Dirty Player_A Hockey Romance Page 3

  She would. Which means we won’t.

  As much as that kills me, I know it’s for the best. This was only supposed to be a kiss.

  So why am I thinking about getting her away from BHS and this reunion? Putting her in my car? Taking her back to my place so we can start making up for lost time?

  “Jesus, Greg,” she says with the kind of sharp laugh I’d have expected from her any time other than this. “You weren’t kidding about the world-rocking quality of your kiss.” Raising her fingers to her lips, she touches them tenderly and casts me a look that’s a little accusing and a lot amused. That look has the power to yank me out of this weird space I ended up in and back to Julia and me and this kiss we saved up for, for ten years ultimately not being anything more than a joke.

  A joke. Just a joke.

  So make a fucking joke, numbnuts.

  “What can I say, Jules? I warned you.”

  “Yeah, but not that I was going to have to upgrade my vibrator.” She looks back at me, shakes her head, and laughs, like she hasn’t just planted the kind of visual I’m going to be playing with for the next ten years. “Quite a kisser, Greg.”

  “Good enough to earn me your promise for another at the next reunion?” Where the hell did that come from?

  “Definitely.” She says it like it’s nothing. Like I haven’t already marked my mental calendar and started counting down. “You ready to go back inside?”

  Not even close. “You bet.”

  She runs her hands through her hair, and it looks like it did before I tangled it all up. A quick pinch at the side of her dress, and she’s perfect.

  “You going to tuck your shirt in there, stud, or are you planning to offer free feels when we get back inside?”

  I don’t even register what she’s saying until she gives my shirt another pointed look and laughs. This is bad.

  There’s no clever comeback on the tip of my tongue, so I give up a chuckle and fix my shirt. “Good?”

  Arching a brow at me, she steps closer. She stares at my hair, which is always a wreck, so I’m not exactly sure what damage she could have done out here, but once she slides her fingers through it a few times, I don’t care.

  Man, that’s nice.

  I’m about to step back when she moves down to my collar. She straightens my tie, flips down one of the points that somehow got turned up, and closes the top button?

  “Sorry,” she says, not looking very sorry at all.

  When she gets to another open button about halfway down my chest, I’m the one raising a brow.

  “Little handsy, there?”

  “You’re the one who needs the warning label.”

  “So this is my fault?” I scoff, but hell yes, I’ll take full responsibility.

  “Mmhmm. It is.” Her lips pinch together, and even in the dim light, I can see her blush. “I’ll let you get that last bit there.”

  I look down at where the tongue of my belt is partially free of the buckle and bark out a laugh. “Damn, Jules.”

  She turns farther away, letting out a huff. “I said I was sorry.” Again with the whole not-sounding-very-sorry thing. Which I like a hell of a lot. Especially since the only thing I’m sorry about is that we stopped. And, well, that stopping was the right thing to do. Probably.

  “I forgive you.”

  “Very big of you.”

  I grin, and she swats my arm, then gives it a little feel.

  “Yeah, well it’s only because you telling me you’re going to need a better vibrator just restocked my spank bank for the next year.”

  She laughs, and I rub the spot in the middle of my chest that’s most affected by it.

  “You’re a pig.”

  “Yeah, but you like it.” She always has, which is probably why I ramp up the bad behavior when she’s around. I like the rise I get out of her. Hell, I like the rise she gets out of me.

  Throwing an arm around her shoulders, I pull her into my chest and drop a quick kiss at the top of her head, falling back on the teasing banter that’s been the foundation of our relationship for thirteen years. I’m mostly relieved by how easily it comes between us. Even if, after what just happened, blowing off our actions doesn’t feel completely right.

  I rub my hands over her shoulders and step back before jutting my chin toward the reunion. It’s time to get back.

  She nods, stepping in with me. “Let’s go.”

  When we get to the doors we came out of, she slows. “You go first. I’ll make a call for work. If anyone happens to see me, it’ll look less suspicious.”

  What the hell? I scan the dark corners around a building with too many shadows. “I’m not leaving you alone out here.”

  Her eyes go hard, and she crosses her arms. “Fine. I’ll come inside, but I’ll wait by the doors until you get around the corner.”

  “Yeah, where it’s isolated enough for the two of us to sneak off for that—” Hell, kiss doesn’t really seem sufficient, but Julia kind of circles her hand and nods like she gets where I’m coming from. “Jules, I know this is your hometown, but you don’t really know these guys anymore. One of them could be a freak, waiting to catch you alone.”

  Her eyes soften. “You really are a sweet guy.”

  Catching her by the back of the elbow, I walk her inside. “I’m a belligerent ass who gets what he wants.”

  “Whatever you say.”

  We’re close enough that I can hear voices from the next hall. I pull out my phone and take a few steps away, holding it to my ear.

  Julia does the same, and suddenly, we’re just two people who can’t let go of their careers for one night out with some old friends.

  We return to the reunion, her first through the west doors, and then me, a few minutes later through the south.

  We’ve gone our separate ways, but Julia stays on my radar. Ten minutes later, I catch her eyes when she’s toasting with the girls she used to hang out with. Half an hour after that, I hear her laugh when she’s surrounded by her old football team. And later still, I bring her a drink when she drops into a chair and slips off her heels. We get swept into a few groups together, laugh and talk about normal things, both of us doing a pretty decent job of acting like that kiss didn’t happen. Mostly. Except for that single beat when our eyes hold longer than they should, and the temperature around us shoots up sixty degrees when her hand accidentally slides against mine.

  Cost of doing business, I guess.

  The reunion is winding down, and I’m taking pictures and signing a few autographs when I get her text.

  Julia: I’m beat. Heading out. Thanks for blowing my mind, rocking my world, ruining me for all other dudes, etc…

  Coughing into my hand, I scan the room and catch her at the door.

  Me: Looking forward to doing it again in ten years.

  She turns toward me, shaking her head like she still can’t believe what we did. I can’t quite believe it either.

  5

  Julia

  THE DOOR ISN’T even closed behind me when Cammy slides into the front hall of our apartment, her hands clasped in front of her. She’s wearing leggings and an amorphous gray top, her blonde curls wadded up in a bun, an expectant gleam in her eyes.

  “Did you do it? Tell me he kissed you. Ooh God, was it a dirty kiss? Greg looks so dirty. It’s my favorite thing about him. Come on, did he?”

  She’s adorable, but being cute isn’t going to save her after the stunt she pulled tonight.

  I slide out of my heels and plant my hands on my hips. “I can’t believe you sent that picture to Tabby.” I most definitely can believe she went into my phone without my permission. Cammy’s six years younger than I am, and she’s never really grown out of that no-boundaries thing I thought was harmless when she was seven. “You know how I feel about that kind of press.”

  Rolling her eyes, she waves me off and grabs her own phone, her thumb moving at light speed over the screen. “The press is fine. Check this picture. It’s the only one I’ve
seen so far, but it is awesome!”

  There on her phone is a picture from when Greg had me dipped back, his kiss squeaking in my ear. My eyes are bugged wide, my neck crunched at an angle that says I’m trying to get away from his nonsense. Most importantly, my hands are flared away from his body. It’s funny and silly and nothing that’s going to get me in trouble with anyone.

  “That’s the only one?”

  She bounces on the balls of her sock-clad feet. “Why, was there more than one kiss? I know there was. There had to be. Wait, was it with someone else? No way. You wouldn’t do that to Greg.”

  I never should have told her about the whole kiss business, but Cammy lives for this stuff. And even though she’s only met Greg a few times, I must have talked about him enough to make a lasting impression, because the girl has an unwavering soft spot for him.

  Encouraging her is probably a mistake, but then, how often does Cammy have something to get this excited about? Next to never, when it comes to my nonexistent love life. And even more rarely when it comes to her own. Being a single mother of a four-year-old boy when you’re only twenty-two kind of cramps the dating life.

  I tap my toe on the hardwood entry a couple of times, letting the suspense build, and then stroll into the kitchen. “Fine. Greg did kiss me, privately, and he was very good.”

  Cammy is on my heels in a flash, her hip pressing into mine as I stand at the sink and fill my glass from the tap. “And the dirty? Damn it, Julia, you know I’ve been stuck watching Ask the Storybots with Matty. I’m starved for the good stuff.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Was there tongue? You’re such a prude about dates… I bet there wasn’t.”

  I know what she’s doing, trying to bait me into giving her the details. Not like I wouldn’t anyway, but now she’s going to have to work for it. I let my lips curve into a secret smile, and she gasps, hand to her heart, stumbling back against the wall.

  The drama. I’m laughing as I head to my bedroom.

  “Oh my God, tongue! Wait, I don’t want to get my hopes up here. Don’t tease me, just give it to me straight. On the dirty scale of kisses, zero being that gross guy who worked as a TA while you were in school and had the bad breath and tooth sweaters.”

  “Joey.”

  “Right, Joey is a zero. And ten being the doctor from Manhattan. Craig something. With the clover tat on his butt.”

  “Kevin. And he was a pretty dirty kisser.”

  “Yeah, so Kevin’s a ten. Where does Greg score? Eight? Nine? No, eight. I mean you’re here, and I can see your panty line, so I know you’re still wearing them. And FYI, I told you to skip the panties. What were you thinking in that dress?”

  I twist around trying to see my butt in the closet mirror. “That I didn’t want to show up at my reunion going commando? And for the record, the kiss with Greg was a seventeen. Panties and all.” Though honestly, I’m surprised they weren’t incinerated by how hot things got.

  Cammy’s eyes bug, and her mouth falls open, but before she can muster her next twenty questions, I shut myself into my bathroom.

  Seventeen was way too conservative a number. Greg broke the dirty scale with that kiss. The way his tongue teased my mouth and those deep rumbling sounds coming from his chest while we kissed were more effective than any vibrator I’ve ever owned. But what got to me the most wasn’t the clasp of his teeth on my lower lip or the flick of his tongue against the skin he’d just nipped… but the way his arms closed around me, holding me close and tight as he kissed me senseless. That was the best part. Maybe the most alarming too, because that’s the kind of kiss that puts dumb ideas in smart girls’ heads.

  I get into the shower to the sound of my sister knocking as quietly as possible, so as to not wake Matty, while whisper-yelling through the door. She has questions, but I want a few minutes to myself. To process. Maybe get my compartmentalization underway before I have to give up any more details about the kiss that blew my mind and the guy I can’t start thinking of as anything more than my friend. But I’m not even through rinsing the shampoo from my hair when Cammy starts talking to me from the other side of the glass.

  She picked the bathroom lock. Of course she did.

  “Seventeen is a pretty outrageous number, coming from you. You’re going to have to justify that score. Spare no details.”

  I ought to tell her to get out of the bathroom, but instead I clutch my shower loofah in front of me and start to spill.

  When Cammy’s questions are exhausted, I turn out the light and crawl into a bed that suddenly feels too big and imagine what it would be like if I weren’t alone. If we hadn’t stopped.

  I blow out a shaky breath.

  One night. That’s how long I’ll give myself to be wrapped up in Greg’s kiss and think of my friend as more than that. One night to lie in bed and remember the feel of his hands tightening in my hair and his voice rumbling against my neck. One night to play at the edge of the riptide that is Greg’s dirty-sweet kiss. I know it’s dangerous, and I’ve already found myself too quickly swept away, but I can’t quite put it aside. Not yet.

  Sure, I put on my best face when we were done, made the requisite jokes to ensure he knew I knew nothing had changed. It was either that or launch myself at him and beg for more. And if I’m honest with myself, there was a moment where that was a close thing. Too close.

  And if I’m being really, really honest, I kind of wish I could have justified more than just one kiss, because my sister is right. Greg looks like he’d be dirty. He talks like he’d be dirty. And he kisses like he’d be crazy dirty.

  And with some pretty deep-seated trust issues with men in general, it’s hard for me to let down my guard, so dirty just isn’t something I get a whole lot of in my life.

  6

  Julia

  THE HALLS ARE bright, bustling with activity as everyone hustles to meetings, conference calls, or to catch whatever they’ve got cued up on their laptops. I’m in the office for a few hours to grab the last few games for both teams in this week’s matchup and do some research on a couple stories I’ll have ready in case I get tapped during the game.

  “Julie, come on in here, will you?”

  Julie. I cringe at the sound of Ray Hettler calling me as I pass his office. I don’t work for him, but he treats me like I do. And sometimes the break between his department and mine gives him license to ask things I really wish he wouldn’t ask.

  I could keep walking and pretend I didn’t hear him, but even though I don’t report to him, the man holds some serious sway with the people I do report to, and I can’t risk ticking him off.

  Reluctantly, I backtrack and stop at his door.

  “Afternoon, Ray. What’s up?”

  Ray’s about thirty years older than I am, and I’ve learned the hard way not to ask what I can do for him because it either earns me the kind of suggestive leer that turns my stomach or has him asking me to grab him a cup of coffee or deliver paperwork to someone on a different floor. I’m a sideline reporter, not his girl Friday, but when I was first getting started, Ray was one of the guys who pulled for me when another candidate had already been picked.

  “You’re looking gorgeous as ever. Something new with your hair?” he asks, smoothing an unnaturally tanned hand over his sprayed dye job.

  I shake my head and smile. Through all the years and all the games, never once has he stopped to compliment me on an interview. It’s always about my appearance.

  “Come on in a minute. Close the door behind you.”

  The alarms start to blare in my head, but I can’t really say no without risking him flying off the handle, something everyone has seen at least once or twice. I catch a pitying look from the mail guy as he pushes his cart, but I’ve got this. It’s not like we’re the last people on the floor at the end of the night.

  I close the door and take a deep breath. “Ray, if this is about the photo that’s circulating from this weekend, it was nothing.”

 
“Nothing? It looked like one hell of a good time. Quite the party.” He swipes his tablet to life and shows me the picture on the screen. “Just a couple kids, cutting loose. No responsibilities for the night. Anything can happen.”

  My spine goes rigid.

  A couple kids. That’s what we look like. Maybe not to everyone, maybe not even to Ray, but he’s right. To some, this picture, like the incident with the man captured in it, needs to be an exception to the rule. I need to be viewed as a woman responsible enough to be trusted with reporting on the game… not some party girl with zero credibility.

  “I understand perceptions and the kind of impression this could give. I’ll be more careful about my public image.”

  “Maturity, Julie. Responsibility. Security. That’s what you want to reinforce. Show them how grounded you are.”

  “Absolutely.”

  He nods, cracking a smile. “It certainly does look fun though. And the hockey player?”

  “Old friend, is all.” Just an old friend with a mouth more addictive than crack cocaine and apparently just as dangerous. This conversation is exactly why I need to stop thinking about him.

  “Be careful there. People will be watching now.” Ray sets the tablet aside on his desk, then turns back and, giving me a not-too-subtle once-over, lets out a low whistle through his teeth. As though that were some appropriate segue, he waves to the cluster of low chairs and a sofa deeper into his office, suggesting we sit.

  He’s been hearing good things about me lately. There’s talk about a new show, and my name’s been thrown around for the job.

  I’ve heard some of what he’s saying from my agent before. We’ve been strategizing on where my career can go next, and she’s got feelers out everywhere. But some of what he’s saying, I haven’t heard.

  “Julie, you’re almost there.” He sets his hand on my knee, and the breath stops in my chest. “You just need the right people to keep saying the right things, and it’s going to happen.”