She remembered the first time they met when she was at a party hosted by the New York Admirals' owner, who happened to be a family friend. The hockey star quietly got her number, then called the next day and asked her out.
But they never actually went "out" somewhere. Declan seemed skittish about Charlotte's fame and the reality show cameras that would occasionally follow her around. She couldn't blame him. There were times when she didn't want to be recognized either. And frankly, keeping their relationship secret was a bit of a turn on. She would sneak into his apartment building by the back stairs. He would tell her doorman that he was seeing a woman in the building but never said who. Considering the building's glitzy residents, it could've been any number of women desperate to date one of the city's most eligible athletes.
And so it went for a few months. Take-out Chinese food at his place followed by a home-cooked meal at hers. The sex was good, nothing great, but Declan's athletic body made up for his lack of focus on Charlotte in the bedroom.
Then there was that playoff game. New York suffered a heart-breaking loss in the final seconds against Chicago, ending their season, and she had gone wandering in the arena to find Declan and comfort him. Charlotte finally found him in the equipment room, his back to her as he groaned due to the pain of the loss — or at least that's what Charlotte had first assumed. But as she got closer, she realized he wasn't in pain. No, he was screwing some model against the wall by a rack of hockey sticks.
"Declan?" His name came out of her mouth half in anger, half in pain.
He turned to look over his shoulder, a sneer teasing his lips as the leggy redhead angled herself to look at Charlotte standing there, surprised to see her boyfriend doing what he was doing.
"I'm sure you can tell that you don't belong here," he told her, his voice cold and patronizing. "Unless, of course, you'd like to join us."
Charlotte stood there staring at him. She wasn't going to let him see the effect he had on her. "I'd rather not," she replied bitterly before turning and walking out as fast as she could without letting him see how much he had damaged her.
She thought he wanted to keep their relationship secret to protect it from prying eyes. She thought it was something too special to be splashed on the gossip pages of the city. Instead, she realized he just wanted to stay quiet so other women wouldn't know he had a girlfriend.
She shook her head, breaking herself out of her flash with her past and took a long drink from her wine glass. Two years and Declan still had that effect on her. When she first met Jordan King a few weeks ago, she thought about what it would be like to have his strong hands on her, his blue eyes taking her in, his muscles rippling under her touch. What could it be like to be with a hockey player who actually cared about her and treated her right? And then her memories of Declan had shoved their way back into her brain, rendering any idea of dating another hockey player completely moot.
Charlotte took the stupid helmet in her hand and stuffed it as far back down into the box as it would go, making a mental note to shove that whole thing in the darkest corner of her storage closet or, if she could find the courage, the darkest corner of her building's dumpster.
The lights were already on as Jordan made his way into the house with his suitcase in tow. A warm and inviting house to return to was one of the advantages of living with his brother.
Sure, they were both single men and living with a roommate wasn't the coolest idea, especially considering Jordan was one of the highest paid hockey players in the league and could afford this on his own. But it was something he found comfort in.
Ethan was the one who had done all he could to support Jordan when their parents were gone — one by bad chance, one by bad choice — and Jordan felt the need to return the favor now that he was a success. It seemed ridiculous to buy a big house in the suburbs with no one to share it with so he made sure to find one with two master bedrooms: one for him and one for Ethan. It wasn't easy since there weren't many homes like that around, but it was worth it.
So far, the arrangement was going well. Jordan paid the mortgage, Ethan picked up the bills and the grocery shopping, and they both chipped in for the maid service. Seriously, there was no other way the house would stay clean with two bachelors in it, and they wanted to have it looking its best when they brought women home.
It all worked because they were so similar. The brothers had the same boss to complain about and compliment since Jack Foster owned Jordan's team and the buildings Ethan took on as a redevelopment project manager. They also had the same ideas about what made a house great. Big television. Comfortable furniture. A well-stocked kitchen. Ethan always made sure there was cold beer in the fridge, especially after one of the captain's long road trips.
"You want a drink?" Jordan yelled.
"Hell yeah!" came a voice from somewhere else in the house.
He grabbed two bottles, twisting the caps off and dropping them on the counter as he headed to the dining room. Ethan was standing there, pool cue in hand as he sank the eight ball.
"Just in time," he said, reaching for the beer in Jordan's outstretched hand. "It's good to have you home, brother."
"Good to be home," he replied before taking a sip. "You know, we really need to set some rules about this pool table."
"I thought the fact that we put a pool table in the middle of our dining room meant we didn't need rules."
Jordan smiled. It really had been a genius plan to use the space in a way that it would truly be appreciated by them, but one of them appreciated it too much. "It's not fair that you're allowed to get extra practice in while I'm on the road."
"You're not home because you're on the road playing hockey."
"I'm on the road because I had to work this afternoon, which was a Sunday, in Toronto."
"Better than finally getting the weekend off after dealing with deadbeat commercial plumbers."
"Good point," Jordan replied. "New game?"
His brother racked up the balls and let Jordan take the first break as they chatted, drank and traded trash talk over the billiards table. Jordan's job gave him plenty of practice to verbally rip down his brother. Ethan's extra time at home apparently gave him plenty of practice to beat his younger sibling.
Of course, it didn't help that Ethan figured the game would be the perfect time to start grilling him on Charlotte Stone.
"She's just a fan," Jordan insisted, fingers tightening around the pool cue in his hand.
