“WHERE THE FUCK HAVE YOU BEEN?”
I scowl at Kow. “Like you can talk, asshole.”
For a month solid, I’ve been trying to call the jerk since our face-off in Winnipeg.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You think I haven’t seen you in all the tabloids? Or are you still sore because we whupped your ass four-oh.”
Kow sniffs at me. “Since when do you read that trash?”
“Since your sister became my assistant,” I drawl.
Yawning, he scratches his nose. “I still think you’re crazy to have done that. Who invites Gracie into their life to organize them?”
“Me?”
“Apparently, but I’m not sure if something is going on with your brain. Some kind of malfunction. That last punch from Juarez maybe?”
“Fuck off. He didn’t hit me that hard.”
“You can lie to my mom but not to me,” he says piously. “It’s the bro code.”
I sniff.
His smirk fades. “Seriously though. You okay?”
Because it’s not often that Kow is solemn, I shrug. “Been better since your sister started taking over everything.”
“She’s good at that,” he grouches. “Don’t you ruin him, Gracie!”
His sudden bark startles me, prompting me to twist around where I find Gracie making faces at her brother.
When the hell did she come in? She has a key but I didn’t hear anything.
I hate that my heart is pounding extra hard.
Cibole, I’m a pro athlete. My heart rate and endurance are tested by universities, and here I am, feeling like I’ve been playing on the ice for a whole game with no break.
“You’re the one who ruined him, Kow. What the hell is this shower-in-a-bottle bullshit he said you taught him?”
I can’t even groan that it was one time before they’re back to facing off. Still, they don’t notice how the interaction affects me.
Thank God.
I already feel like a freak for not being able to get over this shit without Gracie making things worse if she recognizes what’s happening. If she does, then she’ll encourage me to talk to Mike, my shrink, more, and once a week is enough.
Therapy is like having a putrefying wound and scraping off the gunk on the surface then pouring vodka on top of it.
Sure, it heals a bit better but it’s still goddamn sore.
Leaning my elbow on the counter as my heart rate starts to slow, I perch my chin on my fist and watch their bickering continue.
“Do you even know how bad you guys stink?”
“Marigold loves it. Says I smell like victory.”
“Marigold? Well, there’s your problem. Fucking women with names like that.”
“Fuck you.”
“Fuck you right back.” She crows, “Victory stinks like wet socks and fish feet, does it? I don’t even have to—”
And on it continues. I’ve never understood where they get their energy from.
“This is why I haven’t called you in ages, you jackass—”
When Gracie said she stayed disconnected from her family, she meant it.
“Why would I want to talk to you anyway?”
“If you’d just—”
“Listen—”
“…fuck off. I’m telling you, you’re skating weird.”
“Weird? WEIRD?” Kow bellows. “My speed is up.”
“Yeah, and it’s fucking with your knees. When you need knee surgery, don’t say that I didn’t warn you.”
Kow, though pissed, stares down at the joints as if they’ll tell him the truth.
My lips twitch. “She told me my skates were too small if that helps.”
“And weren’t they?” she snipes.
I nod.
Kow huffs. “You’re a pain in my ass, Gracie Agnieska Bukowski.”
Man, I went two decades without knowing that name. This is the second time I’ve heard it in three years—since Amelia’s wedding to be precise.
“You brought out the full name?” I whistle, watching as Gracie literally turns hot pink.
Honestly, the only place she wears pink is on her cheeks when she gets mad at her brothers.
“I won’t dignify that with a response,” she growls. “But when you need surgery, you owe me a thousand dollars. Deal?”
Kow nods, but I mutinously insert, “Are you two seriously betting over knee surgery?!”
Grunting, Kow retorts, “Make it five thousand.”
“I’ll start researching the best orthopedic surgeons in Winnipeg,” she says smugly.
I shake my head. “You two are crazy.”
Both Bukowskis ignore me, too busy staring each other down to care about my opinion.
Before either of them can argue, I grab my cell and cut the video call.
Gracie blinks at me. “What did you do that for?”
“I’m not in the mood to hear both of you bicker for an hour.” Or more.
Getting to my feet, I round the kitchen counter and move to the fridge to pick out some hummus and celery sticks. Right next to them are the ‘healthy’ bagels Gracie eats for lunch, and fuck if I don’t want to snag the bag and dump them in the toaster.
Like always when she’s in the kitchen, she withdraws two items from her satchel—a massive bag of seeds and nuts that she grazes on all day and a carrying case with a tablet, keyboard, and her massive agenda.
As she sets herself up, I watch her from the corner of my eye when she starts nibbling on a Brazil nut.
Then, she wiggles in her seat.
God.
I gnaw extra hard on a celery stick.
Talking to Kow should have been a boner killer, but it’s not.
If only it were.
Every goddamn day, it’s getting harder to ignore her, because this is Gracie—the straight-talking, caring, sincere, loyal hottie that’s had me ensnared for years.
“You’re staring.”
I don’t bother denying it.
She peers at me over her tablet which she’s leaning against a textbook on business analytics. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” I tip my chin at the textbook. “Need me to quiz you?”
“No. Thank you. But you better stop with the judging. I can feel it from over there.”
My brows lift. “I’m not judging you.”
Does my ‘I need to get rid of this boner’ face look like I’m judging her? The fuck?
“I deal with my brothers on my own terms.”
Ah.
“You think I haven’t figured that out yet?”
She sniffs. ‘You were surprised by how distant I am with them. I just thought you were slow on the uptake.’
“I was surprised that you hadn’t talked since you started working for me.” I shrug. “But ten minutes of listening to you bicker was a reminder of how you roll.”
“How he rolls. I never bicker with anyone else.”
“Since when?” I hoot.
“I don’t!” she insists. “I argue with people who deserve to be taken down a peg or two. With my brothers, I bicker. They deserve the low-level sniping for being big-headed pains in the ass.”
“What about with me?”
“You usually listen to me so, no, I don’t need to argue with you,” is her simple reply. ‘I tell you about the skates, for example, you go up a size. Ergo, no need for sniping.
‘Kow will have knee surgery in two years because he’d prefer that than to listen to me.’
Because I have a feeling she’s right, uneasily, I mutter, “You normally talk sense. I’m not sure why he fights you so much.”
‘Because to him, I’m a nobody and he’s a somebody.’
I shake my head. “You’re the only one who can talk him into anything.”
“Respectfully, I disagree. With you, I always have a voice. I have meaning outside of being my brothers’ sister. That matters more than you know.”
Hearing her sincerity, I don’t play it off, but she’s left me speechless.
I know she has identity issues, and to be honest, I don’t blame her. Having witnessed with my own eyes how she disappears into the woodwork in people’s minds whenever her brothers are involved, it’s small wonder she fled to the States to make a name for herself.
Back home in Winnipeg, she’d never be able to forge a path that wasn’t ‘Bukowski brothers’ tainted.
Their family uses it for publicity—their printing company has over twenty stores in the Peg because one of the guys always stars in their ads.
I don’t blame Fryd, not after the sacrifices he and Hanna made to get the brothers where they are, but Gracie isn’t like that.
She wants to make her own way, and that’s something I respect.
“You have a meeting today,” she drawls, her tone making it clear that she’s changing the subject.
The irony is that this wasn’t something I intended to discuss anyway. Though it has killed my boner so, win-win?
“With whom?”
“Bradley.”
I grimace. “I forgot about that.”
“Nah, it’s your jam. I spoke with his secretary to learn what he wanted and it’s about the outreach program the Stars are starting.”
“Outreach program?” I question, not remembering anything about that. “This is the first time I’m hearing of it, right?”
“Technically, the meeting would be that,” she corrects. “He wants the Stars to start working with inner-city kids.”
I shrug. “Sounds cool to me.”
“Didn’t think it wouldn’t but wanted to warn you that he expects you to deal with convincing the rest of the team to get on board. It’s in the players’ contracts but that won’t stop the whining. He doesn’t want to hear it.”
That has me groaning. “Fuck, it sucks being one of the older players. They mistake me for being the responsible adult.”
“That’s why you wear the C,” she says, unimpressed.
I wince because she’s right. Of course.
She knows it too.
Her smirk is cocky. “I can take some of that off your shoulders.”
“How? And if so, I owe you.”
“I know. Your team, your team’s endeavor, your teammates… Yeah, you owe me. B.I.G.”
Cibole.
I want to fuck her when she’s smiling that smug smile at me.
And my dick is back in business.
“Whatever you want—” ‘Bébé’ is so close to tripping off my tongue.
Instead of saying what I want, I snag a hold of her hand. The slide of her fingers against mine, the silk over the calluses, has her mouth trembling before she tightens her grasp around my fingers, clearly understanding my game.
“I’ll take a day trip to Coney Island as a down payment. But that’s not the end of it,” she warns huskily.
I shake her hand.
But I don’t let go.
I rumble, “That can be done. Easily. How are you going to reap miracles?”
She blinks when I keep a hold of her fingers.
“I’ll twist the girlfriends’ arms to get their men involved. Greco and Raimond will be a problem though.”
“Seeing as they have a revolving door on their bedrooms?” I ask as I allow my fingertips to slide around to the inside of her wrist. “They’re the worst.”
“Leave it with me.”
I wink at her. “Gladly. And when you decide on your price… I’m all in.”
Her pulse stutters beneath my fingers.
“Your heart’s racing, Gracie. Is everything okay?” I ask blandly.
“Y-Yeah, it’s fine. I’m fine.” She’s not. Her voice is high and squeaky. Totally un-Gracie-like. She pulls on the hold I have on her, but I maintain my grip and gently turn her arm inward.
Thirty-five—that was the deal.
But fuck if rules weren’t made to be broken.
I bow my head and hear her sharp inhalation as I press my lips to that point that’s proof I’m having some kind of effect on her—her heart is pounding like crazy. I can see the soft leap in her veins as she reacts to my proximity.
“You sure about that?” I ask, uttering the words against her skin.
Today, her scent is fresh—freesias. Another flower I only know exists because of her.
“Y-Yeah, it’s the energy drink I had on the ride over here. Caffeine’s bad for you,” she chokes out, tugging on my hold again.
Amused at how she always has a damn answer for everything, this time, I peer at her, making sure I have her whole attention as I place another kiss on her pulse, which is pounding harder than ever.
With our eyes locked, I let my tongue flutter out.
Just the once.
At her shocked gasp, I finally let go of her.
Immediately, she swallows and scuttles backward, nearly toppling off the damn stool in her haste.
I grab her and drag her forward to save her from falling, and when her hands collide with my chest, she stares at me, wide-eyed and bewildered.
Keeping it light, I tap her nose with my pointer finger. “You have to be more careful, Gracie. Or did you catch whatever curse Kow’s got?”
She swallows. “I’ll be more careful.”
I dip down, invading her space by pressing my lips to just above her ear, letting my breath wash over the tender flesh there. I can hear her sharp inhalation even before I whisper, “Good. You’re precious cargo, Gracie Bukowski. If you think I won’t wrap you up in cotton, you’re mistaken.”
Her pupils are shot when I pull back. “G-Good to know,” she croaks as she leaps from the stool and, before I can say a word, darts off.
I watch her go.
Try not to chuckle when she glances back at me.
Try not to groan when she almost walks into the door.
Then, she’s gone.
And she leaves me alone.
In the sudden silence, that’s when I start to wonder if that was too much, too fast.
Convincing her I don’t see her as Kow’s sister isn’t something that can happen overnight.
“If you fucked that up, Donnghal,” I mutter to myself as I scrape a hand over my jaw when the bathroom door slams shut. “I’ll fuck you up.”
But her pulse… that gives me hope.
