Kane, Page 6

  “See,” she exclaims trying to squirm away from me. “This is weird. Best friends don’t cuddle like this.”

  “Best friends don’t fuck like crazed animals all night the way we did either,” I point out.

  Mollie gives me a solid push with two hands against my chest to put some distance between us. She glares. “This is serious, Kane. What we did last night changes things.”

  Those damn insecurities of hers, creeping in. I sense it would be very easy for her to slip away, insist we go back to the way things were.

  But fuck that.

  After last night, I’m not going backward.

  I resist the urge to pull her back to me, to kiss her, fuck her… make her see that last night was fucking transcendental to our relationship, but she’s too skittish for brute force right now.

  Instead, I reach out and take her hand, rubbing my thumb along the back. “Mollie… last night was amazing. Please don’t try to convince yourself it wasn’t.”

  “No,” she rushes to assure me. “It was amazing. Too amazing. Like I’m not sure I could even tell you that we need to go back to just being friends, but at the same time, I’m terrified for what this means for us. Are we… are we…?”

  She gets frustrated, blows a lock of hair away from her forehead, and shrugs. “What the fuck are we?”

  “Still best friends, Mollie,” I say gently. “Always.”

  Her eyes drop to where I’m holding her hand, the doubt etched on her face.

  “What if the sex was bad?” I ask, and that has her head snapping up. “Let’s just say it was really awful, you faked your orgasms, and well… I can’t fake that shit, but that it was the worst one I’d ever had. What would we be after that?”

  “Two people who couldn’t look each other in the eye,” she mutters.

  “Wrong,” I exclaim, giving her hand a squeeze. “Still best friends. Because the sex wouldn’t define what we were to each other. We’d be embarrassed and awkward, but we’d go on as before. Nothing would change between us. I’d always still be there for you, and you’d do the same for me. I’d never mention to any potential suitors what an awful fucking lay you were, and you’d still remember how great my cock was.”

  That got me a backhand with her free hand to my chest, and I laugh.

  Then she laughs, and I finally feel like I can pull her into me.

  She comes without hesitation, laying her head on my chest as my arms wrap around her waist to hold her tight.

  “The truth is, though,” I say softly. “Last night was a fucking revelation to me.”

  “You mean the sex was really good?” she inquires, lifting her eyes up to mine.

  “It was fucking stupendous, and you know it,” I admonish. “But it means that you and I had been tight on many, many levels before, and we’re tighter yet now that we’ve reached a new level of intimacy.”

  She doesn’t respond, but instead snuggles in closer until I can’t see her face anymore. She lays quietly for so long I think perhaps she’s having some internal dialogue I don’t feel I should be cut out of.

  “But if you think this was wrong, and that we shouldn’t do this again, I’ll respect that.”

  She doesn’t say anything and the quiet is alarming.

  “Mollie?” I prompt, giving her a slight squeeze. “What do you want?”

  She pushes back from me once again so I can see her face. “The way I see it, you take two best friends and the start of a sexual relationship, then that is the highest level of relationship you can have. It’s deeper than what we’ve had before. It’s serious.”

  “Yes.”

  “And well… you’re the type of man who is built for that Kane. You’re all about stability, and well… I’m a wanderer. I don’t even have a home. Haven’t had one since I graduated college.”

  She’s not fucking wrong. It’s been the thing that has always been a wall between us whenever I’d ever imagined having something deeper with her. Mollie would constantly be gone, and hell, my career keeps me on the road a lot.

  “Maybe,” I posit after a moment of thought. “Maybe our friendship is our home.”

  She frowns. “What do you mean?”

  I shrug. “I’m not quite sure, but I guess a home can be anything we make of it. We can consider our friendship to be four walls and a roof, and what you and I have on the inside is all that counts, right?”

  Her frown deepens. “When did you turn into a fucking philosopher?”

  Chuckling, I roll on my side to face her, touching my palm to her cheek. “I just think with all we’ve been through, and all we mean to each other, the sex shouldn’t change our definition. We’re still best friends. Now with some supreme benefits, I will point out, but maybe you and I were always destined to end up here. Everyone has said it. You and I just chose to ignore it. And last night, we both wanted this. We were both clear-headed when we made the grab for each other. We knew the consequences then, and we’re ironing them out now, but I don’t see why we can’t press forward.”

  “As a couple?” she hedges.

  “Yes. As a couple.”

  “But I don’t know where my future is?” she laments, reaching up to pull my hand from her cheek, but only to bring it in to clutch over her breastbone. “What if it’s back on the open road? Are you going to leave your career to join me?”

  The thought of walking away from hockey causes the pit of my stomach to tighten. All I can honestly say is, “I don’t know.”

  “Or what if I give that up to stay here by your side, then hate you because I gave up traveling?”

  “I don’t know that either, Mollie.” The truthfulness in my words causes her eyes to fill with sorrow. “But what I do know is that we’ll never know, not unless we move forward. It’s either that or perhaps have a lifetime of regret.”

  Suddenly, she lurches to her knees. Admittedly, I get sidetracked by her beautiful, naked form in a complete vision before me. She holds her hand out, pinky extended. “Pinky promise.”

  “What?”

  “Pinky promise that no matter what, you’ll always be my best friend,” she demands, shoving her hand toward me.

  “What the fuck is a pinky promise?” I ask.

  “It’s something you do as kids,” she says with an eye roll. The next thing I know, her pinky is hooked around mine. “Promise me, Kane… you will always be my best friend, no matter what.”

  I tighten my pinky on hers. “I promise. Best friends forever.”

  She stares down, her gaze slowly moving to where our hands are connected. “Okay, then.”

  “Okay, then what?” I ask to be sure we’re on the same page. We didn’t exchange blood, but I feel like what we did was meaningful.

  “Then we’ll give this a shot,” she says, her eyes not coming to my face. Instead, they travel from our hands to my stomach. “See how this plays out.”

  Her eyes travel down a bit farther, to where the edge of the sheet is draped over my crotch and legs.

  She releases her hold on me, moving her hand to the edge of the sheet. As she slowly drags it down, the soft cotton whispering over my cock causes it to stir. The way her eyes go hot as she stares causes it to swell.

  Mollie shifts on her knees to get closer to me, leaning over and pressing one hand on my stomach, the other on my thigh. Her neck twists so her eyes can meet mine. “But we’re exclusive. Your hot little number who walked out of your apartment the other day is nothing but a distant memory, right?”

  “I don’t even know who you’re talking about,” I reply with a lopsided grin.

  She smirks. “Good answer.”

  Then her hand is wrapped around my dick, and she’s lowering over me. When she takes me in her mouth, my head falls back to the pillow. I sigh with utter contentment.

  Although I haven’t said it, I’m pretty sure I’m falling helplessly in love with my best friend.

  Or maybe I’m already there.

  CHAPTER 9

  Kane

  The
first day of training camp starts in the team meeting room at the arena. It’s stadium-style, ascending several rows to accommodate all the players and essential staff.

  I arrive early, taking the time to catch up with teammates I haven’t seen over the summer. Many spend the time traveling. While we always are just a call or text away, it’s great to see faces again.

  Sitting in the front row is our first line, the real stars of the team. Legend Bay is our goalie, Tacker Hall at center, Bishop Scott, who is our captain and star right-winger, Dax Monahan on the other side at left wing, and our defensemen, Erik Dahlbeck and Aaron Wylde. I move down the line, giving them each a fist bump. I got to hang out with them in the first week of July for Bishop’s wedding in beautiful St. John. It was a great time, made even more so by the fact Tacker pulled off a surprise wedding of his own there.

  Not sure what sort of magic mojo is going on with this team, but during our first year in existence, each of these men managed to fall helplessly in love and shackle themselves into monogamy.

  As someone who was quite reluctant to leave Mollie in my bed this morning, I can certainly appreciate it.

  I move up to the second row to sit with my line. Jim, Jett, and Bain are already there, along with our new backup goalie, Noah Martin. I’d met him last week in the gym, and he seems like a great guy. He’s got some big shoes to fill, left behind by Baden, but I think he’s up to the task. I slap digits with each of the guys before moving to the next empty seat and plopping down.

  “Anyone seen Riggs yet?” I ask Bain, who sits to my right.

  “Nope,” he replies.

  I glance around the room as other players are trickling in but don’t see him. I have to say, I’m more than curious. He comes with a reputation of being a team player on the ice but being strangely detached off. I sure hope he meshes with us because this team is about as cohesive a unit as possible, especially coming off a championship win. I know all too well that one broken cog in the wheel can throw things to shit.

  The coaching staff meanders in, including our head coach, Claude Perron. He’s a bit of a hard ass, but his style gets proven results. Not surprising, I see the team’s owner, Dominik Carlson, saunter in, too, dressed in an expensive suit with perfectly styled hair. He’s the fucking bomb—just ask anyone in this room. He not only put together a championship team in our very first year in the league, but he has personally helped individual players time and time again, proving he cares about us as individuals and not just moneymakers.

  The last of the people file in, and one of the assistant coaches shuts the door. I note with dismay that Riggs hasn’t come in, and I exchange worried glances with my second-line guys. We know Coach won’t put up with being late, and he’s not one for giving second chances unless they are well deserved. If Riggs isn’t careful, he’ll find himself riding pine. There are plenty of players in this league that would kill to join the second line of the Arizona Vengeance.

  Coach walks up to the podium, then raps his meaty fist on it to get everyone’s attention. The chitchat dies down. His voice booms, “Well, look at you all sitting there… fucking champions.”

  The room erupts into cheers with fists banging on our flip desktops and feet stomping in approval. Coach holds his hands up, chuckling. “All right, all right. Enough of that. The Cup was last year, and this is a new year. We have our work cut out for us. Every team in this league has a hard-on for us, and they’ll be coming at us with fire in their bellies and evil desires in their souls, trying to knock us down. Are we going to let that happen?”

  A resounding chorus of “no’s” echoes in response.

  “Okay, I have some new staff to introduce as well as some new players,” he says, then proceeds to do a roll call of the new faces. Each one stands as Coach introduces the latest members of the Vengeance, and he reads off their accomplishments and why they were offered a coveted spot on this team.

  He’s just finishing his introduction of Noah as our new backup goalie when the door to the meeting room opens, and Riggs Nadeau walks in. He’s a big man, but it’s expected of a defenseman. I happen to know he’s incredibly light on his feet, which makes him especially dangerous on the ice.

  His expression is one of bored indifference as he scans the area, not in the least bit concerned he’s walked in late.

  Coach turns his attention to Riggs, his mouth pressed into a grim line. “Glad you could join us, Nadeau.”

  Riggs merely nods, his silence disrespectful.

  If this irritates Coach Perron, he keeps his expression bland, but there’s no mistaking Riggs has fucked up by how deathly quiet the room has become.

  “Everyone,” Coach says with a sweeping hand at Riggs. “This is Riggs Nadeau. At this point, I’d go into his accomplishments, which led to a coveted offer on this team, but really, what I need everyone to know about the man at this moment is he has yet to prove he can be a solid member of the Vengeance. He doesn’t seem to understand I don’t tolerate tardiness, nor how disrespectful it is to all of us to come wandering in late without even an apology. Of course, I’ll have a private discussion with him about that later.”

  Riggs seems entirely nonplussed by the dressing down in front of a room full of people. He merely stands there, staring at the coach and waiting for instructions.

  Coach growls, pointing to the chairs. “Sit down, but plan on meeting with me later.”

  Riggs shrugs, shuffling up the outer aisle to the back row, which is empty. All eyes follow him, players twisting in their seats to watch his ascent. When he slumps into a seat, I turn around and look down the row to my teammates. Jim shakes his head in disappointment while Jett makes a motion with his index finger slicing across his throat to indicate Riggs just killed his chances on this team.

  Me… I’m not so sure. He’s a talented player, and I expect Coach will give him so many extra drills after practice he’ll have to crawl home, but I doubt he’ll get cut just for being late. At least this one time. Happens again, that’s another story.

  Coach finishes the rest of the introductions before turning the meeting over to Dominik.

  Even though he’s the owner of this team, one of the richest men in America, and is practically hockey royalty, he insists everyone on the team calls him by his first name. He’s just that genuine of a person. He walks up to the podium, and for the next fifteen minutes, he pumps us up. It’s clear his eye is on a repeat championship, and he’ll accept nothing less.

  As he finishes, he pointedly looks across the room, a slow roving gaze landing on each player. He focuses the longest on Riggs in the back row before saying, “If any one of you here don’t feel like you have the heart to give me two hundred percent effort in this coming year, you’re not welcome here. I’ll find you a decent trade, and we’ll put someone in your spot we can count on. Otherwise, I expect in about nine months, we’ll be hoisting that Cup above our shoulders once more. Are we in agreement?”

  The players and staff erupt in cheers, claps, and stomps. I twist in my seat to glance back at Riggs, who is giving a slow, insolent clap with defiant eyes leveled directly at Dominik.

  Yeah… he’s pissed he was called out, but he’ll get over it.

  After the meeting, we all head to the locker room as we’re going to run drills for the rest of the morning. We each have our own open-faced cubby where our practice gear is already neatly hung and waiting. We’re separated in rows by the line we play on, which means Riggs is nearby, just two cubbies down from mine.

  I move over, tap him on the shoulder, and stick my hand out. “Riggs… I’m Kane Bellan. I’m fairly new to the team, too. Welcome.”

  To my surprise, he takes my hand and gives it a firm shake but doesn’t give a reply greeting. I introduce him to Jim, Jett, and Bain, and handshakes are exchanged, but again, Riggs remains silent as he turns to his cubby and starts to get dressed in his gear.

  I shrug and move back to my area, making small talk with my other linemates to dispel the awkwardness Riggs is cr
eating. I don’t know what’s up his ass, but I’ll figure it out later.

  Before I take my clothes off, because having a serious talk while naked is not an option, I move over to Jett, who is just starting to pull his t-shirt over his head.

  I give him a light punch on his arm to get his attention, and he turns to face me with a smile. “What’s up?” he asks.

  “Mollie’s off-limits to you,” I say.

  His eyebrows raise slightly in surprise, but a smirk immediately transforms his face. “Oh, yeah. Says who?”

  “Me,” I growl and step in toward him, lowering my voice. “Off. Limits.”

  Expecting a bit of a fight from him, because, after all… Mollie is all kinds of gorgeous and amazing. I don’t expect him to just give up.

  Instead, he tips his head back and laughs, giving me a condescending pat on my shoulder. “Yeah, I kind of already knew that.”

  I blink in surprise. “You did?”

  “Yeah, dude,” he chuckles. “At dinner, all she did was talk about you. How great you were… She went on and on. I sort of got the clue then.”

  “But… we’re just friends,” I mutter, wondering why Mollie would do that during her date. At that point, we were just friends.

  “Are you?” he replies slyly.

  “Are we what?”

  “Just friends?”

  Images of just how much we’ve moved past friendship flood my mind. We spent most of the weekend in bed, raging hot and carnal through my memories.

  “Don’t answer that question.” Jett snickers. “I can see the answer written all over your face.”

  It embarrasses me how transparent I’m being because I’ve never been befuddled by a woman before. Before I can come up with something semi-coherent that might restore my cool factor, Jim slaps my shoulder from behind, apparently eavesdropping.

  “So, you and Mollie are an item now?” he asks.

  “Um…” I manage to mumble.