Out of the Game3 (4 page)

Chapter Five

The next morning, Alex eyed Claire up and down and liked what he saw. He liked it a lot.

“You look good enough to eat, Cream Puff.”

They were back at Fleming’s estate, this time for the pre-ceremony photographs. Claire was wearing a light blue strapless dress. The material was thin and almost transparent, but unfortunately, there were so many layers of it, he couldn’t see anything interesting. Another thing that sucked was the skirt part of the dress went to the floor. He preferred short skirts, for the legs they allowed him to look at. And yet, she looked hot. Her breasts were spectacular, lifted and displayed by a bra or some other mysterious substructure.

“Thank you,” she said as he leaned in to kiss her cheek. “You look pretty nice yourself.”

“Did you think about me last night?”

She shook her head and started walking toward where the photographer was setting up. “Get over yourself. No.”

But her blush told a different story. Maybe she’d gotten herself off like he had. That would be hot.

“I thought about
you
,” he said, following her.

Not slowing her stride, she turned her head and frowned at him. It was cute.

He jogged to catch up. “I thought about us in bed,” he said, “how good it would be. How it would feel to have you naked in my arms.”

She stopped. “Alex, don’t!”

“Why? Am I exciting you?”

Her frown grew deeper. “No comment.”

No doubt about it now. She liked dirty talk. “That means yes.”

“No it doesn’t.”

“Then it means you just don’t want to admit to the yes. That’s okay. You don’t have to say it. You just have to feel it.”

“Alex! Claire! Come on. We’re starting,” Erin called.

During the next hour, Alex eliminated “male model” from his list of potential post-hockey occupations. He had the looks for it, sure, but posing for pictures was as boring as hell. He stood where he was told, smiled umpteen times, attempted to look jauntily happy, but he spent most of his time devising ways to get back at Tim for putting him through this torture.

“Okay, people. For this one, Erin’s on the chair there and I want the groomsmen gathered around her. That’s it. Faces close to her. Then the bridesmaids cuddle up behind. Get real friendly there. Perfect.”

Crouching, Alex turned his head to see Claire a moment before her breasts brushed against his back.

Fuck.

“Sorry,” she said in a breathy voice that floated into his ears like a dick-hardening magic spell.

“No problem.”

But there was a problem.
Two
problems. Two big, fat, soft problems that weren’t touching him at the moment, but damn it, were
right
there.

People were finessing their positions as per the photographer’s directions. Alex gritted his teeth and tried not to think about Claire’s tits. How large they were. How they might feel in his hands, against his face, around his prick. Soft round globes of womanly flesh, hugging his cock like—

“Claire, I need you to get closer to Alex. Can you do that?”

In the name of all that’s holy
,
no.

“Get real close. Good. Tilt your head slightly toward him. Good.”

Fuck fuck fuck.
She shifted her weight and made full frontal contact with his back. He immediately started getting a boner. A brief but intense fantasy invaded his mind—what if her hands wandered downward? How great would it feel if she rubbed his erection right now? Slid her palm over him right over his trousers?

Way to go
,
Alex.
Show some fucking self-control
,
would you?

He thought about dead puppies.

Didn’t work.

“Alex,” the photographer said, one fist on her hip, “what happened to that beautiful smile? You look like you’re getting a root canal.”

That’s because my dick is about to rip open the seam of my pants.

“Sorry.”

Dead baby chicks on
top
of dead puppies.

“That’s...better. Good. Erin, you look beautiful, honey. Bouquet a little higher. Great! On three...”

Alex fervently hoped his deodorant was working as she finally snapped the picture.

* * *

Claire really should have recognized how dangerous Alex Sullivan was the night she met him. She’d convinced herself he’d remained in her thoughts because she was afraid of what he’d said to his teammates after their kiss. But now she was realizing it was more than that. He did something to her insides that no man had ever done.

She’d found men attractive before—Fit Guy on the eleventh floor who always seemed to be dressed in shorts and a tank no matter the weather. Alec Martinez, that stud defenseman on the L.A. Kings. Ryan Gosling, Jason Statham...But Alex caused an intense physical reaction. When she was with him, she felt that attraction right between her legs, an area of her body that hadn’t been stimulated by a man in a long time. Alex excited her more with conversation and a kiss on the cheek than Vic ever had with full access to her body.

The only time she was unaware of Alex was when Erin and Tim were saying their vows. As the minister wrapped up the ceremony, she wondered if she could be clinically obsessed with Alex. What were the symptoms of obsession?

She could just imagine the conversation if she went to a therapist.

Yes
,
doctor
,
I
can’t stop thinking about going to bed with this man.
Morning
,
noon and night.
I
can’t get him out of my head.

How do you feel about that?

Worried.
Excited.

Physically?

Yes.
Very much so.

Then you just need to get laid.

Familiar music snapped her out of her thoughts. The goal song of the Barracudas played as Erin and Tim made their way back up the aisle, officially married. Claire turned to Alex and took his arm when it was time to follow the happy couple. She was very aware of her breast pressing against his forearm.

He was too, judging from the small smirk on his handsome face.

“Want to get a drink?” he asked once they were free of the group.

A yes left her lips before she had a chance to bite it back. He let go of her arm only so he could take her hand instead. The lawn was uneven so she was thankful for his help. Plus, tingles ran through her at this skin-to-skin contact. He had a warm, solid grip, and that cologne of his was intoxicating.

They headed for the gigantic white tent where the reception was being held. The sun hadn’t quite set yet but the warm lighting made the setting glow. Everything was so beautiful and it made her so happy that Erin’s special day was turning out perfectly. Claire had put a lot of time and effort into the planning because Erin had a full time job and she didn’t. It was lot of work, even though Tim had hired a top-notch wedding planner.

Quentin of Events by Quentin was well-known in the San Diego area and a hockey fan to boot. The wedding favors were actual pucks that said “Official Wedding Puck” with Tim and Erin’s names and the date. With so many hockey players in attendance, it seemed like a fun and practical idea. Everywhere she looked she saw the Barracuda colors of silver, midnight and ice blue—the table arrangements, the wait staff’s jackets and ties. In one corner was an ice sculpture of a barracuda with a stethoscope around its neck as a nod to Erin being a nurse.

Coolest of all was the “ice” rink. Quentin had come up with the idea of setting up a rink so guests could skate on Elliot’s huge lawn. Erin had laughed when Quentin proposed it.

“Quentin, it’s going to be July. The ice will melt.”

“But I know something you don’t,” he’d said, opening a window on his laptop.

He showed them a company called Ice 365 that produced synthetic interlocking panels for temporary rinks. The fake ice had been used at big corporate events, the NHL Draft and even a Winter Games torch lighting ceremony.

“Ice 365 has packages where you can rent the skates too. That way anyone who wants to will be able to skate.”

Tim had gotten animated when he heard that part. “Holy shit. We have to have this. I don’t think I’ve ever heard of a wedding with an ice rink.”

“But everyone will be all dressed up,” Erin said.

Tim made a face. “Remember when I proposed at the rink? I was wearing a suit. You just bunch up the pant legs and you’re fine. Only the women in long dresses will have a problem...oh.” He frowned. “Like you, honey.”

Claire laughed. “I think it sounds great, as long as it doesn’t look tacky.”

Quentin, clearly and unabashedly gay, looked affronted. “All right,” he said, “let’s get one thing clear. You will not find anything tacky at any of my weddings. In fact, I have been known to reject clients because their taste level and mine didn’t mesh. I will make sure the rink looks elegant. Trust me.”

Tim looked at Erin with a silent look of entreaty. He appeared to be doing his best impression of Puss in Boots from
Shrek
.

It worked. Erin caved. Claire had known she would. It was hard to deny Tim anything. The man gave so much in return.

Alex noticed the direction of her gaze and stopped walking. “Hey, let’s go check out the rink.”

“I thought you wanted a drink.”

“Well, I’m supposed to be cutting down, so it’s probably better if I wait.” He tugged her hand. “Come on.”

“Okay, but I’m not skating.”

“Don’t be such a pussy. We’ll have the whole thing to ourselves.”

“Did...did you just call me a pussy?” First he says “fuck you” to her, and now, this. One thing was for sure. If she was going to spend time with Alex Sullivan she had to accept his lack of a verbal filter.

He chuckled and shook his head. “I thought we went over this already. First rule of hanging out with a hockey player. You have to be willing to take chirps, especially if you’re going to dish them out.” He started walking again. So did she. “So, you have two choices when someone chirps you. You can either protest, which will just invite more chirping, or you can fire one back. For example, when someone calls you a pussy, you
could
say, ‘I am not a pussy,’ but I don’t recommend that. You sound like a whiny five-year-old if you say that.”

“What do
you
do?” she asked.

“Assuming it was a guy calling me a pussy, I would probably say something about the size of his dick. That’s always good. ‘At least my prick’s bigger than a mini carrot.’ Or ‘At least a woman notices when I stick my dick inside her.’ Something like that.”

Claire bit her lip, not wanting to encourage him, even though she wanted to laugh. He was so unequivocally male.

The attendant manning the skating rink perked up at their approach.

“You got a size 12?” Alex asked him.

The attendant went to one of the cubbies. “Yes, sir.”

“Cream Puff, tell him what size you wear.”

“Alex, I told you I’m not skating.”

“Pussy.”

“Pencil dick,” she blurted.

Alex beamed. “That’s my girl! I taught her that,” he said to the attendant.”

“Well done, sir.”

She had to laugh. “That’s the first time I’ve ever called anyone a pencil dick.”

“Hopefully, it won’t be the last,” Alex said. “You should call someone a pencil dick at least once a month. Now tell the man your shoe size.”

Alex put on his skates in record time. Before she had one skate on, he was out on the “ice,” zipping around like the pro he was, a big grin on his face.

“Holy shit, this is crazy! I can’t believe it’s not real. Hurry up, Cream Puff. Get your sexy ass out here!”

“I’m almost done.”

She was sitting on one of the benches working the laces around the hooks. Alex had left his shoes on the ground in his haste, so she put his and hers into the cubbies. When she sat up, her skates laced, she looked at the rink. Quentin had done a great job making it look classy. The surface was a little larger than a basketball court. Beautiful crystal pendant lights hung from flowered arches. At a regular hockey rink, the boards were festooned with ads. Here, they were decorated with Tim and Erin’s engagement photos and quotes from love poems. It was charming.

“Okay, time’s up.” Alex stood at the opening in the wall, looking incongruously handsome in his tuxedo and skates.

“If I ruin my dress, it’s on you.”

“It’ll be fine. Stand up. You’re three inches taller in skates. See? Look, perfect length.”

Claire looked down. Sure enough, her dress was off the floor, but not enough so that she felt comfortable letting it flow freely. She gathered it up as she walked to the opening in the wall and stepped carefully onto the shiny surface.

“It’s really slippery,” she said. “This is so weird.”

Alex skated backward so he could face her. “But it’s fun. Come on. Get some speed on.”

It took her a little while to get her balance, especially while holding her gown out of the way, but he was right. It
was
fun. Whooping it up, Alex literally skated circles around her as she made her way carefully around the oval. People were wandering over, curious.

“Looking good,” he said, smiling his devastating smile. He was skating in front of her, but backwards. “Wanna see me do a trick?”

“What kind of trick?” she asked.

“Hold on. Gotta get going here.”

Claire slowed to a stop as he built up some speed, then leapt into the air and spun like a champion figure skater. He landed surprisingly gracefully.

She clapped. “Alex, that was great! What
was
that?”

“A double loop.” He stopped next to her, not even breathing hard. “Buddy of mine bet me I couldn’t do it about five years ago. I proved him wrong.” He chuckled. “To tell the truth, I wasn’t sure I could still pull it off.”

“I’m impressed.”

Their gazes met and Claire’s pulse sped up. This close to him, she suddenly realized his nose showed evidence of having been broken. He had quite a few scars, too—above his right eye, his upper lip, his cheek, near his ear. All hockey souvenirs, she suspected.

Hockey was a dangerous game. There weren’t fights every time, but when they occurred, they were
serious
. She and Erin sat near the glass once and the proximity had made the game real for her in a way that TV did not. On TV, it almost seemed like acting, even though she knew it wasn’t. In person and up close, it had scared her. The way the boards and the glass thundered after a hit echoed in her body. The violent intensity was turned up full volume when a sheet of Plexiglas was the only thing between her and the players. It was easy to see why the average career only lasted about six years. They put themselves through a lot of abuse.