Jonah: A Chicago Blaze Hockey Romance Page 8

  Everyone’s attention is on the ice, the men all focused on what’s happening at Jonah’s goal.

  “Yeah! That was clutch!” somebody yells as they all high-five and yell in celebration.

  “Your boyfriend just made a damn fine stop,” Shields says to me, grinning.

  I smile back and clap my hands together, saying, “Gosh, I need to come watch a game with you guys. I’m still learning about hockey.”

  “You’re welcome to stay,” Shields says, gesturing to an open seat beside him.

  “I really wish I could, but Mia Petrov is expecting me back.”

  Shields sets his drink down and says, “I’ll walk you back to the family box.”

  “Oh, you don’t have to do that.” I wave dismissively. “I don’t want you to miss the game.”

  “It’s no problem at all.”

  “That’s so nice, thank you.”

  One of the other guys cracks, “He’s not that nice, don’t let him fool you.”

  Don’t I know it. Inside, I’m on edge the entire walk back to the family box with Shields. But outside, I’m giving him my best “aw, shucks” routine.

  “Sorry for thinking you were the owner,” I say, feigning embarrassment. “You just have a really nice suit on and, I don’t know, I just assumed.”

  “No problem. I’ve tried to get Olivier Durand to let me buy a share of the team many times, but no luck yet.”

  “I’ll put in a good word,” I say lightly. “If I ever meet him.”

  Shields laughs. “You will. I know he’s got to be thrilled his tendy found love again.”

  “Do you know Jonah?” I ask him.

  “Oh yeah, we’ve met a few times, at events. I’m sure I’ve invited him to hang out on my boat in the South of France at some point, but I can’t remember for sure.”

  My expression lights up. “Wow, that sounds amazing! I’ve always wanted to visit there.”

  “Well, you guys have an open invitation,” Shields says. “Whether I’m there or not. I have staff on the boat full time to take care of you.”

  “That’s really nice of you, wow.”

  “Here we are,” Shields says, stopping.

  I shake my head, playing dumb. “I was way off, wasn’t I?”

  “It’s a big place, could happen to anyone,” Shields assures me, opening the door to the suite.

  “Thanks so much,” I say, laying a hand on his forearm. “I really appreciate it.”

  “Hope to see you again soon, Renee.”

  “You, too.”

  * * *

  The Blaze won the game 4–1, and celebration is in the air as Mia takes me down to the tunnel to wait for the players to leave the locker room.

  “Aw,” she croons as she looks at her phone screen. “Look at my babies.”

  Her twin daughters are curled up together, both sleeping soundly. They both have dark curly hair and long dark lashes.

  “They’re beautiful,” I say.

  “Thanks. I bring them here with me sometimes, but it’s nice to have a sitter and just focus on the game some nights.”

  “Is Anton a hands-on dad?”

  “Oh yeah. He loves those little girls. They climb all over him the second he walks in the door.”

  I smile, wishing I could’ve had a family like that. “That sounds really nice.”

  “It is.” She grins. “Sometimes our house sounds like a zoo, but it’s nice.”

  Jonah is the first player out of the locker room, and my happy expression when I see him in a dark suit with a pale blue dress shirt, hair still damp from the shower, isn’t the least bit fake.

  “Hey,” he says, smiling as he gives me a kiss.

  “Hi. Great game.”

  “Thanks.” He runs a hand through his hair to get it away from his eyes. “I’m glad you came.”

  “I’m glad you wanted me to.”

  He puts a hand on the side of my waist. “Hey, some of the guys want us to go out with them, do you feel like it?”

  “Yeah, definitely.”

  I can feel Jonah’s teammates sizing me up as we walk together, his hand wrapped around mine. The guilt hits me again. Even though Jonah and I are in this undercover relationship together, they think he’s found happiness with me. They want to welcome me into their circle. It’s all just a big lie, though.

  I took an Uber to the Carson Center so I could ride with Jonah after the game.

  “What’d you think?” Jonah asks as we leave the arena parking lot.

  “It was fun. Way more fast-paced and exciting than I expected.”

  “Want to come to the next one?”

  “Sure, I’d love to.”

  He glances over at me. “Hey, we don’t have to stay out late or anything, the guys just want to meet you.”

  “It’ll be fun,” I assure him. “As long as you’re okay with it.”

  “Of course.”

  We meet up at a bar called Lucky’s, where several tables have been pushed together to accommodate our group. Jonah introduces me to teammates, wives and girlfriends one by one, and everyone greets me warmly.

  “Jonah’s pretty much the sphincter muscle of our team,” a blond guy named Victor explains to me.

  I give him a puzzled look. “You mean like…he does the dirty work?”

  “Ignore him,” a dark-haired giant of a man named Knox says.

  “No, hear me out,” Victor says. “Jonah takes care of the shit for the rest of us, so we just get to have fun. He keeps the other team from scoring—shit. We score and beat ass—fun.”

  “You’re such a dumbass,” Knox says. “And when’s the last time you beat anyone’s ass? I do all the ass beating.”

  “Most of it,” Victor concedes.

  “Hey babe,” Jonah says, putting his arm around me. “This is Anton.”

  A chiseled man with dark blond hair reaches out to hug me. “Renee, welcome to our crazy family. I promise we don’t usually talk about sphincter muscles.”

  He glares at Victor and I immediately get why he’s the captain, and why he and Mia get along so well. They’re both down to earth and easy to be around.

  Jonah and I spend the next couple hours laughing, eating and drinking with his friends. After he’s had a couple beers, he pulls me into his lap, which I don’t mind a bit. He’s impossible not to like, and the more I get to know him, the more attractive he becomes to me. These kisses and cuddles may not be real, but that doesn’t mean I can’t still enjoy them.

  “Renee, I hope you’ll convince Jonah to come to the charity auction we bought a table for in a couple weeks. It’s always fun to get dressed up and go out for the evening, and it’s for a good cause.”

  I look at Jonah and he shrugs. “We can go if you want to.”

  One of the guys imitates the sound of a whip from the other side of our table, and Jonah tosses a cardboard drink coaster his way, hitting him in the face without even looking.

  “I’d love to go,” I say.

  “I guess we’re in, then,” Jonah says to Mia. “And on that note, I think we’re gonna head out.”

  “Your place or mine?” I ask.

  “Mine.”

  His eyes are warm as he kisses me, cupping my cheek in his hand. I feel the same stir I did at the end of our date the other day—for more. I suddenly wish we really were a couple who decided whether to stay at his place or mine.

  He pulls away and we say goodbye to everyone. Once we get back to his car, I hold my hand out to him.

  “What?” he asks.

  “Keys.”

  “I only had…three beers.”

  “You had four and I’m driving.”

  He passes me the keys. We both get into the car and he says, “I really do want you to stay at my place.”

  “You do?” Hope blooms like a tropical flower inside my chest.

  “Yeah. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  He waves a hand. “I fall asleep there half the time, anywa
y. I want you to take my bed.”

  “Okay, thanks.”

  The freshly formed flower wilts, shrivels and dies. Jonah is only playing a part. I couldn’t be more different than the woman he loved. I have to accept that and stay focused on my assignment.

  Chapter Twelve

  Jonah

  I stuff my hands in the pockets of my jacket to warm them as I walk near Lake Michigan. I take them back out immediately, though. The cold breeze on my skin seems fitting. If only the wind could reach my heart and send it back into hibernation.

  Since Lily died, I’ve only felt a few things. Angry, sad and lonely. Sometimes those emotions hit me one at a time. Sometimes I feel them all at once, but usually it comes in a cycle.

  The anger either slowly creeps up or it hits like a freight train in a fog—utterly invisible until all of a sudden it’s there, bearing down on me with a fury. My beautiful, vibrant wife was alive when I left her that morning with a quick kiss. And then she just collapsed that day in her parents’ home, the victim of an undiagnosed heart condition.

  Fate ripped her away from me. Ripped them away from me—her and our unborn child, still growing inside her. We’d been trying for so long and faced several losses and disappointments, and then it finally happened, and I’d never seen her happier. The unfairness of it all feeds the anger, though it’s not nearly as strong as it was three years ago.

  The first year was the worst. Not only was I grieving, I was doing so in the public eye. Fucking sports analysts on TV would chat about how my wife’s death was affecting my game. Photos would show up online with articles and headlines that were all total bullshit.

  One day, I was out walking while reading an article on my phone about a guy on another hockey team getting suspended. I looked up to make sure I was still going the right way and a photographer caught my look of disgust, from reading the article, and captioned it “West still forlorn over wife’s death.”

  Fuck that guy. Only my teammates truly saw what I went through then. In the weeks after burying Lily, I’d be sitting in the locker room with my elbows on my knees, silently crying, and I’d feel a hand on my back, followed by another on my shoulder.

  I kept going, though. Eventually, the anger gave way to sadness. I mourned for Lily and our child, feeling like my heart had been hollowed out and would never be full again. That sense that a part of me is missing has been there for the past three years. To not feel it would be to forget Lily.

  But last night, when I was out with Rey and my teammates, I lost that haunted feeling. I smiled a lot. I laughed. I loved the feeling of her near me, and the sparkle in her eye. Every touch between us and every kiss was real. At least on my end. Maybe Rey is a great actress and this is all part of the game for her.

  For me, though, things have changed. It’s no longer an act. Last night I didn’t want to go to bed alone for the first time in three years. I thought about Rey, lying in my bed , as I stayed curled up under a blanket on my couch, a tightly wound wreck of desire and guilt.

  I never imagined it would be possible to want another woman the way I used to want Lily. But last night, for the first time, I did. I wasn’t a drunk guy hoping for a blow job or a quick fuck—I wanted to spend hours in my bed with Rey. I wanted to see and feel every inch of her. To wake up with her snuggled against me at sunrise and do it all over again.

  I went to sleep with her on my mind and dreamed about Lily. She was alive, standing across from me in our living room crying about how she couldn’t believe I was dumping her. And when I tried to assure her I’d never do that, no words would come out of my mouth. I just had to listen to her asking me again and again why I was leaving her.

  It was agonizing. I woke up sweating right before sunrise, throwing on a jacket and leaving my place to walk around and get some fresh air.

  It’s been a little over two hours, and I’m running on not much sleep. When I see an open bench overlooking the water, I sit down, exhaling hard. Elbows on my knees, I put my head in my hands and take a few deep breaths of cool morning air.

  Rey’s an amazing woman. She couldn’t be more different from Lily, but they do share the most important quality—a kind heart. Rey’s is fierce and strong. She fights her demons by saving children.

  I see her in a new light now that I know about her parents. We’re actually a lot alike. Hockey keeps me going, and police work keeps her going. The two of us are like falling stars, passing each other as we streak through the sky. But stars don’t fall together. They end up alone, burned up and gone dark.

  My phone buzzes inside my jacket pocket with a text and I pull it out.

  Rey: I just woke up and can’t find you. Everything okay?

  I sigh heavily, more guilt sweeping through me. I shouldn’t have just left Rey at my apartment and not said anything about where I was going. I just knew I couldn’t be there when she woke up, hair tousled and wearing my T-shirt.

  Me: Hey, just out for a run.

  Rey: Okay, I’m heading home. Have a good one.

  Me: Thanks, you too.

  She probably thinks I’m fucked in the head. Hot for her one day and then cold as ice the next. I wish I could just shut off my attraction to her. Focus on the job at hand and maybe gain a friend in the process. But my fucking body wants to be more than friends with Rey. A lot more.

  I want to tell her to stay. That I’m on my way back. But if I go back to my place while she’s there, it’s only going to make things worse.

  I’ve had sex a couple times since Lily died. It was a different woman each time, and both happened after long nights of drinking. I felt like the physical urge to fuck had just built up in me so hard that I had to scratch the itch. And then it was done and I just went on with my life.

  This, though—what I feel for Rey—is different. I want to kiss the back of her neck as I zip up her dress before taking her out to dinner at a nice restaurant. I want to look up during every home game I play and see her watching me. I want to take her out to every Cuban restaurant in the city and find out which place serves her favorite food. Hell, I want to take her to Miami for a weekend of late nights and early mornings, exploring all the Cuban places there, too.

  And that’s what I feel so goddamn guilty about. I’ve only ever shared that kind of intimacy with Lily. She was my best friend. My ride or die. And I feel like a villain for wanting that kind of relationship with anyone else.

  Suddenly, the stress gives way to fatigue. I’m tired, and not just physically. I open the Uber app on my phone and order a ride. When a dark sedan pulls up to get me, I slide in silently.

  The driver meets my eyes in the rearview mirror but doesn’t say a word. We ride all the way to my place in silence, the only word between us the “thanks” I mutter as I get out of his car. He’s getting a good tip, because that’s just what I needed—a quiet ride home. No questions.

  As soon as I walk into my apartment, I see that Rey’s bag is gone from my kitchen island, and I feel both relieved and disappointed at the same time.

  Throwing my jacket on a chair, I walk into my bedroom to get some sleep before practice. Rey made the bed neatly, and I wonder if she makes her own bed at home, too. I take off my pants and shirt and peel back the covers, climbing in.

  The sheets feel cool and soft, but they smell like Rey’s light, floral perfume. I bury my face in my pillow and groan, getting hard just from imagining her between these sheets an hour ago.

  Hot and cold. Back and forth. Heaven and hell. That’s going to be my life until Rey completes this assignment.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Reyna

  “Does anyone have extra pantyhose?” a loud voice booms out across the dressing room.

  “I might,” comes in answer from a man with his short black hair slicked back. He’s carefully applying lip liner in a lighted mirror.

  There are around a dozen queens in the dressing room in various states of dressing and putting on makeup. Kai told me on the way here that I don’t have to learn every
one’s names or ask what pronouns they prefer; if I just address everyone as “queen,” I’m good.

  “Kai!” a tall queen dressed in all white calls out.

  All heads in the room turn, and faces light up. Several people rush over.

  “Girl, can you fix this?” a queen asks Kai, turning to give him a look at her face from every angle.

  Kai crinkles his face the same way he does at me when I try something new.

  “How many hours do you have?” he asks, breaking into a grin a few seconds later. “Yeah, I got you, boo.”

  “You brought an assistant!” A stunning queen, with dark ebony skin, puts her hands on my shoulders.

  “Hi, I’m Renee,” I say, my heart pounding nervously.

  I feel like an oddball here. I’m not part of this club in any way, and I have nothing to offer. I’m concerned I’ll come off looking like a gawker.

  The queen eyes me quizzically. “Are you…?”

  “I’m just a boring old cis woman,” I say, shrugging. “I’m a friend of Kai’s.”

  “Then you’re a friend of ours, too.” She puts an arm around me, and I get a whiff of a sweet, powdery scent. “I’m Dee.”

  “You look incredible,” I say, admiring her perfectly painted face.

  She’s wearing chaps, a ruffled white blouse and super tall dark cowboy boots with heels at least four inches high. Every angle of her face is perfectly defined and exaggerated, her eye makeup done in white and gold.

  “Thank you,” she says, looking pleased.

  “Do you do your own makeup?” I ask her.

  “I do. Takes more than two hours to paint this mug.”

  “I wish I could do that.”

  Kai looks up from his spot crouched over the open suitcases of supplies we carried in and says, “Renee’s a beauty blogger. Teach her all you know, guys.”

  “Ugh,” someone groans. “Why did you bring her on Western Night? It’s the shittiest.”

  “Speak for yourself,” someone else calls out. “I look fucking fabulous. Ride-able, if I do say so myself.”