Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
cole
The team ends the year in the best way: by beating one of our biggest rivals.
It’s why Logan’s throwing back tequila shots like he’s at an all-inclusive bar in Mexico.
It’s why Cam’s shirt is completely unbuttoned, showing off his tattooed torso.
And it’s why Erickson ripped the back of his pants while dropping it low.
With the mix of EDM, hip-hop, and pop, along with killer cocktails and a dive bar vibe with high-end decor, it’s no surprise this club is a magnet for celebrities and influencers.
One would think my teammates would dial it back with all the phones filming us, but they’re not concerned. I don’t necessarily blame them.
We’re set up at a table next to the DJ booth and dance floor, but instead of celebrating the win or soaking up the scene, I’m checking my phone to see if Maya’s texted me back.
Cole Berrett
How’s karaoke? Winning a Grammy anytime soon?
Maya Silver
No one can sing Taylor Swift better than Taylor Swift, Cole. Don’t be ridiculous.
But I will admit I do a pretty good All Too Well.
Cole Berrett
10-minute version?
Maya Silver
The fact that you know about Taylor’s 10-minute version just turned that very innocent text into a sext.
Cole Berrett
I aim to please. ;)
Maya Silver
Time for me to sing backup on Bohemian Rhapsody. Enjoy your strippers!
Cole Berrett
I’m at a club, not a strip club.
And even if it was one, I’d rather be at karaoke with you.
Maya Silver
Well, duh. I’m kind of amazing.
A slender body bumps into mine and I come face-to-face with the redhead who’s been eye-fucking my crotch from across the dance floor for the past thirty minutes.
She looks vaguely familiar, but I can’t place how or why.
It’s probably because she resembles almost every girl in this club, short skirt and crop top and all.
I’m not one to judge, but this place feeds every LA stereotype about influencers.
“Hi there. Want some company?” Her husky voice is like nails on a chalkboard.
The high I was feeling after Maya’s last text vanishes, and I fix my expression into something resembling a polite smile. I’m not interested, but I can’t flat-out ignore her. I’m not that much of a dick. “You’re more than welcome to sit.”
“Thank you.” She taps her sparkly nails against her overly plump lips. “What are you drinking?”
Humor rolls through me at the question. Not because of this woman, but because I can’t help but reminisce about the time I asked Maya that same question in a lame attempt to start a conversation.
The redhead, no doubt assuming the smile is for her, rests her hand on my arm like she has the right to do so. Four or five months ago, I’d be flattered by the attention. Now, I’m slightly annoyed by it.
“I’m drinking a Grey Goose martini with a twist,” she says. She leans super close as she adds, “Extra dirty.”
The club may be loud, but the innuendo in her voice is clear, nonetheless. She waits for me to respond, probably with a comment about how I like my sex how she likes her drinks, but my lips stay zipped.
“I’m Roni,” she says.
If she expects that to mean anything to me, she’ll be sorely disappointed. “Nice to meet you. I’m Nicholas.”
“I know who you are.” She giggles and playfully squeezes my arm. “That workout video you did with Adidas was amazing.”
“Thanks.”
She pulls an olive off a toothpick with her teeth, lashes fluttering. “What sort of pre-workout do you use?”
I frown at her, confused. Is she really trying to pick me up by asking about my pre-workout routine? It takes more energy than it should not to scoff. “A mix of stuff.”
“If you’re looking for another one, I just launched my own whey protein powder line,” she announces. “It’s called Ripped by Roni.”
For the next ten minutes and thirty-four seconds, Roni tells me all about her life journey from Vegas stripper to fitness influencer who now has her own brand of workout supplements.
All the while, I envision ways to fake my own death.
I don’t have to even look at the ingredient list to know I wouldn’t touch her stuff with a ten-foot pole.
Not after she tells me her most popular flavor is banana bread.
When one of my teammates interrupts our conversation to ask for a photo with her, I use the distraction to my advantage and make my escape. There’s an open seat next to Cameron, so I slide into it quickly, not bothering to worry about why the faux leather is so sticky.
“She’s hot as fuck,” he says, nodding to Roni. “You’re not interested?”
“Definitely not.”
He lets out a low whistle. “Damn. Maya’s got you whipped already.”
“Yup,” I admit without an ounce of shame.
Maya’s a beautiful enigma I’d be happy to spend all my time unraveling.
She’s open yet guarded. Playful yet serious.
Tough yet sensitive. Independent yet deeply connected to those she cares about.
Outgoing yet a homebody. She’s brought out the laid-back side of me that I thought I’d lost. And based on our chemistry, I have no doubt the sex will be mind-blowing.
“You’ve got to lock that down before you get a serious case of blue balls, Berrett.”
With a grunt, I shrug off his amusement at the deeply intimate relationship I’ve developed with my hand.
I want more than just the pretty parts with Maya.
I want the bad days, the ugly crying, and the bitchy moods, too.
And if that means taking it at her pace and jerking off instead of fucking her senseless, then that’s what I’ll do.
“Anyway,” Cam says, bringing his drink to his lips, “I heard a rumor.”
“About?”
“The Devils.”
My ears perk up like Goose’s do when I say outside or play ball. “What about them?”
“Rumor is Rogers is retiring after the playoffs.” He turns my way, one brow arched. “His wife just gave birth to twins, and his rotator cuff may need another surgery.”
“Madoff can’t fill his shoes.” I shake of my head. “They’d need to trade…” I trail off as his words connect in my head.
My contract with the Bobcats includes a full no-movement clause.
No trades without my agreement. That kind of protection isn’t handed out lightly.
I earned it. In the four years I’ve been with the Bobcats, a few opportunities have come up.
I listened to each pitch, sure, but moving to a new team mid-season when I’ve put so much blood, sweat, and tears in with the Bobcats never felt quite right.
Besides, moving someone like me isn’t easy.
The salary cap alone can be a challenge.
And I know my worth. It’d take more than one player and a draft pick to balance that scale.
The only team I’d happily be traded to is my hometown team.
And if their star player retires and they’re in the market for a new center, especially one with my skill? Then I’d be stupid not to consider it.
Cameron nods at my shell-shocked expression. “As I said, it’s just a rumor, but it’s something to keep your eye on. Tell Mark.”
If my agent wasn’t in the Bahamas ringing in the New Year with his new fiancée, I’d already be on my way back to my hotel room to call him. “Thanks for looking out, man. Appreciate it.”
“Any time, Cap.”
I take a long sip of my drink, sorting through the multitude of thoughts suddenly bombarding me. It may be a very happy New Year, indeed.
The hotel breakfast area is filled with familiar faces, most of whom look severely hungover.
A ten-a.m. flight on New Year’s Day is brutal, and likely Coach Henderson’s attempt to keep the guys from letting the night get too wild.
Based on the condition most of my teammates are in, his plan failed. Epically.
The breakfast selection features all the staples—oatmeal, mini boxes of cereal, questionable-looking eggs, and a bread and pastry basket. I toast a sesame bagel, smother it in whipped creamed cheese, and pour myself a coffee before sliding into the open seat between Jake and Logan.
“Happy New Year,” I greet them.
With a nod, Jake picks up his glass of extra-pulpy orange juice. “You, too. Where’s Davies?”
Shrugging, I bring my coffee to my lips.
The moment the flavor registers, I grimace.
I don’t consider myself a snob, but with the money management paid to put us up here, one would think they’d have the funds for an upgrade from this watered-down crap they call coffee.
Maybe the Boston Bean has spoiled me, but this stuff is terrible.
“I don’t know. Still sleeping, I would assume. ”
We started the night together, but we sure as hell didn’t end it that way.
When I dipped out at exactly 12:04 a.m., Cameron’s night was only just beginning.
The last I saw him, he was being pulled to the dance floor by a five-foot pixie.
His size may help him on the ice, but it most definitely does not lend well to the dance floor.
I briefly debated staying longer just to watch him make an ass of himself, but in the end, I decided a decent night’s sleep was more important.
Logan slices into the soggy pancake on his plate but doesn’t say a word. He’s being uncharacteristically quiet, which puts me on edge.
“Hungover?” I nudge him with an elbow, baiting him into a conversation.
Rather than answer, he slowly stuffs a piece of pancake into his mouth and chews. Okay, then.
“He’s mad at you,” Jake explains. Now that I’m really looking at him, he’s glaring at me as well.
Great. It’s been eight hours since I last saw them, and considering I was asleep for about seven of them, that leaves a one-hour window where I apparently fucked up.
If Logan were the only one pouting, I’d brush it off.
After all, he once got upset with me for not noticing his haircut.
But if Jake’s pissed off, too, that legitimizes the claim.
Pushing an annoyed breath through my lips, I place my coffee cup back on the table. “What did I do?”
“More like who did you do?” Logan drops his fork to the table with a clang. “I leave the club thirty minutes before midnight so I can have an orgasm as the clock strikes mid—”
Jake lurches forward, peering around me. “I’m sorry. So you can what?”
“Have an orgasm at midnight.” Logan rolls his eyes. “It’s a great way to end one year and enter the next.”
Jake opens and closes his mouth like a fish, wide eyes darting to me. Any annoyance he has with me is completely sidetracked by Logan’s admission.
I take a bite of my bagel. “You left the club early to jerk off?”
Logan scoffs. “Obviously not. Elliott and I were having phone sex, but had to coordinate—”
“Dude,” I cough out and lean back, wishing I could rewind time and stop myself from asking. “No. Keep that shit to yourself.”
Logan picks up his fork again, squeezing hard enough that his knuckles go white. “Why? It’s not like there’s any way he’ll be your brother-in-law now. Not after who you spent the night with.”
I throw my hands up. “Can someone fill me in? Because I seriously have no idea what you’re talking about. I went to bed alone and woke up that way, too.”
With a grunt and far too much drama, he slaps his phone onto the table. When I stare at him blankly, he nudges it toward me.
Head shaking, I give in and lean forward.
He’s got a post from Page Six’s Instagram pulled up, and in it is a photo some lucky amateur photographer with a cell phone must have captured.
The image is of the fraction of a second after midnight when Roni jumped on me like a damn kangaroo and kissed me like I was receiving CPR.
Fuck.