16 - Grayson
Grayson
Tank barrels through the kitchen like a freight train, almost taking out one of the barstools as he skids across the hardwood chasing a tennis ball.
“Jesus Christ,” Wyatt mutters from the island where he’s slouched with a beer. “One day that dog’s going to kill somebody.”
“He’s your dog.” I remind him, tossing the ball again.
“Because you fuckers put him in my locker as a puppy. I wasn’t going to drop him off at a damn shelter.”
“You love him,” Sloane says, breezing by with an armful of cleaning supplies.
She’s been in overdrive all day, cleaning every inch of this house in preparation for tonight. She’s no better than a damn drill sergeant, but at least I got put on kitchen duty. I’ll take cooking over cleaning every time.
Tank runs up to Wyatt and drops the ball into his lap.
Wyatt groans. “Why is it always so wet?”
“Because he’s a dog.” I push a tray of sliders into the oven.
Tank sprints after Sloane as soon as she appears in the kitchen, carrying another bag of groceries from the hall.
“No. Absolutely not.” She points at him while stepping around his paws. “You already stole half the cheese platter.”
I snort while dicing up the fruit. The entire house already smells like food and whatever candle Sloane lit to mask the smell of dog.
Wyatt watches me for a second before narrowing his eyes. “You know this is your fault, right?”
“How?”
“You encouraged her.” He gestures toward Sloane, who’s now arranging snack trays like the fate of the free world depends on it. “I didn’t need a housewarming party.”
“You’ve lived here for almost a year, and people still think you live downtown.”
When Wyatt renewed his contract last year, he moved out of his downtown apartment and into this house.
Tank needed the yard space, and Wyatt was sick of having to use an elevator every time the dog needed to go out.
It made sense, but living in a house alone in the middle of the woods just encourages him to isolate himself even more. Hence the party.
I start cutting the meat for the charcuterie board that Sloane is meticulously decorating.
“You’re just cranky because people are invading your cave,” Sloane says, tossing a dish towel at him.
“I like my cave.” Wyatt takes another drink. “It’s peaceful. Quiet. With no one touching my shit.”
“You play professional hockey,” I remind him. “You have fans screaming your name every night.”
“That’s different.”
The doorbell rings.
Sloane lights up. “Oh my God, people are here.”
Wyatt groans. “Here we fucking go.”
People show up in groups. It’s mostly guys from the team at first, but before long, bodies crowd every room.
People are packed shoulder-to-shoulder around the kitchen island, spilling out onto the back patio beneath hanging string lights.
Someone turned a basketball game on in the living room even though nobody’s watching it.
Wyatt looks one social interaction away from disappearing into his bedroom and never coming back out.
“This is exactly why I didn’t want a party,” he mutters beside me in the kitchen while watching some winger from our second line almost fall into his television, holding a vodka soda.
“You’re being dramatic.” I slide another tray of food onto the already overcrowded counter.
“I have randoms pissing in my bathroom.”
Across the kitchen, Sloane pops up onto the counter beside Wesley while Liam argues with Nathan about playoff statistics loud enough for three separate conversations to stop and listen.
When Wesley got here, I thought maybe Avery would be with her, but after an hour of watching the door, I’m starting to think she won’t show up.
Not that it matters.
Nathan points with his beer bottle. “I’m telling you right now, Toronto’s defense collapses under pressure.”
“And I’m telling you,” Liam fires back, “that you say that every single season before they somehow beat us anyway.”
“They’re for sure going to beat our ass without Nathan on the ice,” Wyatt adds.
“I am pretty fucking amazing.” Nathan shrugs.
“Pretty sure we have Wesley to thank for that, considering she kicked your ass into gear when she trained you all winter,” Wyatt chirps.
Wesley nearly chokes laughing, and instead of arguing otherwise, Nathan’s eyes go soft looking at her.
The front door opens again, letting in another wave of people. Avery’s not with them.
Before I can banish her from my mind, Sloane hops off the counter.
“Oh, Avery texted me,” she says while checking her phone. “Her Uber is pulling in.”
“You and Avery got close fast,” I say casually, twisting the top off my beer.
Wyatt snorts. “Yeah, you’ve known her for like a week.”
“And yet I’d trust her with my life.”
“That feels irresponsible,” I mutter.
Sloane ignores me. “She’s hilarious and hot. I want to be her when I grow up.”
Wesley laughs into her drink. “You’re only like five years younger than us.”
“Good. That just means that I don’t have to wait too long for hot one-night stands and the best orgasms of my life.”
Every thought in my head stops cold.
Nathan nearly spits out his beer. Wyatt’s eyes focus on the floor, hands dragging down his face.
“Unfortunately, that special Avery skill doesn’t come with age,” Wesley adds, laughing.
“What the hell are we talking about?” Liam asks, a shit-eating grin spreading across his face.
“The sex life of my dreams,” Sloane sighs wistfully.
“Fuck no.” Wyatt covers his ears. “There’s no way in hell I want to hear about my little sister’s sex life.” He grabs a beer, then rushes out of the kitchen.
I’d normally do the same, but I’m frozen in place, my mind back in the bar bathroom.
Avery is spread out on the counter, her mouth falling open as I push my fingers inside her. She’s looking at me through the mirror with flushed cheeks and blown pupils, trying to pretend she isn’t unraveling for me.
Keep your eyes on the mirror, Chaos. I want the image of me making you come to haunt you.
Heat crawls up my spine. The image of her coming was sure as fuck haunting me.
I’d left the bar, gone home, and rubbed one out in the shower. And then again, in bed with her panties wrapped around my hand like some kind of creep.
At this point, my cock gets hard just from looking at a bathroom counter.
The best orgasm of her life.
At least, that’s what she told her friends. That had to be about me.
And then she’s here, sauntering into the kitchen like she owns the place.
“What are we talking about?” She asks, dropping a bottle of liquor onto the counter.
“Apparently, your mind-blowing orgasms,” Liam smirks.
Avery’s brows furrow, so Wesley adds, “Sloane idolizes your sex life.”
Liam stands up fully, his face amused as he teases her, “Some guy is the best of your life, and you’re not going to give him a round two?”
Avery’s eyes go wide, shooting Wesley and Sloane a furious look, before her gaze locks on mine. Her blue eyes are frozen in pure panic, and she swallows hard.
Oh yeah, she was one hundred percent talking about me.
The corner of my mouth tilts up in a smirk, my ego swelling to new levels.
Her eyes narrow, and she spins back to our friends. “Yeah, it was fine, but the second time wouldn’t be nearly as good. The guy has the personality of a rock.”
My jaw ticks, grip tightening on my beer. Two can play this game.
“What made it so amazing?” I ask, plastering an innocent grin on my face.
“Yeah, maybe I need to take notes.” Liam pops a slider into his mouth.
Avery smiles. “Trust me, Liam. After kissing you, I can confidently say you don’t need to take notes.”
Her hand lands on his forearm, and he grins down at her as if I needed to be reminded that she made out with him.
“Wait, you two?” Sloane asks, something I can’t read flickering in her eyes.
“New Year’s Kiss,” Liam says as if that means the kiss doesn’t even count.
Which technically it doesn’t, but tell that to the knot in my stomach.
“It was a really good kiss, though,” Avery reinforces.
Brat.
“But not the best one of your life.” I hold her gaze over the rim of my beer while I take a sip.
She bites the bottom of her lip, but then turns to her friends, changing the topic.
I grab the bowl of chips I’d been refilling and head back to the living room, needing the space to clear my head. Someone started a drinking game that’s getting loud, and people are crowded around calling dibs on the next round.
Liam pulls me into an argument with a rookie about whether or not a hot dog counts as a sandwich. I break the tie in favor of the rookie. Because no, it’s not a fucking sandwich.
The dip needs refilling again, so I circle back to the kitchen, throwing together more sliders while I’m at it. Then I top up the mixers and ice bucket, feed Tank, and make a plate of food for Sloane because I know she’s too busy playing hostess to feed herself.
Through all of it, I can’t stop tracking Avery regardless of how hard I try.
Every pass through the living room, I catch another glimpse of her. Chatting with Harper and who I assume is Harper’s husband near the fireplace. Leaning against the kitchen counter, talking to Wesley. Tossing her head back when Liam says something that makes her grin.
Every time she laughs with someone else, irritation crawls under my skin. She breezes through the party, charming everyone she talks to.
Except me.
It’s not like I expect any differently. We are oil and water. Gasoline and matches. Whatever the hell you want to call it. Still, some basic civility would be nice after hooking up.
Now that she’s over her so-called dry spell, it’s only a matter of time until she finds some other guy to sink her teeth into, and I can move on.
Move on from what exactly? I don’t know. But whatever hate-fueled tension thing we have going on is bound to send me to a psych ward, so the sooner it ends, the better.
I’m supposed to be taking this time without a girlfriend to learn more about myself, not explore Avery’s body with my tongue.
I remind myself of this as I head to the garage fridge to grab more beer. I’ve got my arm wrapped around a twelve-pack when the door swings shut behind me.
I don’t have to turn around to know it’s her. My body recognizes Avery before my brain does.
“Can I help you?” I ask.
“I want them back.”
I glance over my shoulder to find Avery standing in the doorway, in some sort of bralette top, having shed her jacket from earlier, with her arms crossed.
And my dick hates me because it goes half-hard at the sight.
“What?”
“My bra and panties. I want them back.”
I purse my lips before my mouth splits into a wide grin.
“No.”
Her brows lift. “No?”
“You heard me, Chaos.”
“You can’t even do anything with them.”
Heat crawls up my neck as I remember that’s not exactly true, considering what I already did with them.
“Doesn’t matter. Call it my reward for giving you the best orgasm of your life.”
I don’t usually poke at people just to get a reaction, but as always, something about Avery makes me want to push every button she has.
“I only said that to get them off my back.”
“Sure you did.”
“I did.”
I set the case of beer down and step closer. “Then why’d you look like you were about to pass out when Liam brought it up?”
Avery lifts her chin. “Maybe I was talking about someone else.”
My stomach twists at the thought.
I shrug like it doesn’t bother me. “True. Maybe Jeremy.”
She blinks. “Who?”
The answer comes fast. And fuck if that doesn’t do something to my ego.
I smile slowly. “Exactly.”
Her eyes flash before she exhales. “Fine. It was good, but only because it had been a while.”
“Why?” I ask, genuinely curious.
I still can’t figure out why she’d been abstinent for so long. Avery isn’t shy about sex. Guys hit on her constantly, and she flirts right back. It doesn’t make sense.
She deflects. “I told you. Took a while to get over my ex.”
“Bullshit. There’s no way you’ve been pining after Damon fucking Woods.” I push harder, determined to get her to drop the act. “What’s the real reason?”
She sighs, “I don’t mean I was hung up on him.
I wasn’t. I just…” She trails off, palms pressing into her side.
“You know how someone close to you can lose weight, but you don’t notice because you see them every day.
But then, one day, you see a picture of them from months ago, and they look entirely different? ”
First, an IKEA dresser. Now, this. This woman and her weird metaphors.
I nod. “Yeah. What does that…”
“By the end of our relationship, it’s like I saw a picture of myself from before him, and I was unrecognizable and not in a good way. I needed some time to recognize myself again, I guess.”
She averts her gaze, eyes drifting over the cracks in the cement. I want to know more. I want to know just how unrecognizable she felt and what he did to make her feel that way, but her shoulders are rigid, so I cut her some slack.
“So did it work? Did the orgasm erase all traces of him from your system?”
“I fucking hope so.” She smirks, stepping toward me. “But it’s still never going to happen again.”
“Of course, it’s never happening again.”
“Even if you wish it would.”
“I think you’re the one who wishes it would. You know, hunting me down in garages and all that.”
“I came for my underwear.”
I lean forward. “Which you’re not getting back.”
We’re close now. Close enough that I can smell her perfume. My body buzzes, recognizing the scent from the other night. Her eyes flick to my mouth and mine drop to hers, remembering exactly how her lips felt against mine.
I hate that I want more.
The tension snaps tight enough to choke the air from the room.
Maybe just one more taste…
Then voices sound from the hallway outside.
We both jolt backward like kids being caught with their hands in the cookie jar. I drag a hand through my hair, picking back up the case of beer.
She straightens, all softness disappearing as she points her usual glare back in my direction. “I’m serious, Grayson. I want them back.”
“If you want them, Chaos,” my eyes drag slowly down her body before returning to her face, “you’ll have to come get them.”
She glares at me like she wants to stab me and storms back into the house.
When the door slams behind her, I drop my head back against the wall.
It’s like she’s a drug. I know she’s a bad idea. The kind that burns your life down while you convince yourself you’re in control.
I’m still sitting here thinking about taking another hit.