10. Russ
CHAPTER 10
RUSS
It takes the rest of the afternoon to check out the boat and jet skis and arrange the necessary insurance. Plus Emery, Mason, and Watanabe all decide they want to get their boating licenses, too.
By the time we’re back at the cottage, with a plan to pick up the water crafts in the morning after a round of golf, it’s well past dinner time and everyone is chomping at the bit for steaks.
The younger guys are also gagging to talk about the breaking Ice League news, but Kieran shuts that down pretty hard. On the off chance that this turns into hockey’s LIVGolf vs the PGA , he doesn’t want anyone to get caught out for having taken a stance one way or another.
“Let’s wait and see what happens,” he said as we all looked at our phones when the news broke. “And until then, it’s the fucking off-season. The only hockey topics we should be thinking about are the ones we can control—our own strength and conditioning. Our own training. And a little rest and relaxation, too. Put those things away and let’s go buy this man a boat.”
So we did.
I have a fucking blessed life.
And once I got over the initial weirdness, it was fun to have Emery’s hand in mine all day, too. Nice to not be the odd guy out. The vibe shift with my married friends has been good in an interesting way, too. I surprised them, I think, by having a woman with me this weekend.
Especially Kieran and Ty, who have both had suspicions about me and my feelings regarding Shannon.
The feelings are still there, of course. It’s going to take more than a day of fake dating to un-train myself to devour how she looks in a bikini, confidently bounding out of my pool, holding out her hand and warmly welcoming another of my friends. It’s going to take more than a summer to un-learn my visceral get your hands off her instinct when Max possessively tugs her close, his knuckles grazing the side of her breast or the curve of her arse just because he can.
But none of that feels as dangerously close to the surface as it all did at Kieran’s wedding.
Emery is exactly the shield I needed. I thought I needed a rebound fling. It turns out, I just needed a rebound fake.
“Thinking about your new boat?” my fake girlfriend asks, twirling around me in the kitchen. “You have a satisfied look on your face.”
“Thinking about you, actually. Did you have fun today?”
“Yep. Makes me miss playing hockey, though.” She scrunches up her face.
I tug her close, wrapping my arm around her shoulder and hauling her against me so I can kiss the top of her head. I’m a physical guy, and being single and celibate for an entire year has taken a toll I’m only just realizing now, belatedly. I don’t want Emery like that, but having a legit reason to hold a warm woman close to me? I’m not above taking full advantage of the fake dating benefits.
“If you ever want an ear about getting back into it…”
“I know,” she mumbles into my chest. “Maybe if I focus on getting more sponsors.”
“That’s the spirit. Lean into the Granger name.”
She snorts.
“I’m serious, kiddo.”
“You can’t call me kiddo this weekend, Rusty ,” she gasps, poking me in the belly.
I chuckle and let her go just as Shannon comes in.
“Need any help?” she asks, a warm smile curling on her face.
Hot, visceral want tugs at my insides. “We’re good,” I manage to say. “You can relax outside?—”
But at the same time, Emery nods. “Do you want to make this salad?”
“Of course.” Shannon rolls up her shirt sleeves, revealing lean, tan forearms. “Put me to work. They’re talking cars out there and my eyes are crossing.”
“Fair warning, we’re talking sponsorship deals in here,” Emery says. “How are you with onions?”
“I like them better than cars.” Shannon wiggles her fingers at the shallot Emery holds out. “I like sponsorship deals, too, by the way.”
“Have you seen Russ’s ads for BioPunk?” Emery asks.
I groan. “Don’t.”
“Of course I have,” Shannon says. “Max is with them, too.”
And his commercials are better. He’s more of a natural in front of the camera. I’m stiff and awkward, an oversized bear of a man—which has gone over better than expected back home in Scotland, where everyone on TikTok is taking the piss.
Good for BioPunk. Maybe even good for my name recognition outside of ice rinks.
Not good for my chances on getting another big sponsorship, probably, but that’s fine. I only need the one. The BioPunk contract was a solid chunk of my down payment on this place.
Emery sets a red pepper in front of Shannon next. “And have you seen the TikToks?”
Shannon pauses, glancing sideways at me. “No.”
“I need to get one of those no phones allowed signs for this kitchen,” I say.
Emery winks. “I’ll show you the best ones later. I have them saved in a collection.”
“You’re a brat,” I growl at her.
“Am I a brat you want to make a gin and tonic for?” She bats her eyes innocently.
“Oooh, a G&T,” Shannon sighs.
Damn it. “Yeah,” I grind. “I’ll make you drinks.”
“You do that and I’ll set the table outside.” Emery grabs the cutlery first, as I fill two glasses with ice. By the time she returns for the plates, I shove a cocktail at her, too.
She grabs it with her free hand and winks at me again. “Good boy.”
Shannon’s eyebrows pop up for a split second, as Emery somehow juggles all of that outside, but she doesn’t miss a beat chopping peppers.
I clear my throat. “She didn’t mean it like that.”
Shannon looks up in surprise, her eyes flaring. “Like what?”
Shit. “Nothing.”
I slide her drink onto the island next to where she’s chopping and busy my hands with making my own drink. That doesn’t stop me from noticing the smile that plays at the corners of her mouth.
“Okay,” she says.
“That’s not my— She’s not—” I protest. But the explanation dies on my tongue. Because this weekend she is.
The smile grows. “I said okay. But if you keep protesting, I’ll be forced to draw the conclusion that you are, in fact, a good boy.”
I groan. “Really not.”
“I don’t know,” Shannon muses innocently. She scrapes the perfectly diced pepper into a small bowl next to the bowl of minced shallot, then wipes her hands and takes a sip of her drink before ticking points off on her fingers. “You’re a consummate host. You’re the first person anyone on the team calls when they need a strong pair of arms. You make a mean gin and tonic.” She pauses to lift her glass in a toast to me, which only makes all of this worse. “You’ve clearly caught yourself a good one with Emery, who probably has very high standards.”
“The highest,” I say dryly.
“And then there’s the fact that you’re blushing right now.” Shannon’s eyes are dancing, which is definitely more the cause of any manly flush I might be experiencing than teasing words from a girl who is like a sister to me. But I can’t tell her that. She leans in and lowers her voice in a way that feels dangerous to my self-control. “It’s okay, Russell. It can be our secret that you’re a very good boy indeed.”
Fuck.
My cock pulses to life, thickening as if on command.
As a lifelong dominant man, I’ve never responded to praise like this. Even knowing it’s a friendly tease, though, my body doesn’t care. If she wanted me on my knees, begging her for scraps, I would give her that in a heartbeat to hear her call me a good boy unironically.
She pats me on the arm, scalding my skin, and goes to move past, humming to herself in pleasure.
I twist, following her, and she turns around in surprise, backing up against the counter. I brace my hand on the cupboard to keep myself from leaning all the way in, and suddenly we’re too close for friendly teasing. We’re too close for the fact she’s my teammate’s wife.
I don’t move.
Her cheeks turn pink, hot slashes that I feel in my belly. A warning I should heed, step back, give her space. Apologize, because I might not be a good boy , but I am a respectful man. But then, as the blood flow in my body redirects away from my cock, her eyes flash with something that looks a lot like arousal.
Outside, someone laughs loudly. There’s a clatter of dishes, too.
Here, in the kitchen I bought because I’d convinced myself I needed to move on from this woman, she looks at me with a confused, desirous expression so raw it steals my breath. Her pupils dilate, her gaze turning liquid, and it’s as if I’m suddenly seeing Shannon for the first time all over again.
Rough need closes like a fist around my brain stem, cutting off careful consideration and sensible thinking.
“If you need to ken a secret about me, Shan,” I say roughly, the Scottish side shoving to the fore. “Let it be that I’m definitely not a good boy.”
Her breath hitches, her lips parting, and I know that I’ll be stroking myself to that subtle, beautiful sound for the rest of my life.
In a single moment, she’s imprinted on my plan to get out from under my desire for her in a way that guarantees I never will.
But she’s still my my captain’s wife.
I drop my hand from the cabinet and step back.
Her gaze follows me, and hell if it’s not magnetic. There’s nothing I want more in this world than to step back into her orbit. The only thing that stops me from finding out if there’s more where that shudder came from is the door opening behind me.
“Are you looking for this salad?” Shannon asks smoothly.
“Nah, just some ice,” her husband says.
I gesture to the fridge without looking in his direction, then busy myself with tenderizing steaks until he’s gone again.
There’s a rattle of bowls as Shannon finishes the salad Emery started, then silence.
“Russ,” she says softly.
I grab my tray of steaks. If I’m holding eight pounds of meat, I’m not likely to grab her. Or that’s the theory. “We’re good. Probably had too much sun today, but that’s nothing some grilling won’t fix.”
I don’t look at her as I head outside. If I do, I’ll do something we’d both regret.