Page 7
Chapter 7
You Have Daddy Issues
Wade
“I’m serious, Wade. No screwing around.”
Maddie, the team’s new social media manager, glares from across the plane. The previous one was fired at the end of last season after a fan had an unhinged reaction to some posted thirst traps of Landon. It became a whole thing and now we all have to tone it down.
No more fun choreo. No more slo-mo sultry walks from the bus to the locker room.
I’m already on her bad side. Hey, she was the one who asked, ‘Who wouldn’t you sit next to while on the road?’ for a video. I answered honestly, ‘Hands down—Theron. He farts a lot .’ How was I supposed to know they’re cousins? Eh. She’ll get over it. If she ever sat next to him, she’d know I was right.
“So what do you need me to do?” I lean into the aisle. “Run my fingers through my hair? Slowly button my suit?”
Maddie’s nostrils widen. Her eyes go flat. “Hold your coffee cup. Answer whether you like it hot or iced. Take a sip. Smile.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“Bo-ring,” I sing. “I’ll add a little pizzazz.”
She sighs. “We talked about this. Tim Hortons is sponsoring the video, and it needs to go well. No. Screwing. Around.” Maddie pops on her over-the-ear headphones and taps on her tablet as her threat ends. I straighten to give her a dramatically serious expression and an exaggerated salute.
“Stop antagonizing her,” Jaeg grumbles. “She’s just trying to do her job.”
“Buncha party poopers.”
My attention redirects to my phone, and to Gabe’s latest one-word response.
Me
We still on for Thursday?
Freckles
Yep
How enigmatic. I can’t figure her out, but I can’t forget either. And I’m not sure I want to.
My face tilts toward the ceiling, eyes fluttering closed. I sweep the tip of my tongue across the seam of my lips and back, remembering, savoring. It’s been days, but the traces of stale whiskey from Gabe Finch’s warm mouth linger.
A text notification scares my stirring dick into hiding.
Skylar
I need to talk to you.
Me
Now? I’m in the air
Skylar
Not now, you twit.
Me
Tonight?
Skylar
Nope, Jaeg, Doug, and I are having a family night.
My mouth twists. It’s strange how childhood friendships evolve. One day, you’re pinky-swearing loyalty, and the next, your best friend has a husband and a dog that are both a higher priority than you. A piece of your heart is now someone else’s, while they get to keep whichever part on which they staked claim.
Me
I’m not family?
Skylar
You know that’s not what I meant.
Get over yourself, Boehner. Too needy.
Me
I know I was kidding
Me
You wanna bone, I get it.
Skylar
Hell yeah, I do! I’m ready to be used like a rag doll.
Me
Okay yuck. I was trying to gross you out but now I’m grossed out.
Skylar
Maybe next time you’ll think twice.
Skylar
How about tomorrow evening?
Me
I have a date with Gabe tomorrow
Skylar
When?
Me
5
Skylar
Perfect. I’ll head over to yours after work, around 4.
Thursday’s my only day off in the next couple of weeks, and I take full advantage. I sleep in until 6 a.m., get a decent workout in, and finish up the last chapters of Kerri Maniscalco’s Kingdom of the Cursed so Fletch will leave me alone about it. But none of it— not even a forty-five-minute shower or the fifteen-minute pep talk in the mirror —quiets my nerves.
By the time Sky arrives, I’ve worn down a path in the rug spanning the bed with my pacing.
“Wade?” She calls from the foyer, hand over her eyes. “You’re not naked, are you?”
“Why, you want me to be?” I yell back.
Her guffaw makes me smile. “Please, no .”
“I like my balls where they are, thanks.” I emerge from the bedroom to meet her in the living area. “Jaeg would chop ‘em off, slice ‘em up, and force feed ‘em to me.”
“He’s sweet like that.” One side of her straightened blonde hair gets tossed over a shoulder before she opens her arms as wide as they can. Wiggling fingers beckon me into an embrace.
I accept, squeezing her small but solid frame, then nuzzle the top of her hair. The distance created by marriage shrinks, if only for the moment.
Once again, we’re teenage Wade and Sky, frantically rowing across Lac Ste. Anne, in an attempt to evade that curmudgeon Monsieur Bertrand after knocking him out of his rickety fishing boat or diving deep into the lake to see who can hold their breath the longest until our moms shout for us to act our age. Just two best friends getting each other into and out of trouble, time and again.
She hums upon release and sits, patting the spot on the couch next to her.
“You okay?”
Not really. My brain tangles itself in knots, feeling nervous but having to pretend like I’m not, but also that I am. This is probably the stupidest situation I’ve gotten myself into.
“Why would I not be?”
Her polite smile dips in concern. “I wanna preface this with…I am not being judgmental, and I support you fully. Promise. But Gabe?” She pauses while searching my eyes. “You understand why we’re all confused, right?”
“I don’t, actually. I thought you liked her.”
“I do! I think she’s great. Smart, funny, so gorgeous?—”
“Then? What’s the problem?”
“She’s not really…your type.”
“What’s my type? I don’t have a type. I like all sorts.”
“Okay, but they’re flings. You’ve…never dated anyone.”
I sniff. “So? I’ll try anything once.”
“Wade,” she chides. “Don’t make me say it.”
“Say what?”
Skylar makes a throaty, rumbling noise before her arms fly up. “You have daddy issues!”
“I do?”
“Don’t play dumb with me, mister. You’re a sweet, charming guy?—”
“Thank you.” I accept the compliment by bowing my head. “But I knew that already.”
“Hush.” Sky elbows my ribs. “You didn’t let me finish. You’re worse than Doug; you need all sorts of attention from lots of people. And don’t get me wrong, I wholly accept your choices around sex?—”
My lips purse while I let out a whine. “This kinda sounds like you’re calling me a slut.”
“I didn’t say that. You use sex in place of anything real.”
Why she gotta call me out like that?
“Hey, I get exactly what I want from sex.”
Her brow quirks, exasperated. “You’ll do anything to keep your heart safe.”
“My heart’s safe with Gabe.” Safe? She’d keep it under lock and key and have it for breakfast.
“Yeah? What about hers?”
While it is fun to irritate her, one thing I’ll never do is break Gabe Finch’s heart.
“Her heart’s safe with me, too.”
“You’re serious?”
I seriously can’t stop thinking about her.
“Yeah.”
“How serious?”
Serious enough that I haven’t been able to sleep with anyone else since her. I won’t admit it to Sky, though. She’d never believe me.
Quick! Make something up!
“She…keeps clothes here.”
Idiot. Of all the things, why’d you say that? Gabe is gonna have your left nut. This is a dangerous fucking game you’re playing, Wade.
“Whoa.” Her eyes go wider, blues thinning to rings around her dark pupils. “You’re sharing a closet?” Sky flops into the back of the couch. “This is major .”
Academy Awards, here I come.
“To be honest…” A hand scrapes through the side of my hair, my knee bouncing. “I’m trying to keep it together, but I’m freaking out. I have no idea what I’m doing.”
The manic look on my face is convincing enough. Skylar goes upright and softens against me. “Aw, Wade .” Her arm hooks through mine, and she rests her head on my shoulder, free hand palming my knee. “Dang. I knew you wanted to sleep with her, but look at you.” She switches to a baby voice and pinches my cheek. “All grown up and in a relationship.”
“Yeah, yeah.” I slap her hand away before we share a long exhale. “I mean, obviously, she’s beautiful, but beyond that, we’ve got this…connection.” Mostly bickering and hurling insults. “I can’t seem to stay away from her.”
My best friend squeals and kicks her feet. “Jaeg said something like that to me when we started dating. Most people think we’re too different. That I’m too social, and he’s a grouch. He might be gruff to everyone else, but he has never once raised his voice at me.” Her thumb wiggles her engagement ring and wedding band from the underside of her palm.
I knock my knee into hers, breaking her from the spell of focus on her hand. “That’s why I like him.”
We share thankful smiles as an alarm goes off on my phone.
“ Oooh. Is it time for your big date?” She shoves my shoulder. It’s cute that she thinks she can move me. “ Hup hup !”
I fake falling sideways and roll off the couch before jumping to my feet. She stands and offers another hug. “Love you, Walty.” I don’t protest my most hated nickname. “I’m proud of you.”
“Get out of here. You’re a menace.”
Sky blows a kiss my way as she leaves.
I get another message from Gabe. There’s no point fighting the urge to smile.
Freckles
Where am I meeting you?
Me
You mean for our date??
Freckles
Answer the question.
Me
It’s a surprise
Freckles
Tell me anyway.
Me
If I tell you, it won’t be a surprise
Freckles
I don’t care for surprises.
Of course, she doesn’t. Surprises are fun.
Freckles
Just tell me so I know what to wear.
Me
I was thinking something lowkey, like the Meltwich on Orleans
Freckles
Meltwich? I can make grilled cheese at home.
Me
Not like these!!
Freckles
Grilled cheeses are the easiest sandwiches.
Me
Are you saying you can make it better than them??
Freckles
100%
Me
Challenge accepted and holding you to it
Freckles
Whatever.
Freckles
Tell me now, or I’ll show up wearing this.
Three little dots flicker on the screen before a bathroom mirror selfie appears. Full brown waves lead to a lacy, black bra and tiny matching panties covering her smooth, tan skin. My jaw drops. My eyes bulge. A thread of drool drips from where I’m practically frothing at the mouth. I suck it back in.
Temptress. No one gets to see her like that but me.
Before I can save it to jerk off to later, she unsends it.
Nooooo. Come back!
Me
Cafe Jardín
Me
Wear clothes or else
Freckles
Good boy.
My cock responds by swelling.
Oh. I like that?
Me
Is it too much to ask for you to wear that underneath??
Freckles
Yes.
Me
Yes, you’ll wear it??
Freckles
Yes, it’s too much to ask.
Freckles
And don’t pick me up. I’ll meet you there.
Me
A gentleman would pick his girlfriend up
Freckles
Too bad you’re not a gentleman.
Freckles
It’s around the corner from my house. See you in 30.
Me
Okay, girlfriend
She reacts to my last text with a thumbs-down emoji and a Meryl Streep GIF captioned “ Boooo! ” I laugh. What is wrong with me? This girl has me so twisted.
As I stuff the keys to the Lambo in my pocket and put the finishing touches on my hair, another text dings.
Landy
You’re so screwed
Landy
What did you do??
Me
What do you mean?
Landy
Gabe swung by to drop off two dozen lemon raspberry cupcakes
Me
Sounds delicious
Landy
They are, but that’s beside the point
Landy
I get that you two are new, but here’s a fun fact about Gabe: she bakes when she’s stressed out
Me
Ohhhhh.
Me
Why is she stressed out??
Landy
I dunno, man! She’s your girlfriend, you figure it out!!
Landy
And these are her favorite. The only reason she’d give them away is if she was out for blood.
Me
I’m not scared of her
Landy
You should be. Indi told me in vague terms that Gabe *may* have done some things to Vaughn’s car after they split.
Landy
With a bat
Me
Well, shit
Landy
Don’t tell anyone I told you
Landy
Now fix it and save your Lambo!! Good luck
I fiddle with the collar of my hoodie while leaning against the brick facade of Cafe Jardín. Paparazzi wait at the window, across the street, and down the block, failing to be inconspicuous.
Leeches. Every last one.
Their clicking starts before Gabe turns the corner. Enormous, dark sunglasses cover her eyes and freckles. Her straight-cut tan peacoat billows with every long stride, framing the lean lines of her legs in those black jeans. Classy, cool. All the flashes in my periphery couldn’t pull my focus from her.
If they want a show, I’ll give them one.
As she nears, my hand reaches for hers, drawing the ridge of her bare, chilled knuckles to my mouth. Genuine shock replaces her unnerved expression, the fog of her breath quickly retreating mid-air as I pull her close.
“For the cameras.” My lips graze and warm the plane of her cheek. I pause the kiss to address the paps between our shoulders. “Do you mind? This is a private moment.”
She hisses as I usher her into the bustling restaurant with an arm cinched around her waist. “You’re a douche.”
Her words mean almost nothing because the way she eases into the hold? It’s that night last summer all over again. That Gabe was so different, so…open, willing.
We both were.
My pulse gallops in my throat.
A hostess leads us to the reserved table in the back, private and far from prying eyes and eavesdroppers. The short walk is a tease, the close contact with Gabe gone too soon as we take our seats across from one another. Frustrated fists form in my lap. Her hands disappear below the tabletop as the waiter approaches, introducing himself as Paul and listing the specials. I accidentally ignore him, too hypnotized by her pink-tinted lips, and he has to repeat the question.
“And for you, monsieur?”
“Sorry. I was too distracted by my girlfriend’s beauty.” He and I exchange cheery glances. “I’ll have the same.”
“You’re gonna have a harvest salad and cranberry juice?” Gabe asks.
I throw an oversized grin at Paul. “It’s my favorite.”
He nods and scribbles, saying he’ll return with our drinks.
“That was a bit much,” she says, docking her sunglasses atop her head. Her makeup mutes the splatter of dark brown freckles across her nose and cheeks.
“Gotta give them something to talk about.” My elbows rise and rest on the white tablecloth as I lean in. “You never know if the staff is in cahoots with the tabloids.”
She rolls her eyes. “I meant all the PDA out front.”
“Oh, I did that because you love it.”
The corner of those pretty lips curls into a sneer, eyelids drooping to deaden her glance. “Why are you like this?”
I recline into the woven back of the French bistro chair. “Devilishly handsome? Effortlessly charismatic? Ottawa’s number-one heartthrob? You’ll have to be more specific.”
“An unbearable asshole.”
I swear my heart soars at the idea of getting under her skin.
“It’s payback for sending me a nude and then unsending it.”
Gabe’s teeth grit. “It wasn’t a nu?—”
Paul quietly sets our drinks down. My date thanks him and lifts the glass to her lips. I stare, tracing the rim of my glass with my index finger, circling and circling and circling while imagining it’s that soft spot inside her pussy instead.
I almost knock it over when she notices and sputters, clearing her throat while a strawberry flush floods her cheeks. As if the same filthy thought is crossing her mind.
She likes me, after all.
“ Anyway .” Gabe retrieves her phone from her coat pocket. “I brought notes and have questions.”
“You came prepared?”
“I’m a journalist. I do my research.”
My chin bobs in her direction. “Whatcha got so far?”
“Wade Boehner— full name, Walton Boehner —” Her lips wrinkle, a stifled smile teasing at their edges. “Twenty-four years old, 6’4, 210 pounds, first round, number five pick, drafted from Harvard to the Ottawa Regents in his sophomore year. Originally from Lac Ste. Anne. Only son of Naomie Boehner, former Olympic rower and fitness model.”
“Not bad.”
A hum buzzes against her curled finger. “Though I couldn’t find anything about your dad.”
A twinge in my chest burns, but I douse it. “I don’t have one.”
The last rays of dusk meet the copper hues of her eyes as she looks up from her screen. I can’t tell whether it’s pity or sympathy, but I don’t need either.
“He’s not around, okay? Any more questions, or is it my turn yet?”
The waiter serving our salads breaks the conversation.
My knee is bouncing again. I have no interest in talking about that son of a bitch. The tips of my ears heat, and I attempt to take a relaxed pull of the cranberry juice to cool down, but it’s so tart that my eye twitches. Gabe coughs out a laugh.
“Walton…what a name.”
I loathe the sound of my father’s name. Maman used the patronym to spite him.
A deep furrow forms between her brows. “Makes sense why you shortened it. ‘Oh, Walton! ’” she teases with a soft moan. “Doesn’t have any sort of sex appeal.”
She’s asking for it.
“Careful, Freckles.” My leg extends underneath the table to stroke the bare space between her sneakers and ankle with the tip of my shoe as a shit-eating grin splits my face. “I get hard when you make fun of me.”
She glowers and kicks me away before taking a large bite of greens, then chews until she can tuck it into one cheek. “Shocker. What doesn’t get you hard?” Her swallow is audible. “You should give your little guy a breather sometime. You know, get some fresh air, touch grass.”
I try to resist. I do.
“Sounds like you want a reminder of my size. I did enjoy how loud you got last time.”
Gabe struggles as air goes down the wrong pipe. In slow motion, I mouth my first forkful of salad, content with her reaction.
Fist thumping her chest, she dislodges whatever was stuck in her throat with a hushed gagging sound.
“What a noise,” I coo through a sigh. “Brings back fond memories.”
Her cutlery clangs against the plate. “I wanna choke you.”
“Feeling’s mutual. But not in front of everyone, sweetheart . Unless you’re into exhibitionism?”
“Yeah, no,” she backpedals, her low tone turning into a whisper-yell. “I could kill you.”
“I don’t think I can get into blood play. But it’s okay if you are. No judgment.”
By the way she silently stabs her fork into the pears and walnuts on her dish, she might be. My fake girlfriend has anger issues. I’ll have to sleep with one eye open.
“My turn,” I announce, wiping some vinaigrette from my chin.
Gabe hmphs in reply.
“Gabe Finch: thirty-one years old— turns thirty-two Oct 7th, birthday party surprise forthcoming —works for Canadian Sporting News, used to cover golf before the NHL, played basketball for the University of Waterloo on scholarship. Six feet?—”
“Don’t you dare guess my weight.”
I would never, but I have no idea what she’s worried about. She looks fucking good . Toned arms, strong legs, and an ass as round as the day is long. I keep going, “Couldn’t find any info on your parents.”
“That’s on purpose. It’s called privacy.” Gabe’s gaze stays on her food. “Dad owns a plant nursery in Kitchener.”
“And your mom?”
Her chewing stops, eyes going blank as she echoes my words. “She’s not around.”
The statement is vague but somehow clear. A heavy cloud— an unexpected commonality —tethers us in the long pause that follows.
There’s that twinge in my chest again. I wanna take away the pain in her eyes. Maybe she’d take away mine, too.
With one last bite, she shoves her dinner away. “I’m full.”
“That makes both of us.”
I pay the check, and despite her earlier threats, Gabe lets me lead her by the hand through the cafe again as the restaurant staff and crowd watch us leave.
“Wasn’t that fun?” she says dryly.
“And it’s not over yet.” I motion to the loitering paps in the street. “I’ll give you a ride home.”
Her glasses slide over her eyes. “No, thanks.”
“Will you listen to me for once?” I murmur into her hair, slipping an arm beneath her jacket and around her hips. The onslaught of flashes continues without relent. “I’m trying to do something nice for you.”
The small muscle in her jaw ripples. “Fine.”
“Oh, God,” she laments as I pop up the door of the Lambo. “You would bring the most obnoxious car.”
I buckle her in. “I told you to be careful about making fun of me once, didn’t I? This car’s big enough for me to bend you over in.”
Another fiery blush. I’ll never get enough of it.
The engine rumbles as I rev it before pulling from the curb.
“I hate this car,” she says under a breath.
“You hate everything.”
“That’s not true.”
“It’s a little bit true.”
Her ass shifts uncomfortably in the bucket seat, attempting to shrink herself in the space.
“What do you have against my car?”
She doesn’t glance my way. “Kurt has—had the same one.”
Fucking Vaughn.
I switch to the left lane.
“This isn’t the way to my place.”
“You’re right. It’s the way to mine.”
Sudden apprehension strikes like lightning, jolting through me until every nerve crackles, jump-starting my heartbeat and driving it into a rapid cadence.
Gabe Finch is coming over. To my penthouse. Not hotel rooms. My home .
Her arms fold as one set of fingers pinch her nose. “And why are we going there?”
My eyes flick to the rearview mirror. “For one, I’m pretty sure we’re being followed.”
“Really? Shit.” Gabe turns to check. “Isn’t that what the powers-that-be want? Pictures as evidence?”
“I think they’d rather have us; what did Elliot call it the other day? Controlling the narrative. And also…”
When she turns back, she’s met with my nervous smile.
“What?”
I bare my teeth, bracing myself for her wrath. “I may have told Skylar that you stay over.”
Her eyelashes pat together. Blink, blink, blink, blink. “And why would you do that?”
“She asked how serious we were.”
“I don’t know how you do it, Boehner, but you give me the biggest headaches.” Circle after circle is massaged into her forehead and temples with those slender fingers until she resigns into silence.
Two lights later, we reach my building. The parkade door lifts, and I ease through it. Palpable tension builds as we speed up each subsequent ramp to the top floor before rolling into my spot.
No protest from Freckles when I offer my hand to help her out of the car. No protest when I push my fingers between hers either. She pads behind me down the hallway. My thumb finds the pulse point on her wrist. It’s thrumming as fast as mine.
“Where am I gonna sleep?” she asks.
What’s this? The infallible Gabe Finch, defeated? There’s no satisfaction in the transient victory. I hate the sadness filling her eyes.
I know how to make her mad. I know how to make her come. But I have no idea what would make her smile or laugh. Guess I’ll stick to what I know will make that somber expression go away.
“My bed’s pretty nice. My arms are also available.”
The lock clacks open as I push the key code buttons.
She groans and grimaces, but our hands are still entwined. “It’s like you want to die.”
There she is.
The door shuts, and my restraint snaps. I back her into the wall, hovering so our lips are only a few centimeters apart.
“At your hands? Maybe.” My palm sprawls across her stomach and one arch of her hips, pinning her in place.
“Do you ever shut up?”
“Do you ?”
What the fuck am I doing, and why is it not kissing the sass out of her?
One of her hands moves up my chest to bunch the leather collar. I can’t tell whether she’s pushing me away or begging for more.
“How can someone this pretty be so mouthy and annoying?”
“Look in the mirror, and you’ll find out,” she retorts, tipping her mouth up. A tempting offer. The same hand winds around the column of my neck, its light pressure sending all blood southward. Gabe writhes, creating a hungry friction between us.
We simultaneously gasp.
“You think I’m pretty?”
Another hot breath gushes from her when I sidle my nose beside hers. “That’s the part you understood?”
“I have selective hearing.”
“Clearly.”
The tip of my cock throbs against her inner thigh as she hooks a knee around my hip, notching herself to me. Desperate for relief, I lift her by one handful of ass and grind between her legs with a groan.
“So, what’ll it be, Freckles?” Our breaths mix, eyes locked in rebellion. Waiting for one of us to cave. “You gonna kiss me now, or you want me to shut you up however I want?”