Chapter 1
CHAPTER ONE
WREN
I glared at Bray. "I don't make pendants shaped like cocks."
He leaned his hip against our parents' kitchen island. A smug smile graced his lips.
Yeah, what the fuck was new? My stepbrother was the bane of my existence. From the moment our parents got married, he'd made it his life's work to be a shithead to me.
Braylon fucking Ellis, right-winger for the Dusk Bay Demons ice hockey team. First line, if you please. As if he'd let anyone forget it.
For some reason, he blamed me for our parents getting together.
Why, I have no idea. I was ten years old at the time.
He was twelve. He’d harboured some belief his mother would get back together with his father.
That was never on the cards. My father and Jenny were heads over heels for each other since the day they met.
Fifteen years later, they were still adorably besotted.
Bray crossed his arms over his ridiculously burly chest and leaned back. "You keep saying that, but I don't believe you." His dark eyes lingered on me, gaze full of mocking amusement.
He tipped his head to the side to flick his dark brown hair off his face. His favourite look was 'freshly fucked,' messy hair and all.
Add the three days worth of growth on his chin, and he was too stinking hot for his own good.
If he wasn't an asshole, I'd set him up with one of my single friends. Because he was, I wouldn't even give him their names, much less their details.
"This might come as a shock to you, but what you believe doesn't matter to me," I said. "Why do you even care?"
He shrugged. "I don't. I love seeing how angry you get whenever I mention it." One side of his mouth tugged upward.
Did I mention my stepbrother is a massive prick?
"I think you do care," I told him. "I think you're scared that if I made penis shaped pendants, they'd put your tiny little dick to shame."
I glanced down at his groin. What the front of his jeans covered was far from tiny. Not that you'd ever hear me admit it. No way.
He chuckled. "For someone who hates my guts, you seem very interested in my cock. You want some of it?" He dropped his hands to the button of his jeans as though he might undo them and push them down his muscular thighs.
I waved my hands in front of me. "Ugh, don't. Yours is the last cock in the world I ever want to see."
"That's a lie and we both know it." He lowered his hands from his button, and swivelled around to pick up his cup of tea. He never drank coffee.
"You don't want to see Nicholas Fiorelli's. Or any of those guys that abducted you last year." He watched me over the rim of his cup before taking a sip.
"That's a low blow," I said softly.
My friend Sinclair and I were abducted from her house and held in a filthy motel room for about three days. Our abductors didn't touch us, but it was an ordeal, regardless.
Bray lowered his cup. "Yeah, sorry. I guess it was a dick thing to say."
"You guessed right," I snapped.
I sighed and took a moment to compose myself and shrug. "It's nothing less than what I'd expect from you anyway. Every time I see you, I think, ‘Wren, what dumbass thing will Bray have to say today?’ Do you lie awake at night running through plays, and planning how to give me the shits?"
If I didn't hate him so much, his grin would have me ruining my panties.
"As a matter of fact, I do," he said. "I think, ‘Bray, you gorgeous stud muffin, what could you say that would make her get on her knees and suck your cock?’"
I made a face. "I don't even know where to begin with what's wrong with that. Let's go with everything. For a start, you have a face that would make a potato jealous."
He laughed. "At least it wouldn't make a potato cry."
"Nah, I'm pretty sure it would do that too." I nodded. "If anyone could make a potato cry, it would be you."
He was so fucking hot, he could make a potato ruin her panties. The problem was, he knew it. Of course he did. How could he not know, when he was told on a regular basis by all the gorgeous puck bunnies?
As far as I was concerned, they could have him. I didn't envy them for a moment. If I did, it wouldn't be because of him. It would be because most of them were beautiful and seemed to have their shit together.
Me, on the other hand? I was short, my bright red hair untameable. I carried an extra layer of fluff.
Oh, and I actually did make pendants in the shape of cocks and pussies, that my father, who was also my boss, wasn't supposed to know about. If he did, he'd be livid. He'd think I was putting his jewellery business into disrepute or some such.
What I was actually doing, was making a butt ton of money on the side from the designs. Enough that, someday soon, I may need to stop working for him and focus on Danglies, my own company.
One day, when I was rich, I'd sponsor the stadium where Bray and his team were based. Danglies Arena had a ring to it. The fact it would piss him off would be a delightful bonus.
"Talking to you is such an experience," he said dryly. "I feel like I'm back in year three."
"I'd suggest that's a couple of years’ step up from your normal conversations, but that would be an insult to your entire team," I said. Most of whom I actually liked.
Tiberius 'Tiger' Pennington, in particular.
He never admitted it, but he killed a man for me last year.
The man who orchestrated my abduction. A few people had remarked shortly after the incident, that he was furious anyone dared to take me.
He'd insisted on accompanying Coast Riggs, the team's centre, when they went to find Sinclair and me.
It was Tiger whose arms were around me first when they found us.
He'd barely said a word to me since.
"I'm sure they've heard worse," Bray said. "From you and from people better than you."
"How could they have heard from people better than me?" I scoffed jokingly. "Who could possibly be better than me?"
I fluffed the back of my hair and found half of it had fallen out of my messy bun. Ignoring his smirk, I wound it all back up and clipped it into place.
"I don't know how to answer that," he said thoughtfully. He snapped his fingers like he had some kind of revelation. "Actually, that brings us back to the potato we were talking about earlier."
"If you're implying that a potato is better than me, I'm okay with that," I said. "Potatoes are awesome. Everyone loves them. They're better than all of us put together."
He shook his head. "Only you would favourably compare yourself to a potato. Year three must have been a compliment. Talking to you is like being back in preschool."
"Ahhh, preschool," I said slowly. "The year you peaked. Wait a minute, two years. You had to repeat preschool, didn't you?"
He tipped his head back and laughed. "I think you might be confusing me with yourself."
I felt my face heat. I walked straight into that one.
I didn't repeat preschool, but I wasn’t very good at school. I was better at making things with my hands than I was at academic stuff. I left high school and went to work with my father before I failed and they kicked me out, or made me do it all over again.
"The education system isn't tailor-made for individual needs," I said finally. "You know that as well as I do."
He hadn't done brilliantly either, but his skill at hockey more than made up for it. If it hadn't, his looks would have gotten him through life. He was the kind of guy who was always going to succeed, regardless.
"You took the first shot," he said. "I wouldn't have said anything if you hadn't."
"Yes, you would," I said. "You would have found some other way to insult me. If that was a competitive sport, you would have…" I closed my mouth so quickly my teeth clicked together.
"Would have what?" he asked darkly.
I blew out a breath through pursed lips. "I was going to say you would have won the cup, but even I know a low blow when I think one up."
The guys made it so far, only to lose the finals in overtime. To fall, painfully close to your goals, was the ultimate suck. I didn't hate Bray enough to poke him in that open wound.
"We're going to take it this year," he said, his teeth gritted. "Last season was a practice run."
He was determined to win, even if he had to do it all by himself. If there was anything he hated more than me, it was losing.
I won't lie, I was as competitive as he was. Lucky for me, if I lost, it wasn't in front of an arena full of fans.
"I believe in the team," I said. "You've come up from the very bottom and almost got to the very top. That's one hell of an achievement."
"If I didn't know better, I'd think you're proud of me." His smug expression was back.
"Like I said, I believe in the team," I said. "Don't get a big head."
As if it wasn't far too late for that. His ego was so healthy, it was a miracle he fit into the arena at all. Or into a hockey helmet, for that matter. Not that he had a monopoly on having a big ego. It seemed to come with the territory of being a professional hockey player.
He grabbed his groin. "I can't help it when I was born with it. You sure you don't want to find out? I'm told my cock is very tasty."
I bet it was. Cocks usually were.
"I bet you fifty dollars you've tried to find out for yourself." I mimed bending over and trying to suck my own imaginary dick.
"I won't take that bet, because there's not a guy in the world who hasn't." He was grinning when I straightened back up. "You're very flexible there, stepsister dear."
"I'm incredibly flexible, and you'll never get to find out just how much, stepbrother dear," I said.
No matter how much my body wanted his, I would never, ever go there. In real life. In my fantasies, when I was alone in my bed…
"You say that now—" he started to say. "Oh, hi Mum." He hugged Jenny as she stepped into the kitchen. "I thought I heard the doorbell."
"Nothing wrong with your hearing." Dad carried a pile of pizza boxes and placed them on the island. "Are you two hungry?"
"Ravenous," Bray agreed. He glanced over at me when he said it, like he wasn’t talking about food.
I rolled my eyes.
Dream on, dickhead. I was not on his menu.