Chapter 10
TEN
AARON
Juliette never did send me a video of herself getting off.
Not surprising, but somewhat disappointing, as I never shy away from a pair of nice boobs—but at least she’s proved to be consistently cutesy.
I also appreciate knowing she’s not that easy. She’s not showing off her pussy to anyone who asks, even though she’s obviously interested.
Unlike some people.
My helmet is at my feet, phone in hand, ass planted on the bench as my thumb hovers over the keypad. I’ve been sitting like this for at least three minutes while the rest of the guys finish removing their gear round me—tape ripping, blades scraping, laughter echoing in the locker room.
I barely hear any of it because Bailey’s name is on my screen.
Again.
Bailey: Can we talk? I need closure.
She needs closure?
Bailey: Please, I need you to hear me out.
Bailey: It won’t take long.
She is relentless.
It’s irritating.
The fucking nerve of this woman. Closure? She has the nerve to ask me for closure when she was the one cheating and sneaking around?
I lock my phone.
Unlock it to stare at her messages again.
Glance up in time to see Declan pretending not to stare at me. When our eyes lock, and I glower in his direction, he immediately looks away, the kid who got busted with his hand in the cookie jar and powdered sugar on his mouth.
He suddenly becomes very interested in his stick tape. His gloves. The floor. Literally anything that isn’t me.
More buzzing.
Bailey: I need five minutes of your time.
Five minutes?
To explain away over a year and a half?
That gets me. Has me tapping away at the letters and hitting send.
Aaron: You’ve already had more of my time than you were worth.
Harsh, I know, but I’m pissed.
Across the room, Storm is laughing about something, helmet under his arm, hair still damp from the shower, as if he’s the centerfold in a men’s cologne ad. Someone flicks a towel at his ass.
He dodges it.
Laughs and tosses a T-shirt.
Bailey: NOT WORTH IT? That was so rude. That actually hurt my feelings, you asshole.
Of course I’m the asshole here. Somehow, I am the villain.
Bailey: You don’t get to talk to me like that after everything we shared.
Shared?
Like she didn’t also share herself with my teammate, then act surprised when the math stopped mathing? I knew she was delusional, but I didn’t realize how crazy she was.
Aaron: I don’t??
Aaron: But like, are you going to beg me to forgive you? Why the hell would I EVER do that?
Bailey: It wouldn’t kill you to be a decent person about this.
Aaron: It wouldn’t? ’Cause from my perspective it would LOL.
Bailey: I made one mistake and you’re going to make me pay for it for the rest of my life?
That almost makes me laugh out loud. One mistake?
One, but it was a fucking doozy.
Aaron: You made a choice—and you were my girlfriend. It’s not like you were my wife. We were never going to make it, so…
Bailey: Now you’re just being cruel.
Aaron: No, that’s the reality.
I’m halfway through typing something I’ll probably regret when my phone buzzes again.
It’s Juliette.
My last message to Bailey is glowing below Juliette’s message. Angry and bitter, the unfinished business hijacking my entire afternoon.
I rub a hand over my face, already tired of this version of myself—a man who lets emotions get the better of him and speaks to people who do not serve my well-being. That is not who I am.
But I am someone who finishes what he starts.
Aaron: We’re done. Don’t text me again.
Send.
Then I open Juliette’s message.
Juliette: GOOD LUCK at your game tonight! Don’t let Storm trip over his own skates.
Her message is harmless; thoughtful in a way that feels sweet and, based on what little I know about her, I guess she probably attempted to text me forty times before hitting send on that one.
I imagine she’s in her bitty cubicle, fiddling with her phone instead of doing whatever they do in the player engagement office. Meanwhile, I’m surrounded by dipshits who’ve lost half their teeth and have gashes in their skulls and concussions to match.
The contrast isn’t lost on me.
Aaron: No game tonight. But I will be at the arena, just getting changed. Then I have to look at a game tape.
Juliette: OMG that’s right. I keep forgetting what day it is—this was the longest day ever, sorry.
Aaron: You’re one day early. Game is tomorrow.
Juliette: This makes me sound terrible at my job. I’m rolling my own eyes so hard I spaced on the game schedule when I work in the building? Someone take away my promotion. Eek!
Eek?
She is so fucking cute.
Adorable in a way that makes me feel like a goddamn ogre as I sit here glowering on a bench in the locker room, waiting to go into the team room to watch the film.
I roll my shoulders, the ever-present ache settling deep in the joints. Sweat cools on my skin, turning sticky and unpleasant beneath my pads. Glancing down at my hands, I squeeze my knuckles to inspect where they’re split. They’re raw, tape peeling at the edges.
I palm my phone, staring at the screen.
Aaron: You’re not terrible at your job. I never know what day it is. Easy mistake ha ha.
Juliette: You’re saying that to be nice.
Aaron: ME?? NICE? Stop, you’re saying that to be nice ;)
Juliette: Somehow I doubt you’re feeling all mushy right now.
Aaron: Wow. The disrespect.
Juliette: I grew up down the hallway from a professional athlete. I’m a very good judge of character.
Little does she know how far off the mark she is on that.
Aaron: And here you are texting me.
Juliette: I’m trying to get through the hard candy coating to your ooey gooey middle…
Little chance of that happening.
Aaron: My ooey gooey middle? LOL
I type while standing now, peeling my practice jersey up and over my head, sweat-damp fabric sticking for a second before coming free. I catch Declan’s eyes flicking to my hands and raise my brows at him.
“Boo.”
His presence is like a fart—rank, annoying, and persistent.
I go back to ignoring him. Set my phone on the bench so I can bend forward to untie my skate, pads half off. I tug and tug until they fall to the floor, then pick my cell up and type out a reply.
Aaron: Hate to disappoint you, but I’m literally nothing but hard candy shell.
Juliette: Blah. That’s what all the secretly soft people say. But I’m hopeful you’re not secretly a wolf in disguise.
Little optimist.
How na?ve she is—and how close to the truth.
Aaron: You’re very committed to this imaginary version of me.
Juliette: Someone has to be. Might as well be me.
Irritation prickles at the back of my neck. Yeah, being kind and caring is great. Being na?ve enough to think I have a gooey interior is not.
I frown down at her messages.
Juliette Kennedy is smart. Soft-spoken. Probably says sorry when someone bumps into her… and walking straight into my bear trap with eyes wide open. Shit, she’s not walking—she’s running.
Nearby, a throat clears.
When I look up, her idiot brother is watching me again, only this time, it looks like he has something to say to me. Declan edges closer, towel in his hands.
Aaron: Are you still in the building?
Juliette: Yes, I’m going over some folders for the charitable programs the Ice Wolves participate in. Like the children’s literacy program.
Aaron: Never heard of it.
Juliette: Oh you’d love it. Reading to kids at the library.
Aaron: That sounds awful.
Juliette: LOL
Aaron: I’m being serious. Reading to small children is my worst nightmare
Juliette: Yes, yes, you’re the big bag wolf *eyeroll*
Juliette: So the REAL reason I’m messaging you, now that I know you don’t have a game tonight, is to see if you wanted to hang out. Not like a date, just… hang out. Watch movies or whatever.
Or whatever.
I stare at the messages on my screen.
Slowly lift my eyes to look at her brother.
Declan’s jaw tightens when he realizes I’m grinning in his direction.
Aaron: I could chill and do movies. Or “whatever”
Aaron: Your place or mine?
Juliette: I’m open to either—I didn’t think this all the way through before throwing the idea out there.
Aaron: My place it is, if you’re sure you’re ready to visit the lion’s den.
Juliette: The LION’S den?? Is that bad?
Her back peddling is endearing.
Aaron: Depends.
Juliette: On…?
Aaron: How resilient and brave you actually are.
Three dots disappear and reappear, then disappear again.
My phone pings.
Juliette: I guess you’ll find out.
A low laugh rumbles out of my chest as I run my hand over the rough stubble on my jawline, a reminder that I should shave.
Declan takes another step closer, squaring his shoulders as if he’s trying to intimidate me.
“You got a problem?” I growl at him, mean-mugging him, dragging my eyes over his torso and finding him wanting. Besides, I’m too busy messing with his younger sister to pay him too much attention.
Oh, the irony…
So fucking good.
Seriously, I couldn’t have planned this better if I’d written a script.
I don’t break eye contact with him when I type.
Aaron: I guess I will.
Aaron: Here, let me shoot you my address. I don’t think your place is all that far from mine.
I hit send. Give Declan my best, placating smile.
“When you speak to your sister, tell her I said thanks for accepting my invite,” I say. “I’ll be a perfect gentleman.”
He goes still.
“You’re fucking with me.”
My mind goes to the HR policy and how much trouble she’d be in if this dipshit decides to take me seriously and turn his own sister into corporate to keep her away from me.
“Yes.” I pause to be theatrical. “I’m fucking with you.”
He studies the phone in my hands as though, if he looked hard enough, he’d be able to read the name glowing on my screen.
“You better be.”
Again, my brows rise. “Yeah? Or what?”
We regard each other hotly, tempers flaring, daring the other to blink.
The locker-room noise fades to a dull roar—metal doors slamming, pads clanging to the ground, laughter, staff giving orders—none of it registering in my brain. The air has been vacuum-sealed around the two of us.
Declan breaks contact first.
“You so much as mess with her head,” he says, voice low enough for my ears only, “and I will end you.”
I tilt my head.
Consider him.
My lips curl into a smile. “You’re as cute as she is when you get riled.”
His nostrils flare. “She is nothing like me.”
It’s a direct hit, and it lands where it was supposed to: my ego. The part of me that has always doubted how loveable I am—and how worthy I am of anything that lasts.
“No,” I say quietly. “She isn’t.”
He watches my face intently, searching for a crack in my well-placed armor. Some part of me that shows human emotion. Some part of me that he can find guilty.
He won’t find it because this isn’t about her.
This is about him.
It’s like the universe is handing me a knife, blade first…
“You think this is a game?” he asks.
I shrug. “Everything is a game to someone.”
Red faced, he steps closer. “You don’t get to use her to settle whatever messed-up scoreboard you keep in your head.”
If only he knew how accurate that was.
“But you’re right,” I say calmly, reaching for a clean shirt and pulling it over my head. “She’s not part of a game.”
She’s the chess board.
His hands curl into fists. “Stay away from her.”
“So you’ve said.”
He shakes his head. “You’re poison, dude.”
“Am I? Or are you the problem?”
My phone buzzes on the bench next to my thigh, and I glance down at it to read the message preview:
I can do 7? If that’s not too late?
Juliette, Juliette, you’re making this way too easy.
I slide my shoes on and tie them, mindful of the daggers being glared into my skull. Stand. Grab my jacket from the hook, slow and unhurried. Let him see how little this rattles me. How steady my hands are.
How controlled.
“She’s not collateral damage,” he snaps at me to regain my attention. “She’s my sister.”
I sling my bag over my shoulder and begin a slow stroll past him, close enough that I clip him.
“And?” I laugh. “What’s your point?”
“Bishop, I swear to fucking god. Can’t you be a decent human about this? My sister isn’t anything like the women we date. She’s not like—”
“Bailey?” I turn to look at him, dropping her name into the sentence to gauge his response. Sure enough, the color drains from his face.
His throat works like he’s trying to swallow a shard of glass.
“You’re the one who keeps bringing this shit up,” I go on calmly. “Not me.”
I snap my fingers. “Oh, hey. Speaking of which—Bailey keeps texting me to talk. I don’t know if you’re still fucking her or whatever, but just so you know, she texted me at least thirty times today.”
His mouth opens.
Closes.
“Well? Are you? Still fucking her?”
His eyes flicker to the shower stalls.
Back to me.
Away to the equipment manager’s office.
A slow, humorless smile pulls at my mouth. “That’s all the answer I need.”
He drags a hand down his face. “It wasn’t like that.”
“It’s never like that,” I say. “It’s always a misunderstanding. A weak moment. Too much to drink. Mercury was in retrograde.”
“Bishop—”
“You didn’t just screw my girlfriend,” I cut in quietly. “You screwed our friendship.”
He shuffles on his feet, wringing the towel in his hands. “It’s not like you and I were that close.”
“No?”
Guilt crosses his brows. “I didn’t mean—”
“Naw man, it’s cool,” I cut in. “When I went to your place because I was worried about you, I didn’t realize you couldn’t give a shit about me.”
Silence stretches between us, thick and ugly as our teammates buzz around us, going about their business, oblivious to the tension.
“I never meant for it to get that far with her,” Declan admits, finally looking ashamed.
“And yet it did,” I say. “Funny how that works when you can’t keep your dick in your pants.
” I inhale a deep breath. “Well. I have to go watch film, but do me a favor, would you? Tell Bailey to save her battery. I blocked her this afternoon and, if you were smart, you would too. Some advice? The way you get them is the way you lose them.”
She’ll cheat on him, too. Go after a bigger prize with a bigger wallet and a bigger cock.
“Fuck you,” he mumbles. But there’s no heat behind it; the fight is slowly leaving his body, replaced by shame.
“Fuck me? Already been done,” I say mildly, shooting him my winningest smile. “Sleep good tonight.”
I don’t wait for his reply.
Pushing through the locker-room door, I let it swing shut behind me, cutting the noise as cold air from the hallway blasts me.
I check my phone.
Juliette: I’m kind of nervous now.
Aaron: Don’t be. I don’t bite.
Hard.