Pucker Up (The Bailey Brothers Duet #1)

1. Goldie

ONE

GOLDIE

I would rather eat glass than hang out with a bunch of hockey players. Yet, I found myself on a ferry teeming with wide-shouldered jocks, most sporting gray sweatpants, their hockey hair flowing in the brisk January wind.

Shivering, I gripped the top of my down coat, wishing that I’d worn a scarf and swearing that I would never again trust the weather app on my phone.

My best friend Mel sidled up beside me, leaning her back against the cold railings, her elbows propped on the top rung. Even behind her dark sunglasses I could see her studying the crowd. “That one is cute.” She leaned against me, the puff of steam from her not so quiet whisper lingering in the subarctic air between us.

The only one who wasn’t cold was Morton, my malamute. seemingly smiling into the sun, luxuriating in the weather he was built for.

“Which one?” I whispered and blocked my mouth with my mitten, hoping to keep our conversation away from anyone who might be listening. My other hand absentmindedly scratched the thick scruff on Morton’s neck.

“Mr. Orange Hat.” Mel slid her glasses down, as though double-checking her colors.

We were on our way to Toronto Island for the annual charity polar bear dip, where all of the city’s top undies-only-wearing sports players jumped into a hole chopped in Lake Ontario. This year, they were raising money to provide sports gear to disadvantaged communities. It was a good cause, but like a fireman’s calendar, the Polar Plunge was more about the eye candy than the charity.

I scanned the crowd for an orange hat, which was a pointless exercise, as the Toronto Tigers team colors were orange and black and at least twenty guys were wearing an orange wool hat. They had the same orange on their gear that hunters wore in the bush, so there was no missing a Toronto Tigers player on that ferry.

“He’s a hockey player.” I didn’t bother trying to locate the object of Mel’s observation.

“Are you sure?” Mel slid the glasses back in place and pulled a tube of lip gloss from her bag.

I didn’t have to say anything. Raising my eyebrows, I gave Mel an exaggerated eye roll. She smacked my arm. “Fine. So he’s a hockey player. Maybe there’s a good one out there.”

My puff of steamy breath was huge as I hacked out a laugh. “And maybe we will see some dolphins today.” I gestured to the white and gray expanse of Lake Ontario, chunks of ice bobbing as our ferry made its way across the open channel to the island.

Mel’s gaze was trained on one of the biggest guys on the ferry. “I’m going to go talk to him.”

“Mel.” I reached to touch the sleeve of her black puffy jacket. “Stay away from them. Trust me.”

“I know, I know. You’ve been telling me for years, but they can’t all be cheaters.”

Sighing, I didn’t want to get into it. Mel knew my history and why I felt so strongly about professional athletes—hockey players in particular. I grew up with one as a father, who was now the head coach of the damn team.

Mel screwed the lid on her gloss and dropped it into her purse, but before she could set off on her ill-fated mission through the crowd, she was cut off. A beautiful woman with long blonde hair and a hockey jersey over her coat skipped up to the dark-haired player and wrapped her arms around his neck. She had all the hallmarks of a bunny: bleached hair, a mask of makeup, and a shrill baby voice at least an octave too high that rose above the din of the crowd and the diesel engine of the boat.

The player kissed her, but seemed disinterested. The name on the back of the bunny’s jersey read Bailey. Mel let out a disappointed sigh and returned to stand next to Morton.

“That’s one of the Bailey brothers.” It was unlikely that the bunny was wearing a jersey that belonged to another player. I shoved my hands into the armpits of my coat and stomped my feet, hoping to get some of the feeling back before we reached the island.

“I thought that you didn’t know any of the players?” Mel pulled the hood of her jacket over her sleek black hair.

“I don’t. But back in the fall, my dad wouldn’t shut up about the Bailey brothers. I don’t know which one is which, but one is named Ace and the other is Gideon. They cost the team a fucking fortune, according to my dad.” I didn’t add that he wasn’t sure that they were worth the money. The Toronto Tigers had been flirting with last place in the division for the entire season.

“That guy looks like a Gideon.”

The man appeared to be closer to seven feet tall than six, had dark black hair that curled out from beneath his hat, and his eyes looked like they belonged on a mafia hitman, dark lashes over even darker eyes. “Yeah, he does look like a Gideon. I’m pretty sure that it means ‘destroyer’ in Latin. That guy looks like he breaks everything he touches.” A shiver ran up my spine the next time I looked at Gideon. His arm was draped over his girlfriend’s shoulder, but his eyes were raking up and down Mel’s tall dancer-like legs.

“Sure does.” Mel’s eyebrows rose above her glasses and she bit her bottom lip. “I’d let him break me in half.”

The ferry deck shuddered as we reached the landing and Mel had to grab the railing to stop from falling. Before we were best friends, Mel and I had been undergrad roommates, sharing a dorm room at the University of Toronto. I was still in school studying to get my master’s degree, while she had gone out into the world and was working as an assistant to one of the top real estate agents in the city. “The guy is bad news. Stay away from him.”

Mel took her glasses off and looked me in the eyes. “Really? You’re getting one of your feelings about him?”

She was one of the few people who knew that my intuition was never wrong. “I’m not sure.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” Mel linked her arm in mine. “Come on, let’s go watch some jocks get naked.”

“For the millionth time, they’re not getting naked.”

We joined the queue to exit the ferry, Morton waiting patiently next to us. “I still can’t believe you talked me into coming to this thing.”

“My boss sponsored one of the plungers. She wants me to get a picture for social media.”

We followed the crowd to the beach, and once we were out of the wind from the ferry, the temperature rose from downright miserable to almost tolerable. “Plungers. They need to fire their marketing team; all I can think about is a toilet,” I said.

“I don’t think ‘icy hunks’ is politically correct anymore.” Mel had done her homework; up until a couple of years ago, the “Ice Hunks” had been the official name.

Morton tugged at the leash as he saw open water. “Oh no you don’t. I’m not dealing with sixty pounds of wet dog fur in my apartment.” As though he could read my mind, Morton glanced back and then fell into stride next to us, but not until he gave an audible groan. The open water next to the dock looked dark and frigid. “I think that they should call it the one-inch dunk.”

“Inch?” Mel scanned the shoreline. “It looks like there’s at least eight inches of ice out there.”

“I wasn’t referring to the ice.” We wound our way through the crowd to get a front-row spot to watch the action.

Mel groaned, but her lips drew into a grin. “The disappearing dink dunk.”

“The shrinkage splash.” I could barely get it out without laughing.

“Ooh, that’s a good one.” Mel was practically howling and had to remove her glasses to wipe away tears.

“The cocksicle maker,” a man standing next to us stated in a matter-of-fact tone.

Mel clapped her gloved hand to her mouth. I hadn’t realized that anyone was listening to our immature and completely inappropriate conversation. The man was wearing a hand-knit sweater, the kind that my hippie mom wore in the nineties, and snowpants patched with duct tape. Unlike the rest of the guys in the crowd, his hat didn’t have anything to do with basketball, hockey, soccer, or lacrosse. It was a black and yellow hat with the word Bombardier running around the circumference, topped with a black, white, and yellow pompom. His face was covered in scruff and he was wearing those sunglasses with the little leather pieces on the side. He looked homeless, but also…warm.

“I think that dicksicle has a better ring to it,” I said.

He smirked, but kept his gaze on the lake. “I think you’re right, but we’d have to combine it with dunk. The dicksicle dunk.”

Mel and I giggled. “It’s perfect.”

Morton nudged the man’s hand and he tore his gaze away from the water to give him a pat on the head. “Hi, boy. I bet you’d like to get in there.” His voice was low and warm like honey when he spoke to my dog.

“Most people think I’m being cruel when I walk him in the cold and snow, but he’d be right at home in that icy water.”

The man crouched to get down to Morton’s eye level. “I bet you would be, but I think that you should keep your mom company on the shore here. Are you a good boy? Who’s a good boy?” He put on that goofy voice men get when they talk to “good boys.” He ruffled Morton’s neck fur and my dog hopped to his feet, ready to play.

He looked at me. “I’m sorry about that. I didn’t mean to get him all riled up.”

Initially, I thought that the man was my dad’s age, but as he spoke, I could hear the youth in his voice. It was impossible to tell if he was good-looking, as there was only a three-inch section of his face that wasn’t covered in horribly mismatched clothing. But, like the guy on the boat, my intuition was firing—hard. Only this time I didn’t feel sick, I felt something else: a tingle between my legs and heat running to my cheeks. It was strange. Without seeing his face, I knew there was something different about him. Being around him brought out a sensation I hadn’t felt in a long time…horny.

“Come on, I want to get closer to take a picture. Aubrey has sponsored number four.” Mel tugged at my sleeve.

“Holmes.” The man beside me stood and brushed the pelt of dog fur from his gloves. “Number four is Mikey Holmes.”

“That’s it, Mike Holmes. Come on,” Mel shouted. The players had their shirts off. Most were standing stoic, covered in goose bumps, but some rubbed their well-toned biceps. The plungers were lined up in order, by donation amounts, and at the end of the line stood the dark-haired Bailey brother.

Before I could protest, Mel dragged me and Morton away from the cocksickle man.

“What a weirdo,” Mel whispered as we shimmied our way to the front of the crowd. “You’re welcome.”

“I thought that he was kind of…” What did I think of the man? There was no reason for me to be attracted to him. It was crazy. I didn’t even know what he looked like and he’d had more of an interest in talking to Morton than to me. Other than his penis-synonym wit, there wasn’t anything about him that should’ve left my heart thumping a little harder than normal. But yet, as it thudded against my rib cage, there it was.

“A weirdo,” she repeated, finishing my sentence. “Don’t you dare tell me your spidey senses went mad wild about that Grecian-looking god over there…” She pointed to Gideon. “And they didn’t warn you to stay away from the guy who looks like he just robbed the thrift store.”

Scanning the crowd, my heart slowed when there was no sign of the pompom or those stupid mountaineer sunglasses. Maybe Mel was right. He was kind of…odd.

The loudspeaker crackled as the MC announced the corporate sponsors. Metallica blared from the tower of speakers as the first guy, number twenty as evidenced by the number scrawled onto his back in body paint, flexed and stepped out of his unlaced boots. He pulled down his sweatpants and the crowd went wild. Even Mel screeched as he flexed his arms and gave a body-builder pose before jumping into the lake.

A lifeguard stood on duty next to the hole in the ice, ready to pull out anyone in distress. Number twenty lasted about four seconds before he shot up the ladder and ran past the line of players and into the waiting sauna. “What I wouldn’t give to be in there right now,” Mel said.

“You need a hobby,” I muttered.

“It’s been a while since I’ve been laid; I can’t help it.” She shrugged. “Aubrey has been running me off my feet with the staging crew every night.”

The crowd erupted in laughter as players thirty-three and seventeen held hands and jumped in together. The laughter escalated as the two of them emerged and screeched, shooting out of the water as fast as they’d jumped in.

As we clapped for the players, I asked, “How long?”

“Like at least a month.” Mel shook her head and let out an exasperated, “You?”

“Something like that, but instead of the word month , use the word year .”

Mel stopped mid clap and clasped her hands together. “Oh, Goldie. That’s not healthy. With all of these fine specimens around, you need to take care of your…needs.”

“It’s not that long, and I’ve been busy with my work. Once I get my study done, I can think about dating again. Trust me, you will never in a million years catch me with one of these guys.”

“Your thesis might take another year or two. Are you willing to put your life on hold like that?”

“It’s not on hold. I’m writing my thesis.”

“You know what I mean.” Mel could sense that she was treading on thin ice.

“I do,” I sighed. She was right, but I couldn’t bring myself to get hurt again. My work never ghosted me, it never cheated on me. It was always there, just like Morton. “Look.” I pointed to the dock. The music had changed to something that I didn’t recognize, and number eighteen was doing a full-on striptease, using part of the dock as a stripper pole.

“Let me get on your shoulders,” Mel ordered as she pushed my shoulders down.

“What?” I felt ridiculous, but let her climb onto me. Luckily, she was built like a hockey stick, tall and straight up and down. I stood easily, even with her weight on my shoulders.

The striptease player screamed like a toddler and his exit from the water was far less flirtatious than his entry. He ran to the sauna, his hand cupped over his junk. “The dicksicle dunk takes another victim,” Mel shouted from my shoulders. “Ooh…” She patted the top of my hat with her gloves. “The Bailey brother is next.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, please put your hands together for the Bailey brothers, Gideon and Ace.”

“Ooh, the brother is almost as cute.”

A couple of the spectators around us glanced at Mel, who had apparently gone boy crazy. Her body swayed as I rose onto my toes to see if her assessment of the other Bailey brother was accurate. The two men were waving at the audience like they were the royal family and had just stepped onto the balcony at Buckingham Palace. Gideon’s teeth were so white the sun reflected off the perfect veneers.

The music was turned up for the grand finale. The Bailey brothers and the crowd lost its collective mind. Ace, the other brother, didn’t look anything like Gideon. Where Gideon was tall with dark features, Ace was leaner, smaller, and looked like he had just stepped out of the surf. His hair was a sandy blond, and cut into a classic hockey player flow. While Gideon mostly ignored the crowd, Ace walked behind his brother, and waved like Queen Elizabeth had, his hand slightly cupped as he barely moved it from side to side.

Instead of a perfect showman smile, his was a little lopsided. When the brothers reached the end of the pier, Gideon stepped out of his sweatpants. Ace paused and then tore off his track pants, the old-school tear-away kind I hadn’t seen in years, like he was starring in Magic Mike . Beneath the pants Ace was sporting briefs, the tighty-whitey kind, only his had Simpson’s characters all over them.

The women in the audience had already gone feral, but when he twirled the pants above his head and tossed them into the audience, I genuinely worried that someone might get trampled. The flying tear-aways made a wedding bouquet toss look tame.

Mel screamed and raised her hands above her head. “Ace, I’ll take those undies.”

“All right.” I dropped to a crouch. “Get off.”

My best friend dismounted from my shoulders. “What?” Her grin was cheshire-like.

“What happened to you on the way over here? It’s like you’ve never seen a guy at the beach before.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen guys like that anywhere.” Her eyes were glued to the action. “Look, it’s freezing outside and both of them look—”

Her statement was interrupted by my elbow to her rib cage, but like a car accident, I couldn’t look away from the men. While the Bailey brothers didn’t seem to share much in the way of looks, they both appeared to be well-endowed in the bulge-in-the-boxers, or in Ace’s case, briefs, department. “Wow.” I clapped my hand over my mouth.

Mel draped her arm over my shoulder. “Let’s see if those monsters can withstand the dunk.”

Gideon turned and methodically descended the ladder into the lake. He was doing some obvious breath work, his rib cage expanding and contracting, and didn’t seem shocked at the sub-zero temperatures. “They do ice baths after practice, but I think this might be colder,” I said.

“Mm-hmm.” Mel’s eyes were glued to the action.

“Let’s give it up for Ace Bailey, who looks like he’s having second thoughts.” The crowd cheered and clapped, chanting for Ace to jump. Gideon had climbed the ladder, but Ace backed up and took a running start. He launched into the air in a beautiful swan dive, that turned into a flip, and somehow ended in a cannonball. A tsunami of water splashed his brother, whose hair hadn’t even gotten wet.

“That was pretty hot.” Mel clapped.

“Pretty stupid if you ask me.” I was trying to hate Ace Bailey, but his over-the-top, clowny antics were winning me over.

“The moment of truth,” Mel whispered as Ace climbed out of the lake. The two brothers waved to the audience, their skin steaming as they made their way to the sauna.

“Get your head out of the gutter.” I grabbed her arm and tugged on Morton’s leash. “Did you get the pictures you need for your boss?

Mel held up her phone. “I took a couple of extras.” Gideon’s dark eyes stared into the depths of my psyche from her screen.

I shook my head. “Come on, stalker. Let’s get in line for the ferry or else we’ll be out here all day.”

We weren’t the first people to have that idea and fell into a long line. I stood on my toes. “The ferry is on its way. Perfect timing.”

The ferry docked and we started to shuffle forward. “I think we will get on this one. Do you want to go for lunch when we get back? I could go for a slice of pizza.” For a tiny woman, Mel was always ready to eat.

My stomach growled in response. “I would love to.”

With visions of pepperoni and mozzarella dancing through my mind, we made our way to the entrance of the ferry.

“Hold on, ladies.” The employee loading the boat held up his hands. “We’re at capacity and we want to make sure that the players can get to their practice on time.”

The employee strung a chain across the line in front of us and all we could do was watch as the line of orange-clad players strutted to the front of the line. “Of course,” I grumbled. “Their practice is way more important than what any of us common people have going on today.”

One of the players raised his eyebrows at me and I swear I saw a smirk on his face.

“It’s not that long of a wait, ma’am. We have extra trips planned today.” The attendant seemed sympathetic.

“It’s fine.” Mel’s eyes sparkled as Gideon Bailey came into view. “Nice work out there.” She held up her hand for a high five, but he walked right past her as though she was part of the landscape.

“What a dick.” I hoped that he heard me.

Filled with the oh-so-important Toronto Tigers, the ferry chugged away to the mainland, leaving Mel and me, and hundreds of other fans, stomping our feet to keep warm. Like all the places I’d lived, Toronto loved hockey and its players. Having a dad for an NHL star and now a coach, meant that I’d only ever lived in places that were crazy about hockey. Players got preferential treatment everywhere, and I hated them for it. “All they do is chase around a puck, and bunnies, and get treated like kings everywhere they go.”

Mel shrugged. “They’re sports stars. It’s like that with football and basketball too.”

“It doesn’t make it right.” I stroked Morton’s ears. “They should have to wait in line like everyone else.”

“Like the lowly commoners,” a low voice said from behind us.

Before I turned, I knew that it was the guy from earlier. The goose bumps on my arms sent a shiver through my body. “Exactly,” I said as I turned.

It was him. He was standing outside of the boundaries of the lineup. “Who do those assholes think they are? Gods?” he said.

There was something comforting in his voice, and I felt like I could actually say what I was thinking. “That Gideon Bailey seems to think he is.”

The man laughed and then pounded on his chest as though he had just choked on something. “He’s the worst of them all. I heard that his brother is the opposite, a cool dude.”

I rolled my eyes. “They’re all like that. And, from what I’ve heard, the only reason that Ace Bailey is on the team is because of his brother.”

The man crossed his arms. “Because of his brother?” Creases lined his forehead.

I’d heard conversations between my father and his management team. The controversy over trading their best players—plural—in order to get Gideon Bailey and his brother were some of the most heated I’d overheard. “That’s just a rumor going around.” It was a well-known fact, so I wasn’t disclosing any insider information.

“Gossip is the Devil’s radio,” the man grumbled and walked away.

A pit formed in my gut. Unlike my mom, I couldn’t see someone’s energy, I could only feel it, and the good vibes I’d been getting from the man in the crazy clothes had shifted. He was right. Gossip was terrible. “Wait,” I shouted.

Mel grabbed my arm. “Leave it. He’s not worth it.”

“I feel bad.”

“About what?” Mel stomped her feet on the pavement and rubbed her arms. “You’re right. Those players should’ve let the women and children go first. And I know that you’re right about the Bailey brothers.”

“It’s not the Titanic .” I cupped my hands to my mouth and blew warm air into my mittens. “How do you know I’m right?”

The next ferry was about to dock. We’d only had to wait for fifteen minutes, but it had felt like an eternity. The attendant removed the chain and gestured for us to board the boat.

“You’re the coach’s daughter. You’re also the best person I know. You would never just make up something, or spread a rumor. What you said to that creep is true. Ace Bailey is only on the team because of his brother. I don’t know how that works, but because it came from your mouth, Goldie, I would never question it.”

“Still. I shouldn’t have said anything. If it gets out that Coach Swanson’s daughter is spilling trade secrets…” My voice trailed off. I wasn’t sure what would happen, but I knew that it wouldn’t be good.

“Who cares? That guy probably already forgot.” We settled onto a bench seat near the front of the boat and watched as everyone boarded. The return trip didn’t have the electricity or the excitement that seemed to follow the players wherever they went. Morton’s tail smacked against the leg of the bench and he let out an excited whimper.

“What are you so happy about?” I looked up and the man with the mountaineering goggles had boarded the boat. Mel was wrong. There was something good about that man. Something intriguing. I knew it, and so did Morton.

I gave my dog a pat on the head. “We will go for a big walk when we get home.”

“After pizza,” Mel reminded me. She joined me in petting Morton. “And maybe a pup cup.”

The thwacking of Morton’s tail intensified. “A walk and a pup cup. The only thing that would make this day better would be a swim.”

Mel leaned against the bench and jutted her chin towards the back of the boat. “Talk about Where’s Waldo . Was your weirdo wearing that scarf this morning?”

The man was easy to spot amongst the sea of black and gray puffy coats. “I think I’d remember a scarf like that.” It was red and white and wrapped around his neck at least three times. It was so long that its tassels grazed the ground.

A series of quacks distracted me from the ridiculous scarf. Two ducks flew across the bow of the boat, so closely I could hear the fizzing noise of the wind slipping through their feathers. They let out two more quacks before landing in the water on the other side of the boat.

Morton lunged at the ducks. His leash snapped taut, and I winced as it squeezed my wrist and then yanked me off the bench. I pulled hard, trying to get Morton under control, but the leash snapped back at me. The carabiner attaching the leash to his collar had released. Morton’s claws scratched the surface of the boat as he zigged and zagged around the other passengers before leaping off the side of the ferry.

“Morton!” I ran to the edge of the boat.

The ducks had flown away and Morton was swimming in circles where he’d last seen them.

“Stop the boat!” Mel hopped into action and ran to the bridge. “Tell the Captain to stop the boat,” her voice rang out. Everyone on board rushed to the railing. Morton was an excellent swimmer and the cold didn’t seem to bother him, but we were directly between the island and the mainland. Could he swim that far in the cold? My hands shook as I gripped the railing. “Morton!” I shouted.

The boat had slowed and my eyes darted, trying to figure out how to get my dog back on board.

“Man overboard,” another passenger shouted.

I couldn’t see who had jumped in, only that their bare arm was wrapped around a life ring. The man swam to Morton and grabbed him. The ferry attendant pulled both the rescuer and my dog to the boat and then heaved them on board. As I ran to the back of the boat, something or someone grabbed onto my legs and I stumbled to the cold steel deck. “What the hell?” I flipped onto my butt to see that there was a red and white scarf tangled around my feet.

The passengers cheered as Morton trotted to the middle of the boat, but the cheers were quickly replaced with shrieks as he shook, soaking everyone within a ten-foot radius.

I untangled the scarf from my feet, threw it over my shoulder, and ran to clip Morton back to his leash. He didn’t seem fazed. His tongue lolled out of his mouth as he panted with excitement. “You’re such a jerk.” Dropping to my knees, I wrapped my arms around the wet dog’s neck. “Don’t you ever scare me like that again.”

“Um. Goldie?” Mel tapped me on my shoulder.

“What?” I stood and brushed the dog fur off my coat.

A male voice spoke. “I think that you’ve got my scarf.”

As I turned, the world went into slow motion. My heart was already racing from watching my dog sail through the air into the iceberg water, but when my eyes met the scarf man’s, I swore the beating stopped for a second.

The man with the scarf was none other than Ace Bailey.