Chapter 17
Hunter
I look up from my spot on the couch when Juliet breezes through the door. She carries a single shopping bag that says Ladybug Consignment on the side. I arch a brow.
If Juliet wanted something new, I could’ve bought it for her. She shouldn’t be shopping at resale boutiques.
“I’m home,” she calls.
Funny that she’s calling my apartment home now. I can’t say I hate it.
I arch a brow as she drops the bag on the counter. “You’ve been busy.”
She grins. “Had to be prepared. You said we were going to a nightclub tonight.”
“Consignment?”
Juliet shrugs a shoulder. “Some of us don’t make hockey player money, Hunter.”
“You should ask me for my credit card the next time you go shopping. It’s better than having to bargain shop.”
“I bought a Loewe skirt with the tags still on it for a fraction of the actual price. Relax. I need to be ready for my close-up, Mr. DeMille.”
“It’s just a photo op,” I tell her.
“And?”
I flap a hand as if to say it’s no big deal. “It’s what hockey couples do. The photographers camp outside the clubs. Fans eat it up. Sponsors want those pictures everywhere by tomorrow morning.” I lean back against the couch. “It’s part of the image, part of the job. Whether or not we like it.”
Her mouth twists. “Sounds like a circus.”
“Yeah, but it’s a circus that pays for my ice time. And the entire team will be there. If we skip it, it looks like we’re hiding.”
She narrows her eyes. “Hiding from what?”
I smirk. “From proving we can actually pull this off in public. Unless you don’t think you can keep up.”
Her jaw sets. “Oh, I can keep up. But I’m not staying late.”
“We’ll see.”
She disappears into her room, and I hear the shuffle of hangers, drawers opening, the faint thump of heels on the hardwood. Twenty minutes later, she steps out in a conservative trench coat that covers her from throat to knees.
“Really?” I can’t help it. “You look like you’re going to a board meeting.”
She adjusts the belt at her waist with surgical precision. “Is there a problem with my outfit?”
“You look like you’re about to negotiate a hostile takeover.”
Her smirk is pure trouble. “Wait until you see what’s underneath.”
That shuts me up. My brain is already supplying images I shouldn’t be thinking about.
She moves to the entryway mirror, reapplying the same blood-red lipstick with practiced precision. Smooth application, blot, another coat. Our reflections meet in the glass, and she doesn’t look away.
“Are you done?” I ask, my voice clipped because I need to get out of here before I do something I’ll regret.
She blots one last time, then caps the tube. “Just about.”
I fold my arms against the doorframe. “Why do you always wear that stuff?”
Her brow lifts. “Excuse me?”
“The lipstick. You don’t need it. It’s... obvious.”
She stares at me as if I’ve grown a second head. “Obvious?”
“Yeah. Like a sign. Look at me. Look at my mouth.”
She laughs, sharp and short, until she sees my face and factors in my earnest expression.
“Wait,” she says slowly, her voice dropping to that dangerous tone she uses when she’s about to eviscerate someone. “You’re serious?”
I don’t answer because anything I say right now is going to make this worse.
“You think I’m trying to tempt someone?”
“Men look at your mouth,” I say flatly. It’s true. I’ve watched it happen a hundred times. “I’ve seen it.”
“And?”
“And maybe you shouldn’t make it so easy for them.”
Her whole body goes still, like I just slapped her. The air in the hallway crackles with tension.
“You are unbelievable.”
“It’s a distraction,” I snap, digging myself deeper into this hole. “You wear it like a bright red flag that says, look at me.”
“What, you think I’m trying to seduce the entire room every time I put on lipstick?”
“No. Just...” I run a hand through my hair, frustrated. “I notice.”
She scoffs, shaking her head. “You’re the only one who’s ever complained about it. And definitely the only one who stares like you do.”
That shuts me up completely because she’s right. I stare.
I stare at her mouth way more than I should. Way more than is appropriate for a fake fiancé who’s supposed to be keeping things professional.
She studies my face for a long moment. I can practically see the wheels turning in her head. “You’re not mad about the lipstick. You’re mad that you want to kiss it off.”
The words hit like a physical blow. Because she’s right and we both know it.
Now it’s hanging between us like a live wire.
I’m hard the entire way to the club.
The team rented out the whole VIP section at Eden’s Gate, one of the newer places downtown.
I can feel the music in my chest and the bass thumps through the floor.
The second we walk through the velvet ropes, Juliet stops to unbutton her trench coat.
When she peels it off, I nearly swallow my tongue.
She’s wearing a clingy black skirt that hugs every curve and a strappy crop top that shows off several inches of toned stomach.
The top has intricate cutouts that reveal tantalizing glimpses of skin.
My eyes bug out. Her ass looks incredible in that skirt and the fabric is so thin I can see the outline of her body underneath.
There’s no way she’s wearing underwear under that thing.
I hate that I noticed. Hate more that she’s dressed like this in public, where every asshole with eyes is going to be looking at what’s mine. Even if it’s fake, even if it’s temporary, for the next four months she’s supposed to be mine.
“Jesus Christ, Juliet.”
She looks over her shoulder at me, all innocence. “What?”
“That outfit.”
The heels give her a couple of inches, but she’s still so small I could toss her over my shoulder without breaking stride.
“What? You don’t like it?” She flutters her lashes at me.
“I like it too much. That’s the problem.”
She gives me a naughty smile that undoes me. “Good to know.”
I let her go join her friends, but I don’t stray far. I stick close to her like a second skin. Like hell I’ll let her strut around in that outfit without monitoring her.
Coach Ryan enters with his sweet fiancée Wren on his arm. She takes off when she sees the women, shyly saying hi to the group, who immediately welcome her with open arms.
Ryan strolls over to where I’m stationed at the bar, nodding hello. “Hope we’re not crashing anything. Ivy told Wren to come. I feel a little like an interloper, dropping in and spying on the team when you’re having a few drinks.”
I wave him over. “You’re more than welcome. Tonight seems to be more about what the ladies want than where I want to be.”
“That tracks.” Ryan grins. “I admit I’m wrapped around Wren’s little finger. I go wherever she wants to go.”
I order a beer and a gin and tonic with half a dozen limes, keeping one eye on the conversation as the rookies flood in. Shane’s already loud, doing tequila shots with Connor and the other young guys, creating their own little chaos bubble in the corner.
“Yo, Hunter!” Shane calls out, waving a shot glass. “Come show these losers how it’s done!”
“I’m good,” I call back.
“Scared you can’t keep up with the rookies?”
Connor snorts. “Dude, Hunter could drink you under the table.”
I wave them off. I’m not getting into a pissing contest with a twenty-one-year-old.
The established players cluster near the bar where Silas sits quietly, staring off into space.
He looks creepy, but I know my brother well.
He’s running hockey stats in his head. It’s what he does when he’s bored or uncomfortable.
Thorne and Grayson guard the VIP section like bouncers, watching everything with veteran awareness.
I take Juliet her drink, which she accepts with a coy smile that makes heat creep up my neck.
“Thanks, darling,” she purrs.
The conversation flows around us, but I’m distracted by every movement she makes. She gestures in a certain way when she talks. The way she throws her head back when she laughs at something Wren says. Her fingers play with the rim of her glass and I can’t stop noticing.
When Ivy shows up late in a short dress that makes half the team stop talking, the energy shifts. Shane immediately tries his luck and gets destroyed.
“Hey gorgeous, want to dance?” he sidles up with his signature cocky grin.
Ivy looks him up and down slowly. “Nice try, rookie. Maybe when you graduate kindergarten.”
The entire rookies’ table erupts in laughter. Shane takes it like a champ, raising his shot glass in defeat.
“Respect,” he says, backing away. “I had to try.”
I stretch out and put an arm around Juliet. To my surprise, she allows it, leaning into me slightly. Jett immediately starts giving me shit.
“Look at Hunter, all whipped already,” he says loud enough for everyone to hear.
“Shut up, Jett.”
“It turns out that our boy has feelings.”
“Drop it.”
“Never.” Jett grins. “This is too entertaining. You should see your face right now.”
Juliet turns toward me. “Are you two having a moment?”
“Jett’s being an asshole.”
“So, it’s Tuesday?” she says dryly, making Jett sputter with laughter.
The girls decide it’s time to dance. Ivy grabs Juliet’s hand and drags her toward the dance floor with Wren and Jessa following.
“Time to hit the floor, ladies.”
Jett begs them to stay in the VIP section. “Can’t you just dance here? It’s safer.”
“Safer is boring,” Ivy tells him.
“Fine, but we’re coming with you,” Jett says.
“Obviously,” Juliet smirks. “You boys can’t help yourselves.”
Half the team follows them like puppies. I pull Juliet into my arms, her body warm against mine. The music pounds around us, bass thumping through my chest.
She moves against me, hips swaying, and I have to fight to keep my thoughts clean. Her skirt rides up slightly as she dances. I rest my hands on her waist, pulling her closer.
“You’re staring,” she says, lips close to my ear.
“Hard not to.”
“Good.” She spins in my arms, her back pressed against my chest now. “That’s the point.”