Chapter 41 Cassie
Cassie
I down the shot of tequila, and it sears my throat.
“Yikes, Miller.” I wrinkle my nose, and Miller laughs at me. “That burns. This is why I stick to sugary cocktails you can sip.”
Miller downs his own shot. “Ahhh, that’s the stuff. And don’t blame me! The birthday boy over there demands you all get drunk tonight.”
“I demand no such thing,” Landon pipes up. This country line dancing bar was his choice for his birthday night out with the team. He looks the part, with a flannel shirt and a cowboy hat.
Boston, being a long way from cowboy country, is severely lacking in people who actually know how to line dance.
I include myself in that. But damn it, I give it a try. That mostly involves tripping over my boots. I quickly make friends with Miller’s pretty, blonde date on the dance floor. (Though knowing Miller, he’ll probably be onto the next girl by next week.)
At least my outfit is perfectly on theme. I’m wearing a ruffled skirt and a glittery silver top, plus a pair of cute pink cowboy boots and a hat—both borrowed from Britt, who bought them for her older sister’s bachelorette party in Dallas.
By about 11 p.m. the line dancing has devolved into a busy dance floor, a crowd of sweaty bodies in their cutest Western-themed outfits.
I stumble off the dance floor, leaning against the bar next to Cole. “You don’t want to dance?”
“I’m waiting till you all get more drunk. So no one remembers my dancing in the morning.”
I laugh. “I could use a sit-down anyway."
Cole and I slide into a booth at the back of the bar, quickly joined by Landon and Miller.
“I’ll be honest,” Landon huffs, his face flushed pink as he leans back against the booth. “You Northerners need line dancing lessons on a scale that I’m just not able to provide.”
“I’m not that bad,” I pout. “At least I tried, unlike Cole.”
“True. But even if you’re not dancing, I’m glad you came out tonight, buddy.” Landon nudges Cole’s shoulder with his fist across the table. “I know you’ve never been huge on partying, but I missed having you hang out with the team. We all did.”
“I’m glad I’m here for your birthday, too.” Cole’s eyes shift to me. “Guess I’ve been in more of a mood to go out and have some fun lately.”
Miller plants his hands on the table and leans across it. “I know I talk a lot of shit, man. Mostly because I’m hilarious. But you’re our brother. The team would be lost without you on the ice. It didn’t feel too good basically losing you off the ice for a while there, too.”
“It was my sister,” Cole abruptly blurts out.
I let out a breath of surprise. So far, I’m the only person Cole’s mentioned Jess’s troubles to. I wish I could reach out and squeeze his hand in a silent show of support, but all I can do is watch.
“What about her?” Landon asks.
“I should’ve told you guys before now,” Cole says.
“But I shut down and thought I had to deal with it alone. My sister ended up in the hospital last year. She’s fine now, don’t worry.
She’s great, actually. But it knocked me on my ass.
I felt like a fuck up because I wasn’t there to help her.
Because hockey took over my life for the past decade. ”
Landon slides his hat off his head, placing it on the table. “Shit, Cole. I’m sorry. We had no idea you were dealing with that.”
“Only because I was too stuck in my own head to let you in.” Cole exhales and takes a swig of his drink.
“Worrying about Jess still makes my chest tight. Thinking about whether my commitment to hockey has fucked up my shot at a real, fulfilling personal life does the same. But it’s not as bad as it was at the start of the season.
I’m learning to find a balance. I don’t want to leave the Nor’easters.
I want to win a championship with you, and find a way to have my own life too. ”
Without warning, Miller scrambles out of his seat in the booth and moves around the table to slam himself against Cole and fling his arms around Cole’s shoulders.
Cole looks alarmed for a moment before his expression softens into a smile.
“That’s so fucking beautiful,” Miller yells into his shoulder, sounding tearful. “We’re here for you. You got that, man? Whatever you and your family need, we’re here.”
“Agreed,” Landon says. “We’re a team, and not just on the ice. As your captain, I’ll always be here to support you. Maybe we can’t solve your problems, but we’ll back you up a thousand percent.”
“Thank you, fellas. I mean that. More than you know.” Cole gently extricates himself from Miller’s grip. “But Miller, when you’re hungover tomorrow, I’m definitely going to remind you that you cried all over my shirt.”
Miller shrugs it off with a grin. “These are manly as fuck tears, Freeze.”
“Very manly,” Cole says, a grin sliding onto his face. “Now, enough emotions. We’re here to party, aren’t we? I heard someone claim I don’t dance, so I need to fix that.”
Miller whoops, and we all follow him back onto the dance floor. It’s a dizzy, joyful crowd. Everyone’s spinning under the twinkling lights, and the rhythmic twang of the music makes my heart soar.
It’s loud and busy enough that I’m confident no one notices when I lay my fingers against Cole’s arm and stand on tiptoes to reach closer to his face. He still has to stoop to reach my lips.
“I’m proud of you,” I murmur into his ear. “I know that was tough, but I’m really glad you opened up to your teammates.”
He draws me closer for a few seconds, and we sway together.
I look into his eyes. I feel all warm and fuzzy inside, and maybe it’s the tequila shot.
Maybe it’s the gorgeous athlete looking at me like he wants to devour me whole.
At around midnight, we leave the dance floor, and Cole gets some water for me. I drain the cup, and he sets it aside on the bar. If a stranger saw us, they would probably think it was devoted boyfriend behavior.
I quickly push that thought away. It doesn’t lead anywhere helpful when our rule is not to label this.
I plant my back against the wall. I’m not fully drunk, but I’m buzzed enough that it feels good to anchor myself against it.
And maybe because I love when Cole crowds me against a wall, when he towers over me and leans one arm above my head and makes me feel every inch of our huge height difference.
His eyes drop to my hips, and he tilts his head slightly.
“Hot pink,” he says. “Maybe a nice, bright shade of blue.”
“What on earth are you talking about?”
His smile ticks up into a sinful smirk, and liquid heat roils deep inside me. “Well, baby. You always wear the prettiest, brightly colored panties. Always look so good I want to tear them off with my teeth. So I play a game in my head where I guess what color you’re wearing today.”
This man is going to kill me.
I smooth down the chestnut-brown ruffles of my cowgirl skirt, trying to keep my cool. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” I reply innocently.
“Such a tease. Did you choose that outfit just to torture me? Because not being able to tear it off right now feels like hell.”
“Wow, what an ego,” I joke, even though there’s nothing funny about the pulse his words ignite between my legs. “Almost as bad as Miller. I’m not dressed like this for you. I’m dressed like this because I felt cute and confident in this outfit.”
It’s sort of true. But I completely adore how Cole seems to be turned on every time I push back against him. Every time I remind him of my independence.
“No?” he mutters. “You didn’t put on that short little cowgirl skirt and think about how my eyes would be glued to your ass all night? You didn’t want to tease me when I’m not allowed to touch you in front of anyone?”
I flip my hair over my shoulder. “That’s just a happy plus. Like a rookie’s signing bonus.”
He groans. “You’re the only woman on earth who could make referencing contract structures sexy.”
“What do you mean? Contracts are very sexy.”
I’m hit with an idea, and excuse myself to head to the restroom. In the stall, I quickly slide off my panties before I can overthink the decision and slip them into my purse. At the mirror, I fluff my hair and stride back out into the bar.
I glance around before quickly leading Cole into the back of the bar. Spotting the back exit, I drag him outside into the abandoned alley out back. The cool night air kisses my skin.
“Open your hand,” I order.
“Why?”
“You asked me a question. I’m answering it.”
He looks confused, but obeys. His big hand opens up in front of me.
Quickly, I slip my panties from my purse into his palm. My heart is racing. This is a bold move. Not the kind of one I’m used to making.
But Cole brings out a bold part of me I never really knew existed.
He stares down at the lacy fabric. “Fuck,” he groans, like he’s in pain.
There’s so much heat underneath it. His fingers clasp hard around my panties.
I gulp down air, completely dizzy from how powerful I feel at making him produce that kind of sound.
“Orange. Perfect. Like a sweet little peach. Good enough to eat.”
I never would have done this before this season. Before I knew Cole. I would’ve been at home alone poring over work emails, praying it would help me make the corporate powers that be notice me.
Now I’m every bit as ambitious, but I’m also a woman who goes to the bar and hands her panties to the hottest man she’s ever met.
“I’m keeping these.” He pockets them, and the depth of my stomach flutters.
“And if your panties are in my pocket, then it means your pussy is bare under that little skirt.” Caging me against the wall with one hand, the other falls to tease against the hem of my skirt.
“I want to touch you. Want to feel how wet you are. Do you want it as badly as I want it?”
Yes. Yes. Yes.
“This is risky,” I remind him.
“Then I’d better make you come quickly.”
His hand dips further down, tracing his fingers over my bare thighs. I lean my head against the wall, already aching at how he’s teasing me. He slowly pushes up under my skirt to cup the curve of my ass. Gentle at first, then hard enough that he lifts me up onto the toes of my pink cowboy boots.
“There’s no one here, baby. Everyone else is drunk as fuck on the dance floor inside. It’s just you and me. So let me ask you again. Do you want me to touch you?”
I hate how he always makes me ask for it out loud. I love how he always makes me ask for it. The perfect mix of healthy communication that also feels dirty and exposing.
I give in, totally melting into him. That’s what he reduces me to. And I’m addicted to it. “Please, Cole. Yes. I want it. I need it.”
As if he’s been restraining himself, his palm quickly slides over my skin to find my clit. “Fuck, honey. You’re dripping down your thighs.” I blush, but I don’t have a chance to feel embarrassed at my blatant desire, even right here in semi-public. “That’s so fucking hot.”
He circles my clit. It’s ridiculous, really, how I kind of feel like I’m already close to orgasm. Feeling his fingers on me right here behind the bar is making my pulse go haywire. When he slides a finger inside me, that feeling explodes. I buck my hips against him, arching away from the wall.
“Look at you. Fucking yourself on my hand. I love how much you want it.”
“I’m getting close,” I breathe.
“Yeah, you are, baby.” Another finger pushes up into me, instantly soaked, and I whimper. “I can feel you clenching around me. After this, I’m going to take you home and fuck you properly. But first I want to see my pretty little girlfriend coming all over my fingers.”
I freeze.
My stomach flips.
His dirty talk has me right on the edge. But his last sentence is enough to break clean through the swelling ocean of pleasure in my head.
“Girlfriend?” I repeat back breathlessly.
His eyes flicker. “Shit. Yeah, I did say that.”
He draws his hand back, and I whine in protest, my animal craving for his touch momentarily overriding the huge curveball he just threw at me.
It’s explicitly against the rules we agreed on. The rules were simple. There were only three of them. How are we already tripping over them and crossing lines we agreed not to cross?
Mr. Sober doesn’t even have the excuse of being buzzed.
“What happened to our deal?” I say, my breath ragged. “No labels.”
“Yeah, well.” He shrugs. “There’s only one agent between the two of us. I’m not as good at sticking to the terms of a deal. I said it without thinking, and if it bothers you, then I won’t use that word again.”
Disappointment tugs at my heart. Which is ridiculous.
I wanted him to mean it. Even though it would throw our carefully balanced arrangement into total chaos. Even though I know it would put my heart in danger of being broken.
I swallow hard. “We should talk about this.”
It’s a difficult thing to make myself say when what I really want is his fingers back inside me, to bring back the orgasm I was chasing.
He nods. In the bar’s light from inside, I can see that his pupils are still blown wide. “Fine. You want to talk? Let’s go home and talk.”