17. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
17
The thunderous clash of pins fills the air, a symphony of strikes and spares that's surprisingly comforting. The team has rented out the bowling alley.
Wells is beside me one moment, gone the next, high-fiving teammates or fetching us drinks, but his hand in mine or on my lower back is a constant reminder that he is trying his best to show me that he’s all in.
He hasn't kissed me, hasn't brought his lips anywhere near mine, and that restraint is a tease that I’m going to make him pay for later because it’s driving me absolutely crazy.
The team is a wall of muscle and jokes. I expected cold shoulders or at least some skepticism when it came to me, but they've been nothing but inviting—genuinely good guys despite whatever reservations they might have about Wells and me. They cheer when I score a meager spare and groan when Wells knocks down pin after pin effortlessly.
I like them.
Looking at Wells, I see him laughing, his face alive with a boyish smirk that's downright infectious. My stomach flutters, but the good kind of flutter—the kind that makes you sing along to blaring love songs in the car. That’s Judson Wells.
Mellow, calm, and easy.
If you take out the rivalry crap.
“You kept the paparazzi away so that they didn’t see how bad you sucked, right?”
Wells narrows his eyes at me as he approaches from just taking his turn, but a playful smile plays along the corners of his lips. “I just got a spare, woman. And I’d like to note that I am beating you.”
“I’m not even trying.”
His whole face lifts, clearly not buying into that load of crap. “Oh yeah? Wanna make a wager on the next game?”
Hell no.
He’s beating my ass by leagues, and he’s pretty decent at the game. I need bumpers.
“I don’t wanna embarrass you in front of your friends,” I emit when he stops in front of me. My ass is pressed into one of the tables as he continues his torture of barely touching me.
“Friends is a term we’ll use loosely here,” he mutters. “They’re a bunch of assholes.”
“They’ve been nice to me.”
“Because I’ll throw them down the lane if they aren’t.”
“Be nice to them,” I lightly chide. “This is weird for them.”
“I’m not going to,” he replies before his hand touches my hip, and I almost gasp at the sensation of his touch coursing through me. “Because I had plans for you, Rory Sellers. And they ruined them.”
“This is fun.”
His green eyes glisten with mischief when he says, “I can think of about eighty more things that we could be doing that are more fun than this.”
“Who doesn’t love gutter balls and greasy pizza – the glamour of pro sports on a Friday night.”
“Me,” he deadpans as he leans in. “Because I love your naked body and my lips all over it a lot better than this shit.”
A slight blush blankets my face as I rest my palm on his chest. “They’re just trying to get to know me better.”
“They can wait. I haven’t seen you in almost two weeks. And, let me say, Snowflake…I’m not a fan of that.”
I’m not, either.
It’s been hard to speak with him only on the phone, but I understand hockey life. It’s full of travel, practices, and press. I also appreciate what he has to do for himself and what he’s trying to accomplish with his team.
“It hasn’t been that bad,” I jeer with a smile.
“No?” Wells pulls me flush against his chest as his fingers splay right above my ass. “That picture you sent me the other night wasn’t nice, Snowflake.”
Red lingerie, that’s all I’m saying.
And I happen to have it on underneath my clothes right now for him to tear off me later after I’m done giving him a piece of his own medicine.
“Should I return it?” I hedge with a cock of my head. “Did it make me look—” Wells’ fingers press harder into my spine, and his expression is serious.
“Did you wear it for me?” he grounds out, his voice taking a tone I’ve never heard. One of impatience and raw desperation. “You know you’re driving me insane by making me wait.”
I lean forward, my lips inches away from his. “Says the man who sent me a video of him stroking himself.”
And he did it while I was at work.
Thankfully, the beginning didn’t have any audio because that would’ve been interesting to explain to Chloe.
“I just wanted you to see what I do in my spare time when I’m not with you,” he mutters. “Thinking of you…”
I feel my heart pick up its pace at his words—the promise of how he’s feening for me as much as I have been for him.
“Is that what that was?”
“And promises for later. Especially when I get you back—”
“Wells, you’re up,” I hear one of his friends say, and I look up to see his face change into one of sexual frustration and irritation.
“I hate them,” he leers with a scowl, and I smile at him.
“You love them,” I counter. “Now, go play your turn.”
“My dick is hard and—”
“Wells, you clown,” another one—I think Preston—carps out. “Let’s go.”
He sighs, and I steal a kiss from his mouth that he quickly chases before his tongue delves between my lips.
Wells doesn’t make it long, but long enough to keep me buzzing, anticipating that we’ll be up all night tonight before he’s gone and striding toward the lanes while adjusting his jeans.
“Rory.” I glance over to see Cyrus Archer approach with a beer in each hand and an easy grin. He offers me one, then sits beside me in one of the chairs. You can tell he’s still recovering from his broken leg with the slight limp he has, but he hasn’t been walking with a cane or anything. “How's it going on the lanes?"
I shrug, offering a wry smile. "I'm keeping the gutters clean, if that counts for anything."
"Counts more than you know," he chuckles, and his gaze softens. “You’re killing your team’s score, so I’m able to kick Wells’s ass.”
“Gotta keep him humble.”
He brings his beer to his lips. “Shit, if you only knew.”
Cyrus takes a sip and looks back up at me. “So, how is it being the daughter of an NHL coach?"
The question is straightforward and lacks bite, and I notice that he didn’t say rival at the end.
"It's... a unique experience. My dad does a good job of keeping me out of the politics of it all. But there are always challenges, perspectives I get that most don't."
He nods slowly. “I bet. I couldn’t imagine, to be honest.”
“It’s not all that bad. You learn to navigate it.”
“Like you navigated going behind his back and seeing Wells.”
It’s not a question, and I’m not sure where he’s going with it, but I don’t feel guilty for going after what I want.
However, I don’t want Dad to reap the consequences, so I feel a little guilty.
“I was never one to play by other people’s rules,” I shrug. “I want to be with Wells, and my dad will learn to love him.”
Cyrus leans back in his chair and eyes me. “And when are you going to tell him about you guys? Because Wells might not mind it right now. But he can’t remain a dirty secret for the rest of his life.”
I haven’t thought that far ahead yet.
In reality, Wells and I are relatively new to seeing each other, and rocking the boat seems unnecessary but necessary. The longer this goes, the more it will feel like a betrayal in my dad’s eyes.
“After the season,” I blurt out because…well, shit…it has to happen eventually. “When there isn’t so much pressure on everyone.”
“Good idea,” he emits. “We’re playoff-bound right now. And that’s all we think about.”
Meaning: don’t fuck this up for everyone, or I’m not going to be liked anymore.
“I can’t imagine how stressful that must be.”
Cyrus lifts his shoulders dismissively. “You learn to navigate it.”
Right.
It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see that Cyrus is observant and doesn’t miss things. I can only imagine what he really thinks of Wells and me.
“You manage it well,” I compliment. “A lot better than I would.”
“Well, just so you know, we support you both with this. There are no hard feelings here. But, if you fuck him over, we’ll be having another kind of conversation. He’s a good guy. He might have a reputation, but I’ve never seen him act this way before with anyone. Which is vulnerable for him and an act I thought I’d never see, to be honest with you.”
“I’m…flattered.”
“You should be.” He pushes his chair back and rises to his feet, towering over me, and I know a subtle challenge when I see one. “Don’t go breakin’ my boy’s heart, alright?”
I’ll try not to, I say to myself, but I respond with a nod.
Faced with Cyrus's towering presence, I feel his protective instinct, a palpable force trying to protect his brother on the ice and his friend.
His words hang between us, a blend of warning and implicit trust for me, someone he doesn’t know.
I then muster up my resolve. "I have no intentions of breaking Wells’s heart. I…like him. A lot.”
Cyrus scrutinizes me momentarily, looking for any hint of insincerity. He must find the honesty he's looking for because his posture relaxes just a fraction, his stance a little less like a soldier.
"Good," he states. "Because the team's a family, and now you're a part of that. We take care of our own. And we hate drama.”
“Only on the ice, got it.”
“Even then…” With a nod of acknowledgment, Cyrus heads back to join the others, leaving me to contemplate the unspoken promise I've just made.
It's clear now that with my connection to Wells, I've unwittingly woven myself into this team’s fabric, a fiercely loyal and unexpectedly welcoming community. And I’m starting to realize that, maybe, I’ll belong here too.
Wouldn’t that be something?
***
“Not bad, Killer. Not bad at all,” I say as I enter the posh hotel room. The room is simple but elegant. Black leather couches are centered in a large entertainment room. There’s a huge TV, a billiards table, a full bar, and a view of Boston to die for. The low lighting sets the mood for our time together, and I cannot wait to have his hands all over me.
I turn around to say something else, but before I can utter a word, his lips are on mine.
His scent is intoxicating, and I’m quickly lost in his embrace. He pulls his lips away from me, and my eyes remain closed, hoping the break will be short. “Would you like a drink?” he whispers in my ear.
I catch my breath and open my eyes to see him smiling down at me.
“Just some water, please. I think I had enough alcohol at the bowling alley.”
“You got it.” He rushes into the kitchen and pulls out two bottles of water. He grabs two glasses from a cabinet.
“Oh, I can just drink from the bottle.”
“Oh no, you can’t,” he chides as he walks over to me. “We’re not in the bowling alley anymore. This is top shelf, baby,” he continues as he hands me the glass.
“Thanks.”
I walk over to the leather couches as I take a drink. He follows closely behind me as I put my glass on the coffee table.
“Watch this,” he smiles as he takes the remote off the table and clicks it into the air. Suddenly, we are surrounded by dim, purple light, and I am in awe of the view again.
“Impressive!” I smile at him.
Grabbing his hand, I walk him to the window to admire the city.
“Isn't Boston beautiful?”
“It is. But I'm not interested in Boston right now.”
He slides his hands around my waist and shifts his body behind me so that my back is on his chest. I feel safe and loved. I lean my head back, and his hand moves up my body, caressing every curve. He moves up my breasts to my neck, where he moves my hair out of the way. Soft kisses replace the touch of his hand. My breathing becomes heavier as he begins unbuttoning my blouse.
“I want to see this lingerie in person. And then I’m going to fuck you in it.”
My mouth betrays me as I let out a longing sigh. It has been too long, and my body is on fire with his touch. I shimmy out of my shirt, and he pushes my pants down, revealing the lacy red bra and panties that I enjoyed teasing him with earlier this week.
He backs away from me and drinks me in with his eyes.
“Holy. Fuck. You do not disappoint, Snowflake. My cock and I have been waiting for this moment for far too long.”
Reaching around my backside, he picks me up and pulls me close to his chest. He squeezes my ass as I wrap my legs around him. I go to kiss him, and he pulls his head back just a bit, and I cock my head a little in disappointment. Then, he surprises me by telling me what I never knew I always wanted him to say.
“I love you, Rory.”
My heart stops beating for a split second as I fully understand what he has just said. Then, without hesitating, my lips part, and I take a deep breath.
“I love you too.”
The kiss we share, after these words are spoken is like none we’ve shared. I melt into his embrace.
I will make sure tonight is a night he won’t forget.