GARRETT
“I fuckin’ told you.”
Holding my hand out, I curl my fingers into my palm three times, the worldwide symbol for pay up, bitch.
Adam Lockwood, one of my best buds and teammates, drops his head back with a groan, halfway to a growl, like he can’t believe this is happening.
I can’t believe this is happening.
To be clear, the unbelievable part is that Adam had faith in the groom.
Standing, he reaches into his back pocket for his wallet, then drops back to his seat, grumbling as he sorts through a wad of bills. He slaps a hundred in my waiting palm, and another in Emmett’s, our teammate.
Adam’s glare lifts to Carter, our team captain, the groom, and the man currently fumbling for words in front of all two-hundred-plus of his guests.
He just accidentally outed his brand-new bride as pregnant.
“I had faith in you, Carter,” Adam grumbles. He throws his arms overhead when Cara and Jennie start making grabby hands for their share of the winnings. “Oh come on!”
See, Adam’s a great guy. Best guy I know, really. He has unending faith in everyone. On occasion, his faith is…a little misplaced. Like right now, in that man up there.
Because Carter Beckett is good at two things: playing hockey and loving on his new wife, Olivia. Something he’s terrible at? Keeping secrets.
“I owe Olivia too,” Adam mutters. “Even she bet Carter would blow it. Am I the only one who believed in him?”
A collective yes rings around the table that has Adam dragging both hands down his face, but it’s when Holly, Carter and Jennie’s mom, sticks her hand over his shoulder that I think he might actually cry.
“I’ve lost six hundred bucks in two minutes because that guy can’t keep his mouth shut for one damn night.”
Holly tucks her winnings away. “I love my son, but Carter likes attention and has zero filter. He gets it from his father. Wouldn’t blame Olivia if she makes him sleep on the couch tonight.”
As if on cue, the teensy bride storms by, Carter hot on her heels.
“You’re not getting any of this tonight,” Olivia bites out, pausing to circle a hand around her bottom half. “None of it.”
Carter’s gasp leaves him slack jawed, and he chases after her. “Ollie! It was an accident! You can’t cut off access! You can’t!”
“I knew this was gonna be the most entertaining wedding I’ve ever been to.” I stab at the chocolate cake Adam hasn’t finished yet, stuffing a hunk in my mouth. There are crushed Oreos in the fudge filling. It’s amazing. “Caw-ta n’ Aw-wie could hab der own TV show.”
“You know what would help with that?” Jennie’s perfectly shaped brows lift as she aims a pointed glance at my mouth. “Fucking swallowing before you speak.”
I stop chewing, and when our eyes lock, my ears burn. Jennie’s a Beckett, that’s for sure. An unfiltered smart-ass like her older brother, with his same dimples and irritating smirk. But where Carter’s eyes are a deep green, hers are a soft, cool blue, with almost the faintest hint of violet.
Pretty.
Or whatever.
I swallow, setting my fork down and clearing my throat as the alcohol in me forms a response I’d normally be too afraid to say. “If you want some, all you have to do is ask, Baby Beckett.”
“I’m not a baby,” she shoots back, pinning her arms across her chest. It pushes a set of perfect, glowing tits together, ramping up the whole fuck me vibe she’s rocking in her shimmery cranberry dress.
I erase the thought as quickly as it forms. Sometimes I worry Carter has supersonic hearing when it comes to his sister, and can, like…hear my thoughts or some shit. I’ve seen him fight enough on the ice to know I don’t want to be on the receiving end of his wrath. I like my face the way it is; I don’t need it rearranged.
Adam pulls his plate away when I go in for another bite. “My cake.” He ignores my pout, and before I can complain that I already ate two slices and he’s not finishing his, he presents it to Jennie. “You want it?”
My jaw drops with a gasp.
“Garrett, honey.” Holly squeezes my shoulders. “Where’s your date?”
Heat claws up my neck and into my face, right up to the tips of my ears. “I didn’t bring one,” I mumble. I had some options, but I’d prefer not to give anyone the wrong idea. I think weddings are kinda special.
“Why not? You’re such a handsome man, sweetheart.”
I scratch my hair, dropping my gaze to my empty plate. “Thanks, Mrs. Beckett.” My eyes narrow on Jennie as she snorts. “Where’s your date, Baby Beckett?”
“I’m not dating anyone, and have no desire to be.”
Holly sighs, sinking down beside me. “Honestly, Jennie, I just solved the problem that I affectionately call my son. Please don’t turn into him.” She twists my way, eyes bright.
“Hey, if you’re not dating anyone, and she’s not dating any
—”
Cara and Emmett fold over the table at the same time, howling with laughter and effectively ending Holly’s words. “No,” Cara chokes out, swiping at the fucking tears free-
falling down her cheeks. “Holy shit. Can you imagine? Holly, we like Garrett. We don’t want him to die.”
“What about you, Adam?” Holly smiles at him. “You’re so sweet. Carter couldn’t possibly ever want to kill you.”
Jennie flings her arms in the air. “Mom! Can you stop trying to pimp me out? And I don’t wanna date any of these losers.” She pats Adam’s hand. “Sorry, Adam. You’re not a loser.” There’s a quirk in the corner of her mouth as she looks me over, gaze lingering on my collarbone where my tie is loosened, buttons popped. Her eyes flit to mine, and a playful—evil—glint shines in them as she neglects to include me on her not a loser list.
What’s meant to be a scowl winds up being me staring a little too long, gaze tracing the rosy hue painted over her sharp cheekbones, the way her chestnut hair curls away from her face and drapes over her slender shoulders.
She’s so hot, it’s unreal. All I can seem to think about when she’s in the room is how it would feel to get her alone in a closet, or bend her over the table and—
I keel forward with a grunt, clutching my throbbing knee under the table, glare set on Adam. “What the fuck? What was that for?”
His voice is low and scary. “You know exactly what the hell that was for. Why don’t you take a fucking picture? It’ll last longer.”
Well, fuck. What’s the point of having eyes if I can’t use them to appreciate a smoking hot woman? That’s what I wanna know.
Except Adam is right (he usually is). I have zero intention of fucking around with one of my best bud’s little sisters, so I keep my eyes to myself for the rest of the night.
Okay, I don’t, but I try really hard; swear it.
Somehow, I wind up standing by the bar with my metaphorical balls in my hand, watching Jennie do her thing on the dance floor. Thick waves cascade down the golden glow of her curved spine, and I follow the line of her backless dress down to her stellar, round ass as it bounces back and forth with the music. She’s got a teensy waist and a wide set of hips, the kind I wanna wrap my fingers around and—
“Just ask her to dance.”
“What?” I look at Emmett, then back to Jennie, and ask again, “What?”
“Looks like you wanna dance with her.” “What? No.” Am I yelling?
“Why are you yelling?”
“I’m not yelling.” I’m yelling.
Emmett cocks a brow, downs his beer, and shoves me toward the girls on the dance floor. His wife wastes no time yanking me into her, using me to spin herself.
“C’mon, Gare-Bear.” Cara pouts at me as Emmett’s arms circle her, bringing her into his chest. “Shake your ass, baby.”
“I don’t—my ass doesn’t—I can’t—”
“My God.” Jennie looks me over with disdain as her hips move. “You have no rhythm, Andersen, do you?”
She rolls her eyes when I blink wordlessly at her, then links her fingers through mine and tugs me across the space. Our bodies collide with an oomph that seems to heat me from the inside out, and when she turns around and settles her ass an inch from my cock, I think I might pass the fuck out.
Her warm hands slide over mine, guiding them to her hips as they sway in tune with the music, and Emmett winks at me as if I’m not currently short-circuiting.
“Move your damn hips,” Jennie growls. “I don’t…I don’t know how.”
Slanted eyes glare from over her shoulder, softening when my face flushes. Jennie sighs quietly. “Just move with me, Garrett. It’s not that hard. How the hell do you get so many women?”
“It’s been slow lately,” I blurt thoughtlessly, then slam my jaw shut. Then open it again, for some fucking reason. “I haven’t gotten so many…I mean, there was this girl last week in Pittsburgh that I almost…” I clear my throat, registering the way Jennie’s body has stilled below my hands. “I’ll stop talking about my s*x life now.”
“Sounds like a lack of a s*x life to me, big guy.”
Fucking tell me about it. Emmett and Cara got married this summer, and Carter’s basically been married to Olivia in his head since they met last year, even though she kept him offside for a while. Adam’s still in a shitty place from finding out his long-term girlfriend cheated on him months ago, but he’s infinitely better off without her.
That means the first month and a half of our hockey season has seen me getting drunk postgame with my hockey buds only, followed by repeated sausage fests back at the hotels, fueled by junk food, Xbox, and listening to my pussy-whipped roommates have borderline phone s*x with their wives. Things have been bone-dry on my end.
That has to be the only reason I’m currently considering taking my captain’s little sister into the bathroom, hoisting her onto the vanity, and seeing what color her panties are.
Aside from being totally and completely off limits, Jennie also scares the living shit out of me. She’s bold, confident, and sassy as fuck. My eyes rarely leave her when she’s in the room. Except when she looks my way. Or when Carter does.
Like right now, at the exact moment my hands glide over his sister’s hips, up to the dip in her waist, gripping it tightly. Fucking tighter when his eyes land on mine.
“Garrett,” Jennie whimpers. “That hurts.”
“Garrett.” Carter’s hard voice sends a shiver of terror up my spine, and he aims a pointed glare at my hands.
“Ah!” I kinda-sorta shriek, shoving Jennie away from me. “I’m not touching her,” I toss over my shoulder as I scurry off the floor, leaving Jennie standing there alone, unimpressed, and nearly as scary as Carter looks, even though he’s twirling both his beautiful bride and his golden retriever around the dance floor at the same time.
I slink down the hallway, lean against the wall, and scrub my hands over my tired face. “I need to get laid.”
“I can help you out with that.”
A pretty redhead stops in front of me, pulling a napkin and tube of lipstick from her purse. She presses the napkin to my chest and scrawls over it.
Am I impressed by how easy that was or do I just wanna go home and devour a box of Pop-Tarts? I’m not sure, but when Jennie saunters down the hallway, my blood pressure spikes.
The redhead tucks her phone number into my chest pocket and presses a whispered, “Call me” against my cheek, and Jennie’s disgusted scowl is so terrifying I can’t look away.
With an eye roll, she turns and heads for the bathroom, and my feet chase after her.
“Wait, Jennie! I wasn’t gonna—I’m not—I wasn’t—”
“I don’t care, Garrett. Chase all the skirts you want. Maybe just not one that came with one of your defensemen.”
“What?” I look to the redhead, catching her wink before she disappears. “No, but I-I-I…” I hang my head, rubbing the back of my neck as my ears burn. “I wasn’t gonna do anything.”
“But things have been so slow for you,” Jennie murmurs, smirking. She digs a wipe out of her tiny gold clutch and tosses it at me before shoving the bathroom door open with her hip. “You’ve got lipstick on your cheek, big guy.”
Somehow, I manage to miss the lipstick kiss, and Adam ends up cleaning my face for me, inciting coos and snickers from all the girls. By the time Carter and Olivia climb into their limo at the end of the night, my buzz is gone, my arms are permanently pinned across my chest, and every word out of my mouth is a grumble. Even the dog panting at my feet can’t cheer me up right now.
I don’t want to know what kind of shit Carter had to pull to have Dublin at the reception, but I’m not surprised. The man can talk his way into and out of everything. Plus, as it turns out, golden retrievers look dapper as fuck in a pup tux.
“Come here, Dubs!” Jennie calls, clapping her thighs. “You’re comin’ home with your favorite auntie! Yes, you are, my handsome boy!”
“You’re his only auntie.”
She pins her arms across her chest, luring my gaze to her spectacular cleavage for the umpteenth time tonight, then to the pop of her left hip, which she swings out, dress sweeping open at the thigh-high slit, showing me a phenomenal set of toned legs. “Shut up, you twat.”
“We should call you sunshine,” I grumble under my breath. “’Cause of your sunny disposition. Always so fucking nice and happy.”
Man, this liquid courage is really fucking me over
tonight.
Blue eyes narrow. “Get in the fucking car, Gare-Bear.” “Yes, ma’am.”
I slide into the back of the limo waiting to take a handful of us home, and take a seat next to Hank as everyone else piles in behind me.
Hank is eighty-four years young, one of Carter and Jennie’s best friends, kinda like a pseudo-grandpa, and cool as hell. He used to be Dublin’s dad, which is probably why Dublin leaps across me, nailing me in the nuts, and sprawls out on his lap.
“Motherfucker,” I grunt, gripping my junk.
He chuckles. “You’re really taking a beating tonight.” His sigh is soft and happy. “Such a beautiful wedding. Olivia was stunning tonight.”
Cara snickers as she runs her fingers through Emmett’s hair from her spot on his lap. I suspect it’s because Hank is blind, and has been since the age of fifteen, but he never fails to pump a woman’s ego.
Sighing, I sink back in my seat and close my eyes, drowning out the discussion about Carter’s colossal pregnancy announcement oopsie. Adam’s still upset he lost so much money, and Holly’s making a name list for her first grandbaby. Carter and Olivia have decided not to find out the s*x. Olivia says she doesn’t want to spend her pregnancy telling Carter they aren’t naming the baby Carter Jr. if it’s a boy, but I think it’s because Carter’s terrified it’s a girl. With him, sometimes denial is the best medicine.
When we pull up out front of Holly and Jennie’s house, Dublin’s asleep on his back in my lap, nose buried in my suit jacket, and Cara’s tongue is halfway down Emmett’s throat. All I hear is Dublin’s soft snores and—I think—saliva being swapped, with the occasional break for Emmett to whisper all the ways he’s gonna nail his wife tonight.
I leap out the door the moment it opens. “I’ll help Hank get in.”
Adam flings himself onto the sidewalk. “Me too.”
With Hank settled in the spare bedroom, Holly starts stuffing treats into our hands the second we make our way into the kitchen.
“I’ve already started my Christmas baking.” She shoves a bag filled with some sort of chocolate peanut butter ball- shaped version of heaven back into the freezer. “It’s only November, so that’s an issue.” She plants a kiss on our cheeks before heading down the hall. “This mama needs to head to bed before she wakes up and realizes this was all a
dream, that I didn’t manage to marry off my son to a wonderful woman who’s willing to tolerate him for the rest of his life.”
Adam nudges my shoulder and grabs a fistful of his junk. “Gotta take a quick leak.” He halts, gaze sliding to Jennie. Clearing his throat, he slowly releases himself, cheeks pink. “I mean, uh…I gotta use the…the bathroom.” With a look that feels suspiciously like a warning, he leaves me and Jennie in the kitchen.
The woman promptly ignores me, turning her back on me and pouring herself a glass of water.
“Uh…” I scratch my head, searching for a way to ease this awkward tension. “So, the weather is…nice?”
She snorts into her water, pulls another glass from the cupboard, fills it, spins, and shoves it into my surprised hands.
I blink down at her. “Thanks?”
“Mhmm,” she murmurs, and I watch the way her ass swings back and forth as she starts down the hallway, one arm reaching back, trying to snag that zipper that starts just above the swell of that banging peach.
Trying, and failing.
With a heavy sigh, she pauses, head down, fingers tapping on the door frame. Turning, she finds me exactly where I shouldn’t be: standing there gawking at her.
“Can you please help me with my zipper? It’s stuck.” She twirls, giving me her backside, and I’m frozen in place.
“Uh, yeah. Totally. I’m good at zippering.” I’m good at zippering? Holy fuck, you dipshit. Shut up.
“Might have to put your water down.”
“What?” I look down at the glass I’m gripping and chuckle. Why does it sound so hoarse? How old am I? Twenty-six, or twelve? “Oh. Yeah.” I drain the glass quickly, set it down, and drag my sweaty palms down my legs.
Christ, this dress. This back. This fucking ass. It should
be illegal. It’s definitely illegal for me to have my hands this
close to it, I’ll tell you that much. If Carter could see me right now, I’d never play hockey again. I’d be missing at least one necessary limb.
I don’t know how to approach this. The zipper’s right there, at the top of that curve, and…should I just…go in? Yeah, I’ll just go in. I reach for the zipper, then hesitate. “Um, I’ll just…” Cocking my head to the side, I examine that dainty golden tab. “I’ll, uh—”
“For fuck’s sake, Garrett, it’s not that big a deal. I must have snagged it earlier. Just give it a good tug.”
“Right. Okay. Yeah. A good…tug.”
Taking the teensy zipper head between fingers that are way too big for this, I grip her hip in my other hand, thumb pressing into her warm skin. Her back arches slightly and my breath gets lost somewhere in my chest at the way she clears her throat, the low, raspy sound making my third leg twitch, and even more so when she steps back into me, closer, like she wants her ass to get well acquainted with my junk.
Oh God, what is she doing? No. No, no, no. She’s gonna wake him up.
Jennie gathers her hair in her fist, sweeping it in slow motion over her slender shoulder. Dusty blue eyes peer at me from beneath thick, dark lashes, and my gaze tracks her tongue as it glides over her lower lip.
Oh fuck. Yup. He’s awake.
Not now, Lieutenant Johnson. Stand down, soldier!
“Garrett.”
My head snaps, gaze locking with Adam’s piercing one. I look back at Jennie’s ass—zipper—and give it a swift tug, freeing the material, then hightail it the fuck out of the house, slamming the door behind me, body sagging with a heavy sigh as I keel over, gripping my knees.
Whew. That was a close one.
Adam shakes his head, his demand low. “Find someone else. Literally anybody else.”
Right. Yes. That’s absolutely what I need to do. Jennie’s off-limits. Plus, I barely know her. I don’t need to fuck up any friendships or my hockey season—or any precious limbs—to get laid. I’ve got plenty of options.
That’s what I’m still telling myself a half hour later when I’m waiting in the lobby of my condo, sighing as I repeatedly hammer the call button for the elevator.
“Mr. Andersen,” a sultry voice whispers from behind me. Emily, one of my neighbors, sidles up next to me. She tosses her dirty blonde hair over her shoulder, highlighting the slight shimmer that decorates her cheekbones as she smirks at me with those cherry red lips I’ve devoured here and there. “Don’t you look handsome tonight.”
The elevator opens and I sweep her inside, noting her glittery dress, mile-long legs, and black heels.
“Best friend’s wedding,” I explain. “And what about you?
You’re looking fantastic tonight.”
“I always look this good and you know it.” She leans against the railing, crossing one ankle over the other, eyes coasting the length of me as I press for her floor, then my own. “Bachelorette party.”
“Everyone’s getting married, huh?” She snorts. “Not me.”
Chuckling, I drag a hand through my hair. “Me neither.”
The elevator dings as it stops, and Emily saunters into the hallway. One hand keeps the doors from closing as she peeks over her shoulder. “Wanna come?”
I don’t miss that she leaves out the in, letting the innuendo hang heavy in the air.
Gripping the railing, I watch my shoe tap on the marbled floor. My gaze rises to the lump between my legs that’s still kinda straining against my zipper from the ass I had my hands on less than an hour ago, and I remind myself for the hundredth time that that ass is off-limits.
Emily smiles as I straighten off the wall. Fuck it.
“Yup, I wanna come.”
