Chapter 19
brAXTON
Two days later, I’m celebrating the Vancouver Warriors’ first-round sweep in a sweaty VIP section of a club I’ve never heard of.
It’s a mess of flashing lights, dirty dancing, and deep male laughter, and while I would rather be at home, I’ve learned that when Alexander Torello orders you to do something, you do it without question.
Especially when you have an agreement and a selfish father hanging over your head.
I haven’t gone out to a club since university, and even then, I never really had the time to enjoy myself.
Between the sickening amount of coursework, exams, and time spent at the small animal clinic that took me on for my work experience hours, fun wasn’t really a priority.
But even when I did make the time, I can’t say that I was ever invited to hang out with professional players in the VIP section of a club while they complain about their rankings on the newest NHL video game.
This is entirely new territory to me, and I’m not above admitting that I feel a bit out of place.
“Hutton is the only one who didn’t get fucked by the ratings this year.
I mean, they have me as an eighty overall?
There’s no way!” one of the players shouts, outraged on the far end of the couch.
He’s a bit rugged-looking, with a thick, bushy beard that looks like it would feel scratchy and deep bluey-purple eyes.
Maddox shakes beside me with a low laugh. His bicep flexes against the side of my bare neck, where he has it slung over my shoulder. The tight-sleeved, black T-shirt he wore tonight fits him a little too well and leaves all the roped muscles of his arms on full display.
I nearly swallowed my tongue when he picked me up earlier, and that just won’t do.
Not even a second after I slid into the passenger side of his truck, I promised myself that I wouldn’t embarrass myself tonight by drooling over him.
Our kiss at his parents’ house left me in shambles—wounds torn open that I couldn’t seem to stitch shut again.
It’s obvious we’re both ignoring our rule break and the obvious tension it left between us.
If I thought I could have gotten away with it, I would have said no to coming out tonight.
“They rated me an eighty-seven,” Bentley, one of the teammates Maddox seems closest to, chimes in proudly.
Out of all Maddox’s friends, I think I like Bentley the most. He’s outgoing, but not in the type of way that can get on your nerves. He doesn’t need to be the centre of attention but doesn’t mind when the spotlight finds him. Maddox really likes him too, and I trust his judge of character.
“See? Now I know they fucked up,” the first guy replies, scowling at the bottle of Don Julio on the table in front of us.
Tequila is my drink of choice, but I haven’t reached for the bottle once. Neither has Maddox. It’s not that I don’t trust these guys . . . actually, I don’t. But that’s only because I don’t know them.
“What’s your rating?” I ask Maddox, my voice low.
His arm flexes as he tilts his head toward me to reply just as quietly, “Ninety-two.”
“That’s high.”
He keeps our heads close, and I can smell mint on his breath. “Highest there is.”
“Who’s after you?”
“Elias Svensson. A rookie.”
“He’s that good?” I ask.
He hums. “Better than I was at his age.”
“I doubt that,” I mutter.
Just because I didn’t exactly follow his career after I skipped town doesn’t mean that I’ve forgotten how amazing he was, even as a teenager.
Crossing my left leg over my right, I grate my teeth when my leather skirt digs into the outside of my thigh.
The heeled boots I chose to wear aren’t high by any means, but they still make the soles of my feet ache, and the relief that rushes through me when I lift my foot and let it dangle over my leg is enough to have me stifling a moan.
My black top is tight, with long sleeves and a deep, plunged neckline that makes my boobs spill out a bit.
Five years ago, I wouldn’t have known how a good bra can make all the difference for big-chested women like myself, but now?
Now I’m not afraid to slip on a bustier beneath a low-cut dress to show off one of my best assets.
I think that I look sexy tonight, but I was hoping that once we got here, I would feel a bit more confident.
Maybe it’s the other women sitting around our little section of the club that are making me doubt myself, with their popping collarbones and toned legs that look like they go on for miles and miles, or maybe it’s not.
I’ve spent years learning to stop comparing myself to the women who don’t share my shape, but everybody has low moments.
Moments of self-doubt and that stupid voice that reminds you that you’re either trying too hard or not enough.
It’s easier to say you’re better than that, but it’s a hell of a lot harder to believe it.
Maddox draws my attention back in as he pushes out a rough, raspy exhale.
I risk a glance at him and find him staring at where the bottom hem of my skirt cuts into my thigh, making it bulge from the pressure.
My lungs pinch as I watch him, not able to tell why his eyes narrow, his jaw jumping as he continues to stare at my leg.
I gasp when he removes his arm from my shoulders and drops a hand to that same thigh, his thumb drawing a line along the hem of the skirt. His palm is warm, so, so warm as it rests there, not moving, just squeezing ever-so-slightly.
“What—what are you doing?” I sputter, swallowing thickly.
His eyes are dark as they find mine, snaring them. “You’re supposed to be my girl, right?”
“Yes.”
“There isn’t a chance in hell that I wouldn’t be all over my girlfriend if she looked as good as you, Braxton,” he says, voice deep and growly.
His hand moves then, and the thumb he had brushing the hem of the skirt slips just beneath it. The rough pad of his thumb glides along the tightly pulled material, toward the inner part of my thigh, where the pressure releases and the skirt is no longer biting into my skin.
The compliment makes my core clench, and I want to rub my thighs together, but he’s taken that option away from me.
“Thank you,” I breathe, unsure of the correct response here.
He laughs, but it’s bitter. “Anytime.”
“Do you know any of the women up here?” It slips before I can stop myself, and I regret asking instantly when he flinches, his hand stilling where it lies on my thigh.
Did that sound as jealous as I think it did?
“Not really,” he replies, too casually.
“What does that mean?”
“It means that I don’t really know them. They’re just women the guys have picked from the club to sit up here with us.”
I fight to keep my lip from curling. “That sounds . . .”
“Skeevy? Yeah, I guess it does. But that’s just how it goes. They’re happy to be here regardless. It sounds worse than it actually is. Nobody forces them to join us.”
Relief races through me when his thumb starts to stroke my leg again.
I flit my gaze to the women in the VIP section and, for the first time since being here, take in the genuine enjoyment on their faces.
Can I really judge them for that? It seems like a no-brainer to want to be chosen to join a bunch of sexy, successful men for a night of free drinks and good company.
It sounds like a college Braxton’s dream.
Hell, with Maddox here, it sounds like an adult Braxton’s dream too.
“Everyone looks like they’re having a good time. I didn’t mean to sound judgmental,” I admit sheepishly.
He draws a line of fire across my thigh with his index fingernail and mutters, “This is new to you. Even after so many years in the league, I still find most things hard to grasp. It’s just . . . different.”
I roll my lips. “Well, you look like you have it all figured out.”
“That’s the point.” He laughs softly, and I’m left confused.
“What are you two whispering about?” Bentley asks, leaning over the two players between him and Maddox, sparkling eyes fixed on us.
I stiffen my spine and drop my hand over Maddox’s, subtly trying to push his off my leg. He only tightens his grip.
“They’re probably talkin’ about all your turnovers tonight,” Colt Warner slurs.
“My turnovers? What about your dive in the third, Cowboy? Two minutes for embellishment,” Bentley returns with a roll of his eyes.
Maddox ignores them both, that damn thumb of his stroking my thigh again. Back and forth, back and forth, but never attempting to drift any higher. Even as I shiver, slipping further into his hold, he keeps his touch respectful.
“What’s embellishment?” one of the women asks from the lap of that bushy-faced player with the near-purple eyes. She has a beautiful heart-shaped face framed with wavy, dirty-blonde hair.
“It’s what Liam here did when he told you how good he is in bed,” Maddox says.
Burly man—Liam—sends him a withering glare and tightens the arm he has wrapped around the woman in his lap. “If you’re not getting any, Hutton, just say so. Your girl couldn’t be farther away from you if she tried.”
“I don’t need to have my girl humping my leg to know she’s mine,” Maddox tosses back confidently.
“Is that it? Or is she just not that into you?”
I tense slightly, but it’s enough for Maddox to notice. He dips his head, and a soft pair of lips brush the tip of my ear. A zap of electricity shoots down my side.
“Liam is a shithead. Ignore him,” he murmurs.
Some of my unease slips away, but not all of it. “He isn’t really wrong, though.”
His breath hits my ear in a huff. “About what?”
I gulp. “We look a little . . .”
“Tense?”
“Yes,” I breathe. We couldn’t look further from a cozy couple if we tried.
A beat of silence, and then he says, “Are you okay with getting closer?”
Am I? “Yes.”
I don’t dare move a muscle as he grazes the tip of my ear with his teeth and smooths a hand down my leg, stopping at the inside of my knee.
“How much closer?”
“Get on my lap, Braxton,” he orders softly.
I might not have had anything to drink tonight, but I’m drunk on something. There’s no other explanation for why I follow his command and move to stand in front of him.
For a rare moment, I watch him from above, taking in the full image of him. The slightly spread legs, wide chest, and thick arms. His confidence. It would be damn near suffocating had I not spent most of my life acclimating to it.
“My lap,” he repeats, hands smoothing down his thighs in a silent invitation.
I swallow hard, staring at his fingers, lust making my thoughts drift. Yes, sir. Anything you want.
Next thing I know, there’s a pair of thick thighs beneath mine and a hard chest against my back. Maddox wastes no time before touching me again, resting one hand back on my thigh while the other dances over my hip.
His touch nearly undoes me, each one cautious but sure. Like he knows I won’t reject him but isn’t sure if he can handle more.
“Jesus, Liam. Don’t you have a hotel room you can go to?” Bentley barks, drawing everyone’s attention.
Darting my eyes to Liam and the girl on his lap, I flush at their new position. It’s not embarrassment that has me turning red, but the look of pleasure on her face as her hips swirl in his lap, his face buried in her neck.
A rumble builds in the chest at my back as Maddox follows my line of sight and presses his forehead to the side of my head.
“Do they make you uncomfortable?” His voice is gravel.
“No,” I reply, shocking myself.
He shifts in his seat, that ghost of a touch on my waist becoming a firm one. “Fuck.”
“Does it make you uncomfortable?” I ask nervously, unsure of how to read his discomfort.
He pulls his head away and drops it back against the couch, eyes to the ceiling. “They’re not what has me feeling this way, Braxton.”
My mouth dries up. “Oh.”
This time, his laugh isn’t bitter. It’s genuine, and it settles some twisted-up part inside of me. “Thank you for coming tonight.”
I twist to knock his shoulder with mine, but the move has my ass brushing something hard and thick. So thick. Oh, my God.
He hisses a breath and stills me with his grip on my hip.
“You’re welcome. I agreed to help you, and even if I hate places like this, I won’t go back on my word,” I rush out, attempting to hide the fact I now know that his cock is just as big as I thought it would be. And that he’s hard. For me.
“This won’t be a regular thing. I don’t plan on going out much more this season. This is just for Alex.”
“I know. But still.”
He nods. “Thanks.”
Suddenly feeling Liam’s eyes on us, I blurt out just loud enough for Maddox to hear, “We should kiss.”
“I thought we said no kissing.”
“We broke that rule already. Plus, Liam obviously doesn’t believe us. Do any of your teammates?”
I’m too scared to look around and see if the other sets of eyes are as sceptical as Liam’s.
“I don’t know. I haven’t asked,” he admits.
I exhale slowly. “So kiss me.”
“Braxton, I don’t give a shit about what these guys do and don’t believe.”
“I do.”
“Are you sure?” he asks, and I meet his stare, my heart catching at how open his eyes are.
“Yes,” I say instantly. “Please.”
His eyes drift across my face before he’s moving. Big, strong hands grip my cheeks as he takes my face in his hands and dips his head, bringing our mouths a breath apart.
“Relax,” he whispers, and I force my tensing muscles to relax, not realizing I had tensed them in the first place.
I swallow, and as I dart my tongue out to wet my lips, he’s kissing me, stroking the tip of my tongue with his. Fingers tangle in my hair, pulling me closer, and I whimper into his mouth, flames flaring to life beneath my skin.
On a moan, I lift my hand to rest on his jaw, letting the scruff tickle my palm as his cheek warms my fingertips.
The kiss is quick and hard and full of something that makes my chest ache.
Like magic, the music and the lights and the dozen sets of scrutinizing eyes on us fade to nothing. Suddenly, it’s just us. Maddox and me.
God, how I wish we could stay right here forever.
“Fuck yeah!” Colt shouts, and I barely register the words.
If it weren’t for Maddox pulling away, I would have stayed in his embrace for hours. The realization is nothing short of terrifying.
The openness in Maddox’s eyes is gone as he looks away and sits back, leaving me heaving in breaths, feeling like a complete idiot for letting this happen again. He’s put distance between us with a simple twist of his body, and I’m not above admitting that I hate it.
But it’s when he keeps that distance throughout the rest of the night, even as he walks me up to my door only an hour after such an explosive, toe-curling kiss and offers me a forced goodnight, that it becomes obvious hate is not a strong enough word.
I’m left watching him walk away from me through the tiny hole in my door, a promise of another fake date lingering and a cold fist clenched around my heart.