7. Dominic
Dominic
T here’s something in her expression, a yearning that I’m desperate to feed and fill. It’s enough to make me lean in, only to jump when the door rattles loudly.
“Charisse!” her agent hisses. “They’ve agreed to a figure I think you’ll be very pleased with, but they want to see you perform the song. Now.”
“Oh. I’ll be right there.”
“Meet us in sound booth two.”
“Yeah, sure thing.”
I let go of her and watch as she gives herself a once over in the mirror. She’s perfectly gorgeous, but she smooths her hair back anyway before turning back to me.
“I can do this.” She doesn’t tag on a question seeking affirmation from me this time. Instead, she’s straightening her spine, rolling her shoulders, and stretching out her neck.
Hiding my smile, I recognize all the motions as things the guys and I do during our game prep. Of course, I don’t expect her to get down on her knees and hump the floor like we do when we’re stretching our groin muscles, but mentally picturing her doing it only makes my smile and other parts of me grow.
Wrong time and place, Domino.
She huffs out a breath and looks up at me. “I’m ready. This gig is mine. The life I want is already mine.”
I unlock the door and twist the knob, holding it open for her to pass. When she does, I tap her right on the ass like I would any of my teammates on the ice when they pass me at the boards.
She yelps, spinning around to glare at me. I give her a devilish grin, blatantly checking out her ample ass.
“Good luck, baby. Go get ‘em.”
Then, her lips tilt up and those brown eyes shine up at me, making my heart soar. When she saunters down the hall with an extra jaunty sway in her hips and a hair toss over her shoulder, I know she’s put her game face on and she’s going to hammer home this audition.
I follow but hang back when we get to the booth. She grabs a bottle of water, takes a swig, and begins her vocal warm-up exercises. Then, minutes later, she blows us all away with her melodic voice, haunting lyrics, and the power with which she can deliver.
Pride and love well up inside me as I watch her. I fight to keep my emotions in check, but it’s no use. Our eyes connect across the way, and whatever fragile, beautiful thing that binds us feels like an inevitable, unstoppable puck moving beyond me. I can’t stop it, can’t grab it, can’t control it.
And fuck, I don’t know if I want to.
Two days later, I’m back in Soltero Beach, lacing up my skates and slipping into my pads. The weekend hanging out with Charisse didn’t turn out the way either of us had expected, considering her plans for celebrating my birthday got derailed by the career opportunity of a lifetime.
Oh, and our numerous attempts to get her pregnant with my baby.
“What’s that dopey ass on your face for?” Maddox leans toward the camera so I’m only seeing his huge eyes and furrowed forehead. “Are you sick or something?”
“No.” I roll my eyes and wrestle my jersey on over all my gear. “What do you want?”
“I’m calling to say happy birthday.”
“It was two days ago.”
“I know, but we were on the road, and I…” Maddox looks embarrassed. “I forgot. Lost track of time.”
“Too drunk to check the calendar, probably,” I mutter under my breath. My younger brother’s one of those lucky bastards who got drafted at eighteen and signed a juicy, multi-year contract thanks to his ‘soft hands’ and playmaking abilities. It’s a shame he’s pissing half his earnings away, but I know better than to say anything about it. One day, he'll figure it out.
The mic must’ve picked up what I said because he’s frowning at me again. “We all have our vices. Don’t be throwing stones, brother. Your reputation isn’t all that sparkly either. Or should I go ask Kristian Dahl what that tussle was all about?”
“That was last season.”
“Relax,” he says, twisting his baseball cap backward on his head. “I’m not judging you. Just wanted to be sure that you got my present.”
A care package from home, filled with Mom’s home-baked goods turned up on my doorstep the other day. It had all my favorites: snickerdoodle cookies, peanut butter chocolate drizzle, and her classic gingersnaps.
“What present?” I frown. “I got something from Mom, nothing from you.”
“That was from me, dufus! I gave her the idea.”
I laugh, shaking my head. Leave it to my little brother to take all the credit for a present he probably had fuck all to do with.
“Thanks, man. There were so many, Charisse has to help me with ‘em.”
“Reece? She’s there?” looks surprised and sticks his tongue in his cheek. “Haven’t seen her in years. You two still, uh…”
“Friends?” I ask, glancing up to see the last of the team heading for the ice.
He levels me with a look. “I know you’re still friends, dipshit. I was going to ask if you’re still standing on the sidelines holding your dick waiting for her to notice you’ve got it out.”
I laugh and grab the phone to bring it closer.
“I maybe got my dick out.”
Maddox’s eyes flare wide. “Shut up. Charisse has a boyfriend.”
“They broke up.”
“Well, then, Charisse is getting a new boyfriend, and it ain’t your easy ass.”
I jerk my chin up. “Don’t be so sure.”
“Fuck off. I told you to make a move years ago. You don’t have the balls to actually dig into something real. Something that might stick. You’re too chickenshit. Too afraid someone will bail on you the way Dad bailed on us.”
“Charisse wouldn’t do that to me.” Even as I say it, I think about that damn contract she presented me with while she stood in my living room next to naked. She offered me an out if I didn’t want parental rights or responsibilities with the kid she wanted me to impregnate her with.
Maybe Charisse wouldn’t up and leave, but she was prepared and unafraid to venture out into the unknown all by herself.
So why was I?
Have I been playing defense for so long that I didn’t recognize when it was wise to make a move? Was Maddox right about fear being the thing that held me back for so long?
“No,” Maddox says, rubbing his chin and looking at me through narrowed eyes. “I don’t think she would. But off the ice, your timing is comically bad, bro. Are you sure you’re ready to take her on? She’s always been a relationship girl, and you’re… Well, you’re a walking one night stand.”
“Davies!” Coach barks from the ice. “You come here to work or what?”
“Sorry, Coach,” I call out, then look back at my phone. “Maybe you’re right, Maddox. Maybe the time to take a shot is now. I gotta go. See you in a few weeks.”
Practice is grueling. I face shot after shot, and then spend extra time with the goalie coach after. By the time practice wraps, the rest of the team has already taken off.
With the rink emptied, I have free run of the place. It’s quiet and I have a habit of staying late, locking up the private facility after I’ve had my time.
It’s one of my longstanding rituals, one of those funny goalie things that people joke about, but spending the time out here alone gives me space to think and work shit out.
Idly, I line up pucks and sweep them into the empty net clear across the ice. I manage to net eight of ten when I hear the telltale sound of the latch opening. Spinning around, heart jumping to my throat, my brain can’t compute the image of Charisse clad in a tiny, fluttery skirt and a tight white Scorpions T-shirt stretching across her breasts. It reminds me of the sort of thing the ice girls who shovel off the snow shavings during commercial breaks wear. I’ve never paid them much attention, but my eyes stay locked on Charisse as she grips a hockey stick in both hands and smirks my way.
My cock, protected in its cup, twitches and I wish like hell I wasn’t wearing so much equipment.
She hasn’t taken the ice with me since we were teens.
And she never came looking like this.
“I got the gig,” she says, her dark hair silkily streaming behind her from her high pony. “Wouldn’t have happened without you giving up your birthday weekend to drive me down there.”
“Nah, they were waiting for you. They would’ve kept waiting for you until you were ready.” I shuffle my feet on the ice, admiring the way her ass looks as she keeps her knees bent while she takes a quick, sweeping shot. The puck skids into the goal, and I remember those bitter winters back home in Minnesota when we’d spend hours skating on frozen ponds or outdoor rinks with my brother and some of our friends.
She was good then. She seems even better now.
Another shot. Another empty-netter.
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do.” I skate forward and position myself in the paint. Glancing up at the scoreboard to check the time, I’m keenly aware that this isn’t a game situation, but the stakes feel raised anyway. Time ticks on. My window of opportunity to take a shot at what I want is winnowing away. Tapping the pipes in the same way I always have, I swipe the water bottle and squirt it into my mouth before clearing the net and surrounding area of loose pucks. Then I crouch down to face her. “I’ll tell you how I know if you can get a puck past me. C’mon, Soriano. Hit me with your best shot.”
She skates around the pucks that have stopped near her, lining them up to suit her preference.
“Is that all I’ll get?”
“What else do you want?”
“I want to make it interesting .” She taps her lips and narrows her eyes at me while she thinks. “I want something of my choosing for every puck I put in your net.”
I snort. “If you get more than one past me, you can have anything you ask for.”
Her face splits into a radiant smile, and my heart stutters in my chest. Why do I get the feeling I’m about to be hustled? Why do I like the idea that she might surprise me here?
“How many shots do I get?”
“Let’s say ten.”
Tongue pressing against her cheek, she idly pushes the puck around with her stick. It doesn’t escape my notice that she’s barely sparing the puck a glance as she easily handles it, and I wonder when was the last time Charisse was on ice.
“Great, but I’ll only need five.”
My eyebrows shoot upward as she quickly snaps a shot my way, and it clangs against the crossbar behind me before I’ve even flinched.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, I wasn’t ready.”
She laughs, skating to the point and firing another one my way. This time, I glove it and chuck it aside, clicking my tongue at her.
“Oh for two, Reece. Sure, you don’t want those ten tries?”
“I’m just warming up, Domino.”
Then she skates back to center ice, picks up a puck, and skates for me. At the hash marks, she fucking spins, and that tiny skirt of hers flies up. My eyes drop to the curve of her tanned, rounded ass, and it’s enough to screw my focus. She shovels the puck past me on her backhand before I can kick my leg out.
“That’s one,” she sings out, pumping her fist and heading back to set up for her next shot.
I laugh and sweep the puck out of the goal, passing it right back to her. “Okay, so it’s going to be like that? Not afraid to play a little dirty then.”
“What can I say? I learned that from you. Now, tell me why you think they would’ve waited for me.”
I nod and reconsider my game plan. She wants to shake me up with unexpected moves? Two can play that game. “Oh, because you’re worth waiting for, Reece. Any idiot can see that.”
Her ponytail swings side-to-side as she shakes her head and laughs. “That was definitely not worth scoring a goal for. I’m glad I’ve got two more chances to demand proper winnings.”
“Either you’ve improved over the last few years, or I’m losing my edge.”
“We play a lot of hockey on the road.” She smiles wolfishly. “I’ve been back in the game for months, and I know what all your tendencies are.”
Then she swoops in, skating in a wide arc and I wait, wait, wait until she’s readying a shot.
“I know you’re worth waiting for because it’s what I’ve done for twenty years.”
That startles her. Her head whips up, and her body turns sharply when her skate catches an edge. She recovers her balance, but she fires the puck wide.
“You’ve been waiting twenty years for… what?”
“For you, Charisse.” My voice is clear, calm despite the hammering of my heart and the terror squeezing the air out of my lungs.
She looks stunned. “Wha—why?”
“Why do you think?” I fight to keep my tone light, teasing. “Come on, Soriano. Last shot. Better make it good.”
“I want you to tell me.”
“Score on me, then. Fair and square, no tricks.”
She lifts her chin, determination drawing up her shoulders and etched into her expression. Then she skates toward me, and I come out of the net to challenge her. I know I loom large in goal and she’s running out of room, but she fakes and I commit, kicking out a leg to block a shot that she only releases a fraction of a second after I do. I feel the rubber disk slip between my legs and bounce off my calf. I twist back to confirm what I already know—it’s rolled right in.
“Goal!” she shouts, throwing her stick up and letting it clatter to the ice as she celebrates like she’s won the damn Cup. She spins and collides with me so hard that I drop my gloves and tumble backward.
Her legs spread wide over my hips, and I hold her there, already feeling myself growing stiff beneath her. My breath locks up in my throat, and all the padding between us doesn’t do anything to stop me from feeling the heat of her body against mine. Her shirt does nothing to hide the hardened points of her tits, and my hands slide up her body, skimming over her curves to brush over those twin peaks.
She swallows hard, and those dark lashes of hers fan across her cheeks as her mouth falls open with a sigh.
“I demand my winnings, Davies.”
“What do you want?”
Her eyes open to narrow slits as she lowers her mouth toward me without actually kissing me. “You. Me. Naked in the penalty box. Now.”