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Her ribs expand with a big breath. “My grandfather died, and my grandmother had a stroke.”
“Fuck. I’m sorry. That’s awful.” I tighten my arms around her, resisting the urge to kiss the top of her head. “He couldn’t handle it, huh?”
“He couldn’t handle not partying. He couldn’t handle my sadness. He couldn’t handle me getting a job to pay for a nursing home and medical bills.”
He couldn’t handle growing up.
I can’t think of anything else to say except, “His last contract was thirty million, baby. He can afford a nursing home.”
“He can…if I let him. But then I’d be trapped.”
Her response blows me away. “Smart girl.”
“He’s not all bad. You just never know which Jackson you’re going to get. Might be the one who shuts down Santa Monica Pier for a date. Or it might be the one who punches a hole in the wall, only to spend all night placing hundreds of sticky notes on every surface saying he’s sorry.”
I don’t miss how she still defends him.
“You’re incredible and don’t deserve to be treated that way.” I give in to temptation and kiss her temple. “I caught my wife fucking a colleague in our home. I have no idea how long it’s been going on.”
She peers up at me in surprise, her wide eyes sparkling in the dim light.
I run a finger along the delicate curve of her neck. “I still wear the ring because I don’t want her to suspect I’m leaving until I’m already gone.”
Her brows raise. “Ah, your wife is certifiably insane.”
She’s sincere, not a hint of lip service. Maybe that’s why I find myself opening up to her and foolishly longing to take things further.
I’ll never have this chance, this night, again, and I refuse to waste it.
I glance down at her pouty lips. “You’re fucking beautiful.”
She kisses my neck in response, and my cock thickens, pressing hard against my zipper.
The first band takes the stage, and I can’t stop touching her. I pray to everything holy that the darkness conceals us.
But when I scan the room, I catch Jackson’s furious gaze, only fueling my dominant and competitive nature.
I smirk and jut my chin. Coaching that spoiled brat will be the most fun I’ve had in years.
EIGHT
AURORA
The soulful soundsof the cover band fill the room, and I melt into Ethan’s protective arms, almost forgetting this is a job. He stood up for me. No one besides my best friend, Emily, has ever defended me against LA’s hockey icon. His teammates have all witnessed his emotional abuse, yet not once did they intervene.
It’s nice to have someone to open up to. Apart from Emily, who can’t stand Jackson, I have nobody to talk to. I used to be close with my grandmother, but she’s in no condition to burden with my problems. Most days, the weight of the world is on my shoulders.
My ex hasn’t changed. He’s still a mess, still drinking. I never meant enough for him to quit or seek help. So why does he suddenly give a shit? Why tonight? Because he saw me with someone else?
I was nothing more than a shiny trophy to a hockey star struggling to hide his secrets. I’m supposed to be a shiny trophy for Ethan as his paid companion for the night. Yet, ironically, I feel a greater sense of care from him than I did from Jackson, at least after the first year.
If Jackson hasn’t changed by now, he never will. It’s over. It’ll never happen again. I’ll never let anyone walk all over me. I’ll forge my own path, even if it means faking smiles for wealthy men.
Tonight, no faking is required.
“I wish I could kiss you. Then maybe your ex would stop staring.” That deep voice sends a shiver down my spine.
I turn my head to find Ethan’s face close to mine. The spotlight is on the band, but there’s enough light to reveal his handsome features.