one who owes you one.”
“W-what do you mean?”
“You may have just saved my ass from free agency.”
“Huh?” I mutter, but he’s already walking away, reaching for the door to head into the arena.
“If anyone asks, you dumped him for me,” Preston says, giving me a wink over his shoulder. “Only an idiot would let you go, right?”
“Right,” I say, but the door has already shut behind him and half a dozen people are suddenly surrounding me.
“Are you and Preston Lawrence an item?”
“How long have you been seeing each other?”
“Is it a secret affair?
“Does Christian Riley know about you and Preston?”
Rather than open my mouth and ruin the suspense, I just smile and wave my fingers at them as I head back around to the front of the arena. My phone is out a second later, choosing the best photo of us to post to Instagram.