26. Penelope
Idunno how much longer I’m going to spend messaging him without an answer before I give up.
At what point does it cross into pathetic?
I might already be there because it’s only been a couple of days of silence, but it feels like a fucking eternity.
Chasing guys is not my thing. And yet... I’m still sending Tate messages like if I just give him a little more time, he’ll come around.
I can’t delete his number because I know it by heart.
Can’t believe I let the girls convince me to keep pushing, to keep messaging, to not give him the chance to back down.
When my phone lights up, so does my disloyal heart, and I hate myself a little bit more.
Satan: If I say sorry for not replying for two days will you bring more smoothies?
Me: I see how it is. You only want me for my goodies.
I can almost hear his laugh from here. Assuming he still lets himself laugh, that is.
Satan: I miss your goodies, it’s true. But my request for the fruits of your labor is a ploy. The team hates me, I’m hoping your treats will keep them sweet. And since you’ll have to bring them over to the house, well, I’m hoping you’ll let me apologize to you in person.
I sit up on the couch before taking a long drink of coffee from the oversized mug on the coffee table.
Me: Apologize for what?
Satan: The list is long. Being a dick and pushing you away are the two biggies.
Satan: And for being so good at games that I repeatedly kick your ass. I should probably apologize for that, too. It’s not your fault you suck at games.
Me: I’m not going to rise to the bait, Satan.
Satan: I’m already up, She Devil.
This boy is shameless.
Me: Maybe if you weren’t such a dick, I’d suck your dick. Sucks to be you.
Satan: That’s a lot of sucking.
Satan: I really am sorry.
Me: I accept your apology. I know it’s not easy for you right now. But pushing everyone away just makes shit worse.
Satan: So I’m told. I’m going to do better.
Me: That’s what they all say.
Satan: I messaged you before I texted my mom. Does that count for anything?
I’m sure she’ll be thrilled to know that.
Satan: I’ve stopped drinking.
My heart twitches, relief fills my veins, and my shoulders loosen.
Me: Since when?
Satan: I just finished my last one. But I mean it. No more binge drinking, or feeding yeast to my feelings. I’ll do something else with my hands instead.
That makes a shiver roll through my body.
Satan: Like take up crochet, or scrapbooking.
Fucker.
Satan: Can you come over and tell me a bedtime story please?
Me: Sounds an awful lot like this is all about you, hot shot.
Satan: Get your sexy butt over here, and I’ll make it all about you.
I hate myself even more that his messages turn me on, but what makes me hate myself most, is that my body gets up off the chair, grabs my keys, and answers his majesty’s summons.
When I show up at the hockey house a little short of an hour later, the tension within the house seems to seep out the front door as soon as Artemis opens it.
I still don’t get why these guys are always over here. It’s one thing wanting to feel part of a team, but if I had gorgeous fancy apartments like the de la Pe?as are reported to have, I wouldn’t want to spend any time in this gross house, never mind all my time.
“You came back.” Artemis stands back to let me into the house.
“I did.” I pick up the bags at my feet. “But you guys are going to have to start paying for these smoothies.”
He reaches into his back pocket and produces an envelope. “Already on it.”
I squint at him. “You just so happened to have that hanging out in your back pocket waiting for me to come by?”
He shrugs. “I’d hoped you’d come back. We all did. And it didn’t sit right with me that you paid for the ingredients for the last round of food you made for him.” He takes the bags from me, leading me inside.
“You and your brothers paid off my father’s medical debt, I think I can make a few smoothies for you guys.”
He levels me with a look that says not to fight him, so I swallow down another comeback. “You all hoped I’d be back?” Don’t cry, you fucking idiot. Except the way he said it hit me square in the feel-box. And now, all I want to do is cry.
“Of course we did.” It’s Apollo who answers this time.
Don’t these guys have their own homes to go to?
Scott’s not far behind him, and animated voices come from the kitchen. Guessing the rookies are home, too.
Apollo holds his arms out to pull me into a hug. “You hanging in there okay?”
I think this is the first time someone’s asked me how I’m doing in this.
“It’s hard on the partner in different ways.” Scott agrees with a nod. “And the fact that you’ve been through this before with your dad doesn’t mean the second time’s any easier.”
Are they mind readers as well? I don’t like it.
“He upstairs?”
The three men nod.
“He’s had a few to drink.” There’s a subtle note of caution in Scott’s voice that makes me want to kiss his face. Not in a sexual way, but I like that I’m surrounded by guys who care.
“Granted it’s been a couple hours.” He winks at me. “Informed consent.”
“I’d be more concerned with me killing him. If he started something and passed out...” I whistle. “Yeah. I’d murder him in his sleep.”
“Who’s getting murdered?” Rico Palffy and Mikko Lindell walk into the room shoveling ice cream into their mouths from over-filled bowls.
“Need help with the body?” Mikko’s grin suggests he’s not actually joking.
I wave off the offer. “So chivalrous. But I’m pretty sure there’s a no-murdering-your-hockey-brothers rule in the vows.”
Mikko’s face falls. “Well. If you ever need help with a body.” He pats Rico”s chest. “We’ve got you.”
It’s the first time I’ve met someone from Finland, but from what I know of the country, they aren’t all unhinged. It makes sense that Mikko is a goalie. He and Ares get along well together.
“Pitstop.”
My body freezes as Tate’s voice carries across the room. The way he growls my name makes my nipples pucker.
It’s been three weeks since his injury. The dissolvable stitches in his mouth were set to disappear at two weeks, but the wiring stays in for another three. And he’s off the ice for at least five more.
I wonder if he’s going to continue to sink further into depression over the next eight weeks, three until his jaw is unwired and a further month or so until he’s allowed back on the ice, or if we can find a way for him to pick himself up and claw his way back.
“Satan, so good of you to join us.”
I walk past his teammates toward the kitchen.
“Where are you going?”
I hook a thumb toward the doorway. “I have smoothies to make. Didn’t you hear? I can name my price in these walls. Your friends will pay anything to get my goodies.”
Someone behind me chokes on something, and there’s a firm sequence of slaps on his back from one of his teammates.
Tate’s eyes narrow, and he points to the stairs.
“Use your words, big boy.”
“Don’t make me come over there.” The heat that flashes in his eyes is the same fire spreading through my body like a match to a piece of parchment.
“Or what? You’ll smolder me to death?” He really is blazing at me, and my body responds in kind. My nipples are so hard I’m half-afraid they’ll tear though my shirt and wave at the de la Pe?as. At which point Tate will have to stab them in the eyeballs because they’ve seen pieces of my body that he’d rather they didn’t see.
Caveman.
I’m falling in love with a fucking caveman.
“I’ll put you over my knee.” The words that come out of his mouth are charged with lust, like he dragged them over a bed of sex toys all turned on high, and left them there for an hour before he spoke.
It’s so fucking hot.
I snort. “I’d break your fucking legs, hot shot.”
Pretty sure it’s Rico that whispers, “oh fuck.”
“Penelope,” Artemis cautions.
“Listen to my teammates, She Devil.” He takes a step toward me and on instinct, I step back, bumping into poor Mikko who’s more concerned with his bowl of ice cream.
“Come here.” He points to his feet, and for a beat I expect him to stamp his foot.
“Ask nicely.” My face is on fire.
The team’s amused attention volleys back and forth between Tate and me. I’m not backing down just because he’s in front of his peeps. He was a dick to me and ignored me for two whole days. I want to strangle him with his red flag before I give him another chance.
He clears his throat. “Penelope Lindstrom.”
Oh shit. He full-named me. Adding that straight to the hot as hell list.
“I’m going upstairs to my room where I’m going to wait for you to come up so I can make you scream my name all night long. I’d love it if you’d join me.”
My mouth falls wide-open.
Should have known he wouldn’t have risen to the bait. Or at least not risen the way I expected him to. He’d never show weakness in front of his friends. God forbid they know he’s human.
Except since his injury, they’ve probably all seen his tender underbelly, which makes him even more determined not to show weakness.
Except seeing a man’s vulnerability is hot, too.
He’s been drinking, though, so I’m not letting him do much of anything until I can be sure he’s sobered up, but the declaration of what he wants to do to me in front of his boys has my panties somewhere in the region of “wring out the excess moisture” level of wet.
“I’ll put all of this away.” Artemis lifts the bags and starts toward the kitchen.
Apollo grins at me. “Get it girl.”
My skin’s on fire. Partially because the boys are all staring at me, and partly because I want to ride Tate like a bucking bronco.
When I make it to the top of the stairs there’s exaggerated grunting coming from Tate’s room. Fucker’s either jacking off, or pretending to. If the house wasn’t full of men who could walk up on me at any second, I’d stick my hand in my pants in the corridor outside Tate’s room and give him a taste of his own medicine. Instead, I walk into his room and find him grinning at me.
His cock is at full mast, and there’s what seems to be a line of fruit leather curled around it. “What are you waiting for? It’s not going to lick itself.”
“Do you have a death wish?”
He shrugs. “Depends on if you’re going to forgive me.”
The drama of this man. “Not at all toxic or manipulative, Satan. Very healthy.”
He chuckles. “I’m kidding. I really do want you to forgive me though. I was a dick.”
Nodding, I approach the bed. “You were. But I feel like that’s standard for you.” I sit on the edge of the bed and lean over to plant a soft kiss on his mouth.
“I can’t wait to taste you, Pitstop.”
Not sure where that admission came from, but the five-alarm fire in my pants just went thermonuclear.
Fuck.
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m getting emotional whiplash over here, Satan. You wanna pick a lane?”
He snorts. “What? I can’t want to fuck you senseless and be sorry at the same time? I have to choose? Not cool.”
“You’ve had a few drinks. I’m not letting you fuck me senseless until you sober up.”
After a long, heated battle of wills through a hard stare, he relents. “That’s fair. But I haven’t had a drink for over an hour, and I only had a couple.”
“But I really like fruit leather.”
His eyebrows twitch, and his eyes light up like I just told him he was tall enough to ride the rollercoaster at the fair.
When I reach over and pluck the candy from his cock, his body deflates. I don’t even look at him as I shove the sweet, fruity treat onto my tongue and make yummy noises and drape the pair of boxers that were lying next to him on the bed, over his cock.
The pained groan he makes, fills my chest with glee. “You’re killing me smalls.”
I settle next to him on the bed. “And it’s about to get worse.”
He covers his face with his forearm. “Say it ain’t so.”
“If you want the honor of your tongue going anywhere near my Queendom. You’re gonna have to be nice to me. Really fucking nice.”
He doesn’t move his arm, so his voice is muffled when he speaks. “We both know that’s never going to happen.”