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Then, off the clock at last, I dug my hand into my pocket and pulled out my phone. I’d missed a call from my mom, about a hundred emails, and one text. FromIHCaptain James Larsson.
Dinner at our house tonight. You interested?
I stared down at the message. A text from a man had never before caused all the blood in my body to rush to my cock, but this one did. There was a first time for everything.
What was the harm, really, in letting this tryst play out a little bit? Threesomes weren’t exactly shocking debauchery in the world of hockey, even in the minor leagues. I’d shared girls before—granted, they were usually unattached puck bunnies, not my captain’s long-term live-in girlfriend.
But there was something stubbornly undeniably about her. I had a strict no-strings policy when it came to dating. I stayed casual. And this whole arrangement couldn’t ever be anything but casual, at least not for me. Still, I found myself thinking about her before I fell asleep at night and as soon as I woke up in the morning. I could push her away when I was busy, but as soon as I was alone, she swam up. I’d never had anyone get under my skin like this.
I mean, goddamn it, she’d given me the best blowjob of my life. I couldn’t just walk away. I had to see what would happen next.
Tapping the screen, I typed a short response and hit send. Then I stared at it, wondering if I was making a big mistake.
Count me in.
18.
Hope
I blinked at Jamie, stunned to stillness with a hot cast-iron skillet in my hand. I finally had a night off from the restaurant, which meant it was time to test and perfect new recipes.
But apparently, he had something else in store for tonight.
“What did you say?” I asked, though I’d heard him perfectly well the first time. I needed to hear it again to make sure I wasn’t dreaming.
“I said, I invited Rowan Wilder for dinner, so you should make enough food for three.”
He said it so casually. That’s what was throwing me for a loop. This was major news, but he might as well have been commenting on the weather. The heat of the pan finally seeped through the oven mitt, singing my hand. I dropped it with a clatter back onto the stove.
“Jamie!”
He raised his eyebrows.
“What?” he asked hesitantly.
“When is he going to be here? I haven’t shaved in, like, a week! Why didn’t you warn me before now?” He cocked an eyebrow and smirked.
“Why, so you’d have ample opportunity to get all dolled up for some other guy? He’s not coming here so that you can please him—though you will, without lifting a finger. Or a razor. He’s coming so thathecan pleaseyou. And some stubble on your legs isn’t going to deter him, I can promise you that.”
I rolled my eyes. Just because he considered me the perfect woman, he assumed everyone did. But I knew better.
“Put this in the oven for five minutesexactly,” I said. “Don’t walk away from it, you promise?” He held up two fingers, a sardonic scout’s honor. Satisfied, I ripped off my apron and the rest of my clothes as I sprinted through the house and jumped into the shower, scrubbing and lathering and exfoliating, my heart going a mile a minute. It was pounding so hard I was afraid it would burst right through my chest.
I was giddy but also terrified. Rowan was built like an action hero and hung like a horse. His accent was a panty-dropper. But more than that, there was something about the way he looked for me in a crowd, the way his eyes burned my skin whenever they found me, that gave me butterflies. The fact that he was coming here, that he was going to be in our little house, in our little bed, made my stomach flip flop as I buffed and polished myself to a high shine in record time.
When I got out, I just stood in front of my closet, staring at my clothes. I had no idea what would be appropriate for this kind of dinner date.
I chose a barely-there slip dress and fuck-me pumps. I didn’t bother to blow-dry my hair. It hung in damp strands as I walked through the house, back to the living room, doing my best to appear unbothered when inside my head there was a high-pitched whine that I was afraid might actually be coming out of me.
I walked around the corner into the living room and froze. Jamie was sitting on the couch with Rowan beside him. They both looked up at me with matching wolfish grins, like I was a roast turkey and they were starving.
I had the strangest urge to turn and run, to make them chase me through the house. But this was a dinner party, and I was the chef.
“Hello, Rowan,” I said, trying to project sophistication instead of the knee-knocking anxiety I felt under his penetrating gaze. I glanced at Jamie. “Did you take the lamb out of the oven?” He nodded, still wearing that eager grin. “And the potatoes?”
“Everything is ready to be served, whenever you’re ready to eat,” he said. I looked between them, wondering what I was supposed to do next. This was a novel situation for me. My boyfriend brought a man home to fuck me. The spontaneous meeting in the alley was different. There was no anticipation, no build-up. Just the three of us reacting in the moment.
This encounter was premeditated. I was the last to find out, but we’d all had a chance to get good and nervous. Or was I the only one whose hands were shaking?
