SWNOVELS Pucking Sweet: Chapter 32
Riptide’s Bar & Grill is chaotic tonight. It’s karaoke night, the Rays are fresh off a home game win, and the autumn weather is perfect. A gorgeous, sunny day with good waves on the beach is quickly shifting to a lavender sunset. The outdoor bar area is packed, with more people wandering up from the beach to grab drinks and listen to the live music.
Mojito in hand, I make my rounds at all our tables, greeting the Rays and their wives and girlfriends. I take a few pictures and get approval to post them to the socials, but mainly I’m just here for a good time.
At this exact moment, I feel like a million bucks. Everything is set for our first big fundraiser this weekend. As a little treat, I spent three hours at the beach this afternoon, so now I have sun-kissed cheeks and beachy waves in my hair. Also, I’m wearing my favorite pair of skinny jeans that give me supermodel legs—always a feat when you’re only five-foot-two.
Oh, and Colton is here, and he’s winked at me twice.
After our marathon of sex and granola-making last night, he ducked out before six in the morning to drive back down to Orlando, something to do with updating his mom’s security system. But in between the sex and granola, we talked. He knows how important this job is to me, and he’s willing to keep what we’re doing quiet. He may have a multi-year contract with the Rays, but I don’t, and I won’t do anything to risk my place here.
There’s nothing strictly forbidden about what we’re doing, but after a decade of running from the pressures of high society public life, I find I’m much happier spinning the stories, not starring in them. Colton more than understands. He wants any media focused on him to be about building a new team, not his private life.
That doesn’t make it any easier to keep my hands off him. The man is sex on a hockey stick. I swear, I can feel his eyes on me even now. They burn into the back of my head, searing my skin with desire. I fight a shiver, taking a sip of my minty mojito as I glance over my shoulder—
I gasp, turning back around. It wasn’t Colton I felt looking at me.
Lukas steps in behind me. “Hey, Popsicle. You singing tonight, or you too chickenshit?”
I glare over my shoulder at him, one brow raised. “Popsicle?”
He grins. “I thought it was fitting. You know, ’cause—”
“I know why you’re calling me ‘Popsicle,’ Lukas. And I don’t find it cute or charming.”
“I wasn’t going for charming. I was going for teasing.”
“Because that’s all you are. A big tease.”
He laughs, not denying it. “Langers just challenged me to get up there and sing. I told him we’ll flip a coin and loser takes the mic. Now, I have great luck with coin tosses, but just in case the gods curse me, what would you like to hear me sing?”
“‘So Yesterday,’” I deadpan.
“Hmm, I don’t know that one.”
“It’s by Hilary Duff. Consider it my love letter to you.”
“I was thinking I’ll dust off some Boyz II Men, maybe some Backstreet Boys.”
I spin around, my eyes narrowed at him. I see the joke dancing in his pretty caramel eyes. “How did you know?”
“What, that the Backstreet Boys is one of your favorite bands?” He takes a sip of his beer. “Word to the wise, Popsicle. If you don’t want people to know things about you, don’t post them to social media. As my PR director, I assumed you were aware—”
“I haven’t posted a picture of me at a Backstreet Boys concert this millennium, you creep! What, did you stalk my old Facebook photos?”
“The internet is forever, Pops—”
“Don’t call me ‘Popsicle.’ And don’t you dare ruin Backstreet Boys for me. I mean it, Lukas.”
Chuckling, he winks and saunters away. Arrogant ass. I turn back toward the band, taking another sip of my mojito. Up on the stage, our captain’s wife, Shelby, is singing “That Don’t Impress Me Much” by Shania Twain. No one is a bigger hype man than Josh. He stands there clapping and singing along, throwing out the occasional wolf whistle.
They’re so stinkin’ cute together. And they have the cutest mess of adorable, sporty kids. Honestly, they’re a PR dream. He even teaches Sunday school. I snap a few pictures with Josh foregrounded, Shelby glowing under the purple lights of the stage. I won’t post these to the team socials, I’ll just send them to her as a little keepsake. Everyone deserves to have evidence of being treasured.
“Hey.” Colton steps in behind me, his hand on my hip. I’m wearing a little floral print, off-the-shoulder peasant top that doesn’t quite skim the top of my jeans. His fingers find that barest strip of exposed skin, brushing over it quick like a kiss. But, oh god, I feel it like a brand.
“Hey.”
“What was that about?”
“What was what?”
“Novikov. Was he bothering you?”
I roll my eyes. “He’s always bothering me.”
Colton turns to go after him, and I fist his shirt. “No—hey, what are you doing?”
“I told him to stay the fuck away from you,” he growls.
“You did what?” My frustration rises as I let go of his shirt. “Colton, we work together. I’m going to see and talk to Lukas. Regularly. But I’m a big girl, and I can handle my own business. I don’t need you being a jerk to him for no reason—”
“You think I have no reason to be a jerk?”
“No, you don’t.”
He crosses his arms.
“Lukas was there for me as a friend. I asked for everything that happened that night. I was sad about Anderson, and my family, and all of it. I didn’t want to be alone. He was there, and that’s it. Okay?”
He shakes his head, his gaze still on wherever Lukas is in the crowd. Then he’s leaning down, his dark eyes locked on me. “I told you to come to me if you needed to be kissed. I told you on the plane, days before DC—”
“Well, I wasn’t going to just waltz up to you and say ‘Hey, remember that open invitation to kiss me senseless? Well, my ex-fiancé is marrying my little sister, so I’d like to cash that in now.’”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s embarrassing. And pathetic and sad. Three words I’d rather not associate with myself when it comes to you.”
His eyes narrow. “So, the sex with Novy was pathetic and sad?”
“No, it was—” I groan, fisting my mojito. “You told me you didn’t want to know any of this.”
“Well, I’ve changed my mind.”
I shake my head. “Colton, no. I am not going to hurt you just because you’re already feeling hurt. Believe it or not, he was good to me. It happened. That doesn’t mean it will ever happen again.”
“It better not,” he growls.
Tears of frustration sting my eyes. “Well, maybe next time you won’t sit pining after a girl for two freaking years. Maybe next time you’ll make your move. You’ll take your shot. Otherwise, you’ll sit back and realize someone else already has!”
Storming away from him, I weave my way toward the bar, desperate for a refill on this dang mojito. I slide the glass across the bar and wait. My attention is pulled to the laptop propped on the edge of the bar, taking requests for the karaoke queue. I skim the list, my eye stopping on the name in all caps: LUKAS NOVIKOV.
“Son of a freaking bitch,” I huff under my breath.
The jerk is up next to sing “I’ll Never Break Your Heart” by the Backstreet Boys.
Feeling reckless, I type in my name too.