Chapter 12
Xavier
Sitting in the best Mexican fusion restaurant in the country until closing and working through a bunch of corporate shit with the subject of my affections wasn’t on my bingo card. But I can’t say I didn’t enjoy myself.
The way his knuckles skimmed the back of my hand when we reached for our drinks, his eyes widening when I slid my thumb over his bottom lip to collect a few stray grains of rock salt he’d missed with his tongue, the way his eyes lingered on my lips as he dropped me off at my hotel for the night.
I have regrets.
Many, many fucking regrets. Not kissing him again? Regret. Not dragging him by those luscious black locks back to my hotel room? Regret. Not making plans for today? Biggest regret.
When I fell into bed last night, my rock-hard dick wouldn’t deflate, no matter how much I jerked off, no matter how much cum I milked from it. I woke up this morning with such a painfully raging boner that I’m considering going to Urgent Care.
My phone lights up on the bedside table next to me.
Artemis: Breakfast?
Part of me had worried that he’d wake up this morning and that crack, that blissful sliver of confidence would have been blocked up, and I’d never hear from him again.
Hope blooms like daffodils in spring in my chest. Breakfast, lunch, dinner, till death do us part… Whatever this man is open to with me, I’m here for. I’m all in.
My phone flashes with another message, this time it’s from one of my group members from school, and my stomach sinks. I missed our coworking session on Friday night to sort out the project. There’s a flutter of guilt that makes my insides clench, but I’ve covered for them plenty.
I’d ruin my near perfect GPA for this man.
I didn't just 'miss' the session; I sent them the completed risk-assessment models at 3:00 AM. In the world of finance, if you're the smartest person in the room, they don't care if you're doing it from a hotel bed in Iowa.
It isn't just about the grades though, I actually like the clean logic of a balanced ledger. In a world of chaotic puck bounces and Roman’s loud legacy, the numbers are the only thing that stay exactly where I put them, a quiet strength.
I may be a renowned playboy, but I’m also a fucking nerd, determined to get a good job with my finance degree— just in case hockey doesn’t work out for me. Because like it or not, not every good hockey player makes it into the NHL.
I’ll probably get a lower-than-normal grade for this project but it’s just one… right? One project out of an entire degree, it’s nothing. And yet my palms are breaking out in a sweat at the idea of not doing as well as usual.
I’m not trying to be better than my brother at hockey. It’s a fool’s errand. I’m trying to be better at life after hockey, because without the NHL, I’m not sure even Roman knows who he is. And at the end of the day, we’re all one bad injury away from spending the rest of our days on the bench.
It’s why I’m learning finance. I’m teaching myself the logistics of long-term capital; I want to know how to structure a sustainable endowment that can turn a one-time donation into a decade of free ice time for kids currently priced out of the game.
I’ve already started the paperwork for the Stick Together trademark. It’s ambitious, maybe even delusional for a college kid with a 3.5 GPA, but I gotta hope for something. If I can ever pull it off, this foundation will be my first real win that doesn’t require a scoreboard.
Another glance at my text from Artemis proves it was worth it. I’ve finally gotten his attention.
Goal Daddy: Your place?
Artemis: Edith Lucielle’s.
I can’t help smiling.
Goal Daddy: I hope you’re not fucking with me, Arte. I’m already getting dressed.
Artemis: I’m already in the car.
Goal Daddy: Foregoing the shower.
Goal Daddy: On my way!
I get there in record time, and he’s already ordered and is sipping an Americano while flicking through more paperwork. His whole life is documentation. Part of me itches to scatter all the loose pages over the floor and tell him to just leave it all for an hour.
My pulse trips at how strikingly gorgeous this man is, how criminally handsome his features are, from the slight bend in his nose from a couple bad blows over the years to the razor-sharp edge of his jaw.
He’s got a sexy as hell smolder going on right now, but the deep crevice between his brows smooths out when he sees me, though I can’t say he goes so far as to smile. I’ll take it.
“Morning.” He slides the seat out with his foot like he did at his mom’s restaurant. He’s picked a bigger table this time, a four-seater, so we won’t look quite as comically cramped as we probably did last night.
“Twice in two days. To what do I owe the pleasure?” My stomach does a flip as I take the seat and pull it toward the table. “Need more help getting your company in line?”
He slides his pages into a pile and tucks them all into a backpack at his feet. “Actually, I just wanted to see you.” His dark, chocolate eyes swirl with hesitation? Insecurity? Something that’s not quite his usual composed nature. “Is that okay?”
I grin at him, trying to offer some warm assurance. “Absolutely. I woke up regretting not taking you home with me last night.”
He drops his eyes to his mug as he fingers the edge of the saucer. Must admit, it’s nice to see one of the league’s toughest enforcers a little off kilter.
“Why are you pursuing me?” His voice is low, and he looks to both sides like he’s expecting someone to randomly appear.
“Better question, Smolder Soldier, why are you resisting me pursuing you?”
His lips twitch, and now I can’t stop looking at them.
The server comes and takes our order. Since I haven’t bothered to look at the menu, I just order whatever he’s having. Could be disgusting, could be something I’m allergic to, could be jumping into a cavern of fire, and I’ll follow Boardroom Batman to my demise.
Christ, I’m pathetic.
“I can’t afford to have any distractions this year.” He winces. “I’ve got shit to do. Like finish college.”
My confidence falters. I lean into him, bumping my hand against his and enjoying the rush of color into his face.
“I could be a fun distraction though, your favorite distraction even.” I wink at him, but before he can answer, we’re interrupted by the server, and the arrival of Artemis’s brothers who slide onto the seats next to us.
Oh shit. This wasn’t in the plan. Or was it? Did he do this? A quick inspection of Artemis’s face tells me this definitely wasn’t in the plan.
Ares helps himself to a slice of bacon. “We’re going to need a lot more food.” He directs his words to the server, but he doesn’t take his eyes off his brother’s sizzling cheeks.
Ares and Apollo give their really long orders to the server, while I keep my eyes on their brother who is probably shitting a brick right now.
I obsessively realign the heavy pewter silverware on the paper placemat, the cold steel a stark contrast to the heat rising in my face as the brothers squeeze into our booth, making the wooden bench groan under the sudden weight.
“What are you doing here?” Artemis’s voice is almost accusatory.
Apollo elbows him. “Stopped by your place to invite you to brunch. Imagine my surprise when I looked up your location on the app and found you were already here at Edith Lucielle’s.”
“Without us.” Ares clutches a hand to his chest before stealing another slice of Artemis’s bacon as well. “The audacity.”
We order a few extra things, because Artemis wants me to try damn near everything on the menu.
Between the four of us we will easily polish it all off.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask if he wants me to leave so I’m not getting in the way of brunch with his brothers when his foot hooks around mine under the table.
At least, I hope it’s his, because if Apollo is playing footsie with me, we have even bigger problems. My spine liquifies as his foot strokes the outside of my calf. I’m not surviving brunch. This is how I die. Rest in Peace Xavier Rafael Diego Martinez.
“I had plans.” Artemis says it as though we’ve had this date in the books for months, not just twenty minutes before it started.
“Xavier.” Apollo gives me a nod in greeting.
“Apollo.” I elbow Ares. “Ares.”
“Nice to see you again, Xavi. How’s things?” Ares takes the glass of OJ from the server’s tray and downs half of it in one go.
“Can’t complain. You?”
He nods. “Same old.”
We fall into a weird, companionable… situation of small talk, where Artemis and I eat our French toast, eggs, and whatever bacon Ares left both of us with. I sample the homemade biscuits and gravy—it’s not quite as good as Mom’s but it’s a solid runner up—and we fight over the Hickory sausage.
When Arte gets up to use the restroom—though part of me thinks he’s escaping his brothers for a breath of fresh air—Apollo pounces. “What’re your intentions with my brother, Martinez? Whatever you’re scheming… think again.”
It makes sense that he’s suspicious of me, maybe even Ares, too—despite the fact it’s down to him that we connected. Flirting with the enemy, or even worse, hanging out with the enemy isn’t a common occurrence. But my intentions are pure, even if we are from opposite sides of the ice.
There’s no point hiding it or beating about the bush. The de la Penas have a reputation, and not for nothing. They close ranks around their siblings, and they protect each other fiercely. So, I do the only thing I can in this situation and tell the truth. “I want to date him.”
I said it out loud. I really fucking said it. To his siblings as well. I want to cram the words back inside my dry as fuck mouth. I don’t date. I don’t think I even know how to date. Seems I know how to obsessively pursue someone just fine, though.
Artemis drops into his chair with a heavy thud right as the words come out of my mouth, and when our eyes meet it’s as though a full conversation passes between us. “Which is what we were trying to do before you two fuckers gate-crashed our breakfast.”
My jaw falls open.
Ares doesn’t miss a beat and hooks his knuckle under my chin to close my mouth. “Now, now, Hermano. You know if someone dates one of us…” He waves a hand.
“They date all of us.” Apollo’s assessing stare greets me over the rim of his coffee cup, and his voice is decidedly less amused than Ares’s.
Sigh. Seems I have a ways to go before I win over more than one of the de la Pena siblings. But if I don’t get space to win the most important one over… the rest don’t matter.
And if it gets me Arte, I’ll run the gauntlet of every last de la Pena there is.