Chapter Fourteen
Claws Out
I woke up this morning feeling so good and so well rested that I could lift a mountain.
Why? Mostly because I spent the night with Regan snuggled up to me with her sexy ass nestled against my dick.
We both have the day off to rest and reenergize.
Honestly, we've needed this mini vacation for a while now.
Since I've taken on more responsibilities thanks to Dondre's injury, I intend to enjoy this break for as long as possible.
Regan lies beside me, her lips curling slightly.
We both slept in my bed last night. Actually, it's our bed.
I'm determined to milk this day for all the fun, food, and laughter I can get.
So, I pull on my PJs and a plain T-shirt, then slink out of the bedroom.
If Bohdan knocks on my door, I'll duct-tape his hands, feet, and mouth.
Then I'll stuff him in the backseat of my truck.
No joke. We both desperately need this mini break.
Now I simply need to whip up a breakfast that will leave her speechless and in awe of my culinary skills.
I might not be a gourmet, but Regan likes the no-fuss meals I make for her.
I've just started gathering ingredients when a sweet, sexy voice announces, "There you are, Mr. Quarterback. Thought you might've run away."
"Never." I turn toward her, holding a carton of eggs. "You know I love you naked, but I don't want anybody else to see you this way. Put some clothes on, sunshine. Please."
She cups her tits, pinching the nipples. "I'll get dressed if you let me do the cooking this time."
I freeze. "You cook?"
Regan laughs. "Yes, Tarzan. Jane does know how to cook."
My gaze flicks to her groin, and I force myself to focus on her face instead. "Please get dressed. I promise I'll fuck you after breakfast."
"I'll accept that compromise." She whirls around, heading toward the hall. "But I will do the cooking. Unless that would be a severe blow to your manhood."
My brain refuses to let me see anything except her tits and the downy hairs on her mound since she spun around to show me everything. Then she moved toward the hall. Somehow, I manage to avoid screwing her in front of the picture window. The only sounds I can make are grunts and awkward coughs.
Regan jogs into the bedroom, tits bouncing.
I can't see where she went, but obviously, she's still in the bedroom.
When she sashays into the kitchen again, she looks so adorably domestic that I wish I could hug her like she's a golden retriever.
I've never seen this side of her. While she begins working on our breakfast, I park my ass on a stool and just watch her doing her thing.
She hums to herself while cracking eggs into a bowl way more gracefully than I ever could.
I'm suddenly fascinated by her hands, the way her fingers move with precision, how she whisks the eggs with the same focus she employs when she's practicing her triple axel.
"What did you say?" she asks, catching me staring.
"Nothing. Admiring the view, that's all."
"The view of me cooking?"
My laugh mutates into a wet snort. "No. Of you calling me, sweetie."
A dopey grin spreads across my face. "I've seen you demolish opponents on the ice and charm reporters in interviews, but watching you make breakfast in my kitchen feels...special."
She huffs, but her eyes can't hide her smile. "You're such a sap, Mike."
"Only for you, sweetie."
While she chops vegetables for the omelets, I pour us both some coffee and set the table. That simple domestic scene somehow hits me like a freight train. I haven't indulged in many one-night stands or casual flings, but breakfast with Regan is something I could get used to every day.
She slides the spatula under the omelet with a precision that astounds me. "What's going on in that head of yours? You're gawking at me."
"Just thinking how much I love seeing you here." I take a sip of my coffee. "In my space---our space---making breakfast like it's the most natural thing in the world."
She flips the omelet with a quick flick of her wrist. "What, did you think Olympic athletes survive on protein shakes and meal prep services?"
"Honestly? I guess I did."
"My mom insisted I learn to cook before I left for training. Said no daughter of hers would live on ramen and takeout." She plates the first omelet and starts on the second. "Bohdan got pretty sick of fetching me food all the time."
"Yeah, I can't picture the surly coach making a Chick-fil-A run at midnight."
She laughs, tossing a handful of cheese into the pan. "I think he was relieved when I started cooking for myself at competitions."
I watch her move around my kitchen as if she's lived here for years, not weeks. There's something hypnotic about the way she navigates the space, confident and relaxed in a way I rarely see her off the ice.
"So, you've been holding out on me this whole time? Leaving me to slave away making you pancakes when you could've been whipping up..." I gesture at the pan, "whatever gourmet creation this is?"
"Herb and goat cheese omelet with caramelized onions." She flashes me a smirk. "And yes, I've been playing you. It's cute watching you try so hard to impress me with food."
Breakfast is more fun than I expected. Regan really does know her way around a kitchen, and I could watch her all day long.
Then the doorbell rings.
"Seriously?" I groan, dropping my fork. "It's our day off."
Regan's eyes narrow as she slides off her stool. "If that's Bohdan, I swear---"
"I'll handle it." But I'm not eager to face whoever's interrupting our perfect morning.
The doorbell rings again, more insistent this time. I trudge to the door, rehearsing polite ways to tell whoever it is to get lost. When I swing, the door open, I'm greeted by Chandra's bright smile.
"Morning, handsome! Thought I'd drop by since---" Her eyes move past me, spotting Regan in my kitchen. "Oh. You have company."
"Chandra." I don't move away from the doorway. "This isn't a good time."
Regan appears beside me, sliding an arm around my waist possessively. Her voice is cool as antifreeze when she says, "Hi there."
Chandra's smile falters for only a second before she recovers. "Mike, honey, I was in the neighborhood and thought maybe we could get together for brunch? I found a new place downtown that everyone's raving about."
I feel Regan's fingers tighten against my hip. "We've already made breakfast." I gesture vaguely behind me. "As you can see, we're kind of in the middle of something."
"Oh." Chandra's gaze drifts to Regan's outfit---my Bigfoots T-shirt that barely covers her ass and nothing else. Her smile tightens. "I didn't realize you two were...so serious."
"We are. Very." Regan moves herself closer to me.
I can practically feel the territorial energy radiating off her.
And my ex-girlfriend might literally shoot out miniature death rays at my current squeeze.
I need to de-escalate this situation promptly.
Maybe I should call Bohdan. I bet he knows every possible way to peel two tigresses away from each other.
But no, this is my problem.
I whisper to Regan, "Hold tight. I'll be back in a minute."
Then I grab Chandra's arm and haul her out onto the patio. "What is your problem?"
She lifts her chin. "That Regan person. She's the problem."
"Guess again." I lean in until my breaths flutter her hair. "I'm with Regan. We are together. As a couple."
Well, sort of. Regan claims she doesn't want "labels." Yet she keeps coming back to me---for more than sex. Will she accept my statement that we're a couple?
Chandra huffs and crosses her arms. "I don't believe it. You've said this before, and then you always come back to me."
"Not this time." I stand firm, even though part of me wants to retreat to the safety of my kitchen where Regan is waiting. "Look, what we had was nice for a while, but it's over. It's been over for months."
Chandra's eyes well with tears, but that's a move I've seen too many times to count. "We were so good together. Don't you remember Paris? The way you looked at me on the Pont des Arts?"
I squint at her, keeping my voice low. "That was ages ago. Through the window, I can see Regan pretending not to watch us. "I've moved on. You should too."
"With her?" Chandra scoffs, glancing toward the hallway. "The delicate little figure skater? She'll dump you as soon as she makes the Olympic team."
I throw my had back and growl. "Jesus, Chandra. Get it through your ironclad skull. I'm with Regan. Period."
The skater in question comes up beside me, wrapping her arm around my biceps, and aims her haughtiest look at Chandra. "You still don't get it, do you? Mike and I are athletes. We have more in common than you ever had with him."
My ex-girlfriend narrows her gaze on my new girlfriend. "Oh please. Having silly sports in common is not the basis for a lasting relationship."
"Silly sports?" Regan nearly snarls at Chandra. "You are a spoiled brat who couldn't keep her boyfriend. I bet you don't even like football."
"A deep, spiritual connection is more important than trivial sports."
Regan seems like she's about to erupt like Mount Rainier. "Leave now, before I belt you with my fist. Mike is my boyfriend."
Holy cow. She actually said that.
Chandra remains perfectly still, like a museum statue, for about thirty seconds. Then she spins around and marches out of the apartment.
Whew. That was some cat fight.