Page 25 of He Has It All (Boston Brawlers Hockey)
Gramps’s head tilts forward, his chin resting on his chest as he snores.
“Should we—?” Chelsea asks.
“Leave him. He’s in the shade. Let’s go for a swim.”
“I’m up for that,” Levi says and rises immediately, heading for the water.
“You carried your team in spite of my brothers’ contributions,” I say as I head for the water with her.
The rest of the bridal party is already in the water with the volleyball teams and there’s the usual splashing and shrieking going on with my brothers instigating most of it.
She rolls her eyes. “Enough about volleyball. I’m all hot and bothered—perfect time for a dip in the cold ocean.”
A flirtatious barb is on the tip of my tongue, the usual invitation about how I can cure her hot and bothered state, but I clamp down on the urge to say it. She turns away.
It’s better if I keep my flirting to myself. Because it would feel too real, because I’m hot and bothered too and it has nothing to do with having played an intense game of volleyball, nothing to do with her having beat me soundly. And everything to do with her being her, the Wilde child, underneath whatever disillusionment life has thrown at her. I know there’s more disillusionment than what I dished out four years ago, know the Olympics were somehow a disappointment.
But I still see the girl underneath it all, passionate and confident and authentic and caring. She loops an arm through mine, her hot glistening skin sliding against mine, sending a shiver of desire through me so that I automatically tense and clench my jaw to keep my cock from tenting my suit.
“Let’s go, O’Rourke. Last one in . . .” She takes off at a run, leaving me behind. But it only takes a beat for me to charge into the water after her. The icy shock of the surf helps get me back under control as I dive in.
When I come up, I’m near a group of bridesmaids, among the giggling and splashing, and I hear one of the ladies who I don’t know say “None of the O’Rourke brothers have Ryan’s charm or looks. Or hockey talent for that matter. It’s a shame.”
It’s a shame the twit doesn’t see that my brothers are all fun and funny and smart. And plenty good-looking. I know it’s my brothers’ relative lack of fame and fortune that seems to make them less attractive, even to these ladies who should know better.
Trying to tamp down the spike of anger, I turn away and dive into the surf again to cool off. It’s no accident I head in Chelsea’s direction. She’s standing up to her waist in water, the sun over her head making her glow against the blue sky like an angel. As I swim to her, I hear that laugh that calls me, reminding me of her devilish streak. Reminding me why I need to keep my distance. So I turn and head for the shore instead.
* * *
Later,we manage to eat and Gary and I get Gramps to the house next door and into bed. The sun is setting and the party is over. Chelsea is dripping wet as we walk back to the house, weaving through the mostly empty chairs on the patio. Everyone who wasn’t in the water is gone except for her mom. Mrs. Wilde beams as she sits with my mom and dad and two aunts and uncles as an honorary aunt. One more piece of abundant evidence that tells me Chelsea Wilde is too much like a sister for me to be looking at her like I am. And I made a promise. I’m supposed to be her fucking protector.
We go inside to the mudroom where my brothers and Eli are toweling off the sand. Everyone looks beat, except Chelsea. But I could be biased. I grab a towel. Maggs, who I’ve hardly talked to all day, comes inside with Levi.
“We’re on our own for dinner,” Maggs says, “because let’s face it, Mrs. Brown needs a break from playing hostess and she has Doc’s immediate family to entertain.”
I turn to Chelsea, who’s in the act of raising one long shapely leg onto a bench to brush the sand off.
“In that case, Chels, how about if I take you to dinner?” There’s a silent beat in the confined space that holds too many people and it’s like they’ve all sucked in the air at once, to watch and wait for her answer.
It occurs to me now, much later than it should have, that everyone here is family, everyone knows us, has observed us over the years. And they know there’s an undercurrent of something between us.
Maggs for one knows and has made it clear that Chelsea is off-limits, not someone to be played with. Levi knows, the way a best friend knows, that I’m attracted to Chelsea. My brothers know because they’re like me and know that Chelsea Wilde is the beautiful, brash, good, unspoiled, and most of all, untouchable one. They’re like me and know that, in spite of that status, I want to touch her. And they know, because I’m the older brother, I’m the most likely one to succeed. We’ve never talked about it aside from quips about her being like a sister—a big sister to them—and comments about her being generally hot. She’s adored and admired. I know a part of them is horrified by me, but another part of them is rooting for me.
I keep my eyes on her as she turns to me, her mouth open in surprise. My heart thuds hard and slow as if time has slowed. As I’m waiting for her answer, I wonder what kind of fucking masochistic idiot I am to give her this opening to reject me, to humiliate me in front of everyone and put me in my place.
Maybe I’m the guy who needs to be put in his place by the one person on the planet who can do it most effectively. Maybe I need her to plant me firmly in reality even if it means a face-plant. Because right now, I don’t know what the hell I’ve been doing the past eight years with revolving-door women and constant partying and photo ops. What was my goal?
To live it up? To be rich and famous and live a glamorous life?
What the fuck is with that? Even my best friend is getting tired of making excuses for me, trying to talk me into finding a real relationship every time I see him—which isn’t often anymore.
So, yeah, I put myself in this position with her because it’s real and meaningful and I’m not used to it, but with these people surrounding me—my brothers, my sister, my best friend, and my girl next door and secret wet dream—I can’t be anything but real. Don’t want to be anything but real.
“Dinner?” she says, pointing a finger back and forth between us. “You and me?” She sounds incredulous and I smile.
“Yeah.” And I go for broke. “A date.”
