Chapter 17
Seventeen
KAI
The Ice House feels different in the afternoon.
Less chaotic, more intimate. I’m here because Bass asked me to meet him here for our latest strategy meeting instead of at my place.
I’m sitting at their oak kitchen table with my laptop open, surrounded by printed reports and strategy documents, when Bass walks through the front door.
Whew, chile.
Every time I see him, I’m reminded of just how genetically blessed he is.
He's wearing dark shorts and a VCU t-shirt, hair still damp from what I assume was a post-practice shower. When he notices me, something shifts in his expression—relief mixed with something hungrier that makes my core ache with a newfound need I can’t explain other than as pure lust.
"You came," he says.
It’s hard not to interpret those two words in a dirty way. Not after all the things he’s done to me when we’re alone.
"You asked me to. This is work, remember?"
But the way he's looking at me doesn't feel like work. It feels like a man who's been starving and just found his next meal.
Or is that how I’m staring at him?
"Right. Work." He drops his gear bag and moves to the fridge. "You want something to drink?"
"I'm good. I brought my water bottle.” I show him.
“You always stay hydrated,” he smiles.
It’s the most innocent conversation, but for some reason, every exchange we have feels sexually charged to me.
“Always.”
For the next hour, we review his latest social media analytics, plan content for the upcoming away games, and discuss strategies for maintaining his improved image through the rest of the season. It's productive. Professional. Everything our arrangement is supposed to be.
Except I can't stop stealing glances at his massive hands when he points at the screen. Can't ignore the way he smells like his favorite body wash and a scent that smells distinctly like him. Can't forget what those hands felt like on my body, inside my body, three nights ago in my room.
"Your engagement rates are up another fifteen percent," I tell him, pointing to a graph on my laptop, but now I’m totally distracted by his damn eyelashes. They’re unusually long and perfectly frame his expressive eyes. “Your fans are responding well to the behind-the-scenes content."
"Good. That's what we want, right?"
"It's exactly what we want." I smile.
“You flirting with me right now, Vega?” he grins. “Because we could finish this session in my room upstairs–”
“Shhh.” I hold a finger up to my mouth, quieting him. “This is business.”
He gives me a wink and then leans closer to look at the screen, and our shoulders brush. The contact between us is brief, but it sends a shot of electricity through me. He definitely did it on purpose.
"What about this?" he asks, pointing to another metric.
As I try to focus on his latest inquiry, I’m not one hundred percent sure that Bass has a genuine interest in what he’s called my “nerd numbers”. He’s playing games with me right now, and he confirms my suspicions with a string of inappropriate text messages.
Bass: You look absolutely hot today, Vega. Good enough to eat.
Me: Can you be serious for one moment?
Bass: I’m serious as hell. I want to eat you. Right the fuck now.
Me: You’re breaking the arrangement.
Bass: How? Nobody has to know. When you come for me, you just have to bite down on my shoulder or the sheets, depending on what position you’re in.
Me: And how would I explain why I’m going upstairs? People are probably already wondering what I’m doing in this house at all.
Bass: Give me my pussy. I need inside of you right now.
Me: And I need you to erase these texts right now!
Bass: Nobody’s going to see them eye roll
I slam my phone down on the table, which captures the concern of a few people in the room, and they’re all female.
"You seem bothered.” Bass smirks.
"I'm fine."
But I'm not fine.
It doesn’t escape me how some of the female guests of the Ice House have been staring down Bass’s throat since he crossed the threshold of these four walls.
I don’t know if these are girls he’s slept with before or ones who are patiently waiting their turn.
And while I understand I have no right to, I desperately want to scream at them: “I’m fucking here with him! ”
But I don’t.
I can’t.
I’m the one who came up with this ass backward arrangement.
"We're done here anyway," I suddenly say, starting to pack up my laptop.
"Wait." His hand covers mine on the table. "Don't leave yet."
"Bass—"
“My guys will be here soon. Shane's bringing Kennedy, Neo's got Violet. It'll be fun. Just a low-key hang.”
That sounds like couple shit, I think to myself, and we’re not a couple.
"I should go."
"Why? You told me you were free the rest of the night.”
I did say that. What I didn't say is that I've been avoiding situations exactly like this one—casual situations where I have to watch Bass interact with other girls while pretending he means nothing to me.
"Stay," he says quietly. “Just a little longer.”
The just a little longer does me in. Bass is rarely this vulnerable, even in bed, so I nod before I can think better of it.
Twenty minutes later, the house is filled with the sounds of laughter and music.
Shane and Kennedy are curled up on the couch, sharing a bag of chips and looking disgustingly happy.
Neo and Violet are in the kitchen, she’s helping him make some kind of elaborate sandwich while he tells her about practice.
And I'm sitting in the corner chair, watching Bass play host like he was born for it. There’s something immensely attractive about the way he is with people.
It’s clear to see that everyone in his orbit loves him.
They love his energy, the way he teases them to make them laugh, and the force he uses on the ice against his opponents.
They talk about him like he’s a VCU god.
I’m surprised his ego isn’t bigger than it already is.
"Kai!" Kennedy waves me over. "Come sit with us. I want to hear about this brand management thing you're doing. Maybe Shane needs it too.”
I move to the couch, grateful for the distraction. Kennedy is sweet and easy to talk to, and for a few minutes, I almost forget to feel awkward about being here.
Then Gia walks in.