Page 44 of At First Smile
“No fucking way.”
“That’s twice—” he raises two fingers. “One more time and I’ll not only kick you out but havemymother come stay withyou. If anyone can teach you some manners, it would be her.”
“Sorry.”
Greg arches a dark eyebrow. “Seriously, what is it between you and this guy? Did he bang Emma or something? Is that why you broke up with her?”
“No,” I mutter.
The breakup with Emma had nothing to do with Landon. It had everything to do with us being two entirely different people with very different wants. I wanted an actual relationship. Like the kind my parents had before Dad died. For the briefest moment, I’d imagined we could have had that, but I was wrong.
“I know you don’t like the guy, but suck it up, buttercup. He’s the league’s darling right now. Lucky for you that golden boy isn’t holding you marring his camera-ready face with a blackeye against you…and all he wants in return is for you to participate in the bachelor auction for his foundation.”
“Seriously?” I groan.
“It’s in Toronto, your home-ish town. This charity provides funds to low-income families to have their kids participate in youth athletics. It’s right up your alley.”
A snarl builds in my throat. “Is thatallhe wants?”
“And maybe for you to do a PSA with him about violence not being the answer.”
“Greg.” The way I grumble his name is akin to me saying, “Fuck off.”
“Think about it. All it takes is a day shooting a PSA, a night where eligible rich women bid on a chance to take your grumpy ass out, and a few hours taking them out where they soon realize they’d misspent their ex-husband’s money on you… And bam”—he claps his hands together— “you’re back in Jacobson’s goodgraces, no longer the NHL’s most hated player, and the media leaves you alone.”
Stunts like this work all the time. Still, the idea of using a charity to make me look good churns in my stomach. I especially don’t like doing it with Landon. The idea of appearing on camera with his smug face to spout platitudes about violence not being the answer leaves a vile and sour taste in my throat. It may make me the brute I’m accused of being, but sometimes violence is the answer, and he needed a good punch after what he did.
“Let me think about it.” I sigh.
“That’s what I thought you’d say.” He clicks his tongue. “I told Landon’s people we’d reach out next Friday.” Greg drums his fingers against his desk. “Who’sus?”
“What?”
“You said, ‘Reporters ambushedusat LAX.’ Who’s us?” His lips curl and that always-present mischief in his eyes almost sparkles.
“And that’s what the eight reporters who’ve blown up my phone the last hour also want to know,” Sasha says, striding into the room, her dark curls pulled up into a topknot and her usually sleek business attire has been replaced by leggings and an oversize Dodgers T-shirt.
“Fuck,” I mutter, slouching in the chair.
“That’s three. I’ll let you stay because I want to know the answer, but expect my mother by Wednesday,” Greg teases.
“The reporters sent me copies of the photos. You and Pen Meadows make a lovely couple.” Sasha leans against Greg’s desk and holds up her phone, her onyx eyes dancing playfully.
A picture of Pen, her smaller frame tucked into my side, appears on the screen. My right hand splays at the small of her back and my other one wraps around her and rests on her hip. A glossiness shines in her honey-colored eyes. My heart prickswith the memory of the tears that brimmed in those beautiful eyes.
“Emma Sinclair who?” Greg whistles. “You look like a wolf ready to rip out anyone’s throat that gets close to you two.”
“You haven’t been photographed with anyone since ending things with Emma, so you can’t blame the media for being curious,” Sasha explains.
“I don’t want Pen involved in this.” I try to keep the hard-edge out of my voice. None of this is Sasha’s fault and the last thing I want to do is take it out on her. Not to mention Greg’s glare warns that he’s just as wolf-like about his mate as I am.
Mate?God, I sound like that emo vampire brooding about the quirky museum docent from the audiobook we listened to on the plane.I can already hear my brothers’ teasing remarks about how eagerly I land on the idea of Pen being my mate. With his love-logged brain, Finn would spout off on Irish folklore about soul mates. Gillian would slap me upside the head and tell me to stop thinking with my cock.
Maybe I am. How she felt coming apart beneath me as I thrust against her still makes me hard. Even through the barrier of clothes the heat of her pussy scorched with the promise that burying myself to the hilt inside her would be an incomparable experience. My body pulses with more than just the physical desire for Pen. I want to hold her. I want to capture all her smiles with mine. I want to get lost in her stories. I want it all. Her sadness. Her happiness. Her.
You can’t have her.
Sasha clears her throat. “If you two are dating then you’ll have to contend with the media from time-to-time. I could do media coaching with Pen, but her videos online tell me she may not need it. The media will adore her.”
