Chapter 3 - Emilia
Emilia
Present Day
All Star Weekend:
I lift my face to the Caribbean sun as I make my way to my lounge chair near the majestic emerald waters. With everyone else off on a catamaran boat ride on this glorious Saturday morning, I get to spend my birthday soaking up the sun, and reading this month’s book club pick—a steamy romance novel.
I give a happy sigh. A full day to myself on the most romantic island in the Caribbean. What more could a girl want…
Although, reading a smoking hot book might not be my brightest idea.
Yeah, getting all hot and bothered under the Caribbean sun, when you don’t have a man to crawl into bed with, is probably not my smartest move.
Then again, I’ve done a few things that weren’t smart in the last few years, like agreeing to go to prom with Gabe, and taking a coaching job with the Boston Bucks where I’m forced to see his stupid face every day.
I glance around at the men milling about around me. I’m sure a few of them are single, and I could probably hook up with one or two—never to see them again—but I’m not really into fast flings with strangers.
Oh, and why is that, Emilia?
I quickly shut down that sarcastic, yet far too intuitive inner voice, and plop down on my lounge chair, refusing to give answer to that question.
Honestly, I’m just happy that I don’t have to look at Gabriel Perry, the man I loathe to my core, on my birthday.
Yesterday he stood before us WAGs—not that I’m a WAG—as we lounged on our chairs.
Did he really have to flex his hard, striated muscles on the beach volleyball court right in my line of sight?
I guess I could have always moved.
And why didn’t you, Emilia?
Because I was with my friends, that’s why.
Otherwise, I would have been long gone because that man irritates the hell out of me.
He always has. Okay, fine there were a couple times he didn’t annoy me.
Those times were before high school—before he figured out I liked him.
And the night of my prom—before he allowed Jenny to taste his dinner from the depths of his stomach… with her tongue.
I was such a fool to think he might have liked me, that the thickness I felt between his legs was because of me. It was no doubt for Jenny Garrity. I guess at the end of the day, catching him with Jenny was for the best. I could have made a fool of myself if I tried to get him naked.
But seriously, did Jenny have to jump on his hips and stick her serpent tongue down so deep.
Christ, it looked like she was trying to suck his soul from his body.
I knew she was evil. I just didn’t know she was a damn succubus.
Heck, if hockey doesn’t work out for Gabe, he can always switch careers.
I’ve yet to see a Boston street performer swallow a sword—or better yet, a hockey stick.
After catching him with Jenny, I feigned sick and had one of my friends drive me home, and I never set eyes on Gabe again until I took the assistant coaching job a few months ago. He did, however, text me after I won a silver at the Olympics. I didn’t answer.
But this coaching job…I was so damn reluctant to take it, but I needed steady work once my Olympic career was over, compliments of a knee injury.
When my cousin Tanner Bang called me to let me know the skating coach would soon be going on maternity leave and the Bucks needed a replacement, my first response was a hard no.
I didn’t want to be anywhere near Gabe—Gabe the Babe, as the bunnies call him.
Gigi, the swallower of swords, and slayer of hearts—as I call him.
But both Tanner and my brother Ryder convinced me that it was a great career choice.
They weren’t wrong, but facing Gabe every day…
ugh. Thankfully, he’s gone on the catamaran adventure, and I don’t have to look at his stupid face until later tonight, when I blow out the candles on my cake.
But it’s bright and early in the morning and that’s a long way off, so I’m going to put him out of my mind, and get myself all worked up reading the juicy parts of the book in my hand.
Besides, I’m a grown woman. If I can buy my own flowers, and write my name in the sand, then I can surely take care of myself in the bedroom. I don’t need a man for that.
Yeah, but Emilia, what you really want is a man between the sheets, and not just any man…
Shut the hell up.
Putting that insufferable man out of my brain, I bend my knees and open my book.
“Hey, Millie.”
What the ever-loving hell?
I shade the sun from my eyes, and the second I see Gabe the Babe standing over me, a drink in his hand, I nearly swallow my tongue.
Okay, get it together, girl.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, unable to hide the annoyance in my voice.
Annoyance, or…lust?
Ugh
He holds out a fancy glass with an umbrella in it “Bringing you a strawberry daiquiri.”
“If I wanted a strawberry daiquiri, I would have gotten a strawberry daiquiri.”
“Yesterday you seemed rather annoyed that I took a sip of yours. Here…” He holds it closer to me. “This one is all yours. I didn’t drink from it. No cooties.” He smiles and produces that one dimple that all the girls talk about and I hate.
Did he flash that dimple at Jenny Garrity before she did a deep dive down his throat?
Maybe so, and I don’t really care. His adorableness is lost on me.
He runs his hand along his chest. “You don’t want this?”
Oh, hell yes!
Girl, he’s talking about the drink.
“No.” I refuse to take anything from this man, even though my throat has gone completely dry.
He shrugs. “Fine then.” Thick fingers grip the straw and guide it to his mouth. I try not to look as he takes a long pull and swallows.
“What are you doing here?”
He frowns. “Ah, it’s the All-Star weekend and we came on the same plane.”
“No, I mean why aren’t you out on the catamaran?” I huff out an annoyed breath and drop my book.
“It’s your birthday. I didn’t want you spending the day alone.”
“How did you know it was my birthday?” Stupid question. I’m sure one of the girls announced it, because there’s going to be cake tonight.
His eyes narrow in on me, an almost hurt expression dancing in the depths. “When have I ever forgotten your birthday, Millie?”
Okay, heart, stop dancing. I’m his best friend’s kid sister, and he was always at my house on my birthday. Probably for the cake.
He sits in the lounge chair beside me and pulls it over, his closeness, not to mention his near nakedness doing the worst things to my body.
“I’m trying to read.”
“I was thinking.”
Don’t ask, Emilia. Don’t engage.
“About?”
Damn.
He shrugs. “Remember when we were kids and we played the ‘yes’ game for your birthday?”
My mind goes back to all the fun we used to have. He was always such a good sport, always there for me, until…he wasn’t.
“Yeah, I remember.” I try to sound bored, but honestly I’m curious where this conversation is going.
“I thought maybe we could play it again. It could be fun here on this island. Me, having to do whatever you tell me to do.”
“Like go drown in the ocean?”
He laughs. “I was hoping it could be more fun than that.”
I arch a brow. “Who says that wouldn’t be fun for me?” Ohmigod what is going on here? This flirty banter shouldn’t be this much fun. I hate this man.
“Listen, I know you have a problem with me—”
“Gabe,” I begin and cut him off. Okay, be honest girl, tell him how you really feel.
I take a big breath and years of pent-up tension bubble to the surface.
“You’ve been making my life miserable since I arrived in Boston.
” Okay, even before that, but I need to focus on the here and now and how working with him on the ice is torturous.
He braces his elbows on his knees, and runs an agitated hand through his hair.
“Yeah.”
Yeah? That’s all he has to say about our excruciating ice sessions.
I study the pained look moving over his face.
What is going on in that brain of his? I don’t know, but what I do know is I’m not going to bring up prom night.
I don’t want him to know how much that hurt me.
I need to leave the past in the past and figure out a way to move forward here.
Other than his lack of cooperation on the ice, the pushing back against all my instruction, I do love my job, and the other guys and management are all great.
Sticking to our jobs, I continue, “On the ice, I can’t say anything to you. You’re always fighting me and pushing back. None of the other guys do it. They take my skating advice, but you…you never want to listen to me.”
“If we play the game, I’ll have to do everything you ask.” Okay so he doesn’t want to talk about that. Why?
“I want you to do everything I ask on the ice, Gabe.”
“How about we start here. For your birthday. We’ll see how that goes first.”
While I want to push the matter, I switch focus and ask, “Why do you want to do this? We haven’t played that game in ages.”
He drops one arm, still bracing it on his knee, but his fingers dangle and brush against my thigh. Holy God. The warmth of his touch fries all but one brain cell and I’m really hoping that one comes through for me, because I can’t be playing these games with Gabe.
His gaze holds mine as he answers. “Because you always loved it, Millie.”
I pretend to think about his offer for a moment. What I’m really doing is trying to get my body under control as his innocent touch sends heat right to my sex. I swear if I get in the water right now, it’ll sizzle around me.
“We’re adults now, Gabe.” Thank you, one working brain cell. “Adults don’t play the ‘yes’ game.”
“Yeah, I think they do. I just think they play an adult version.”
What the freaking hell? What exactly is he saying? I’m pretty sure I know but I’d like to do a quick google search just to be sure we’re on the same page here. Look what happened the last time I assumed anything.
Jenny Garrity deep diving down his throat.
Okay, it’s time for me to walk away from this, to end it before it goes any further. I’m about to grab my book, stomp back to my room, and lock myself in until we fly home. Except…that one working brain cell suddenly burns out.
“You’d have to do whatever I ask?”
Girl, what are you doing?
He gives an easy shrug of one broad shoulder. “Sure.”
“What if I want a pedicure?” Hardly an adult ‘yes’ game, but again, I’m not going to make any assumptions.
He nods. “I’d probably make a mess, but I’d give it a shot.”
I tap my chin. He takes another sip of his drink. “You’d get me all the fruity drinks I want.”
“All of them.”
Hmm, this is starting to sound interesting. With my brain no longer working, the needy spot between my legs—the one that cares nothing about assumptions—kicks in. Oh, the fun I could have with this man.
“If you want a shoulder ride, I’ll even do that for the day,” he tells me, like that might entice me and it doesn’t. Much. Okay, it does. A lot.
A mischievous grin spreads across his too handsome face and sends me spiraling.
My brain races and my body goes weak at the thoughts of my legs wrapped around his neck.
Only this time I’d be on my back and my legs wouldn’t be dangling around his chest. Nope, they’d be dangling around his back and I’d be tugging on his hair.
I tap my fingers on my book. “So what happens in the Caribbean stays in the Caribbean?” I ask.
“That’s what I’ve always heard.”
Oh my God. This is going to be so, so bad, and so much fun.