Chapter 17
seventeen
. . .
Al
The Boston Grizzlies Foundation’s Fall Gala is held in a swanky hotel ballroom in the historic Back Bay neighborhood. Some of my teammates live on this side of town, but even hockey players with our salaries can barely afford to live here.
The thing about these charity events is they’re all the same. Sure, they all support worthwhile causes, and yes, it’s exciting at the start, but rubbing elbows with the Boston elite is not my idea of a fun time.
These are the same people who look down on me for the part of town I grew up in and the secondhand gear I wore growing up. Between Tony’s gymnastics fees, my hockey equipment, and all the sports Cari played, money was tight. My parents worked tirelessly to make sure we could do the things we loved.
And look how it turned out; all three of us became professional athletes.
Tony’s had a successful decade and a half elite gymnastics career, he’s in veterinary school, and he has two Olympic medals to his name.
Cari’s nascent career is off to a booming start.
She competed at the same Olympics as our brother, and nabbed a team gold medal.
I don’t begrudge my siblings’ medals. I know that in two years, when the Winter Olympics come around, I’ll get my shot. I didn’t make the team’s short list last quad, but I’ve been working my ass off the last few years to get to where I’m at now. My time will come.
“We can do this,” I mutter under my breath, and Riley glances at me with her eyebrows raised.
“What was that?”
“We can do this.” I offer her my hand, and when she takes it, warmth floods through my entire system. “We can escape at any time.”
“I’m sure it won’t be that bad… Right?” She doesn’t look certain, though.
“Oh, it’ll be hell. But we can do it together.”
“We need a code word,” she says. “If you’re in over your head or need a break, just say… pizza. And I’ll find a way to excuse us.”
“Fuck, that’s brilliant. I could kiss you right now.”
She frowns, a little wrinkle forming between her brows, and I want to kiss it away.
“Better not.”
My stomach sinks. “Right. We have a good thing going.” I already fucked it up by kissing her in the suite yesterday. The last thing we need is to make our working relationship even more awkward.
Riley touches the amethyst around her neck. “Exactly.”
Squeezing her hand, I urge her forward, and together we enter the ballroom. It’s decorated in black and gold everywhere—the team’s colors.
“Do you want a drink?” I ask, as a waiter beelines for us.
“Oh. Yes, please.”
We untangle our hands as I take a champagne flute from his tray, her fingertips brushing mine as I pass it over nearly making me slosh the alcohol all over us. I clear my throat as I take a second flute for myself, then my hand finds the small of her back.
“Thank you,” she says, offering a smile to the waiter, who nods and moves on. She takes a sip and wrinkles her nose. “I always forget how much I hate champagne.”
“There’s a bar. I can get you whatever you want.”
She laughs. “I don’t think a place like this will have jungle juice.”
“Hey, if that’s what my wife wants…”
Her hand lands on my chest. “I’m kidding. But I won’t say no to a vodka Sprite or a rum and Coke. Something sweet so I can’t taste the alcohol, but not so sweet I’ll get wasted.”
“You got it. Let’s do a lap, then we’ll find our way to the bar.”
After we set our still-full champagne flutes down on a nearby table, my hand lands on her back again. The innocent contact grounds me as we join the party.
We’ve barely made it five feet when a fan accosts us. For some reason, I like the dude-bros who find me on the street better than the slick guys in suits at these types of events. They’re authentic in a way these guys are not.
Maybe because if I hadn’t made it, I would be one of those dude-bros. Living in my hometown, working my ass off to make ends meet, all so I can play a few games of beer league hockey and watch the matches on my TV.
It’s still such a foreign concept to me to have money in my bank account.
The two years I played in the AHL, I was lucky to afford rent on the house I shared with five other guys on the team.
Once I was called up to the big leagues, I earned the league-minimum salary.
It was still above the average salary in Phoenix, but nowhere close to the millions I earn now.
When I signed my big contract last summer, I paid off my parents’ house, and they were able to retire with my abuela to Florida and escape the harsh winters. I have enough in the bank to be comfortable, but if my career winds up in the toilet, I’ll need to rely on those funds to support my family.
My daughter. My wife.
“Do you have a favorite pizza place around here?” Riley asks the fan, and I startle back to the conversation.
The fan responds with the name of a bougie pizzeria, and I clear my throat.
“It was great chatting with you, man. I need to get my wife a drink. Excuse us.”
Grabbing hold of Riley’s hand, I lead her away, and she lets out a sigh of relief.
“Sorry I left you hanging,” I apologize as we head to the bar—for real, this time. “I got a little overwhelmed.”
“You’re fine.”
I stop in my tracks, turning to face her. “It’s not fine. This is my job, and I didn’t hold up my end of the bargain. You shouldn’t have to—”
“Al.” She lays her hand on my arm, and I feel her touch like a brand straight through to my soul. “It was small talk. I can handle that in small quantities. It’s fine.”
“But—”
“Are you going to do it again?” She raises her eyebrows expectantly.
“No.”
“Then it’s fine. It won’t happen again.”
Blowing out a breath, I tug her into a hug before I can recognize what I’m doing. But it feels right. Her small body pressed to mine, her soft curves against my hard muscles.
Slowly, her arms come up to wrap around my waist, and I bury my face in her hair. Her perfume, sweet and floral with a woodsy undertone, tickles my nose in the best way possible.
“There you are!” MacGregor’s voice calls from behind me. I cling to Riley tighter, not ready to face the music.
My captain claps me on the shoulder. “You can’t hide all night.”
“Watch me,” I mutter. But I disentangle from my wife, immediately reaching for her hand. “You remember MacGregor, right?”
“Aidan,” he says, offering his hand for a shake. “Nice to see you again.”
“This is some party,” Riley says, gesturing at the room.
“My sister’s on the foundation board,” he boasts. “This event is her baby. They put on three a year, all supporting different causes.”
“That’s admirable,” she says. “It seems like a lot of work.”
“We work hard, but we play harder.” He winks, and she giggles.
Red-hot ire floods my system. How dare he flirt with my wife right in front of me. My hand curls into a fist, and I take a deep breath.
Before I can do or say anything rash, Riley squeezes my hand. “We were on our way to the bar. Do you want to join us?”
“Sure.” MacGregor tips his head in that direction, and the three of us finally reach the drink line without further interruption. “How did you like the game?”
“It was fun. I’d never been before.”
I stare at my wife. “To the Grizzlies?”
“To a hockey game. In real life.” Her cheeks flush a pretty pink, and I want to know what else I can do to make her blush. “I’m from Arizona, which isn’t exactly a hockey hotbed, and it’s not like there was a lot of leftover money after bills and everything…”
“We’ll fix that,” I promise, squeezing her arm. “Any game you want to go to, we’ll get you there.”
MacGregor laughs. “We get comped tickets to each game,” he adds.
I shake my head. “It’s not about that. I’ll pay full sticker price. What my wife wants, she gets.”
Riley’s eyes widen. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I want to.” The bartender nods us forward, and I nudge her. “Vodka or rum?”
“Vodka, please.”
“Coming right up. A vodka Sprite, and an Old Fashioned.” I turn back to MacGregor. “What about you?”
“I’m good,” he says, holding up his glass of clear liquid with a lime wedge. He never drinks when we go to the bar after a game, so that he has one now is unexpected.
Unless he’s drinking something nonalcoholic. That’s an option, too.
The bartender pours our drinks and I stuff some bills into the tip jar before handing Riley her glass. She gives me a shy smile as I knock my glass against hers.
“Cheers.”
Taking her first sip, she hums with pleasure, the sound deep in the back of her throat, and I freeze, wondering what else causes her to make that noise. Heat floods my system and I stumble.
“You all right, there?” MacGregor asks, a knowing smirk on his lips.
“Fuck off.”
“Hey, look, there’s Bex,” Riley says, nodding to her friend.
The redhead looks beautiful in a floor-length emerald dress, but there’s no comparison. Riley is gorgeous. She outshines every other person at this party. It’s like there’s a spotlight trained on her, following her around the room. I can’t take my eyes off her.
“Let’s go say hello.” I start after her, but my captain catches my arm, holding me back.
“You like her,” he taunts, his voice low.
“Of course I like her. She’s my wife.”
“No. You like her.” He waggles his eyebrows. “Anything happen between you two yet?”
“What is this ‘yet’ business? You know the score as well as I do. That’s not what our relationship is about.”
“Except you want it to be.”
Scowling, I go to shove past him. “Fuck off.”
“Hey. Don’t blame me for your lack of sealing the deal.”
By the time we return home, I’m exhausted and emotionally drained from having to interact with so many people.
Typically, being around other people energizes me, but all they did was prevent me from spending time with Riley, interrupting and being all needy.
Sure, I’m only there to encourage donations.
But they didn’t have to cockblock me all night.
Not that it was cockblocking, per se. More like conversation blocking.
We send Cari home and both peek in on Emmy, who’s fast asleep in her crib. Riley pauses at her door, like she wants to say something, but then she sighs and shakes her head.
“Goodnight.”
I want to ask her what’s wrong. I need to know what made her sigh. More importantly, I don’t want this night to end.
But I don’t know how to tell her that without scaring her off.
“Sweet dreams,” I murmur, ducking down and kissing her cheek. Her floral shampoo washes over me, settling my nerves deep in my belly.
Her mouth drops open in surprise, her eyes widening. She swallows, the sound loud in the quiet hallway.
“Al…”
“Have a good night.”
Wrenching myself away, I stumble back, then force myself to walk the three paces to my bedroom door.
I make quick work of undressing. My suit jacket smells like her perfume, light and refreshing, and my cock hardens in my pants. I debate taking a shower to rub one out, but I don’t want to wash her scent away.
The soft flannel brushes against my semi as I slip beneath the sheets, and I squeeze the base of my cock, trying to stave off the blood flowing south.
In the room next door, I can hear the squeaky wheels of Riley’s dresser drawers stuttering along the tracks, and the soft thud of the drawer closing. I wonder what she wears to bed. An oversized T-shirt? Matching pajamas? A satin nightie? Nothing at all?
I can’t be thinking of my wife this way.
She looked drop-dead gorgeous tonight. The way the dress I picked out clung to her curves, my necklace shining in the hollow of her throat, my ring on her finger…
I was battling a semi most of the evening, and every time she touched my arm or held my hand, it took everything in me not to lean over and kiss her.
I wish I had. Wish I’d given in to the urges running rampant through me.
My cock throbs, and I might not be able to act on them in real life, but I can indulge in the fantasies in my mind. I give myself a firm stroke from root to tip, pleasure coiling deep in my gut.
We look good together. Our relationship works well as it is. We don’t need to change anything.
Even if I desperately want to.
In the next room, the old wooden bedframe creaks, the muted noise barely audible. Riley is in her bed only a few feet away. What if she came into mine? Knocked on my door, crawled into bed beside me, and wrapped her lips around my cock?
I’m rock hard now, and I reach for the lube in my bedside drawer. Can she hear me now? I stroke myself faster, fucking up into my fist. Every sense is heightened, my skin covered in goose bumps. Each breath I take punches from my lungs.
As I touch myself, I think of the way Riley felt in my arms. She fits perfectly against me, as if she were made for me, or maybe I was made for her. My hand moves faster, sensation hurtling through me while I twist my wrist at the head. Sticky precum trails down my shaft, and my gut tightens.
My wife. Mine.
I bite my fist to keep from making a sound as pleasure washes over me. Cum fills my palm, and I stroke myself through my orgasm, lightning aftershocks making my thighs tingle.
Breathing hard, I sink back onto my pillows. Did I really just do that? Did I cross eight thousand boundaries by getting myself off to the thought of my wife?
After a few minutes, the stickiness in my hand prompts me to get out of bed. Quickly, I clean myself up, then crawl naked beneath the sheets. It feels empty. Enormous. I wish Riley were beside me.
But that’s never going to happen. It’s time I accepted that.