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Crap.
Colter and I reluctantly break apart, turning to face her.
"Let's get this over with," I mutter.
Elysa ducks out of the kitchen to let Gavin in. I start after her, but Colter grabs my hand, tugging me back into his arms.
"Tonight, when I'm inside you, you're going to finish what you were trying to say," he growls against my ear. "I want to hear you screaming it, Leia."
"Okay," I agree, more than willing to give him that.
He inhales a sharp breath and then releases me. "Let's get this over with."
Even though Gavin is a bookie, he's not a bad guy. Well, he doesn't act like a bad guy. He's always been pleasant to me. He's laid-back, always laughing and joking. It's also obvious that he really likes Elysa. He can't keep his eyes off her at dinner.
She tries her best to act like everything is fine, but she nearly chokes on her wine when Gavin brings up hockey while we're eating tiramisu after dinner.
"You okay, kitten?" Gavin asks, rubbing her back. His Rolex gleams, standing out like a sore thumb in our apartment. He probably makes more in a week than we do combined in a year. He never acts like it matters to him, but I can't help but notice the disparity today.
He's dressed in a thousand-dollar suit, his dark hair slicked back. Elysa is in a pretty black swing dress with her hair in an intricate updo. She looks gorgeous but uncomfortable. Dresses aren't really her thing. She only ever wears them for Gavin.
Does he even notice that she's uncomfortable? That she dresses up for him even though she hates it?
"Fine," she wheezes, waving him away. "Wrong pipe."
He grins at her, flashing his dimple before he turns back to Colter. "You've had a long career in the AHL," he says, his gray eyes serious. "You never wanted to move up to the NHL?"
"I started out in the NHL a decade ago." Colter sets his fork down. "Tore my ACL three seasons in and got sent down to rehab. I was out for a year before I could skate on it properly again. I knew I wouldn't get called back up my first time back on the ice."
"Damn." Gavin shakes his head. "That's a bitch."
"Yeah, it is. But I'm still playing, so it is what it is." Colter scowls. "I should be playing, anyway. Fucking Bruce Gordon."
"Who?" Gavin furrows his brows like he's never heard the name before. He's a good liar; I'll give him that. If I hadn't seen them meeting with my own eyes, I'd almost believe he had no clue who Bruce Gordon was.
"He plays for the Stingrays," I jump in, rolling my eyes for effect. "He couldn't play nice on the ice the other night and kept starting fights. Colter ended up suspended from the game this weekend. He's grumpy about it because the team flew out today."
"Uh, fuck yeah, I'm grumpy," Colter growls. "If I'm not on the ice, I'm not getting paid."
"You get paid by game?"
Crap. Did we just give him intel he didn't have? Surely not. I mean, surely it's not a trade secret how hockey players are paid, right?
"It's more complicated than that, but when we get suspended, they dock our pay equivalent to how many games our suspension lasts. Since we aren't making bank like the NHL, we try really fucking hard not to get suspended," Colter says.
Gavin inclines his head in a brief nod. "Well, fuck Bruce Gordon then." He lifts his beer bottle in a salute, flashing that dimple again. "May he get what's coming to him."
Colter lifts his bottle in acknowledgment, his expression dark.
I place my hand on his thigh. It's rock-hard with tension, but it doesn't show on his face. He's playing it cool, way cooler than I am, because I want to crawl across the table and slap the smile off Gavin's face. He's the reason Colter is suspended right now, and he knows it.
How can he sit here and commiserate with Colter as if he didn't orchestrate the entire thing?
Elysa deserves so much better.
Chapter Eight
Colter
"What did you think?" Leia asks, pacing around our bedroom two hours after dinner. We waited until we were sure Gavin was gone before we dipped out. I didn't want to leave Elysa alone until we were sure he wouldn't return. The motherfucker is smooth. But he's a prick.
"I think we're not talking about him tonight," I murmur, tugging her into my arms when she approaches me. She's been antsy all night. I don't think she likes Gavin much. It has nothing to do with him being a bookie, either. She has killer instincts. She has to learn to trust them.
He may act like a good guy, but they all do, right? I've seen it a thousand times. Men like Gavin are a dime a dozen. They say all the right things, smile in all the right places. But the eyes never lie. His are cold.
