CHAPTER 37 #2
“Stay there,” she said, lowering herself to straddle him. She shed her hoodie and bra, then reached between her thighs, spreading her wetness over his length as she stroked him.
“Fuck,” he whispered.
She smirked. “I’m getting to that.”
He lowered his head, teeth grazing her nipple as he touched her breasts.
Fully hard, he gripped her hips as she sank onto him.
She moved slow at first, then faster, their bodies falling into rhythm.
Pressure coiled deep inside her, tightening around him until he groaned, almost driving her over the edge.
“You feel so good,” she said.
“I can’t take it.” He held her waist steady. “Slow down a minute.” But she didn’t stop and he wrapped his arms around her back and his pelvis jerked. “Fuck. Sorry.”
“No apologies.” She giggled. “Just make it up to me. I mean, when you’ve recovered.” He lifted her from the floor and carried her to bed. “I’m fine, really. I was just teasing.”
“I need to see you come again,” he begged.
He slid his fingers inside, seeking the spot that made her unravel. Pressure built as he stroked with purpose, then a sharp cry escaped—her release was shattering, soaking the sheets beneath them.
“That’s my girl.” He shook his dripping hand.
She sat up and covered her mouth. “Cary! The bed’s soaked.”
He laughed. “You’re welcome.”
After they showered Tyler wrapped a towel around her chest and leaned against the doorframe as Cary combed product into his hair. He was whistling a tune she recognized but couldn’t quite put a finger on. It wasn’t one of his hits.
“You know, you can’t keep Kim forever,” she said. “I’ll want her back for my girl band.”
“How’s that going?” He lathered shaving cream over his stubble.
Has he ever grown a beard?
She googled Cary Kingston + beard, and a few images popped up, but she preferred him clean-shaven.
“The Oh Claires?” she asked. “It’s going great. We have some real interest from the States. Allie’s working on setting up their showcase.”
“You’re a force to be reckoned with.”
She widened her eyes. “Wait until I start managing Nadie.”
“I take it you’re not telling Sebastien?”
“No, but it wouldn’t matter anyway. He said he’d never manage a woman.”
“Shit!” He nicked himself with the razor. “He said what?”
“Are you okay?” He nodded, so she continued. “He said he doesn’t want to manage”—she made air quotes—“catfights and mood swings.”
“It’s worse than I thought.”
“People in the industry call him Sebastard.”
“Really?” He walked out of the bathroom, pressing a tissue against his chin. “That’s pretty funny.”
“Funny? It’s hilarious.” She wrinkled her brow. “What’s that song you were whistling?”
“It’s Bert’s song.” He twisted a towel into his ear. “It’s been in my head all day.”
“It’s called ‘Happy Merry Christmas.’”
“Do you think he’d let me record it?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “Ask him.”
Although the arena was only a few blocks away, walking there was out of the question, for Cary at least. Being famous came with some minor drawbacks, like not getting your steps in.
When they arrived at the venue the taxi pulled around to the back where a dozen fans were waiting.
“What are these people doing here?” she asked. “The players are already inside the arena.”
Cary smiled shyly. “I think they’re here to see me.”
She knocked on the side of her head with her fist. “Right. I keep forgetting you’re Cary Kingston.”
He laughed. “When I’m with you, I forget I’m me.”
Tyler said goodbye to her boyfriend, ducked into the VIP entrance, and headed to the suite. Sebastien would no doubt be lurking somewhere in the building, and she needed to avoid him, at least for the time being.
“Hi, Tyler!” Jessica greeted her excitedly. “I asked to be your server tonight.”
“It’s nice to see you.”
“I saw Cary’s speech on TV.” Jessica frowned, shifting her weight. “It—it sounds like he has someone special, huh? Bummer.”
Tyler shrugged with a tight-lipped smile. “Yeah, bummer.”
“How many people are you expecting?” the server asked, passing her a Blue Moon beer.
“Let’s see . . .” She counted on her fingers. “Four from my family. Pamela, John, Sebastien, Kim, Vegas, and Cary. So . . . ten.”
Tyler’s brothers couldn’t make it because her nephews were playing in a hockey tournament the next morning. All four boys were on the top-seeded teams, and she chalked their achievements up to the extra conditioning they did in the off-season.
The Kingstons entered the suite and waved at Tyler.
“Thanks for having us, dear,” Pamela said, her grin stretching from ear to ear.
“We’re too early,” John added, scanning the empty room.
“Don’t be silly,” Tyler said. “I’ll take your coats. Your son won’t be here for a while, so please make yourselves comfortable.”
Pamela’s eyes twinkled. “I have to tell you, we’ve seen more of him in the last four months than in the past ten years.”
Tyler nodded and smiled. She’d suspected as much and was glad they’d reconnected with their only child.
“This is Jessica,” Tyler said, introducing their server. “She’ll take your order. There’s an open bar and food. Have whatever you want.”
“How lovely!” Pamela shook Jessica’s hand. “I’m Pamela, and this is my husband, John.”
“Hello,” John said politely.
“The Kingstons,” Tyler said. “As in Cary’s parents.”
Jessica’s eyes lit up like a pinball machine. “You’re Cary’s parents?”
“We are.” Pamela tightened the bow on her blouse.
“Wow!” Jessica gushed. “Thank you for having him.”
That’s enough, Jessica.
The Kingstons laughed, embarrassed, but they were probably used to it, given their son was a celebrity.
“Cary said your family’s coming?” John asked.
Tyler nodded. “My dad, my sister, her husband, and my niece. She’s singing the anthem with Cary. My brothers couldn’t make it. My nephews are playing in a hockey tournament.”
“I remember those days,” Pamela said, gazing at the ceiling.
“It seems like yesterday,” John added. “Those morning practices almost killed us, didn’t they Pammy?”
Tyler wrinkled her brow. “Who played hockey?”
“Cary did,” John told her. “Junior hockey.” He scooped a handful of peanuts from the snack tray. “Man, that kid could skate.”
“Cary played hockey?” She was sure she’d misheard him.
John nodded. “It was a tough decision between music and hockey, but I think he made the right choice.”
“Once he commits, he commits,” Pamela chimed in. “He did both for a while but something had to give. I’m sure you know with Cary it’s perfection or nothing. Why do you think he’s been single for so long?” She twitched a smile. “Or was single, I should say.”
I’m going to get you for this, Cary Kingston.
The suite door opened and Tyler’s family filed in. They’d never been in a private suite before, so this was a big deal.
“Look at this spread!” Bert whistled, casing the place like he was scouting real estate.
“Knock yourself out, Dad,” Tyler said. “There’s an open bar.”
Dylan collapsed onto the couch. “I’m going to puke,” she muttered, rubbing her temples.
“Are you feeling okay?” Tyler crouched in front of her, placing a hand over her stomach. “Do you want a cold compress or something?”
“It’s not the baby!” Dylan slapped her hand away. “I’m nervous about Nadie.”
“Me too,” Tyler admitted. She stood and held out her arms. “Give me your coats.”
One by one, she helped her family out of their jackets. Dylan, Bert, and Joe were all wearing their old-school Jets jerseys—fans from way back, long before Winnipeg lost the team to Phoenix in ’96, the biggest mistake in franchise history.
“Hi,” the Kingstons said in unison.
“These are Cary’s parents.” Tyler performed introductions between the two families.
John inspected his brown cardigan and said, “We need to get some jerseys, Pammy.”
Pamela nodded and extended her arm to shake Bert’s hand.
“We’re practically family!” Bert shooed her hand away, hugging her warmly.
“Dad!” Tyler said while her father let out a hearty laugh.
“We’re hoping so too.” Pamela winked at her.
This is embarrassing.
A few minutes later the house lights dimmed and the announcer introduced Nadie and Cary.
“Oh my god.” Dylan paced like an expectant father. “Joe, aren’t you supposed to be doing this?”
“There they are!” Tyler pointed as Nadie and Cary stepped onto the blue carpet.
After a beat, Cary strummed his guitar, and they traded verses of “The Star-Spangled Banner.” A notoriously difficult anthem, they delivered it with the ease of a nursery rhyme, their simple harmony holding the crowd in quiet awe.
The Canadian anthem was next. This time Nadie and Cary sang in perfect harmony while the crowd sang along, a little out of the pocket and forgetting the new lyrics—not a shocker.
Tyler was all for changing the words to be more inclusive, but why leave in the “God” part when so many people worshiped other deities, and others none?
“She’s a star,” Tyler whispered into her sister’s ear. “I can’t wait to manage her.”
“She’s so talented,” Pamela said, nodding at Dylan. “I hear it runs in the family.”
“It was your son’s idea for Nadie to sing with him,” Dylan said, holding her belly.
Pamela stretched a smile across her face. “That’s nice to know, Dylan. Thank you for telling me.”
I could tell you a few things, Pamela.
“I’ll be right back,” Tyler said, slipping out of the suite.
She returned a few minutes later with a bag from the pro shop. “Here,” she said, handing it to Cary’s dad.
John pulled out two Jets jerseys. The names on the back read Mr. Kingston and Mrs. Kingston.
“Thank you!” he beamed, already tugging one over his cardigan.
Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out his wallet.
“Nope.” Tyler waved it away. “They’re from Cary.”
“We’d like to pay for them,” John said, holding firm.
Tyler shook her head. “Take it up with him.”
Pamela shrugged her jersey over her blouse. “Thank you, dear. You’ll be able to wear this one soon.” She pointed to the lettering on her back and Tyler’s face practically burst into flames. Of course she’d fantasized about one day becoming Mrs. Cary Kingston . . .
With a loud bang, the door flew open and Sebastien and Tommy barged into the suite. Why is Tommy here? She glanced at the bar and answered her own question.
“Tyler,” Sebastien seethed slowly.
The days of “Hi, doll” were long gone, and that was fine—no, preferred.
“Sebastien,” she said, returning his tone. “What’s going on with the contract?” He’d been fucking around with Yestown’s deal and she’d had enough of it. “It’s been weeks.”
“It’ll take as long as it takes.” He turned his head. “Why is Bert here?”
“Cary invited my family.”
He grunted, stroking his beard. “Who was that singing with Cary?”
“A local girl.” She told him the truth without revealing her relationship to Nadie. “You might want to say hi to Pamela and John.” She pointed at them, diverting his attention. “They’re over there.”
“Yeah, I think I will.” He waved at Cary’s parents and sauntered toward them, presumably with puckered lips to kiss their asses.
“Tyler,” Tommy said, and her jaw tightened. “I didn’t realize you were such a fucking groupie.” He straightened his tie and gave her a smart-ass grin.
“Fuck off, Tommy.” And he did.
The next people to arrive were Kim and Vegas but they split apart instantly, neither willing to risk Sebastien seeing them together.
“What’s with this?” Tyler yanked on the hem of Kim’s Jets jersey.
“Fuck it,” Kim said. “I’m done with Vancouver.”
“It’s about time.” Tyler watched her grab a beer. “Where’s Cary?”
“Still signing autographs.”
“Nadie too?”
“Dude, it’s adorable.” Kim laughed. “There’s a whole lineup of little girls waiting to take selfies with her.”
Tyler glanced around to make sure Sebastien and Tommy were out of earshot, then lowered her voice. “My sister gave me the green light to manage her.”
“I get to be her TM, right? When the time comes?”
“Of course.” Tyler smiled. “Allie and I are making progress with the Oh Claires too.”
“Dude, you need to leave SDM. Like, yesterday.”
“I know, but it’s not that easy.”
“So what?” Kim shrugged. “If it were easy, everyone would do it.”
“Fair,” Tyler said. “You want to head back to the hotel with us after the game?”
“We’re not staying there.”
“You’re not?”
“Nope. Vegas’s renters moved out of his house, so we’re crashing there.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“Yeah, he’s ditching the rental in Vancouver. We’re moving here after the tour.”
“Here? As in Winnipeg?”
Kim nodded. “Makes the most sense. We’d never afford a place in Vancouver, and it’s not like Sebastard’s gonna hire me again. Not that I’d say yes.”
“Up top!” Tyler raised her hand, and they high-fived. “You’re gonna love it here.”
Sebastien and Tommy left the suite without saying a word. Who knew dating Cary was the magic trick to making them disappear?
“Sorry we’re late, babe.” Cary walked into the suite and pointed at Nadie. “We had to wait for this superstar to finish signing autographs.”
“Auntie Ty!” Nadie was beaming.
“You killed it!” Tyler said.
“You did, dude,” Kim added. “Straight fire!”
“I’m going to say hi to Mom and Dad,” Nadie told them. “They probably want my autograph.”
“I’ll get you a beer,” Kim said, bringing Nadie to see her parents.
“I heard that, Kim!” Tyler shook her finger.
“My folks seem to be getting along with everyone,” Cary said, rubbing her back and making her toes curl.
Tyler gestured in Pamela and John’s direction. “If they ask, their jerseys are from you.”
“Mr. and Mrs. Kingston.” He laughed. “Was that your idea?” She nodded. “My mom’s jersey would look better on you.”
“You made us proud out there, son,” Bert interrupted.
Your timing is impeccable, Dad.
“It was all Nadie, sir.” Cary shook his hand. “She comes by it honestly.”
Bert smiled. “Nice of you to say, but she’s more talented than all of us put together. I wish I could take the credit.”
“Did you have something to ask my dad, Cary?” she prompted.
Bert lifted his brow. “Oh, I see . . .”
“No, Dad. Not that.”
Tyler clamped a hand over her mouth, mortified. Was she about to die right here on the spot? Cary wasn’t asking for her hand in marriage—at least, not in front of her.
After an awkward pause, Cary said, “The song you wrote . . . the Christmas one?”
“‘Happy Merry Christmas?’” Bert asked. “What about it?”
“How would you feel if I recorded it? No pressure or anything.”
Bert placed his hand over his heart. “Son, it’d be a great honor.”