Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
EMMETT
Scott
Hey, buddy. Are you still good for tomorrow night? Freya wants to finalize numbers.
Sitting on my bench in the white towel I wrapped around me at least ten minutes ago, I continue to stare down at the message from Scott. It’s Freya’s birthday tomorrow night, and each year, she hosts a full dinner party to celebrate.
Friends and neighbors will be there, including Maria.
Although it’s not the prospect of seeing my ex-wife that has my ass glued to the bench and head spinning out.
It’s been a week since I walked out of Billie’s apartment at one a.m., and we haven’t spoken since. By the time I left, all her major boxes and cases were unpacked, even if the same couldn’t be said for the true depths of my feelings.
Just admitting my attraction to her was a mistake.
The second the confession left my mouth, I wanted to take it back.
Not because I didn’t mean every word. Jesus, I wanted to go a lot further than simply pointing out how stunning she was.
Regardless, telling her with my words or showing her with my body would have moved us into dangerous territory, and there’s no hiding away now that the cat’s out of the bag.
And if I’d ever questioned whether or not she felt the same way, then her reaction laid any of those doubts to rest.
We’re into each other, and there’s no denying it.
The difference is, I know that my feelings for this girl run deeper than surface level, and that’s a scary fucking thought.
Not least of which because I shouldn’t even find Billie attractive, never mind have her laugh and smile on repeat in my brain as I stare up at my bedroom ceiling in the dead of night.
Scott’s text arrived over three hours ago, and I’ve typed out multiple responses since, all without hitting Send.
The first was a direct question, asking if Billie would be there; another where I tried to surreptitiously find out the guest list; and a final text, where I admitted everything to him. That draft got deleted in record time.
I’ve lost count of the number of occasions I’ve stood in the shower, braced my palm against the cold tiles, and gazed down at my hard dick, desperate to jerk off to thoughts of how well Billie would swallow me, how good it would be to bury my face between her sweet thighs.
The flush of pink that so often painted her cheeks would turn crimson as she unraveled beneath me, right after I punished her for giving me back talk.
“I’m assuming you don’t have press duties tonight.” Archer takes his usual seat next to me on the bench, wet hair dripping onto my phone screen.
I side-eye him, and he swipes a quick hand over it, snapping away droplets of water.
“You played well tonight,” he says, bracing both elbows on his knees.
I don’t respond because it’s bullshit. We kept a shutout against Boston, but it wasn’t the performance I needed. Every other length, it felt like my knee was going to give out.
“Want to talk about it?” Archer’s usually playful voice is way more serious when he tips his chin at my phone.
I continue to stare down at Scott’s message right before I give up on a reply and toss my cell into my bag.
“It’s not really something I can talk about,” I confirm, mimicking his stance. “The last thing I needed in life was more complications, but somehow, I’ve managed to find them.”
“Or they’ve found you …”
Archer’s unexpected reply pulls my attention to his face.
“Don’t you agree that the best things in life come to you when you least expect them?
” he continues. “Take Darcy, for example. I was the NHL’s biggest playboy, and I was good with it too.
Did I plan to fall in love with my teammate’s little sister?
” He shakes his head, a smile creasing around his blue eyes.
“Nope. It just happened. And now I have a stunning daughter and wife to show for it.”
I appreciate the sentiment, even if his situation is entirely different from mine. Jack was always going to be pissed at Archer for banging his sister in secret, but his life—and maybe even the structure of his face—was never at risk.
“If you and Maria made a mistake splitting, then it’s never too late to go back and fix things.”
My laughter punctuates an otherwise silent locker room as Archer watches on, confusion knitted between his brows.
“Yeah, you couldn’t be any further from the mark if you tried,” I tell him.
My goalie maintains his silence. He wants me to elaborate, and I have no clue what words to use next.
I’ve known and played with Archer for a number of seasons, and with each year that’s passed, I’ve seen him grow into someone I know I can trust with my private business.
Even if he might not always understand it.
He knows Maria and I had an on-off marriage for a while, and at one point, I remember announcing that we’d split, my declaration fueled by too much booze and heartache.
He was there for me then, and he’ll be there for me now.
“Maria and I are finished; there’s no going back for either of us. Not this time around and never again.”
Archer runs a hand through his wet hair. “Is there someone else? Because you’re giving me vibes like there might be.”
I blow out a quick breath. “Yes—no—maybe.” Our eyes connect. “How did you guess all that just from my vibes?”
He looks at me like it’s obvious, circling his own face for effect. “You remind me of me when I was pining after Darcy, but knew I couldn’t have her.”
I jump up from the bench, his observations hitting way too close for comfort.
He follows me, golden-retriever enthusiasm overtaking his expression when he bumps his shoulder against mine. “I’m right, aren’t I?”
“Just leave it, okay?”
His eyes land on the open training bag, my cell sitting on top of folded clothes. “It’s someone you can’t—or shouldn’t—want, isn’t it?”
Archer’s serious tone pulls a, “Yes,” from me, along with a deep rumble from my chest. “Although her life is possibly more screwed up than mine right now.”
He pauses with his T-shirt halfway over his head, speaking through the material. “Screwed up how?”
I roll my eyes even though he can’t see me.
“She just had a baby, and her shitty ex bailed on her.”
“Prick.”
I nod once. “She had to drop out of college as a result.”
Pulling his T-shirt down, Archer’s eyes practically bug out. “Whoa! Back up a step, man. Did you just say college?”
This is right about the point where I should stop speaking. But, hey, Sawyer and Collins are in the know. Might as well let Archer in on it too. Hell, maybe we could announce it on the Jumbotron next game.
“She’s twenty-one before you go and lose your mind.”
He points at my chest, hand hovering over the only tattoo I have. “And you’re, what … thirty-five?” He takes a second, counting on his fingers before moving to his toes. “Jesus, that’s fourteen years!”
“Very astute, Moore. Would you like a gold star?”
He rolls his eyes at me this time. “No. But seriously, next, you’ll tell me that she’s your niece or something.”
My grimace says it all.
“Holy fuck!”
I clap a palm over his mouth, wincing as I check to make sure that we’re still alone. Mercifully, we are. “Obviously, she isn’t my actual niece,” I grit out. “But she is the daughter of my and my ex-wife’s best friends.”
Archer’s beam is enough to power Brooklyn, and I’m tempted to slap my hand back over his grin.
“Has anything happened between you two?”
The faintest hint of nutmeg wraps around me.
It would’ve been so easy to seal my mouth over Billie’s that first night in her apartment, just to see if she’d kiss me right back.
Whenever I’m around her, the urge to be reckless with my heart and body grows stronger.
I’m desperate for this girl in every way possible, my willpower dangling by a thread.
Shoving away temptation, I shake my head at Archer.
“Of course not, and it never will either. What started out as a good friendship has turned confusing since she returned from college in February. I should’ve kept my distance, but circumstances keep bringing us back together, and …
” I massage my temples, attempting to alleviate the stress headache building behind them.
“And you went and caught feelings.”
“I haven’t got feelings for her.” My answer is immediate and a lie, even if I’m standing here, trying my hardest to deny it.
Archer looks doubtful. “Okay, Emmett. Whatever you say. Because if it was a case of banging her, then you’d definitely be staring at your phone, and you’d definitely be this relaxed about it all.”
“I just got a divorce,” I grind out.
“And I just told you that the best things in life come at you when you least expect them.”
I grab my wash bag, throwing my arms out to the sides. “Nothing about this situation is good.”
Guilt slams into me. Everything about Billie is good.
Whenever I’m around her, I feel good, happy, at peace.
I feel like I’m in my early twenties, not taking life too seriously.
Even after our awkward exchange, we still ate pineapple pizza together and laughed over the loose cupboard doors and the flickering light in the fridge.
She’s freaking perfect.
My eyes drop to the floor, and I close them slowly.
“Everything about her is flawless. What’s not ideal is our circumstances.”
Archer’s hand lands on my shoulder. Even though he’s several years younger than me, it feels like he’s the experienced one in life.
“Then you have your answer …”
He pauses just long enough for acid to rise up my throat.
“Despite your attraction, it isn’t worth the collateral damage it would do to your life if her family ever found out that you were sleeping together.”
A protest is right on the tip of my tongue, begging to be voiced.
It would be worth the damage. She’s already dismantling me. Piece by piece.
“You’re an NHL star and almost as good-looking as me.
” He grins. “If it’s sex you’re after or even the feeling of being close to someone, then go on a few dates.
There are plenty of other ways to scratch an itch without risking long-term friendships and …
” Archer presses his lips together, hand squeezing around my shoulder.
“Imagine Maria’s reaction if she found out that you were sleeping with her best friend’s daughter.
I don’t know Maria that well, but from what I’ve worked out over the years, she isn’t the type of woman who would go away quietly. ”
He’s right about Maria, but wrong over Billie being an itch to scratch. I could never get enough of her, and that right there is going to be the death of me.
I swallow down more obsessive thoughts about the redhead I can never have. “Sawyer advised me to keep my distance a few weeks back, and that’s exactly what I told her. I made it clear that we could never go there.”
Archer nods. “Listen to Sawyer, and you won’t take a wrong turn.”
Reaching over to my bag and pulling out my phone, I reopen the text thread with Scott, pausing to look up at Archer. “If I decline the invitation to this dinner, it’ll be obvious that something is off.”
Archer just shrugs. “Then don’t. Reply, confirming that you’ll be there, and then play the greatest game of poker you’ve ever played. If this girl …” He trails off, realizing that I never gave him her name.
Go big or go home, I guess.
“Billie,” I confirm.
He gives me a single nod. He met her once at a game before she went to college, but in typical Archer fashion, he probably can’t recall who she was, likely too busy with the girls in his lap.
“And if this girl tries to tempt and get all sexy with you, then you need to shut that shit down. I’m telling you, Emmett, if this truly isn’t about feelings and it’s more about your dick and its lack of action lately, then no girl—runway-model hot or not—is worth losing your mind over.”
Keeping my head down so my goalie can’t see how much Billie means to me, I quickly type out an acceptance text to Scott before tossing the phone back into my bag.
“Thanks, man.”
Archer takes a seat at the bench, sliding one foot and then the other into his sneakers. “Anytime. And remember”—he circles his stoic expression—“practice that poker face.”
Of all the potential troubles I’m facing, an ability to hide my true feelings is not something my teammate should be concerned about. I just proved that during this conversation.
It’s how the fuck I’m going to deal with my growing obsession and not sacrifice my sanity in the process.