JENNIE
“We’re really not gonna talk about it?” Cara shoves
another handful of Skittles and M&M’s into her mouth. I’ve never been more disgusted in my entire life.
“Can you not?”
“What?” Another blasphemous handful. “Not talk about Garrett potentially taking you for a golden dong ride?”
My nose wrinkles. “Did you really just say dong?”
“I really just said dong. Bet Garrett’s packing some serious heat. In fact, I guarantee it. I’ve got the four-one- one on all the dongs down there.” She gestures to where the team is warming up, firing pucks off at Adam, passing back and forth with each other, or if you’re Carter, grinning at Olivia while chomping on pink bubble gum. “Em’s massive, obviously. So big I can’t walk straight for days when I’ve pissed him off on purpose just so he’ll hate-fuck me.” She gestures at Carter. “Mediocre at best.”
Olivia snorts. “Please.”
“Adam’s our gentle giant, but he’s secretly packing a weapon of mass destruction. He’s definitely gonna put his future wifey in a wheelchair.”
“Cara!” Olivia dunks a popcorn kernel in a container of nacho cheese sauce, tosses it back, and hums happily. Pregnancy cravings, I guess.
“And Garrett…I mean, just look at him.” Cara waves her hand in his direction, and Garrett catches the motion,
looking away, then back quickly. Even from here, I see his cheeks flame when he realizes he’s the topic of conversation. “Such a cutie. He was the shyest thing when I first met him.”
“He’s still shy,” I point out. It’s unnerving. I grew up with a brother who never filtered his words. Now here I am, speaking most of my thoughts out loud, censorship lost. Having to guess what’s going through someone’s mind is tiring.
Cara shakes her head. “He’s shy around you because he thinks you’re hot. The safest bet is to interact with you as little as possible so Carter doesn’t catch on. Bet that man’s a real freak between the sheets.” Another atrocious handful, paired with a brow pump. “You should find out.”
“Absolutely not.” When I plant my shoes on the glass in front of me, I hiss at the radiating pain in my ankle. It’s definitely sprained, and now I’ll have to use my other foot to kick Simon in the balls next time I see him.
“He’s not my type,” I continue about Garrett. Never mind that Carter would never allow me to date one of his friends or teammates. I’ll have a hard enough time bringing any normal man home one day. If I ever meet one, that is.
Truth be told, I don’t care all that much. I’ve been single virtually all my adult life, and battery-powered toys have been an outstanding substitute. Replacing them with a man almost seems like an unnecessary downgrade.
“Tell you what. If you can guarantee Garrett does, in fact, have a golden dong, I’ll consider taking it for a ride.”
Cara’s smile widens. “Really?” “No.” Maybe.
Olivia huffs a long sigh and rubs her belly. “I could use a good dong ride.” She lays a hand on my arm the moment my groan begins. “Don’t get me wrong. It’s good. Great. It always is.”
“Fantastic. I was definitely wondering.” “But he’s been so gentle lately.”
Cara hammers a fist to her chest as she folds forward, choking on her snack. “Please tell me he’s the type of dad who thinks he’ll poke his baby in the eye if he’s not careful.”
“He’s taken to warning the baby every time we’re about to have s*x.” Olivia scrubs a hand over her exhausted expression. “Okay, little buddy. Daddy’s coming in. Make sure you move all the way to the back.” Her wide brown eyes are full of disbelief. “It’s the anxious chuckling that really gets me, and every time I move, he stops and asks if I’m okay. I just…I need him to fuck me, you know? Really fuck me.” She shifts in her seat. “This baby’s making me horny as hell.”
Cara pokes my cheek. “Quit acting like you’re gonna vomit.”
“I might.”
Olivia snickers before smiling softly. “Carter said Garrett helped you look for your stuffie. That was nice of him.”
“Yeah, I think he really regrets that.” “Why would he regret that?”
“Because he got slapped across the face by Indiana Bones,” I mumble around two pieces of licorice.
“Who’s Indiana B—” Cara’s question dies, words hanging in the air, before she explodes with a howl so loud the boys look up from the ice. “For the love of fucking God, tell me you slapped Garrett in the face with a dildo named Indiana Bones, please, Jennie.”
“I didn’t slap him in the face with it. We fought over the box it was in, the box died, and Indiana Bones soared through the air and kinda…you know.” I flop my hand around before smacking the back of it against my cheek. “It’s his own fault. He shouldn’t have been looking.”
Through the laughter, Olivia asks, “What the hell prompted him to look through that box?”
I shrug. “It might’ve been labeled toys.”
“Ah.” She smirks. “And he was looking for a stuffed animal, so he made a logical decision.”
“Oh look! Time for the anthem.” I spring from my seat. “Conversation’s over.”
Talk of dildos, dongs, and good, hard dickings that apparently Olivia and I are both in desperate need of are put on the back burner as the game starts. We’re playing our biggest rival. Games like this require undivided attention so I can shout obscenities at the ref every time he misses something.
“Oh come on, ref!” I leap to my feet as Washington’s centreman slips his stick between Garrett’s legs, sending him flying forward.
“Does your wife know you’re fucking us?” Cara screams as the referee continues to ignore the obvious penalty.
I slap the glass as Garrett climbs to his feet, giving his head a shake. “Hey, ref! Might wanna check your voice mail! Looks like you missed a few calls!”
The play only stops when the buzzer blares, signaling the end of the second period, and Carter gets up close and personal with the trip-happy dipshit who hasn’t demonstrated any real skill so far. Whatever he says has the centreman shoving against him, and Carter glides away with a shit-eating grin.
Problem is, Cara and I have big mouths, and we’re still pissed off. Countless calls and should-be penalties have been missed. We’re down by one, but we shouldn’t be.
“Hey, ref!” Cara hollers. “Want a pregnancy test? ’Cause you’ve missed two fucking periods!”
“Get off your knees!” I yell as he skates by. “You’re blowing the fucking game!”
Olivia buries her face in her hands, partly to hide her laughter, partly because she’s embarrassed. Every time her face winds up on TV, her high school students have a heydey with it. Her TV appearances are never her fault.
The fault lies in a humiliating goal dedication from her husband, or trouble Cara and I start.
By the time we’ve reached the last five minutes of the game, things haven’t improved. Washington is playing dirty, the ref is missing calls left, right, and center, and Cara flashed him two aggressive middle fingers and told him to shove them up his ass. On a positive note, Emmett has managed to tie the game up.
A defenseman digs the puck out of the corner and spots Garrett up the boards, open and waiting. He fires the puck up the ice and Garrett takes off like lightning as Emmett and Carter race up his sides, clearing the way for him.
Everyone’s shrieking, cheering him on, and that twat centerman from earlier hops off his bench, trading spots with someone on the ice. Carter beelines for him, hollering a warning to Garrett, who winds up. His stick comes backward before sending the puck whizzing right by the goalie’s head and into the net.
The sound of the buzzer is lost to the collective gasp that steals the breath of every fan in Rogers Arena as the centerman’s body connects with Garrett’s from behind, crushing him into the boards headfirst.
Garrett goes limp, two-hundred-plus pounds of dead weight dropping to the ice.
Silence roars, players circling our right-winger, medics on their knees tending to him.
“He’s not getting up,” Cara whispers. “Why isn’t he getting up? Somebody help him!”
“C’mon, Garrett,” I mutter, the tip of my thumbnail between my teeth. “Get up.”
He doesn’t, though. He doesn’t move a muscle, sprawled out on the ice, and fear spreads through me in the form of adrenaline.
“Toss that asshole out!” I scream into the silence, shaking the glass as Garrett’s limp body is lifted onto a stretcher. The centerman in question meets my gaze,
entirely too relaxed about sending someone to the hospital. “We play real hockey in Canada, you fucking wiener!”
He smiles, wiggling his gloved fingers at me, and it’s in that moment Carter throws his stick down, whips his gloves off, tosses his helmet to the ice, and pounces.
The arena erupts as the benches empty, players rushing the ice, equipment and fists everywhere. Everyone is shrieking, and there’s a tiny pregnant woman trying to physically restrain me and Cara to prevent us from joining in.
At least she doesn’t have to worry about her face on TV.
It’s nearly midnight when the front door opens. Olivia quickly finishes slathering her Oreo with peanut butter before popping it in her mouth and leaping off the couch.
Carter, Emmett, and Adam filter into the living room one by one, all of them—shockingly—grinning ear to ear.
Carter has a nasty split down the center of his swollen lip, and Emmett has the beginning of a shiner. Even Adam has a puffy, red cheekbone. He looks happiest of all.
“I never get in fights! My dad’s so proud of me for plowing the other goalie into the boards!” He runs a palm down his puffed chest. “Says he recorded it to show all his friends.”
Olivia hands him a bag of ice. “Don’t make it a habit, Mr.
Lockwood. Your face is too pretty.”
Garrett appears at the edge of the dark hallway with a sheepish smile, the faintest of shadows painting the skin around his eyes, exhausted but still bright.
Cara embraces him. “How are you feeling, Gare-Bear?”
He shoves his hands in his pockets, shoulders popping up and down. “Okay. Just tired and a bit of a headache. A mild concussion. Off for the next week, at least.”
Cara grips his face, turning it left and right. “Why do you have black eyes?” She slaps her hands to her mouth. “Did someone punch you after you were taken off on the stretcher? Who would do that?” She slings her purse over her shoulder and starts stalking away. “Em, let’s go. I’m gonna rip their puny balls off and hang them from my rearview mirror like a prize.”
“Rein it in, Mrs. Brodie.” Emmett takes her elbow, stopping her stomp-off. “It can happen when you hit the back of your head. Gare hit his pretty hard.”
“Oh. Right. Okay then.” She sinks to the couch, draping one leg over the other, arms crossed. “I still wanna castrate them.”
He ruffles her hair. “I know you do, tiger.”
Carter looks to me. “I told Garrett you’d drive him home.”
“What? I don’t have a—”
“In his car. He drove here earlier.”
I open my mouth to object—I cannot be alone with this man; he saw my extensive toy collection last time, so it can only go downhill from here—but Carter silences me with a fierce look.
“He can’t drive, and you live in the same building.”
Right. Yeah. Garrett’s slight frown at my less-than-stellar reaction tugs at my heart. “When did you wanna leave?”
He palms the back of his neck. “Uh, now? If that’s okay with you, I mean.”
Nodding, I stand and catch Cara’s eye as she mouths, Get that dick to me. I flip her the sly bird while hugging Olivia, then hobble toward Garrett.
“Do you need help?” we ask each other at the same time.
My nose scrunches. “Why would I need help?”
He gestures at my foot. “You’ve been limping all night.” I cross my arms. “You have a concussion.”
“I’m fine,” he assures me.
“Well, so am I.”
I see it, right there in the corner of his mouth, the tiniest hint of a smile, and I commit to being as pleasant as possible for the entirety of the twenty-minute drive.
Until I see his car.
“What the fuck is this?”
“An Audi RS Five Sportback.” Smiling, he rubs his chest, like this car is his pride and joy. “Fully loaded.”
“That’s, like, a sixty-thousand-dollar car.” I’m borderline screaming.
“Ninety-four,” he murmurs.
“Garrett!” Definitely screaming. “I can’t drive this!” He opens the door for me. “You’ll be fine.”
“Fine,” I mimic on a choked laugh. “Fine, he says. Ha.” Hand pressed to my lower back, he guides me forward.
“Get in the car, Jennie.”
I do, but with a groan. My seat rocks back and forth with jerking movements as I fiddle with the buttons, adjusting the position. “I don’t know what I’m doing. Why isn’t this working?” I throw my arms up. “See? Even your car doesn’t want me driving.”
Garrett chuckles, crouching down to fix the seat for me, peering at me from beneath stupidly thick eyelashes. “Good?” he asks quietly.
I grip the steering wheel, averting my gaze. “Uh-huh.” “All righty.” He climbs in beside me. “Let’s go.”
And go I do, the car rocketing forward as I squeal, and I slam on the brakes at the end of the long driveway, Garrett catching himself on the dashboard, toque flying off his head.
“Jesus fuck.” Wide eyes meet mine, and the fear is so, so
real. “What the hell was that?”
“I haven’t driven in a while! I get anxious in the snow!” “We’re not even on the road yet!”
“I know!”
He studies me for a long moment before his teeth nab his lower lip, stopping his laugh. “Just take it nice and slow. We’ll be fine.” Relaxing in his seat, he closes his eyes and sighs. “And don’t crash my car, or you’ll be working it off however I deem fit.”
My jaw hangs.
He cracks one lid and a sleepy smile. “Just kidding.”
The ride home is quiet and peaceful. Five minutes in, I think Garrett’s fallen asleep. His legs are spread wide, long arms between them, head thrown back on the rest, and he hasn’t made a single sound. Bad idea. Don’t I need supervision?
My favorite song comes over the stereo system, and even though I fucked my ankle during it only hours ago while Simon tried to forever ruin this song for me, I hum along quietly, singing the words under my breath. “With you I’m safe…” I glance over my shoulder before shifting lanes, approaching the parking garage. “We’re fall—” Jaw clamping, I blush when I catch Garrett’s eyes on me. “Sorry.”
He doesn’t say anything, just reaches over me, getting up in my space. My skin sizzles without permission, and my heartbeat drops between my thighs, because he’s hot as balls and he smells nice and he’s so close. But all he does is press the button on the visor above my head, making the garage door spring open.
“Over there,” he murmurs, pointing. “Ninety-seven.”
I pull into the spot and cut the engine. Garrett tows his equipment from the trunk, and it’s not until he opens my door and offers me his hand that I realize I’ve just been sitting, watching.
I slip my hand into his. It’s big and warm and swallows mine up for only a moment.
He trails behind me, and I hiss in agony as I climb the single step to the walkway, where the elevator is. His hand touches my lower back as he guides me into the elevator,
and something hot unravels inside me as he stands opposite me, studying.
“What happened? To your ankle?”
“Oh, I…” I stick my foot out, moving it in a slow circle, and grit my teeth at the tenderness while I search for a lie. “Just tripped over my bag at school today.”
He hums lowly, a clear indication he thinks it’s bullshit, but he doesn’t push.
The elevator stops on my floor, and I give Garrett a small wave.
He follows me.
“Where are you going?” I look to the door across the hall, and annoyance prickles my nape. He’s got a concussion for fuck’s sake. But hey: “Maybe she’ll dress up and play nurse.”
His brows lift at the bite in my tone. “Just walking you to your door, sunshine.”
“Oh. Oops.”
“Yeah. Oops.” Silence stretches. “Thanks for driving me home.”
“Yeah. Of course. If you need anything, help or whatever…you know where I am.”
“Thanks, Jennie. Just gonna take a swim and head to bed. I’ll be fine.”
“A swim?” A prop a fist on my hip. “Didn’t the doctor tell you to take it easy? No working out.”
“It’s not a workout.”
“Swimming is physical activity that accelerates your heartbeat. It is a workout, you pylon.”
His lips quirk. “Did you just call me a pylon?”
“Yeah, well, this isn’t one of your brightest ideas.” My hip juts with attitude; I’ve always had a fuckton of it. “What if something happens while you’re in the water?”
He sighs, slipping a hand under his toque to scratch his head. “Look, Jennie, I feel fine. It’s a precaution more than anything. I’m not gonna do any vigorous swimming. I just
wanna relax a bit, loosen my muscles.” At my crossed arms and pursed lips, he grins. “If you’re so concerned, why don’t you come with me?”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” I snap.
I don’t catch his response. He mutters it from behind the hand he scrubs over his mouth, but half-naked, hard, and gonna kill me are definitely part of it.
“Look at it this way: Carter wanted me to be your babysitter, now you can be mine. We don’t have to talk. C’mon, Jennie. I won’t be long.”
I huff, unlocking my door, then spin back to him. “Wait a second. We have a pool?”
“Across from the gym.” “We have a gym?”
“For the top two floors,” he admits sheepishly, then grins. “I can give you my code so you can use them whenever you want.”
“You’re damn right you’re giving me that code.” I prop the door open with my hip. “I have to get changed. Want to wait in here?”
The way his face lights up at the simplicity of me accepting his offer makes me wonder if he craves company the same way I do. “You’re coming?”
If I’m being honest, I absolutely want to see him mostly naked and soaking wet. A mental flickpick I can file away in my Flickapedia for future usage.
Like tonight.
Yes, I’m 100 percent gonna flick it to the image of Garrett Andersen. Sue me.
“Well, duh, Garrett. I don’t want you to drown.”
