Chapter 17
CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN
ELI
“What’s going on? Why haven’t you all gone home?” I ask Goran. Half of them are still in the locker room despite the fact I told them to call it a day an hour ago. I check my watch. It’s almost six-thirty. I have things to do.
Telling them about the exhibition match was a mistake. I should have saved that little bombshell for tomorrow. They’ve all been behaving like overexcited kids, trying to guess who’ll be playing on the All-Star team, and then pretending to beat them.
It’s exhausting.
“Just waiting on Carter,” Goran says. “He has a minor problem.”
An icy shiver wracks down my spine. “What kind of problem?” I ask, my voice low. We have two games this week. We can’t afford to be without our best center.
“His girlfriend is pregnant.”
“What?”
“We don’t know if she’s pregnant,” Max points out.
“Good point.” Goran shrugs. “She thinks she’s pregnant. He’s on FaceTime with her while she does the test.”
“Where is he?” I look around the locker room. It’s a damn mess. I’m going to have to read them the riot act again tomorrow.
Make them write it out on a chalkboard a hundred times.
My mess is nobody’s responsibility but mine.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. Was I as much of a punk as these guys when I was starting out in my career?
Probably. But I was drafted straight into the NHL and we had all the support money could buy.
Your apartment needs cleaning? Great, the team has a list of cleaners to choose from.
You need some clothes for a night out? We’ll hook you up with our stylist.
Seriously, I was more babied than these guys could even imagine. I find it embarrassing to think about now.
“He’s in the bathroom,” Goran says, pointing at the door. “We’re giving him some privacy.”
A loud whoop comes from said bathroom. Then the door flings open and Carter comes running out.
“You’re gonna be a daddy?” Goran asks.
“Nope! A single line, baby.” Carter does a little dance. “No little Carters for me.”
I clear my throat. His eyes slowly scan the room before landing on me. “Uh, hi Coach.”
“Do I need to give you a lecture on condoms?” I ask him.
“No, sir.”
“Good.” Because I’d feel like a fraud. I was bareback in a woman who gave me her word she has a contraceptive implant last night. Who the hell am I to talk?
But it was Mackenzie. And you trust her.
Yeah, isn’t that the kicker? I trust her so much I want to do it all over again. Multiple times.
“Now clear up this mess and get your asses home.” I pull my phone out and write a quick message to Mackenzie to make it 7:15 and not 7. There’s no way I’m having her walk into a locker room that smells of sweaty hockey balls.
Carter is so hyper than he does most of the cleaning by himself, all the while giving the others a running commentary on how he would have made a great dad if his girlfriend really had been knocked up.
I sit in the corner and stare at my notes for plays this week, pretending I’m not listening, but eventually it grates on my nerves.
“Okay,” I say, standing up. “You’re all done. You can go.”
“But there are still clothes to pick up,” Carter points out. Doesn’t stop him from looking hopeful.
“I’ll finish.”
He frowns. “Really?”
“Yes, really. Just go!” Before I lose my damn mind.
They take their time packing up. Too much time.
My teeth grit as they finally agree on where they’re going – out to a steakhouse because they need to celebrate the fact that Carter’s sperm aren’t working – but then before they can walk out of the locker room Goran remembers he left his phone on a chair by the rink.
The door to the locker room opens and Mackenzie walks in, holding it so it doesn’t slap her in the face.
“Oh,” she says, looking at the team surrounding me. “Sorry, I should have knocked.”
“It’s fine,” I tell her, trying not to stare at the way her skirt curves over her hips. The same hips I held on to yesterday as I made her scream with my tongue. “Everybody’s just leaving.”
Goran gives her the biggest smile and she smiles back. A little jolt of jealousy rushes through me.
“We’re heading out for a drink,” he tells her. “Carter has something to celebrate. Why don’t you join us?”
Her gaze flickers to mine. She’s still smiling but this time it feels like it’s all for me.
“Actually, I’m here for Eli,” she says. “We have a meeting.”
“To talk about the exhibition game?” Goran asks. “Want me to stay and help.”
“It’s fine,” I say, my eyes not leaving hers. “You have a good time. We’ve got this.”
They take five more minutes to leave. I swear they do it on purpose because every second that passes makes my blood heat just a little more. Finally they troop out, Goran at the rear, and he looks back one more time before leaving.
When the door finally closes I let out a low breath.
“Sorry. They were supposed to leave an hour ago.”
“What’s Carter celebrating?” she asks. Damn she looks gorgeous in her white blouse and gray pin striped skirt. I picture myself unfastening the buttons one by one and immediately get hard.
“It doesn’t matter.” My voice is husky. “Come here.”
She looks over her shoulder. I get it; I do. She’s scared somebody might walk in on us. And yes, part of me is pissed about that because I don’t give a damn who knows. But I’m more pissed because it wouldn’t be me who’d suffer, it’d be her.
I’d get the high fives. She’d get the knowing looks and the people gossiping behind her back. The world shouldn’t be like that.
She steps into my arms and every muscle in my body relaxes. She’s warm and soft and she smells so good.
“Hey,” I say, kissing the tip of her nose.
“Hey.” She lifts her face up and I take the hint, pressing my mouth against hers. She opens her lips, her breath soft against mine, and I groan because maybe some parts of me aren’t so relaxed.
They’re very much standing to attention.
“Did you bring me here for locker room sex?” she asks breathlessly.
“Nope.”
Her eyes narrow. “Have you ever had locker room sex?”
“Nope.”
This time her expression is disbelieving. “I thought that was a rite of passage.”
“You been reading hockey romances or something?” I ask her.
She smirks. “No.”
“So why are you smiling?” Not that I’m complaining. Her smile is one of the best things about her. Along with other things.
“My friend said something about watching hockey porn.”
I frown. “Hockey porn? Is that a thing?”
“Apparently.” She wrinkles her nose.
“Have you watched any?” I’m curious now. How sexy can hockey be? We smell like animals when we get off the ice. Seriously bad. That’s why the locker room has such a powerful ventilation system.
“No.” She shakes her head. “Why would I watch porn when I have the real thing?”
I swallow hard. We’re here for a reason. And it’s not for locker room sex. Though now that I’m thinking about it…
“So why am I here then?” she asks me.
I hold my hand out to her. “Come with me.”
Blinking, she takes my hand and I pull her to the bench, sitting her down. I kneel in front of her and her eyes do that little hazy thing, making me want her more than ever.
Then I reach for her gorgeously high-heeled shoes and pull them off.
Her breath catches.
My thumbs slide along her nylon-covered feet. Smooth and warm. There’s a steady pulse between my thighs.
I lift her foot to my lips and kiss the arch of her sole. Her toes curl up.
“I thought you said…” It’s her turn to sound husky.
“I did.” I put her foot down and reach into the bag I stashed here earlier. “You need to get changed.”
“Changed?”
I hand her a pair of tight leggings and a Mavericks t-shirt, along with another one of my old game jerseys.
“Okay, this porn is turning seriously weird,” she mutters, taking the clothes. “Is it some kind of reverse thing? You want to fuck the hockey player?”
I chuckle. “No. I just don’t think you can skate in that skirt of yours.”
She looks down at her skirt and then up again. “Wait. Skate?”
“Yeah, we’re going skating.”
Her eyes widen. “Oh no we’re not.” She shakes her head vehemently. “I’d rather do the locker room sex.”
I take her face between my hands. “Do this for me, please.”
She looks at me for a moment, tiny furrows appearing between her brows. “Is this because you don’t want to date somebody who can’t skate?”
“Are we dating now?” I ask her.
“I don’t know. Are we?”
“Yes we are.” We really fucking are. “And for the record, I don’t give a shit if you can skate or not. But I do give a shit that it hurt you that you couldn’t. But I can teach you.”
“You can’t. Nobody can. My mom tried.”
“How hard did she try?”
Mackenzie blinks. “I don’t know. Isabella was already competing by then.”
I nod. “I’m not going to teach you to dance. Just skate. That’s all.” I run my hand along her jaw. “Do you trust me?”
She looks at the clothes she’s still holding then back up at me. “I think so.”
My lip quirks. “I’ll take it. Now go change.”
She puts the clothes on the slatted bench and unbuttons her blouse, her fingers deft but slow. My eyes are glued to the movements. She pulls the silk fabric from her waistband and unfastens the rest, then her blouse gapes open.
And I’m almost in pain.
I inhale raggedly. “I’ll meet you rinkside. I’ve got our skates there.”
Because if I don’t leave now the locker room sex is going to be happening.
MACKENZIE
I can’t believe I agreed to this. I teeter on the skates Eli bought me, trying not to fall before I get on the ice.
“If I end up in the hospital, I expect you to sit by my bed looking guilty,” I tell him.
He smiles and holds out his hand.
Before my blades even hit the ice I get a flashback. Me at nine or ten years old, sitting on the bleachers with a book and a packet of chips, my legs swinging as Isabella and Mom skated like demons, gliding gracefully across the ice, Isabella jumping and twirling and smiling.