After we make plans for a date and time to get dinner together, I stare at the three bubbles dancing along the bottom of the screen. My heart warms when I see the last message she sends.
Kourt:I love you, Winnie
I swallow.
I don’t remember telling Mom and Dad that I loved them the night of the accident. I’d begged them to stay home instead of going with them to run errands. They reluctantly agreed and told me to behave myself—that if there was any emergency, I was to call them or Kourtney. But did I tell them I loved them? It’s a blank space in my mind that I don’t recall and that has tortured me for over a decade.
I’ve made sure to let people know how much I love them ever since, because I learned the hard way that you never know what can happen.
Me:I love you too. Give Luca a tight squeeze for me
Long after we stop talking, I’m staring at the piles of paper pertaining to our newest client. Who doeshelove? If online fodder is right, his wife never goes to any of his games. Neither do his parents. Does he have siblings? People who support him? Or does he make it a habit to push them all away?
I tell myself I shouldn’t care.
But I do.
For work purposes, of course.
CHAPTER THREE
Moskins
The five-thousand-square-foot Tudor-stylehome located in Fairbanks’s only gated cul-de-sac is complete overkill. I would have been happy with a condo or penthouse suite, not two acres of land that I have no need for. I’ll give the small city some credit, though. The area is nicer than where I lived in Pittsburgh, and not far from Greenwich, where I grew up, and some of my oldest friends still live.
Although I suppose friends is a loose term. I’m not one to reach out very often to my small group of confidants. I keep in touch by liking their online posts from my burner account. That way, I don’t have to worry about random pick-me girls coming out of the woodwork to harass me or reporters digging through my shit and asking for exclusives. I get enough of that on my professional pages.
A few of my former teammates with the Penguins would give me shit for being a bad texter. What they didn’t know is that I usually just ignored them whenever they’d ask me to come out with them or remind me about team plans. I went to what I had to and only entertained them with my presence when I felt like it. If I really needed a drink, I preferred pouring myself one in the comfort of my own home, where temptation and scandal couldn’t find me.
I’d like to think that’s where I differ the most from my parents. I could say no to a stiff drink—I knew my limits. Socially, I’m more tempted to have one too many. But never,neverhave I let myself cross the line I saw my mother and father step over too many times to count.
So, yeah. I’ve become a homebody.
Especially since my meeting with Mikhail and my agent, Ashton, went exactly as I expected it to. Which was bad. Very bad. If it hadn’t been for Bodhi Hoffman, the head coach for the Fireflies, stepping in during my father-in-law’s long-winded rant about every reason why he should fire me on the spot, I’d probably be fucked. Then I would have bought this house and left a team I loved for nothing.
So, solitude is the better option. It’s theonlyoption. Even if the halls echo with my wandering thoughts, it’s better than putting my ass on the line solely for an orgasm or two.
My phone goes off as I walk into the kitchen to find something for dinner, and I glare at my agent’s name on the screen. “What?” is the way I greet him. I’ve learned that when he calls past five o’clock in the evening, it’s usually about nothing good.
Thankfully, Ashton doesn’t care. “Hello to you too. My night was good, thanks for asking.”
I roll my eyes. “Youcalledme. I’m not going to entertain you with small talk.”
He snorts. “Of course not,” he muses. “My mistake. I’m calling to find out why you asked for details about Winter Bronte. The message you left was vague.”
Since when does he care? “You’ve done background checks for me without needing an explanation. Why question me now?”
“Because,” he says smoothly, “those were for women you wanted to sink your dick into. This is someone who’s supposed to be helping save your ass before your father-in-law throws you out onto the street. You can’t fuck her.”
That’s why he’s really calling me. To tell me where I can and can’t put my cock. “I never said I wanted to,” I inform him, even though the thought definitely crossed my mind.
Attitude is like foreplay to me, and Winter wasn’t hesitant to dish it out when I called her a kid. The second she stood up straighter and pinned me with those fierce green eyes, my dick stood to full attention. All I could picture was how good it would look in her mouth.
So, no. I don’t think she’s a kid. I don’t think she’s anything close. But did I like the offense written all over her face when I called her that? Hell, yeah, I did. And what I liked more was her all but telling me to fuck right off.
“I’m simply curious about her,” I explain to the man who likes to tell me what’s best for my career. If it’s not him being a pain in my ass, it’s my manager. Both of them would tell me to stop thinking about the blonde with a sharp tongue and focus on what’s more important. My contract with the Fireflies. My brand deals. Getting new sponsorships since the old ones have chosen to distance themselves from my less than stellar rep.
Too bad for them, I don’t like listening.
