“Oh my good gravy,” Poppy gasps. “Rachel, you look stunning, girl!”
I smile, smoothing my hands down the front of my Chanel gown. It’s a piece I’ve had for years and worn easily a dozen times. Champagne colored silk comes to two points, at my collarbones, with thin straps trailing over my shoulders and down the fully open back. The silk flows loose around my ankles, giving the dress beautiful movement. It’s easily one of my favorite things I own.
“Thank you,” I say with a smile. “You look gorgeous too.”
And she really does. She’s wearing a show-stopping red gown with a thigh slit that could stop traffic. Her makeup is darker tonight, edgier, and her hair is in a slicked back high pony. She looks sinful, all 5’2” of her.
I glance around the art museum gallery. “Everything looks beautiful, Poppy.”
“Oh well,” she says with a hurried wave. “I’m sure you’ve been to more than your fair share of these kinds of events.”
I just smile, making no reply. I literally can’t count the number of times I’ve attended a charity benefit. All I’m thinking about right now is how I’m starving, my feet hurt, and I forgot to pack my Spanx. Things were so hectic today that I did my hair and makeup in the ladies’ restroom before driving straight here.
I’m dressed to impress, but I’m not the focus tonight. The players are the real draw. The attendees don’t care about a plated salmon dinner or winning a silent auction trip to a winery. They just want to brush shoulders with two-time Stanley Cup winner Ilmari Kinnunen. They want to get up close and friendly with Canadian Olympian Head Coach Hodge Johnson.
Speaking of Kinnunen…I smirk as I spot him over in the corner, his huge frame bent over the silent auction table. He was my last patient of the day. We spent over an hour working on some hip strengthening exercises as part of his new PT regime.
I’ve learned to read him better over the past few weeks. For how easily he stands out in a crowd, he’s a very subtle person. His movements are small, his opinions understated, his actions deliberate. It’s as if his aura takes up so much space all on its own that he compensates by making the other pieces of himself smaller. I think I’d like to see Mars Kinnunen unleashed. What does he look like off the ice trying to dominate a situation?
Well, sweet heavens. Now I’m thinking about Mars Kinnunen dominating things.
Rein it in, psycho.
I blame the tuxedo. He looks hot enough to pour on pancakes. That tailored jacket fits him like a glove. Rachel approves.
Down, girl.
A few people stand behind him, whispering, watching him like a curious animal in an exhibit. People do that to him a lot. His size is certainly intimidating, and there’s that fuck-all-the-way off aura. He’s perhaps one of the least approachable people I’ve ever met.
So, of course, I waltz right up, snagging a bacon-wrapped shrimp skewer off a tray as I go. “Hey, Mars.”
He turns to look at me, his blue eyes taking me in. “You look different,” he mutters.
I snort, chewing on my shrimp. Is that a compliment? It’s impossible to tell with his deadpan delivery. “Yeah, it’s the concealer. Does me wonders, huh?”
“What?”
“Nothing,” I reply, taking a glass of red wine from a waiter. “You bidding on something?”
He gestures wordlessly down at the paper.
I lean in a little closer, unable to avoid taking in a whiff of his intoxicating cologne. I hold my breath, reading the top of the paper. “I—Mars—what the hell is this?” I set my glass aside. “These items are up for auction. Do you understand? You’re not guessing what you think the organization is worth. In this case, they’re asking you to donate the amount of your bid to the organization. It’s like a sponsorship.”
“I know,” he replies.
“You—” I gape at him, glancing back down at the paper. “Mars, you want to donate half a million dollars to a sea turtle conservation fund?”
“Yes.” This is a joke, right? He’s joking. His face says he’s not joking. I don’t think Mars Kinnunen knows how to make a joke.
“I—well, that’s a big investment, Mars. Have you done any research into this organization?”
“Ms. St. James vetted them, yes?”
“Well, I—” My honest answer is yes. Poppy is ruthless. I’m sure all of these auction items have been thoroughly vetted. But that’s not what’s confusing me.
“I’m sorry—the other guys are over there eating their weight in free appetizers,” I say, pointing to where Sully, Hanner, and J-Lo are all loading up tiny plates. “And you’re just casually over here donating five hundred thousand dollars to sea turtle conservation?”
“Is that not the point of this evening?” he says.
“Well…yeah,” I reply, snatching up my glass of wine. “But I mean, you could win the bid by donating like five thousand dollars.”
“And how long do you think such a paltry amount will last the organization?” he counters. “Would it not be better to give them funds they can use to actually plan for the future?”
“Well…yeah,” I say again, sounding like a total broken record.
“And if I am in a position to help this organization, should I not help them? I have the money, I’m willing to part with it, and I’m intrigued by the cause. Should I not donate?”
“Of course, you should,” I say quickly. Weirdly, I think he’s relieved to hear my answer. Does he care what I think about this? “Can I ask…why sea turtles?”
He just shrugs. “Why not sea turtles?”
“You could’ve picked anything.” I wave my hand at the table. “A children’s hospital, a burn center, an after-school sports program for underprivileged youth. And yet you picked to give the largest donation of the night to a bunch of sea turtles. Tell me why.”
His gaze traces my features and I fight my blush. “You’ll judge me for my answer,” he says.
I go still. “I promise, I won’t.”
He shrugs again. “I make millions as a professional athlete. It comes at a cost that I will never pay.”
“What do you mean?” I step in closer.
“I mean to say that I uphold an industry that thrives on the decimation of the environment. I spend a third of my life traveling and living as unsustainably as possible. I play in arenas that create mountains of waste. Every day. Every game. For the whole of my life, this has been my life. I do harm, Rachel. Active harm.”
“Oh, Mars,” I murmur. “So, you’re donating to the sea turtles. You’re protecting them…from you.”
He nods. “This amount is utterly insignificant. But I’ve jotted down the name of the contact at the organization,” he adds. “If I like their business model, I intend to become a patron. I will fund them in their entirety.”
I sigh, shaking my head. Of course. Mars Kinnunen, ladies and gentlemen. Devastatingly handsome, rich, talented, environmentally conscious, and self-deprecating to a fault. Yeah, I’m gonna have to walk away now.
“Are you bidding on anything tonight?” he says as I turn away.
I huff a laugh, still trying to unscramble my brain. “Umm, well I was hoping to maybe bid on a yacht trip to the Caribbean or a month of free salsa dancing lessons.”
Before he can reply, Poppy comes hurrying over. She may be the only staff member on the Rays besides me who is wholly unafraid of this man. “Mars, you can’t hide in the corner all night, honey. We gotta get you mingling. Oh and, Rachel, can you track down the other fellas and corral them back this way?”
“Sure thing, Pop,” I say with a smile, watching as she drags a reluctant Mars away by the arm. She wastes no time introducing him to a group of silver haired ladies that all ‘Ooo’ at his approach.
I dart away before I’m the next one pulled in, ducking around the corner, moving deeper into the museum. I walk up behind Langley and Novy, each chowing down on appetizers.
“I’m telling you, it’s art,” Langley says.
“No way,” Novy replies. “This is not art.”
“It’s hanging in an art museum, asshole.”
I peek around them to see what they’re looking at. It looks like a blank canvas. I smirk as I see that the plaque next to it actually reads ‘Blank Canvas.’
“Hey, Doc,” Langley says in greeting. “Whoa…you look really pretty.”
I smile. I can’t help myself. Langley is just so sweet and sincere. “Thank you, Langley. You look nice too.” He totally does. All these guys are knockouts in their fancy duds.
Langley points at the art behind them. “Hey—is this art?”
I step closer, stealing a mini quiche off his plate. “Well, how does it make you feel?”
“Uhh…confused?” he says with a shrug.
“Bored,” Novy adds.
“Like I’m a little out of my depth here,” Langley adds, glancing around.
I laugh. “I think, at its heart, art is just supposed to make us feel something. It sounds like you’re both feeling plenty.”
“Whoa,” Langley mutters, eyes wide as he looks back at the blank canvas. “Trippy.”
“Hey, Poppy was looking for you,” I say.
“What?” Novy huffs. “Me—why?”
I give him a curious look. “No…not just you, Nov. She wants all of you to stay in close. I’m supposed to be rounding you up. Any more of you back this way?” I add, glancing around.
“I think Compton wandered off,” Langley replies, pointing towards an archway.
I walk in the direction Langley pointed. I was hoping to catch Jake here. Between karaoke night and the game day travel, we haven’t really gotten a moment alone together. My heels click on the wooden floor as I walk through the modern art exhibit room into a room of more Neoclassical work.
My heart skips a beat as I see Jake. He holds a drink in one hand, the other in the pocket of his tux. He’s gazing up at a large painting with a serious look on his face. He looks gorgeous—that dark hair sweeping over his brow. He should always wear a tuxedo. No more grey sweats, no more hockey uniform. Just all tux, all the time.
“Hey, angel,” I say softly.
He glances at me quickly, then back to the painting, his frown deepening.
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s this horse.”
I step next to him and gaze up at the painting. It’s large, nestled in a gaudy gold frame. It depicts what is quite possibly the ugliest man I’ve ever seen riding what I have to assume is a horse. But the face looks possessed…and sort of squished.
“I feel like it’s following me,” he murmurs, swaying a bit. “When I move, the eyes move. It freaks me out.”
I snort, stepping closer to the plaque to read. “Apparently the painting is called ‘The Ugly Knight and His Uglier Horse’—well, that’s not a very nice title,” I add with a laugh. “Painted by Lord George Corbin in 1804.”
“Well, Corbin sucked.” Jake takes a sip of his drink.
I turn to face him. “Jake…are we gonna talk about it?”
“About what?”
I sigh. “Cay told me about your argument the other day.”
“Yeah, well, he should keep his mouth shut,” he mutters, swirling the ice in his glass.
I step forward, placing a gentle hand on his arm. “Hey, this isn’t you. My Jake doesn’t hide in the back of art galleries or pout his way through karaoke night. And my Jake looks at me when I talk to him,” I murmur, giving his arm a squeeze. “He takes one look at me in a dress like this and tries to convince me to take it off.”
The corner of his mouth twitches as his gaze darts to me.
“I can’t have you two fighting,” I say. “Not over me. Your friendship means too much to risk it. And you both mean too much for me to get in the middle—”
“We’re fine,” he says quickly. “It wasn’t about you, really. I was the one being a jerk. I was pushing him. I’ve been all in my head ‘cause I said some shit I didn’t mean. I’m just…I get in my head about Cay. And sometimes I speak without thinking…”
“I know,” I say gently, rubbing his forearm. “He forgives you.”
He huffs. “Is that why he decided to show off at karaoke?”
“He’s trying, Jake,” I reply. “It’s been just you in his heart for so long. Making room for me hasn’t been easy. But he wants to,” I add. “We can all feel it. You know what we have together is special, right? Not just between you and me but the three of us.”
“Yeah,” he murmurs, swirling his drink again. “Yeah, it’s special.” He looks at me again, his gaze settling longer this time, roving me up and down. There’s an appreciative twinkle growing there.
I smile, knowing him so well. “Is that what you need? You need a little physical reassurance? Want me to take you into the stairwell and blow you?”
“Don’t tease me,” he says, taking a sip of his drink.
“Who’s teasing?” I reply. “You’re mine, Jake. Mine to care for, mine to love. Right now, you’re upset. And I intend to make it better. I feel like I haven’t seen you in days.”
“I know,” he sighs. “How is it possible to miss you when you’re standing right in front of me? But I do. I miss you, baby. I can’t stop. I feel like we still have this distance and I fucking hate it.”
“Well, then close it.”
“Close what?”
“The distance.”
He frowns, gesturing around. “We’re in public, Rachel. No public displays of affection, remember?”
“I hate when you guys call me that,” I murmur.
“What—your name?”
“I don’t want to be Rachel in your eyes.” I step closer. “I want to be your Seattle Girl,” I say, brushing my fingers down the fabric of his lapel. “Your baby girl…yours.”
He sighs, closing his eyes. “I’m barely holding on here.”
“Then let go,” I whisper. “Jake, just let go.”
He opens his eyes, his gaze molten.
“I want you, Jake,” I say on a breath. “I need you. Find me again. Please, come find me—”
He silences me with a kiss, his free hand pulling me closer. I open to him, my head tipping back as I taste the alcohol on his tongue. In moments, he’s breaking away with a groan.
“Fuck, I can’t do this here,” he mutters, his lips brushing against my temple.
“Why? What’s wrong?”
“It’s…I feel like the horse is watching me,” he admits, glancing back up to the painting.
With a laugh, I grab his free hand. “Come on.”
“What are you doing?” he says, following after me.
My heels click across the floor as I pull him into the stairwell, letting the door shut behind us with a clang. There’s no way to secure it, so we’ll just have to risk it. “Cay said your game was to try and break my PDA ban,” I say, taking his drink from his hand and setting it down on the steps with mine.
“Yeah, listen—I’m sorry, Seattle. I was being a competitive jerk. This is all new to me, and I was worried about what I said to Cay, and missing you, and I was being an asshole—”
I step forward, placing my fingers against his lips. “I’m breaking my ban,” I declare. “If I don’t have you right fucking now, I’m gonna scream. So, you just tell me what the point system is, and I’ll make sure you leave this stairwell winning. Agreed?”
He smirks down at me. “What did you do with Cay in the bathroom of Rip’s? Don’t think I didn’t notice you both disappear for fifteen minutes.”
I smile back at him, unashamed. That was a fun night. “He ate me out on the sink,” I reply, my body responding as Jake stares me down, his hands stroking my hips. “And then I sucked him off.”
His brows lower as he does the math. “So…I think that’s twenty points. Ten points for each mouth action.”
I gaze up at him. “Okay, well you’ve got exactly three minutes to claim the top score. What are we doing here, angel?”
He presses me back against the wall by the door. “For fifty points, I’m gonna rail you hard and fast,” he breathes, his lips brushing mine. “Your sweet pussy is gonna come all over my dick. And then we’re gonna walk back out to that boring party with me dripping down your thighs.”
Oh yeah, this is my Jake. Back in the game. Finally.
“Do you worst,” I tease. “Just cover my mouth when I scream.”
He growls, his hands dropping to his pants. “Take your undies off and slip them in my pocket. Every time I look at you tonight, you’re gonna squeeze those thighs, understood?”
I fist the skirt of my gown with both hands, hiking it up. “Too bad for you, angel. I’m not wearing underwear.”
He goes still, one hand on his dick. With a groan, he steps in, cupping my face with his free hand. “You are my every fucking dream.”
“I know,” I say with a smile, my hand wrapping around his on his dick. “Now get inside me.”
“Babe.”
Someone is jostling me. Is it in my dream? No—wait—am I dreaming?
“Baby, wake up.”
I shift with a sleepy groan and blink my eyes open, trying to orient myself. I’m lying naked in the world’s most comfortable bed. Jake is here, his hand nudging my shoulder. He brushes my hair back from my face and kisses my brow.
“Babe, look. He’s here. I didn’t want you to miss it.” The tone in his voice is so bright and eager. He jostles me fully awake as he slips off the side of the bed.
God, what time is it? Last night we stumbled home from the benefit to find Caleb crashed out with the dog on the couch. We all but fell into his bed and went straight to sleep. I’m not even sure I took my contacts out.
His room looks so different in the daylight. The room is bathed in beachy white light. I watch, lips pursed, as a very naked Jake tiptoes over to the wall of glass with his phone in hand. The glass has a door inset into it, which leads out to a balcony.
Jake glances over his shoulder at me, grinning like a little kid, then points out through the glass. There, sitting on the deck railing, is a massive pelican. The thing is so ugly, it’s cute, with drab brown feathers and beady eyes. Jake raises his phone, his bare butt mooning me as he snaps pictures.
Watching him, I’m overcome with a wave of such emotion that it literally takes my breath away. I swallow, tears in my eyes. “Hey,” I call softly.
“Hmm?” he says, eyes on his phone.
“I love you.”
“What?” he squawks, spinning around. The combination of his movement and his voice must scare the pelican because it flaps away. “Oh—shit—” He spins back to watch it fly off. “Man, he’s never come that close before.”
I snort, my heart overflowing as I watch my sweet angel pout over his pelican playing hard to get.
“Wait—what the hell did you just say?” He crosses the room, tossing his phone down on the end of the bed.
“You heard me,” I reply, fully aware that the sheets are pooled at my waist and my bare breasts are on display.
He crawls up the bed. “I’m gonna need you to say it again.”
I go to squirm away, but it’s hopeless. He pounces on top of me, pinning me down under the sheets.
“Say it,” he growls, burying his face at my neck as he breathes me in.
I run my hands down his back, giving both his booty cheeks a playful slap.
He clenches, his face buried between my breasts. “Come on, Seattle. Please, say it again? Say it, or I’ll climb the railing and jump off.”
I dig my fingers into his hair and pull his head back until I catch his gaze. “I love you, Jake.”
He pops up on his elbows with a smile that could power the whole city. “Baby, I am so fucking in love with you. I swear to god, you’re it for me. I love you more than I love sushi. More than I love coffee.”
“More than you love hockey?” I tease, laying back as he peppers my breasts with kisses. His morning stubble feels rough on my skin, but I don’t care.
“Fuck—would you accept the truth that I don’t wanna pick? I want both. I want a hockey and Rachel sandwich every day for the rest of forever.”
I laugh. “Fair enough.” I arch back with a contented sigh as he latches onto my peaked nipple, giving it a little suck.
He’s barely started teasing me before he stops. “Come on, babe. Today is cheat day, and I’m starving. Your stomach is growling too.”
I fight the urge to pout. I was about to have a very fortifying meal. A 6’3” professional hockey player was on the menu…hopefully with a side of equipment manager. “What did you have in mind?”
“We’re gonna go find the biggest, most ridiculous stack of banana pancakes and order a whole tower of bacon on the side. And coffee,” he adds, rolling off me. “Lots and lots of coffee.”
I laugh, stretching out like a lazy house cat. “Make them bananas foster pancakes, and I’m in.”
He launches off the bed. “Awesome. Get ready. I’ll go tell Cay!”
