Page 59 of He Has Charm (Boston Brawlers Hockey)
Eighteen
Maddox
It’s just as well that Harper and I didn’t see much of each other these past two weeks. Since I got back from the road trip, I’ve been staying extra late at practices, plus we had team photo sessions that Delany handled. She told Harper to stay home. The mission to not be seen in public together seems to have morphed into a mission to not see each other at all. I know I crossed the line, or rather we both did.
Things went too far. And yet I can’t make myself regret one second of seeing her passion unfurl in my arms. If anything I feel the opposite—I want more, I want all of her, every last ounce of her grit, her goodness, her poise, and her awkwardness. I want to feel her come apart under me and I want to be inside her, deep and completely, exploding while she crushes me with her clenching pussy. God, I am sonotready or fit to go out anywhere with Harper where I’m not allowed to look at her, let alone touch her.
Then there’s hockey.
Good news is the team is mostly winning and I keep scoring goals. According to the stats, I’ve scored in seventy-two percent of the games I’ve played with the Brawlers so far, though the sample size is too small to give the stat much credit.
Today, another Sunday closer to the playoffs, should be a free day, a day I could clear the air, settle things between me and Harper—meaning convince her to toss the fucking rules of the game over the boards once and for all and come to bed with me.
But no. We have a charity event for Rafe and Zoey’s foundation and I shouldn’t complain because it’s an awesome cause. So I’m lounging in some antique chair in the front parlor facing the entry hall, dressed in my suit and tie and waiting for the untouchable woman to appear so we can leave.
And then she appears and all hell breaks loose along every nerve ending in my body as if I’ve been fucking electrocuted.
“You look like a wet dream,” I say, knowing it’s an over-the-top comment just so I can get a rise out of her. She laughs. Maybe I’m losing my touch, but her laugh may as well be made of dynamite the way it explodes in my chest. I wonder if I’m too late to protect my heart.
“Too bad you have to keep your distance,” she says. Do I hear a wistful note? She pulls on a coat and heads for the door.
“You’re the one who has to keep your distance from me,” I say, rising from the chair, arranging myself in my pants to I can walk. She laughs again. No nervous ramble. She’s definitely used to me, resigned to our truce, our new distant friendship, which is mostly made of texting these days. And damned unsatisfying when I know there’s so much more, so much untapped potential between us, and not just the sexual kind. I’m in this hook, line, and sinker with her and I don’t know what the fuck that means for my life or what she’ll think about it, but it’s true.
We ride in silence with the O’Rourkes, and when we get to the event in some fancy-schmancy building in Boston, Harper practically runs the other way, disappearing into the crowd. If there’s any media here they won’t have any idea we’re together. Not that we are.
As for the warden role, she’s enlisted Finn, of all people, to keep a close watch on me and I go along because truthfully, none of the many pretty ladies here tempt me. None of them holds a candle to Harper. Which is damn inconvenient since she’s so much more than hard to get, and more dangerous than a broken contract.
I promised her I’d behave—I mean between us, that I’d stop flirting. Or that I’d try. Fuck. All I’m doing tonight is following her with my eyes and managing to be poor company to my teammates. There’s no danger of me initiating any flirting with any of the other women here tonight because I have less than zero interest. And I don’t need to worry about any of the them flirting with me because if any of them approach, they get redirected immediately by Finn. He’s whispering something in their ears. Probably telling them I have a communicable disease. I hope so. That’ll get me a very wide path.
Naturally my gaze wanders to Harper and lingers on her. She’s standing at the bar, and the bartender hands her what I’d bet my balls is an ice water. She takes a sip when some guy approaches her and says something to her. He’s too close and I swear she looks uncomfortable. But not as uncomfortable as I am because my blood starts boiling and the muscles across my shoulders are practically seized up with tension. My hand tightens around my drink. I slam it down on a nearby high top.
“You see that,” I say to Finn, interrupting his conversation with Aiden. “That guy at the bar. I think he’s hitting on Harper and I don’t think she likes it.”
Finn spins around to look. “I don’t know man. It looks like they’re talking.”
“She’s not smiling.” The guy leans in and she steps back. He says something to the bartender, who hands him two drinks. The guy hands one to her. I keep a close eye because I don’t trust strangers and drinks, not even at a fancy-ass event like this. It’s too easy to spike a drink with some evil shit. I should know, after my birthday debacle when I had my own drink spiked.
The guy keeps moving closer every time she moves away and I can see him looking down the plunge in the neckline of her dress. I knew that dress was too fucking sexy for her to wear while I wasn’t going to be around to protect her from the likes of this asshole. Shit.
“He put a hand on her and she brushed it off. Did you see that?”
“Really? What the hell.” Finn snaps to attention now too, turning in the direction of the bar then back at me. “Shit, man. You look like you could eat nails and build a house with your spit.”
“What?”
“You’re jealous, aren’t you?”
“I’m way past that, Sherlock. I’m fucking pissed as hell and looking to bang heads. This guy is too pushy.” I can’t believe my eyes when I see him lean in and grab her wrist while she tries to pull it away.
“That’s it.” I grind out the words and storm across the room, working around people and not too worried about being polite about it, to get to Harper before this guy makes another move or breathes another filthy breath near her ear. I think I can feel steam coming out of my ears right now.
The asshole laughs at her and leans in, holding her with both hands and tries to kiss her as he has her backed against the bar.
“Hey, I told you to back off.” Harper’s words are angry as she struggles to free herself, her green glare shooting thunderbolts at the dense bastard, her fury a living thing I can feel. But her words don’t slow the asshole down, so I don’t slow down as I reach for him. He’s leaning against her, pinning her to the bar. She tries to shoves him back, but he stumbles into her.
I take a quick survey of the surroundings as I reach for him. People have turned in Harper’s direction. The bartender is heading our way, and nearby a couple of ladies jump from their seats. But none of that impending assistance deters my intention as I grab his shoulder and yank the guy back from Harper, then spin him around.
He’s about the same size as I am and likely a big shot of some sort or he wouldn’t be here, but I don’t give a fuck because rage colors everything red and there’s only one thing to do. He stumbles and looks at me, his expression going from surprised to snarling in a blink. I don’t waste time with words to tell him what his problem is.
