Crew (Hockey Royalty #3)

17. Crew

Chapter 17

Crew

I ’m miserable and I have no one to blame but myself. Why did I encourage that school friend of Olivia’s to come to the barbecue? He hasn’t left her side all night. But, I mean, why would he? I wouldn’t leave her side either. And it probably helps that she’s the only person here he knows. But still, fuck him. And fuck me for inviting him.

“Hey growly,” a voice says, and I turn and see Tate standing beside me. "You got heartburn from the ribs or something?"

“No," I growl the word out so yeah, he has a point. I take a deep breath and a sip of the beer. "It's a good party, Tate. Thanks for hosting this year."

"Our pleasure," Tate says and his eyes are on Mallory, the love of his life, who has a tray of appetizers in one hand and Dylan on her hip. She's chatting to Tenley and the wife of one of our defensemen. It's nice to see him happy but I'd be lying if I wasn't a tad bit jealous. Mallory is all in. She loved Tate even before Tate loved her. I never had that with Anne-Marie, and now thanks to how jaded I've become, I'll never have that with anyone.

My eyes move through the crowded backyard filled with my teammates and their significant others to Olivia who is perched on the arm of a chair by the doors to the house. Her friend Carlos is standing beside her.

“So seriously, what is up with you?”

“Nothing. Nothing important anyway,” I mutter.

Dylan lets out a frustrated squeal. Mallory struggles to balance him as he squirms in her arms. Tenley grabs the tray of appetizers and Olivia bolts up to grab Dylan. I can’t hear what she is saying to Mallory but she’s got a happy, reassuring smile on her face. She takes Dylan by the hand and lets him lead her into the house. Carlos follows along and I swear he checks out her ass.

“Who’s the dude?” I ask with a tilt of my head in their direction. I know who Carlos is, but I want to see if what Olivia told me matches what Tate says.

“Liv’s classmate, I guess." Tate shrugs and his eyes darken. "Tenley swears he's cool, and she usually has great judgment. Don't tell her I admitted that."

I smile. Tenley and Tate have a relationship very similar to Nash and I, probably because they’re very close in age. As close as you can be without being twins. “So just friends?”

He turns his stare to me. I really shouldn’t have asked for clarification. I mean, I’m supposed to barely know Olivia. “I mean, just wondering because Tenley is always teasing Olivia that she’s innocent and stuff.”

"We try not to tease her anymore," Tate replies. "She's got a lot on her plate right now. I think… I'm worried about her if I'm honest."

“Why?”

He hesitates, sipping his own beer and stopping one of the catering crew to pluck an appetizer off the tray.

“She’s my favorite cousin,” he admits, offering me one of the veggies sticking out of the hollowed-out mini red pepper filled with a caramelized onion avocado dip that's to die for. I know because I've eaten several of these already. I grab a carrot stick. "She's always stuck to her own way, you know? Never bent to peer pressure, or worse, Garrison family pressure. She's just… she's special. And something happened that has made her question herself. I usually stay out of my female relatives' personal lives, and I don't intend to meddle now… but I don't want her with some loser who just wants to use her, you know? It's more important than before because she’s kinda vulnerable right now.”

"That's very good-hearted of you," I say when I finish chewing and swallowing the carrot and delicious dip. "But women kind of hate that shit where you control their lives. Or try to. She looks capable of making her own decisions."

"Yeah, and she was but right now…" Tate shakes his head and the look that washes over his face is intense. He looks like someone died. It makes me instantly uneasy. "Let's just say that Carlos dude better have the best of intentions because I'll make sure he regrets it if he doesn't."

"Garrison!" Hendrix our backup goalie calls out, waving Tate over to where he’s gathered with a bunch of other players, including our main goalie who is on crutches. Coach is waiting on the results of his latest MRI before he decides if he’ll have to put him on injury reserve and find another goalie.

Tate walks away to join the group. Nash takes his place beside me. I instantly grit my teeth. He doesn’t notice. “Hey. I’m probably going to Irish goodbye in a minute.”

“It’s not an Irish goodbye if you tell people you’re leaving,” I remind him and he gives me a small, sheepish smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Yeah well, you don’t count. Anyway, just wanted to make sure you’re okay,” he says. “You have looked like you’re about to bite someone’s head off since you got here.”

“Sorry. Yeah. I don’t know why.” I shrug. “Resting bitch face is contagious I guess. I must have caught it from Tenley.”

I motion with my beer bottle toward Tenley who is eyeing us. Suddenly she looks like there’s too much lemon in her Corona. Nash stiffens so quickly beside me that I feel it. “You’ve been hanging with Tenley?”

“No.” I shake my head and turn to find a scowl on his face. “But why does the idea bother you? She hates you and last time I checked you didn’t think much of her.”

“I don’t. She’s bossy and overbearing and annoying,” Nash replies and crosses his arms. As usual, there’s no drink in his hand. Nash only drinks, like, twice a year. Three times if we win the Stanley Cup. He doesn’t like to lose control. “And trust me, I tried to see past that. In Vegas we…”

I lift an eyebrow and hold my breath. Is he about to tell me he hooked up with Tenley? He can’t. He wouldn’t. That would violate the team code, one because she’s Tate’s sister but also because of Nash's own strict personal rules about not dating. Of course just because he hooked up with her doesn't mean they're dating. But then that would violate another of his personal rules—no one-night stands.

“What? No. Do not look at me like that. I did not sleep with her or anything.” His voice is a heated whisper and his eyes dart all over the place, making sure no one overhears. “We hung out. I tried to like her. She’s just… an emotional bully. I don’t like her. And if you were dating another person I don’t like it would be hard. I’m sick of stuff between us being hard.”

“Well, don’t worry. I was simply making a joke about Ten,” I reply. “And you don’t have to worry about me dating anyone. I don’t do that anymore.”

“Right. Mr. Random Hookup guy.” Nash nods. “Keeping your options open.”

I don’t like the way he says that. It slices into all my insecurities related to him like a hot knife through butter. I bristle. “Well, I think I’ll Irish goodbye it myself. I’m in a pissy mood, as my face reflects, so I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I put my mostly empty beer down on the nearest table and walk away from Nash, and most of the party, finding my way inside. There's a powder room off the front hall but I'm betting someone is in it so I make my way upstairs. I walked here, which means I have to walk home so I better drain the bladder first.

I take the stairs two at a time, headed for the main bathroom nestled between the two spare bedrooms, across from what used to be Anne-Marie’s office. When I get upstairs I come face-to-face with Olivia who looks sweaty and disheveled as she slips out of one of the guest rooms.

Our eyes lock and she freezes. “Oh. Hey.”

Some switch I didn’t know I had flips inside me. I’m suddenly raging with jealousy. “Are you… with Carlos? Am I catching you…?”

Her face turns bright red, probably as red as the fiery rage that is burning in my chest. I know this makes me an insane asshole but the idea that she snuck up here to fuck—or even fool around with—that guy, while I was downstairs… is making me crazy.

She doesn’t say anything so I grab the handle of the door she just closed and open it. I expect to see a half-naked Carlos in there and my fist balls at my side. Am I going to hit him? No. But I could and Tate would probably thank me. After all, he’s worried about Olivia and wants her protected.

But inside the bedroom is nothing but toys. Tons and tons of toys including a giant wooden truck. Wait… it’s not a real truck. It’s a bed shaped like a truck and a tiny little blond human is asleep in it. Dylan.

There’s no one else in the room. I turn back to Olivia, feeling so stupid I’m speechless. She reaches for the door, closing her hand over mine on the handle and pulling it shut. "Carlos left. I came up here to tire Dylan out so he would go to sleep. You really think I would sneak up here in a house filled with people, my family, and you , and fool around with some random guy?”

“He’s not a random guy,” I argue back. “He’s in your class and you seem to like him. And he definitely likes you.”

“We’re friends and we work together at our teaching internship,” Olivia says.

“But he likes you,” I argue. “It’s written all over his face.”

“So then I must be up here fucking him?” Olivia counters and her boldness is a shock. A shock that wakes up my dick because it’s hot to see her get riled up enough to have a potty mouth with me. “Because I fucked you more than once so I must be ready to fuck whoever else wanders my way now, right?”

Oh fuck. She thinks I'm calling her a whore. I shake my head gently take her wrist and tug her away from Dylan's door. I don't know much about toddlers but I do know he's started learning words and I don't think anything we're saying should be added to his vocabulary.

“No. Of course not. But I wouldn’t judge you if you did want to sleep with someone else.” I inhale sharply and exhale slowly. “I’m sorry. I just… I saw you with him and I didn’t like it.”

“Why?”

“Because you were just with me.”

“Days ago,” she corrects me. Her eyes glimmer with a nervous glint but she is forcing herself to be cocky anyway as she tilts her head and puts her hands on her hips. “I’m new at this, remember? So is there an amount of days I have to wait after a one-night stand?'

“It was more than once,” I correct in a calm, factual monotone. It gets the reaction I was hoping for—Olivia's lip quivers as she fights a smile. "And no. There's no required wait time. However, if it's great, I mean, like mind-blowing fantastic, there's no need to rush out and add to the body count. It simply wouldn't be fair to the poor sucker who has to follow an eleven out of ten. Or fair to you."

She bats her dark, impossibly thick eyelashes. "Did you just seriously call yourself an eleven out of ten? To my face?"

“I didn’t.” I shake my head. “I’m just explaining facts to you, hypothetically. But if you think of me when you hear ‘eleven-out-of-ten’, then that’s very flattering. Thanks, Fireball.”

That’s it. She breaks. I can feel the light of the smile that takes over her face. It hits me in the chest and blooms like the night jasmine that peppers pockets of the city.

“Stop with the sex Jedi mind tricks, Inky,” she mutters and turns for the stairs.

I grab her wrist. She lets me. She stops moving but doesn’t turn to face me. It’s not much but it’s an invitation to continue whatever it is we’re doing. I step up behind her and use my free hand to slowly, deliberately lift her hair off her shoulders, exposing her long, delicate neck. My lips tingle with the need to touch her there. “If you’re still curious, don’t go looking to experiment with that guy.”

“Why not?” she counters, her voice firm but low. “How many women have you slept with since you lost your virginity?”

“Women? About…” There’s a brief moment of hesitation. Do I tell her the truth? Then I remember the promise I made to myself not to be ashamed of who I am. “Twenty-six. I guess you make twenty-seven women.”

“Holy shit,” she hisses and then clamps a hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean it like that.”

“No slut-shaming, Fireball. Remember I lost my virginity at sixteen, not twenty-two and three-quarters."

She turns around finally and we’re so close that I feel every part of her graze every part of my front and it's so hot I'm surprised we aren't shooting off sparks. Her cheeks are pink again and she drops her hand. "I really didn't mean it that way. I mean you're a hot rich hockey player. And you were in a relationship for years that turned into a marriage. But it’s not even close to the numbers I bet some of the other guys have pulled. And I bet my own cousins, some of them, are nearing triple digits. I mean… Theo. I worry about Theo. But anyway, I just, I mean, sixteen? That’s the part that blows my mind. At sixteen I think I was barely kissing boys. I was just so… anxious about it that it was never really enjoyable. And you were already getting naked and everything.”

“With my ex,” I explain and run my fingers through her hair again. Even though it’s just a little past her shoulder blades, it’s thick and lush and feels incredible. “We’d already been dating exclusively since we were fourteen so I mean, we knew everything about each other. It was a safe space, not some random thing. Looking back I think it was pretty damn romantic and poetic. But it should have ended in high school.”

Lifting her hair and letting it slide through my fingers fills the air with the scent of her shampoo, which is heavy with lavender and something citrusy, like orange. “That’s the woman you were married to?”

I nod.

“I’m sorry it didn’t work out.”

I stare at her as that statement hits me like an anvil because no one has ever said that to me about my marriage ending. Not a single person. She must take my stunned expression as a sign I'm upset because she backtracks. "I mean, obviously I'm not sorry you aren't married now because I'm not sorry we… did it. And I would be if you were married. I don't want a married guy so I'm glad you aren't but I'm still sorry because you seem like a really good guy and I don't think you went into marriage expecting it to end. I mean no one does, right? So I’m sorry you had a dream die, I guess. Is that weird? Well, anyway. I am. I’m sorry you went through that.”

“Can you stop talking so I can make out with you, please?”

“Uh… but we shouldn’t.”

“Right. We shouldn’t.” I nod. “But we’re gonna.”

“Okay. If you insist.”

I’m chuckling as I lean in and capture her smiling lips, but we both get serious as soon as our tongues meet. The kiss sucks all the humor out of us and turns it into passion and the next thing I know I’ve got her pressed up against the wall, her arms pinned above her head, and my rock-hard dick rutted up against her inner thigh because she's wrapped her leg around my hip and over my ass.

She feels so damn good all warm and soft and breathy as she whispers my name against the column of my neck and grips my shoulders with her delicate fingers. “We have to stop.”

“We do. I know,” I relent verbally but physically I’m still rubbing my dick all over her and she’s still bucking her hips a little. “Just tell me you like it.”

“I like it. I think of this all the time,” she confesses softly, her fingers scraping down my back just hard enough for me to feel it through my shirt. “Running into you, kissing you, doing more than kissing with you…”

“Do you touch yourself when you think of it? Of me?”

I roll my hips and shift to the left so I’m no longer bumping against her inner thigh, now I’m lined up with her sweet center and praising whoever invented the thin gauzy fabric her skirt is made of, because it doesn’t make for much of a barrier. I can feel her warmth through it, even though it’s bunched up between us.

“Olivia…?”

“I do…” It’s such a faint whisper I have to strain to hear her. “I have… touched myself while thinking of you.”

Oh God, that confession makes me feral. I swear I might come in my pants right this second. I lean in and claim her mouth with mine. I want to not just explore every inch of her, but claim it, if only for these stolen seconds. My dick bumps her again and a fuse lights. I will explode if I’m not careful. So I do what I do best, make it worse.

My mouth leaves hers and as she pants her way to recovery. I kiss her neck, and her jaw, and when I reach her ear I command, “Show me.”

“Wh… what?”

“Show me how you touch yourself.”

"Now? Here?" Her eyes are quickly losing the glassy quality as they shift toward the staircase and the dull murmurs of the guests downstairs.

“Now. Here.” I kiss her just below the earlobe, where a small fleck of a diamond stud is. “Show me how you touch yourself when you think of the way I fucked you.”

Everything about her stills. She's not even breathing, I don't think. I move my head so our eyes can meet and at the same time, I reach up and take her arm, which was resting on my shoulder, and move it down. I pause only long enough to kiss her palm and then I rest it in the crook between us. “Show me.”

She blinks once, twice, three… so many times it’s just a flutter. Like I’m sure her heart is doing. But Olivia likes being told what to do. She likes being guided and she complies like the perfect student that she is. I watch with lust swirling in my veins as she slips a hand under the waistband of her skirt. I yank on it. It’s an elastic waistband so it gives easily without breaking, so I can peer down at her hand as it slips into the pale green cotton underwear she’s wearing.

“Ahhh…” A perfect little sound escapes her perfect lips and she sighs.

I take a second to snap my eyes to the stairs, which are blissfully devoid of anyone, and then I focus back on the delicate little hand and those long narrow fingers that are doing a demure dance inside her panties. I wish I was Superman and had x-ray vision because I need to see what’s happening in there. “Oh…” she sighs and her back arches a little.

“Are you touching your clit?” I ask and she nods.

“Are you wet?” She nods again. “What are you thinking of?”

“Your tongue,” she whispers. “The way you looked when you tasted me for the first time.”

That’s it. I am going to explode if I don’t come. But I don’t want to ruin what’s happening in front of me so I clench my jaw and use the hand not holding the waistband of her skirt wide open to rub the front of my jeans. I shudder at the contact. She shudders too but it’s deeper. Her whole body jerks and a wave of heat climbs up her chest to her neck and cheeks and her back is arched off the wall. She’s coming all over her hand. It’s beautiful.

When her body starts to slack, I reach between us and slowly pull her hand up. Her index finger and middle finger are glistening and I stare at them like they're the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. Glorious, incredible, a work of art. She doesn’t see my look of awe because her eyes are still shut, and I get it’s embarrassment more than euphoria keeping them shut. This is all so new to her. So I show her how okay I am with what just happened. How much I fucking love it. I open my mouth and wrap my lips around her fingers.

Her eyes are wide open now and she’s watching with rapt attention as I suck her juices off her fingers. Now it’s my turn to groan as the salty perfection that is Olivia Garrison coats my tongue.

Footsteps.

Oh fuck!

I leap back and she launches herself off the wall and past me, clipping my shoulder with her own as she bolts into the bathroom. Olivia manages to quickly close the door without so much as the slightest thump just as Tate appears at the top of the stairs.

I'm not facing him. I'm leaning against the wall, my back to the stairs, thinking of all the gross pictures I've seen of pucks to players' faces, hoping the bloody visions will make the steel rod in my pants wither and die.

“Crew?”

“Hey!” I look over my shoulder. “Just waiting for the bathroom.”

“I thought you left,” he says and walks around so we’re in front of each other. I turn and lift my leg so my foot is against the wall, knee bent, hopefully camouflaging my shrinking, but not shrunk, cock.

“I was gonna, honestly, but there was a line for the bathroom so I came up here to try this one and…” I motion toward the door.

Tate nods. “I came up here looking for Liv. Have you seen her?”

"No. I mean try Dylan's room or… maybe she's the one in the bathroom," I suggest casually. I sound casual, right? And my heart that's beating at twice its normal rate is doing it quietly, right? He can't hear it, can he? “Does she take an obscenely long time in bathrooms? I don’t have sisters or female cousins so I don’t have any idea.”

Tate laughs at my joke but moves to the closed door beside me and cracks it open. A proud smile slides over his face. “He’s dead asleep. And alone. So where is Liv?”

I point to the bathroom door. Tate pauses, his face contorting in anxiety for a second as he lifts his hand. “Please may she be alone in there.”

He knocks twice. “Liv?”

The door opens slowly and she appears. She looks one hundred percent normal. Calm, cool, and collected, not like a woman who just orgasmed on her hand and let me lick it clean. I’m stunned by her recovery. Impressed. “Hey. Can’t a girl tinkle in peace?”

“Sorry. I was just getting worried,” Tate explains and he tilts his head to try and see over her shoulder, into the bathroom, which makes her frown. “You and Carlos just disappeared with Dyllie a while ago and… I just wasn’t sure if everything was okay.”

“Carlos went home,” Olivia explains, pushing the door all the way open and stepping out of the bathroom. “I played with Dylan until he fell asleep and then spent a little time just chilling by myself. You know parties aren’t my thing. And then I had to pee.”

“Speaking of…” I slip past both of them and gently close the door.

I rest my whole body on it and relax. Phew. That was close.

They continue to talk outside the bathroom door as I pace inside, still trying to get my dick to fully deflate. I can't make out everything they say but the more they talk the harder Olivia's tone gets. Also, the higher Tate's tone gets—like he’s worried or guilty or something.

So of course I lean into the closed door.

“I am fine. Look at me? Do I look not fine? Please stop,” Olivia is saying, her tone hard. “Because the only thing making me not fine is all the fussing and worry you and your sister are doing. It happened to me , okay? Let me handle it the way I see fit. I don’t have to make this okay for you. I never would have even told you if I knew this was how you’d react. I’m handling it my way.”

Then there’s the stomp of feet down the stairs.

I have no idea what the hell that was about but I have a very strong feeling that I need to know. That I should know. That Olivia doesn’t want me to know.