Chapter 3
SEX MEAT
Trina
Look, I’m not saying I suddenly like hockey or anything crazy like that. But I definitely don’t mind being smushed next to these two big hunks. I mean, fine. There’s a lot of gear on them. Shoulder pads and stuff.
But still.
They smell nice.
Is it normal to smell good before a game? No idea, but the bearded one smells like a forest, and the brown-eyed guy reminds me of an ocean breeze.
I inhale them surreptitiously as I smile for the camera, little me wedged between my ex’s idols here at the players’ bench.
The players’ bench.
I am so not going to mind posting this photo on my socials in, oh, say two minutes.
Take that, Jasper.
He’s been begging me for the last two weeks to return the VIP tickets. Pleading, crying, and prostrating himself in his pathetic effort to woo them back. But gee, my phone just seems to be broken. It refuses to answer his calls, texts, or emails.
Imagine that.
I’ll be sure to tag him in these pics shortly though.
Gianna snaps a few more photos on her phone, then I hand her my phone, too, and return to my spot between the rivals. They sling their arms around me again.
And again, I don’t mind one bit. Ryker’s arm is so big. Chase’s too. Strong arms are just extra nice.
“Perfect,” Gianna declares when she’s done, then holds up a finger. “But let me just check and make sure they’ll work.”
As Gianna busies herself swiping the screen, the guy with the killer smile turns to me.
“So, who’s your favorite player, Trina? I’m guessing since you’re wearing a Weston jersey that it’s me,” Chase says, all charm and great teeth.
He’s friendlier than I’d expected him to be.
I’d figured a couple of pampered athletes would just smile plastically for the camera, since they’re doing this out of obligation, then focus their attention on the game, no conversation allowed.
I return his smile with one of my own. “Is that a requirement? That I have a favorite?” I ask playfully.
“Nope. But it’s likely you will when you see me play.” Someone is confident.
But Ryker scoffs.
I turn to him, curious. “Does that mean you think you’ll be my favorite instead?”
He scratches his jaw, a little aloof. “I don’t play to make favorites. I play to win,” he says with a careless shrug, but he’s not aloof with his stare, aimed right at me. His dark blue eyes are smoldering with their intensity. With a promise of what’s to come.
In the game? On the ice? Or after when we all play…Ping-Pong?
I’m not sure, but it seems like it’d be fun to wind him up.
“Then maybe we should make a bet. If you’re both my favorite players after the game, I’ll buy a round.
But it’s going to take a lot of convincing,” I warn, then shrug casually, ready to surprise these guys with this little nugget.
I lean in and whisper, “It’s my first time… at a hockey game.”
Chase whistles. “Fuck favorite players. We have a bigger mission now for your virgin game,” he says, a little flirty. “We’re gonna make sure hockey is your new favorite sport.”
I arch a doubtful brow then say, “Good luck.”
There’s no way I plan on falling for either team, or for my ex’s favorite game for that matter. Still, I have a full night of revenge gloating ahead of me, and I plan to savor every second here at the arena and with these two guys.
“Drinks are on us when you’re convinced, and you’ll definitely be convinced,” Chase adds, full of athlete bravado.
Ryker rolls his eyes at the other guy. “Dickhead, drinks are on us. It’s part of the VIP package,” he says, and this bearded brute might as well have G-R-U-M-P written on his jersey.
But he’s not wrong. “You make a very good point too,” I say sweetly to Ryker, since grumps don’t scare me.
The man’s brow knits, like he’s taken aback by my comment. That’s fun, his reaction.
“I mean, details matter, right?” I add with a smile.
His forehead gets even tighter. “Yeah. They do,” he grumbles, but his lips twitch, like he’s fighting off a grin.
Ha. I’ve defused the big bad grump some. Yay me.
“Speaking of good points and details, I’ll be expecting a full report over drinks, Trina,” Chase says, cutting in and taking over. “Every detail on how I convinced you hockey is the best.”
I tap my temple and say, “Don’t worry. I’ll take copious notes for later.”
“And we’ll have a full review then, Trina,” he says, pausing at my name, almost like he’s enjoying the way it tastes on his tongue.
That’s unexpected, the ramp up. And I don’t have a comeback this time. Especially since both men are looking at me with competitive fire in their eyes.
For a few seconds, I feel a little wobbly under the heat of their stares.
Like I’m the unexpected object of their desires.
But there’s no way they’d both be staring at me like that.
I’ve probably read too many books. I’m likely imagining the flames in their irises, mistaking their drive to win for, well, a drive for something else.
Besides, they probably just want to prove their dicks are bigger than the next guy’s. “I can’t wait for the full review,” I say.
“I can’t either,” Chase says, then shakes my hand, sealing our bet. As our palms connect, warmth licks my veins again. I’m not sure what to make of this sensation skimming through me. I’m in an icy arena. I should be shivering.
Instead, I’m borderline sweating.
“The pics look great. You guys nailed the friendly rivals brief,” Gianna says, interrupting my thoughts and my tingles.
I snap my gaze to her and she’s waving, beckoning me over. I let go of Chase’s hand, perhaps a little reluctantly. “See you guys later,” I say to my VIP hosts.
But before I go, Ryker reaches for my hand, only he doesn’t shake it again. He surprises the hell out of me when he drops a whiskery kiss to the top of my knuckles.
“Oh,” I say as he lingers just a little bit, and I’m tingling all over again. What the hell is going on with me?
Then he lets go and holds my gaze once more with those midnight blue eyes that look even darker than they did a few minutes ago.
I do my best to not dwell on that whole interaction that ran the gamut from grumpy to cocky to bossy to flirty.
Time to focus on my mission for the night.
Photos.
I have so many more photos to take. Because revenge is the best way to get over an ex.
Even though I have to sit through a hockey game to get there.
* * *
There’s stuff happening on the ice. Like big men in bulky uniforms jumping over the boards and flying really fast on blades that look like knives.
I peer at the game from the VIP suite high above the action, where Aubrey and I are enjoying sparkling wine and stuffed mushrooms. We already devoured cauliflower tacos and mini beef wellington bites.
The food is ridiculously good, but I’m still in awe of the way they wear those skates.
“How do they move on those things, Aub? That is going to be at the top of my list to ask the guys tonight.”
It’s a bummer Aubrey won’t be with me for the VIP hang, but she has an “emergency blowout” tomorrow morning at the unholy hour of seven. She’s a hair stylist and one of her clients has a Saturday morning TV appearance.
My bestie lifts her wine, her brown eyes twinkling with doubt. “That’s on the top of your list?”
“Yes,” I say. “I tried figure skating once and my ankles punished me the next day by screaming in pain. I believe it was a warning that exercise is dangerous, and I do best with light strolls and long savasanas.”
“Girl, I think the top of your list of questions for tonight will be…which one of them is going to fight off the other for a piece of you?” She sets down her wine to waggle her phone at me.
“What are you talking about?”
She stabs a polished pink fingernail, decorated with silver bling hearts, on the screen. “Look at the pics we posted.”
I scoot closer and peer again at a shot of the guys and me, and hmm. She has a point. There’s a little smolder there, but still. “I bet that’s just a look they teach athletes in smile-for-the-camera school. Look hot and hot for the fans I believe is the lesson.”
“Sure, the muscles and the million-dollar contracts bump up the hotness factor. But look again.”
Fine, Chase does seem to be stealing a glance at me out of the corner of his eye. And Ryker’s hand is curled tightly around my shoulder. Possessively. “Cameras are funny,” I say, a little surprised at what it’s revealing.
“Yeah, they’re funny how they capture the animals in their native habitat, Trina. They’re both staring at you like lions.”
“So they want to devour me as prey?”
“Um, yeah,” she says.
“And rip me to shreds?” I ask, egging her on.
“To pieces of sex meat,” she says salaciously, then burps, which cracks her up to no end. She slaps her phone-covered hand to her mouth. “Oh my god. I’ve had too much sparkling wine.”
I pour her a glass of water from the table next to us and hand her the cup. “No more fancy suite wine for you. No more talk of sex meat. Water, good; sex meat, bad.”
“And hockey? Mildly okay?” she asks after she takes a sip.
Right. There’s a game going on. I should watch it. But I’ve already learned hockey is super fun in a private suite when they give you buffets of fancy food and fabulous wine.
On the ice, someone with a number fourteen Sea Dogs jersey—ooh, that’s Chase Panty-Melting-Smile Weston—races across the blue line.
But when he passes the little black disc to another Sea Dog, out of nowhere, Hot Bearded Avenger flies in front of him.
Whoa. He whips that puck the other way, sending it screaming down the rink.
I hoot, thrusting an arm in the air, but I don’t know who’s the good guy and who’s the bad guy. Ryker? Chase? “Go…um? Who are we rooting for, Aub?”
“The snack men,” she declares, with a salacious lick of her lips. “And also…you. A badass babe who will not be fucked with by losers like dickless Jasper.”
I sling an arm around her. “You’re the true badass babe. Thanks again for letting me stay with you. I’m going to find a place really soon.”
She waves a dismissive hand. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you need,” she says, but there are real nerves in her voice. She lives in a tiny apartment in a building that isn’t entirely dog-friendly.
“I can move back in with my parents or…my sister,” I say, nearly choking on that last thought since my sister, Cassie, recently went into full pregnant-zilla mode, planning her upcoming baby shower and maternity leave, while my high school sweetheart parents have suggested each day since I left Jasper that they help me find a great new guy I can settle down with and make babies too. Like, tomorrow.
No thanks. I just want to make rent. But I don’t want to inconvenience Aubrey and her anti-canine landlord.
“I’m sure Cassie would let me stay in her guest room,” I offer with a wince, since of course my uber successful interior designer sister has both a fully decorated nursery in gender-neutral pale yellow colors, as well as an extra bedroom, neatly appointed with a flower bedspread and hand towels.
She also has a long list of ideas for my life, since I clearly need her help to get my career going and reach my full potential as working at a bookstore can’t possibly be my endgame.
Aubrey cringes. “Wash your mouth out with soap. You will do no such thing, Trina Beaumont.”
Thank god she said that. “I don’t deserve you.”
“No one does, but I still love you. And that means…can I be the first to hold up the sign?”
Yes! The signs. “Do it.”
She reaches for the cardboard signs we made last night and hands one to me. She holds up hers, so everyone can see. I do the same.
It takes a while, but after a few minutes, fans in the stands crane their necks, point, laugh, and snap pics.
Soon enough, the jumbotron operator must notice because our signs are flashing across the big screen in the arena during a time-out.
Aubrey’s says: Hey, cheating ex.
Mine reads: How do you like your hockey tickets now?
Down by the players’ benches, Number Fourteen tugs up his helmet and stares up at our suite, then laughs deeply. Captain Bossy.
The possessive bearded guy on the other team cracks a small smile. I bet that’s rare for Mister Grumpy.
I grin, feeling a little victorious in my sweet revenge.
I’m not saying it takes the sting and the heartache away. I still feel stupid. I still have zero interest in ever getting involved with a guy ever again, pretty much for time immemorial.
But tonight? I feel good, and that has to count for something in the healing process.
* * *
When Aubrey leaves at the end of the game with the Sea Dogs winning, she gives me a big hug and whispers, “Have so much fun tonight with those hotties. And don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
“Like, what? Burp wine? Oh, wait—you did that.”
“Don’t do that. But do make them fight for you. Rawr.” She makes claws with her hands. Or tries to at least.
I’m so glad she’s taking a Lyft home. Glad, too, I only had one glass tonight.
She’s off and I’m heading to meet Gianna, who escorts me to just outside the locker room where the two hockey studs wait for me.
When I reach them, she says a quick hello and goodbye, and I just stare stupidly. They’re no longer in their uniforms. They’re both wearing tailored, trim suits that hug strong butts and snuggle firm arms.
And…whoa. Those thighs.
Chase’s are so obviously toned and muscular in those charcoal pants. And Ryker’s are bigger and thicker in his midnight blue slacks that match his eyes.
Did I just discover I’m a thighs woman? I didn’t know that about myself till just now. But hello, strong legs. I like you. Both pairs of legs.
But more importantly, why did no one tell me hockey players wear suits after games?
That is information I would have liked to know before now. Suits are kind of my thing. Well, I’ve read a lot of billionaire romances.
“Nice suits,” I say, recovering from my too-long gawk at last as I stand in the long, chilly hallway at the Sea Dogs arena.
“Are we going to your corner office in a skyscraper overlooking the city?”
Chase smirks. “We can go wherever you want.”
Is it hot in here all of a sudden or what?