7. Shannon
CHAPTER 7
SHANNON
I’m climbing out of the pool when Russ and his new girlfriend stroll onto the terrace, hand in hand.
He’s wearing the same Highlanders t-shirt he had on when we arrived, but now it’s sweat-dampened, and he’s turned his baseball hat around to wear it backwards, which makes his close-crop beard stand out more, in a distracting way.
She is very cute, as promised, wearing spandex short shorts and a revealing tank top, and she’s beaming as he introduces us.
I’m sure it’s just a matter of hours before he asks me to add her to the group chat, so as the senior WAG, I do my best Welcome Wagon impression. “So nice to meet you, Emery. I hear you’re a hockey player, too?”
“Six years with the US national team,” Russ says with pride. “But she’s also building a personal chef business, too.”
“Oh? Locally?”
“Um, no.” She glances sideways at Russ. “I’m based in Minneapolis.”
“Family,” Russ adds.
Of course.
There’s a funny pang in my chest at the thought of Russ falling for someone who is establishing a business in a whole other country. It makes me worry that he’ll ask for a trade, which doesn’t make any sense—he’s just bought this place.
She starts chattering about her business, and how she might return to pro hockey at some point, but right now she’s not sure about the new women’s league. She didn’t enter the inaugural draft, isn’t sure if she wants to. She keeps talking even as I wrap myself in a towel, as Russ guides her to the door.
“You wanted to shower,” he reminds her, and she blushes.
Great, now I have a mental picture of the two of them washing off their workout together. “I’ll let you two go do that.”
“Oh, no—” Emery cuts herself off.
They exchange a look so tender it makes me uncomfortable. Russ’s eyes crinkle and the corner of his mouth quirks up.
“All right,” she says, giving in. “Let’s go. And then after we change, we’re going to see a guy about a boat?”
“That’s right.” Russ rolls his big shoulders, pulling his sweat-damp t-shirt across his chest. “That’s your husband’s doing,” he adds, his gaze finding and holding on my face.
“Oh no,” I laugh. “How’s that?”
“I said I wasn’t in a rush to a buy a boat, maybe next year, and he immediately got on his phone and put feelers out there. Turns out, someone he knows up here has a boat and some jet skis he wouldn’t mind unloading.”
Emery leans in close to Russ, nestling under his arm like a possessive little kitten. Mine , her body language screams.
The ache in my chest intensifies, jealousy deepening. What would it be like to have that kind of touchy-feely relationship with my husband?
After they go inside, I head in as well, heading up to my own room. I can hear Max in the shower, so I knock to let him know that I’m here.
“Is that you, hun?” he calls out.
“Yep.”
The shower turns off.
So much for my brief consideration of maybe joining him.
He opens the door, a towel slung low around his narrow hips.
I untie my bikini top, wanting him to see my tits, and I get the appreciative look. It’s a little salve on that weird hurt in my chest.
“I should shower.” I twirl the bikini top around on my finger, then hook my thumb under the strap on my bottoms. “You want to hop back in with me?”
“Can’t. We’re gonna go get Rusty a boat.”
“He said that, but I think they’re in the shower, too…”
He frowns. “Him and Emery? They told you that? That’s fucking slutty, isn’t it?”
I flush. Damn it. “It was just alluded to. Anyway, I’ll shower real quick and then I think we’re all going.”
“Cool. I gotta call my agent back, anyway.” He lingers a last look on my tits, which isn’t quite as good as him coming into the shower with me and putting his hands and mouth on them, but it still feels nice, albeit in an unsatisfying way that leaves a subtle fever under my skin as I step into the shower.
I turn on the water, which is still hot from Max being in here. It comes out of the rain head above, a nice wide drenching that rinses me off, but doesn’t do anything about the ache below the surface.
The shower has both a rain head and a detachable wand, which I eye, my pulse jacking up. Could I get myself off quickly with it?
There’s only one way to tell.
My relationship to orgasms is funny. Sometimes I can’t come at all. Sometimes it takes me a while. And sometimes, under the right circumstances like being alone and my brain scratching at the right weird itch, I can very efficiently find a little dopamine hit.
The most important part is to not think about it too hard.
I grab the wand, brace my hand against the tile, and close my eyes. I think of sweat and bodies being pushed to the limit. I imagine low, private dirty talk. Filthy claims on every part of my body. A desperate, pleading protest rises inside me, nooooo , and that feels so good. Trapped in this shower. No way out. Warm bodies, strong arms. Muffled grunts and a hand over my mouth just in time as I choke out a body-wracking release, the shower head tumbling out of my fingers.
The dopamine rush makes me sag against the tiles, tingling through my extremities and making my brain feel a hell of a lot better.
I finish up efficiently, then brace myself for the afternoon ahead.