Chapter Seven
Giddy Up
Carter
Zamboni stared at me like I’d lost my goddamn mind.
Which, to be fair, maybe I had.
“Does this shirt make me look like I’m trying too hard?”
The golden retriever pup I’d adopted in November just tilted his head, tongue lolling out like the himbo he was, tail thumping against the kitchen cabinets with a rhythmic thud-thud-thud.
I’d changed shirts three times already, finally landing on a plain black tee that hugged my arms just enough to show the toned muscles from wielding a stick on the ice without screaming look at me, I lift weights.
I’d paired it with some light gray joggers, and since it was my house Livia was coming to, I didn’t put on shoes, just acted like it was a normal Sunday evening at home.
I was aiming for casual. Cool. Collected.
Totally not sweating bullets over the fact that Livia-fucking-Young was on her way over to boss me around again, and I’d jerked off about ten times in the past few days preparing for it.
I ran a hand through my hair and turned in a slow circle, checking the living room for anything out of place.
The vacuum lines on the rug were still visible, which felt like a win.
Candles were lit. The lights were low, music soft in the background — not the beat-heavy music that Livia had on in her condo, but a jazzy, chill playlist I usually saved for post-practice decompression.
Zamboni let out a low woof and pawed at his water bowl.
“Don’t worry, Zambo. You’ve got nothing to worry about.
” I refilled his water before patting his butt.
“You only almost chewed her shoe to bits at Aleks and Mia’s wedding.
It’s not like you actually did. And how could she not love you?
She has to. Look at you.” I crouched to scratch behind his ears, his whole body wiggling with joy.
“But just in case, maybe try to avoid jumping up and slobbering all over her, okay?” I stood, smoothing my hands over my shirt. “That’s my job.”
I took a breath, scanning the place one more time like Livia might show up with a white glove and a clipboard to inspect it.
My house was small by pro athlete standards, but it was all I needed. It had a modern coastal vibe and was tucked away at the edge of a canal that fed into the Hillsborough River. It was quiet, peaceful, and just ten minutes from the arena.
Perfect.
The whole back wall was floor-to-ceiling glass, opening up to a deck with string lights, a pair of well-worn Adirondack chairs, my paddleboard, and the boat I barely used enough to justify owning.
Inside, the colors were light and clean — white walls, pale wood floors, navy blue and gray accents.
A few framed jerseys lined one hallway, along with a shelf of game pucks and photos from my rookie season.
My bag of golf clubs rested in the corner, serving as décor as much as any vase would.
I didn’t pretend to be an interior designer. Everything was minimal and masculine. Lived-in, but not messy.
I’d never once given a single shit about my place and how it would appear to anyone other than me until this very moment.
Something about knowing Livia would be inside these walls any minute now had me on edge. She’d seen me naked. She’d quite literally sat on my face. She knew about my insecurities, about all the ways I fell short and needed her help.
But somehow, this felt more vulnerable than any of that.
It was nerve-wracking, letting her into my space and hoping she would like what she saw, that she’d feel something other than amusement for the man who called it home.
I heard the purr of her car when it pulled into my driveway — and even if I hadn’t, Zamboni barking his head off would have given away her arrival.
I put him in his crate, promising him I’d let him out quickly if he was a good boy, and then I made my way toward the door at the sound of three punctuated knocks.
I tried to play it cool, but I was triple checking everything in my head.
Wine decanted and ready to pour? Check.
A board of meat, cheese, fruits and olives on my kitchen island just in case she’s hungry? Check.
Electrolyte drinks in the fridge? Check.
Heart pounding like a fucking war drum in my chest?
Checkity-check-check.
With one last deep breath, I plastered on my best relaxed smile and opened the door.
Livia stood on the other side like an award-winning photograph, everything about her so sexy and put-together, it almost seemed impossible to be real.
Her hair was down tonight, straight and silky, falling like a glossy curtain over her shoulders and brushing the tops of her arms. A brown cowboy hat sat snug on her head, the brim casting the perfect shadow across her face and only adding to the drama of her entrance.
Her makeup was soft but striking — long lashes framed those sharp eyes, her skin was glowing with a golden warmth, and her lips shimmered with a nude gloss that made my gaze drop to her mouth instantly.
I knew she clocked that little slip when the edges of her lips quirked up.
She wore a sheer black dress that tied just beneath her chest, the fabric fluttering open to reveal the high-cut leopard shorts underneath, and a statement belt that gleamed at her waist like a warning sign.
Or an invitation.
Chunky silver jewelry glinted at her wrist and collarbone, and the whole look was tied together with a pair of worn-in brown cowboy boots.
She looked like the kind of trouble that shows up on your doorstep after you told her to stay away, unbothered and breathtaking, just to see if you’ll break and let her in.
And I just couldn’t help myself.
I whistled low as I leaned against the doorframe, letting my gaze rake down and back up again.
“Well butter my biscuits,” I said, shaking my head with a grin. “I didn’t realize it was country night, but you can ride me any time, cowgirl.”
Livia hit me with the slowest blink of all time.
Undeterred, I doubled down. “If I had a nickel for every time you’ve taken my breath away, I’d be able to buy the whole damn rodeo for you, sweetheart.”
I was pretty proud of the country accent I managed with that one, but Livia just pressed her lips together in a tight line, hand finding her hip as she cocked one eyebrow up.
Fine. Time to bring out the big guns.
“I’m pretty sure it’s outlaw behavior, looking that good in cowboy boots,” I said, lifting my hands like I was just the messenger. “And I’m afraid I’ll have to make a citizen’s arrest.”
That did it.
She fought it, her lips tightening as she tried to keep her poker face, but a laugh snuck through before she could stop it, her head dipping for a beat. When she looked back up at me, there was a smile pulling at her lips.
“You done?”
I pushed off the doorframe and gave a little shrug. “Honestly, I could go all night. But I think the plans you have in mind for us would be a lot more fun for all involved.”
Then I stepped aside, gesturing her in with all the cowboy charm I could muster.
“Come on in, cowgirl.”
It was impossible not to ogle that woman’s ass as she passed me, but I kept the yee-haw I wanted to holler out loud at the sight of it tucked securely between my teeth.
She set her oversized leather purse on the table just inside, taking a quick glance around my place with a look I couldn’t decipher before she turned to face me just as I closed the door behind us.
“In the spirit of our agreement, since you are a paying customer, I feel like I should take this opportunity to teach you that every single one of those lines made you seem eager and inexperienced.”
“Should I bend over for this lashing or?”
“Is that really how you act around other women, or is it only me who gets the unfortunate blunders?”
“I’m afraid my one-of-a-kind charm is a gift I must share with the world,” I said, pressing a hand to my chest. “But don’t be jealous, cowgirl. I save my best ones for you.”
“Clearly.” She sighed, but that smile was playing at the edge of her lips again. “You don’t have to try so hard. You don’t have to make it some cute, on-theme compliment. What a woman really wants is to get your guttural, instinctual reaction.”
“So, she does want me to drool on her!” I snapped my fingers at the crate where Zamboni was patiently waiting for his release, his tail wagging, tongue flopped out of his mouth. “You were right, buddy. I owe you a bully stick.”
Livia eyed the pup over her shoulder before turning back to me.
“What I want, and what most other women want, is for you to show me that one look has already driven you out of your mind. I want to see how badly you want me, but I don’t want you to make a joke of it.
I want to feel your desire, your restraint. We don’t need clever. We need real.”
She took three, slow, purposeful steps toward me then, the heels of her boots tapping against my floor in a way that scratched an itch in my brain.
She was an inch taller than me at the moment, with me barefoot and her wearing those boots, and she tilted her head at me, tongue toying with the corner of her lip as she sized me up.
“Try again,” she purred.
And I knew without asking that it was a demand — not a request.
Livia walked past me, opened and shut my door, and then knocked again.
Poor Zamboni lost his mind, and I assured him he’d be free as soon as I passed this test. I waited until he calmed before I opened the door.
Livia stood there just like before, and this time, I tried to lean into her instruction, to do what she’d asked.
I let my eyes trail the length of her as my brain whirred to catch up, and I thought I might have actually won the lottery in this lesson, since it meant I got to unabashedly check her out again.
Focus.
Listen to your gut.
Say what you really feel.
Be real.
Don’t choke.
That last internal thought was one all too familiar, one that stung like a snake bite. It was impossible to escape its teeth that sank into me, but I did my best not to show it on the outside.