Chapter 25
Gail
P redictably, Soren’s house is cast in complete darkness as we pull up. I try not to get deflated, but each day it becomes harder and harder not to let Mickey’s absence weigh me down. It’s been one week since Soren took me shopping, and when we returned, Mickey was gone.
From Soren, I know that Mickey shows up for practice and their games, but he hasn’t been by the house, and since he left his phone and laptop behind, it feels very final. I know I shouldn’t miss him, not when he’s made his dislike for me and Fet clear, yet I do. More than I want to admit.
I haven’t told Soren about the laptop, but I did give him Mickey’s phone. He needed to know why his calls went unanswered. I don’t even know if Soren still has it, or if the guys are talking since I spend most of my time at the house. Once, I went to their practice, but since Luce wasn’t there, and I could feel Mickey’s disapproval across the rink, I pleaded with Soren until he allowed me to stay at the house.
“Mickey?” I don’t know why I call his name when he’s clearly not here, well, unless he’s sitting somewhere in the dark. No response.
I glance at Soren, who’s carrying the bags with the loot from the shop we stopped at on our way home, his broad shoulders outlined, flexing as he walks in front of me into the kitchen. “Probably still at his house,” he grumbles, his deep voice resonating in the hush of the house. He drops the bags by the fridge with a soft thud, the sound somehow loud in the silence.
Shrugging, I bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from saying that I doubt Mickey’s alone. From stalking his ass online, I’ve seen all the pictures of him drinking himself into a stupor with puck bunnies.
Even though I have no business being hurt, I am—irrationally so.
While Soren goes to get changed, I walk from room to room, turning all the lights on. When I meet him back in the kitchen, he’s already busy unpacking and putting everything into its rightful place.
I can’t stop watching him, watching his muscles bunch and flex with every movement. Jeez, it’s like my very own porno except for the fact he’s fully dressed. Then again, gray sweatpants are a dirty blessing.
It feels odd to be alone with Soren like this. No, that’s not true. It’s not strange, it feels… normal, which is what makes it odd. Yep, make it make sense.
“Soren,” I say, worrying my bottom lip as I look up at him from beneath my lashes.
He stops moving, leaning back against the counter. “Gail.”
I roll my eyes at the way he’s mirroring me. I don’t know if I should tell him what’s on my mind. It’s one of those situations where I don’t know if it’s a good idea, but I still want to do it.
Clearing my throat, I lift my chin. “I want to be completely honest about something.”
“Oh?”
“About earlier, in the bathroom at the arena…” I trail off as I think about what he did to me only a short time ago at the Sabertooths arena.
His green gaze locks onto mine, and I see the flicker of heat there before he schools his expression into one of calm attentiveness. “What about it?”
A blush creeps up my neck, but I push through. “I liked it. A lot.” There, it’s out—an admission that makes me feel naked and powerful all at once.
“Did you now?” His voice is low, a tease edged with something darker, something that promises more.
“More than you know,” I reply, meeting his gaze squarely. There’s power in owning my desires, in voicing them to this man who can both intimidate and excite me in equal measure. “But I still don’t accept payment in food.”
Soren throws his head back and laughs loudly. “Noted. So what kinda payment do you accept?”
I shrug, feigning bravado I don’t really feel. “Money and orgasms, preferably both.”
“So even though I made you come all over my fingers, you still want to get paid?”
Nodding, I explain, “Yes. As long as you treat me like a whore, you’ll pay. If you stop that, I’ll decide whether I think it’s fair to pay me or not.” I have no idea where the words are coming from. But as they tumble from my lips, I feel good about them.
With Mickey being gone, and all the time alone during the day, I’ve had a lot of time to think about our unique situation. Said time has made me realize something; I’m the one with the power. They’re responsible for me, which means I can make this extremely hard—no pun intended—on them.
I have no intention of doing that. All I want is the respect I feel I’m due.
“Do you have a payment plan option? A price list?” Soren asks, pulling food from the fridge and getting ready to cook. “Here. You can slice this.” He hands me a pepper, his fingers brushing mine, sending a spark up my arm.
The knife feels good in my hand, solid and real. But it’s not the weight of the blade that occupies my mind—it’s the memory of his touch, the way he’d made me unravel with just his hands and his commanding presence.
“So?” he prompts when the air is thick with the scent of garlic and herbs. “About that price list.”
Oh yeah, I never did answer him. “Let’s say the same as you paid me at Cupid’s Court,” I quip, tossing the peppers into a bowl.
“Hmm,” he muses, his green eyes dancing with mirth. “Minus food, rent, utilities, and—”
I hold my hand up, silencing him. “That stuff doesn’t count since I didn’t ask to come here.”
“Didn’t you?” he volleys. “Would you rather—”
“Fine, fine.” Remembering the alternative, I relent. “You can deduct that if you must. But I’m serious. I said the same to Mickey before he disappeared.”
Soren chuckles. “I thought you said he hadn’t fucked you since Cupid’s Court?”
Shaking my head, I finish the salad, tossing the veggies in the bowl so it’s mixed. “He hasn’t. But before his disappearing act, he insisted on sleeping with his fingers in my pussy, which isn’t free.”
It feels weird to stand here and talk to him about it, yet I stand my ground. Too many times I’ve run from what makes me uncomfortable, delayed things just because I didn’t feel ready. I can’t keep doing that.
Now I have Fet to think about as well, and I don’t want to set a shitty example. Sure, it’ll be years before Fet will know anything about the world, but that doesn’t mean I have to keep procrastinating.
Once dinner is ready, we eat at the kitchen table, indulging in small talk. Soren tells me a few stories about his life, nothing big or heavy. And then he explains the rest of the hockey season to me, so I know what to expect.
“We’ve only had home games this week, but next week we have to travel.”
“Okay,” I say.
“Since you’re coming with us, it would help if you’ve talked with Lucia before then. Girlfriends and partners can’t travel with the team, but I don’t want you to travel on your own.”
I know he didn’t mean to insinuate I’m a girlfriend, but my heart skips a beat all the same. Warmth spreads through my body, and I can’t stop picturing what it would be like to be theirs for real.
Sighing, I take his hand. “Soren, I need my phone. I can’t communicate with Luce on your schedule. If she’s out of town without having told me, she’s either pissed or in trouble.” My heart plummets as I recall all the unanswered texts and calls. The only reason I know she’s… well, somewhere, is because Sawyer told Soren.
He threads our fingers together, never looking away from my face. “I know,” he says simply. “But I won’t betray Mick, and he has your phone.”
We continue eating in silence, and as soon as we’re done, Soren insists on cleaning up on his own. I push back from the table, my body feeling somehow both sated and starved. I’m heavy with food, yet there’s an ache deep within me that dinner—or Soren’s skilled fingers—cannot ease.
“Think I’ll take a bath,” I say, standing and stretching languidly. “Maybe turn in early.”
“Need company?” Soren’s voice is low, teasing, but I can hear the genuine offer beneath the playful tone.
“Maybe another time, when I’ve worked out a complete price and service list.” I flash him a sultry grin, one that promises rain checks on steamier nights than this. “Tonight, I just want to soak until I prune.”
I leave him to clear up and pad upstairs to the bedroom, the scent of citrus and spice clinging to my skin like a phantom caress. My thoughts drift to Mickey, to that familiar brooding shadow he casts even in absence.
Where is he? Why isn’t he here?
The bedroom door creaks softly as I push it open. The moment my eyes land on Mickey’s laptop on my bed, I forget all about my bath and instead power it on as I’ve done every day since he left it for me. Besides using the device to talk to Jamie, and message my mom and Luce, I’ve become addicted to looking the guys up. Call it morbid curiosity.
No longer needing to type in the words “Mickey The Missile Davis” to find out what he’s up to, I click on the website I bookmarked days ago. Since it doesn’t look like he’s been spotted anywhere, I click on another bookmark for a celebrity gossip blog called “The World According to C the later it gets, the heavier my limbs and eyes become.
The last thought I have before falling asleep is that tomorrow I’ll drive to the arena with Soren. No more hiding out at his house. And… I’ll tell him about the laptop.