Page 22

22

I get a notification that I have a package waiting for me in the mailroom. I pull open the large doors to the leasing office of my apartment complex. A couple of employees are at their desks.

“Hey can I help you?”

I get a quick glimpse of his nametag: Bryan. “Yes you can, Bryan. I got a notification that a package was delivered for me.”

“Name?”

“Brooke Beckett.”

A flicker of recognition washes over the other employee’s face and it looks like she is starting to blush. I glance over at her nametag and register that her name is Kayla. “Hold on, Bryan! You don’t need to go to the back room to get her package. I have it right here.”

Confused, Bryan sits back down at his desk and swivels his chair around to face his computer.

“Um, is something wrong with the package that you had to hold it up here rather than with all the other packages?” I nervously laugh.

Kayla laughs back as she reaches down underneath her desk and says, “Oh no. There is no problem. It’s just the guy who dropped this off wanted to ensure I give it to you directly. He said that the contents of the package were really important and he didn’t want to take any chances of it being accidentally given to the wrong person.”

“Okay…did this guy have a name?”

“He didn’t give me a name, but he looked really familiar. I just can’t pinpoint where I’ve seen him before. And just between you and me, he is really hot! He was wearing a backwards hat, had a scruffy beard and sleeves of tattoos.” She blushes again and hands me a package wrapped in pink wrapping paper with a big pink bow on top of it.

I know exactly who this is from.

“Thank you for holding onto this for me. I am sure that this mystery man will be forever grateful.”

I start to walk away and then the girl stops me. “Oh, he left you one more thing!” She gets up and walks toward the window where a bouquet of bright pink roses sits on the windowsill. My heart leaps as she hands me the vase. “Whoever this guy is, sure does like you. No man has ever bought me flowers and surprised me with a gift before. You’re so lucky.” She fawns over what I have in my hands.

I smile back at her. “Thank you.”

Once I make it into my apartment, I drop my keys on the coffee table and carefully place the vase next to them. I take the box and pull on one side of the bow to release it. I tear open the wrapping paper like a kid on Christmas morning. I definitely have the same level of excitement. I lift the top of the white box. Of course there is pink tissue paper covering the contents of the package. But there is also a note lying on top.

Cupcake, I’m sorry I couldn’t come by your apartment on Sunday night when I got home. I got held up with the team and some PR stuff for upcoming games. I hope tonight makes up for it. I want you to wear this underneath your clothes tonight at your ice skating lessons. I hope you like the color. ;)

P.S. There is a location change for tonight. I’ll send you the address later.

I scoff and shake my head. He texted me the night he got back from Vegas saying he couldn’t come by after all. It all worked out anyway since I had to get up extra early the next day. A night with Tristan would have kept me up way past my bedtime. Regardless, does he think I’m just going to do whatever he wants me to do? I don’t think so.

I go to my contacts and tap Tristan Lawson on my list. He answers on the first ring and I can already tell through the phone he has a satisfied grin on his face.

“Hello, Cupcake.”

“What makes you think that you can tell me what to wear to our ice-skating lessons?”

“Ah, I take it that you opened the package I left for you earlier. I’m glad I could trust Kayla with that very important task. Did you like what was inside?”

I move the tissue paper to the side and see some very revealing, lacy, hot pink, very expensive lingerie waiting for me in that box. “I…do…but that’s not the point.”

He laughs. “What is the point then, Cupcake?”

“You can’t just order me around and expect me to just do your bidding and be at your beck and call.”

He hums that dangerous, feminism-leaving-my-body kind of hum. My core tightens at that damn hum. “We’ll see about that.” I get a text message a second later with the address to the hockey arena. “I’ll see you later, Cupcake. Oh and take an Uber. I’ll drive you back home after we finish our lesson.”

A couple of hours later, I arrive at the arena. Tristan told me to go around to a specific door and a security guard should let me in. I get to the door he indicated, but it is locked. No security guard in sight. Shit. I jiggle the door handle again and nothing. Is he playing a sick joke on me? There are no games or concerts tonight in the arena and this plaza is basically deserted, other than a few tourists taking pictures of the building. People are starting to stare at me, probably thinking I am trying to break into the arena. Forget this, I’m just going to go back to my car and save myself the embarrassment. I whip around and that’s when I hear the door click open. “Miss Beckett?”

I turn back around. “Yes.”

“Mr. Lawson is waiting for you. Will you follow me, please?” A large, built man is standing in the doorway propping open the door, halfway protecting the entrance while leaving space for me to slip through.

I give him a small grin as I inch my way past him in the narrow path he is leaving open for me. “Thanks.” He clicks the door shut and locks it.

“This way, Miss Beckett.” He extends his arm out in the direction of the rink.

I hold out my hand to shake his. “You can call me Brooke. It’s nice to meet you…”

“Jackson. Randall Jackson. I’ve been the head of security here at Southwest Arena for almost twenty years. Mr. Lawson is my favorite athlete who has ever played in this arena and trust me, I’ve seen a lot of great athletes play out there on that ice. He’s a good guy. No offense to your brother.”

“None taken.” I joke, “Did Mr. Lawson pay you to say that about him?” I smile and so does Randall.

He opens the door to the rink and says, “Nope. That is my true and honest opinion about the man. And he must really think something of you to request this private tour of the arena. We usually don’t do this, but anything for Mr. Lawson. Enjoy yourself, miss.”

Other than my brother, I’ve never heard someone talk up Tristan to this degree with so much sincerity in their voice. I don’t take a lot of stock in what my brother says half the time, and I always figured he was biased because Tristan is his best friend. Hearing this glowing review from a complete stranger has more weight to it.

“Thanks. It was nice to meet you, Randall. Now I will know a friendly face when I come to watch my brother and Tristan play.”

He nods in agreement and closes the door. I’ve never been inside the arena when it wasn’t blasting music from every angle of the building. The only sound right now are blades sliding across the ice and a stick hitting a puck into the goal. Tristan is busy getting some shooting practice in. He can’t help it. I have seen Tristan play hockey in his Storm uniform a handful of times now, yet I rarely see him in regular clothes on the ice. To see him in the actual place where he plays without all the gear on, yet skating just as hard and just as gracefully – it is mesmerizing. Every puck he shoots zings directly into the net. Every. Single. One. Granted, there isn’t a massive goalie protecting the goal, but still. He shoots from different angles and distances and still makes it in.

I could watch him forever. Without a worry that someone is going to cross-check him against his neck like a fricken guillotine or slam him into the sideboards so hard that he falls limply to the ice or punch him in the jaw and incite a full-on brawl. He’s safe right now and that gives me peace.

Tristan shoots another puck and it lands square in the back of the net. I figure I should stop gawking at him and let him know I arrived. I start clapping and whistling at him. He abruptly turns his head around and registers I’m there. “Nice shooting!” My yell echoes.

He skates over to me with a wide smile. He slows down and steps onto the padded floor.

I lean over the rail and taunt, “Is that why they call you Hot Shot?”

“I don’t know. You tell me. You’re the only one who calls me Hot Shot, Cupcake.” He grabs the side of my neck and pulls me down and kisses me, gliding his tongue into my mouth. Shivers run across my body and suddenly, I want that tongue in a very different place. He is driving my need for him higher with every kiss. Calm yourself down Brooke, we are here for skating lessons and a private tour evidently.

Tristan breaks our kiss and taps on the railing. “Here, get on the railing and I’ll help you down.”

I climb up on the rail, straddle it and swing my other leg around it so now my butt is placed firmly on the freezing metal. Tristan places his giant, veiny hands on each side of my torso and I place my delicate, frozen hands on his shoulders. He lowers me down with ease, as if I weigh the same as a feather, which is far from the truth. I play with the hair resting against the nape of his neck and pull him down to me this time as I return the knee-buckling kiss he gave me a minute ago. I pull back so I can look at the gorgeous man in front of me. Tristan is wearing a green backwards Storm hat and a black dry-fit Storm zip-up with a gray shirt underneath and black joggers. Nothing out of the ordinary, but a deadly and favorite combination in my book. Tristan examines me in turn. I wore an oversized pink quarter zip sweatshirt, black leggings, crew socks with hot pink stripes, and pink-and-white tennis shoes.

“Did you wear what I gave you under these unnecessary clothes?” he says with a devilish grin. His hand begins to run up underneath my sweatshirt and I force myself to push his hand away. This is hardly the place for any of that. Only in my dreams is that allowed.

“Um I consider these clothes very necessary, so I guess you’ll never know.” I totally am wearing the lingerie he bought for me. He just doesn’t need to know that yet. I raise my eyebrows while holding tightly onto his mischievous hand. His other hand grabs my butt and pulls me closer to him.

Then he places a piece of my hair that I left out of my ponytail behind my ear. “I like your hair up in a ponytail.” I swing my head to the side and show off my pink ribbon that I tied into a bow, securing the ponytail. He laughs, “Of course you have a pink bow in your hair.”

I shrug while playing with the drawstring of his joggers. “I thought I’d switch things up a little.”

“Well, I like the switch-up. It may come in handy later.” He winks at me, making my stomach somersault. What does that mean? He then turns around and grabs a box from the other side of the aisle. He hands it to me. “Here. Open it.”

“Another package?” I feel a sudden twinge of guilt in my stomach for not getting him anything at all. “Tristan, you know I don’t need you to buy me anything, right?”

“Will you just open it? And I will spoil my girl if I want to.” My girl. I grin and take the box. I lift the lid and see hockey skates. And not standard black hockey skates. Custom pink ones. With green laces and the number 92 printed on the side. “If we are going to continue your lessons, I want you to have the best skates on the market. No more rental skates for you. Do you like them?”

“I love them! Thank you. They are perfect.”

“Just like you, Cupcake.” He kisses me on my forehead. Is this a dream? Because it sure feels like one. The most surreal one yet. One where I might be falling in love with my enemy with every passing moment. One where I think he is falling for me, too. “Here, sit down on this bench and I’ll put them on for you.”

Without protest, I sit and watch Tristan take extra care of putting my skates on properly. I can tell he does this daily. Once he is done securing them on my feet, he takes my hands and guides me onto the ice. My body jolts when Tristan yells up to the media box, “Hey Randall, my man, can you play that playlist I have queued up and do that special thing I requested earlier?”

Randall’s voice booms across the empty arena. “Sure thing, Mr. Lawson.”

The lights dim around us and light ricochets off the disco ball that starts turning above us. One of my favorite songs from my favorite band,The Paper Kites, starts playing. This isn’t just any skating lesson. This is Tristan Lawson’s version of a romantic date. This is him wooing me. And I am completely falling for it. Forget what I said earlier about maybe falling for Tristan.

I am unquestionably falling in love with him.

Tristan is skating backwards so I have no choice but to look up at him. “Are you trying to romance me, Mr. Lawson?”

“Is it working?” He tightens his grip on my hands and smirks.

It is standard for me to resort to giving him a hard time or coming back with a deflective comment. Instead, I let him in. “Maybe.” I squeeze his hands back.

He continues to effortlessly glide backwards while I struggle to find my equilibrium on the ice. But even though that struggle, I feel safe. My heart is beating wildly but this time it isn’t because I am afraid of the ice – it is because the man in front of me, who put so much thought into this night, is smiling at me like I’ve never been smiled at before.

My gaze shifts down towards the ice so I can save face. I slide a bit, but Tristan is right there to hold me up and prevent me from falling on my ass again. At least we are somewhat alone this time and not in front of a bunch of kindergarteners and their chaperones.

Tristan must sense my self-doubt. “Don’t think. Just skate, Cupcake.”

“Easy for you to say. You do this for a living. It is your whole world, Hot Shot.” I raise an eyebrow at him and smile.

He sighs. “I used to think the only thing that mattered to me was hockey. Making it into the NHL was my dream ever since I stepped foot onto the ice when I was four. You’re right, my world only consisted of hockey. The ice. The puck. The crowd.” He leads us to the middle of the ice and our skating ceases. Everything but Tristan’s voice seems to fade into the background. He wraps his arms around me, trapping the bottom of my ponytail under his massive, strong forearms, angling my face up so I have nowhere to look but his hazel eyes. “Until I met you.”

I inhale sharply. I’ve never seen Tristan look so serious and vulnerable all at once.

“I wanted so desperately to get your attention with my hockey skills because for so long that was the only way I ever got attention. But I soon learned you couldn’t care less about hockey. You are my biggest challenge and the best thing I could ever attain in this life. Every single goal I’ve scored since I met you was my own personal love note to you, Brooke.”

I tighten my arms around his lower back as he presses a kiss on my forehead. I am a puddle.

He continues, “I found out over time that my hockey skills weren’t going to be the thing to win you over. And for a long time I lost hope that I would ever be with you. I just considered myself lucky that I was in your life at all. The sound of your voice ignited my soul every time I was near you. The mere fact that you are on this earth is a blessing to me and motivation enough for me to be the best version of myself on and off the ice. It was because of you that I trained as hard as I did. It was because of you that I never let another woman fully in. It’s not that I wanted to be a bachelor or a playboy or whatever the hell you want to call it. No other woman was good enough to have my whole heart. I didn’t want to let them in because I was reserving that spot for you.”

That’s it. My heart no longer belongs to me. It belongs to the man holding onto me in his big, strong arms in the middle of his favorite place in the world, while my favorite song by my favorite band is playing. We can no longer fight whatever magic led us into each other’s lives.

I adjust my arms to wrap them around his neck and bring his lips down to mine, more like colliding his lips to mine, almost knocking him off-balance. I need to kiss him like I need air to breathe. I want to show him how much I need him. I don’t want him to doubt my feelings about him or misconstrue them in any way. My hands travel down his sculpted chest and finally find the hem of his shirt. Talk about unnecessary clothes. My fingers graze the top of his joggers and his skin sears mine.

He laughs against my lips and says, “Careful, Cupcake. We aren’t completely alone.”

“Well, as sweet as this romancing is, maybe we should get out of here so that we are completely alone,” I whisper against his mouth.

“I promise you that we will go back to my house after this. But I have one more place to show you, if that’s okay?”

I playfully roll my eyes and scoff, “I guess.”

The next thing I know, Tristan grabs my ass and lifts me up so my legs are straddling his torso as his hands stay firmly on my butt. He squeezes a little and says, “Roll your eyes again, and see what happens, Cupcake.” He skates to the edge of the ice toward the opening to the tunnel. I expect him to lower me to the ground once we are off the ice, but Tristan keeps me in his arms, walking with ease down the tunnel. He makes a turn and we enter the Dallas Storm locker room.

“Oooo is this part of my private tour? You know it has been my dream to see the inside of a locker room,” I say sarcastically. Tristan sets me down on a bench, leans down to take off his skates, then begins taking off my skates. Once he places the skates off to the side, he goes over to the entrance to the locker room, shuts the door and locks it. He strides over to me, with a mischievous look in his eye that I am all-too-familiar with.

“Why did you lock the door and why are you looking at me like that?”

“You wanted to be alone, right? I just want to make sure you get what you want, Cupcake.” He reaches behind me and grabs something hanging in the exposed locker. I look up and see the green strip says LAWSON.

“Yes,” I say hesitantly, “but I meant alone at your house. Where you have a nice big bed…or shower…or kitchen counter.” I give him an equally mischievous look. I am not holding back how much I want him. Even though Tristan is fully clothed, he is still the hottest man I’ve ever seen. Always has been.

He steps toward me, with what I am assuming is a Storm jersey in his hands, and growls, “I don’t need a bed to do the things I want to do to you, trust me.” Wild thoughts run through my imagination of what he could possibly mean and butterflies fill my stomach from the excitement of all the possibilities. “Put this on.”

I unfold the green jersey and see the number 92 stitched on and his last name written across the back. I sigh and start putting my arms through the jersey. Tristan pulls the jersey away and shakes his head.

“What? I am doing what you asked. More like demanded, Hot Shot.”

He grabs my ponytail and tugs a little, forcing me to look up at him once more. “Maybe I need to be more clear, Cupcake. I want you to take off that pink sweatshirt and then put this on.” He wants to see if I am wearing what he bought me.

Without breaking eye contact with him, I murmur, “If you want it off me so badly, why don’t you take it off me?”

Tristan licks his lips and smiles smugly. Taunting me back, he slowly unzips my sweatshirt and tickles the sides of my torso as he lifts it over my head. I am now standing there in a lace pink bra. “I am surprised you want me to put on more clothes, Hot Shot.”

“The thing is,” he brushes a kiss on my collarbone and then whispers in my ear, “I have always wanted to fuck you in my jersey, Cupcake.” His words nearly destroy me as my body heats to the temperature of the sun. “Now, lift your arms up.”

I do what I am told without any protest. I feel the fabric of the jersey hit my blazing skin. The bottom of the jersey hits my mid-thigh. Without pause, Tristan runs his hands underneath the jersey and drags my leggings down to my ankles. His hands bunch up my leggings and I glide my feet out of them. He curses under his breath at the sight of the matching lace panties. He kisses my upper thighs. “You wore the present I gave you. That’s my good girl.” His hot breath sends tingles across my body and his rough hands move up the back of my legs. My knees buckle and he’s barely touched me. I know what this man is capable of and I want all of it.

He starts licking my inner thighs and I have to hold onto his shoulders to stop myself from toppling over.

“Tell me something, Cupcake. Was I shirtless?” He licks me again.

“Were you shirtless when?” I ask breathlessly, now tugging on his hair peeking through the bottom of his hat.

He groans. “In your dream. Was I shirtless?”

I swallow hard. “Yes.”

Tristan takes off his hat and pulls his own sweatshirt off from the back, simultaneously taking his t-shirt off along with it. Now he is standing in front of me, only in his joggers with his hair unruly. I unapologetically ogle at his taut muscles. He closes in and pins me against the wooden panel of his locker.

I reach underneath the jersey so I can take off my panties but Tristan’s hand stops me abruptly. “Don’t take them off.”

I crinkle my eyebrows. “But, I thought that…”

“I was going to fuck you? Don’t worry about that, Cupcake.” He reaches between my legs and pulls my panties to the side, brushing his fingers against me. I squirm a little and moan. Tristan grins because this is exactly how he wants me. Completely at his mercy.

He spreads my legs further and eases his dick into me. I cover my mouth to keep from screaming but his hand grabs my wrist and pins it above my head. “No one is going to hear us down here. You can scream my name as loud as you want.”

He doesn’t pause. He doesn’t hold back. The fire in his eyes tells me that he has been craving me as much as I am craving him. I rock my hips towards him and he does not hesitate to respond. This man is consuming me with every touch and movement and kiss. He sucks on my neck as he thrusts harder into me and I squeeze my legs tighter against his body and arch my back.

“Please, don’t stop.” I clutch his hair with my hands.

“This is how I always want you, Brooke. With your legs spread wide open for me, taking me like a good girl and begging me for more.”

I feel so outside my body but in my body all at once. There is so much pressure built up from mere days of not seeing him. Not having his hands caress my body. Not having him say my name with his deep, alluring voice.

“You’re everything I’ve ever wanted, baby,” he heatedly says and the cadence of his voice traverses across my body. I glide my tongue into his mouth and allow myself to really savor this moment with Tristan. Taking in everything he is offering up to me. Nothing is off-limits for us anymore. I let my body react to him freely, without worry that I’m too much or want him too much. I know that he wants me with equal measure.

I feel my body start to tense and my toes curl under as his tongue explores my mouth and he rams into me harder. Pleasure tingles throughout my body and I nearly collapse against him. I am expecting him to come, too, but instead he pulls out and says, “Turn around.”

Still breathless, I say, “What?”

“I said, turn around,” he says roughly.

I know how much Tristan loves a challenge so I decide to give him one.

I stand on my tip-toes and run my hands along every ridge of his chest, all the way down to the very cut V leading to my favorite part of his body. I whisper against his full, swollen lips, “Make me.”

Without warning, Tristan whips me around and presses his very hard body against my back. His knee nudges in between my legs and spreads them apart. “Hands on the wall, Cupcake.” His burly hands find my hip bones and press them back so my ass is flush up against his hard cock. He lifts the jersey up, pushing my panties to the side again with his rough, calloused fingers. His fingers slide inside me, causing me to almost see stars again in a matter of seconds. I gasp loudly.

“You are so fucking wet I can’t wait to get inside you again.”

“What are you waiting for, Hot Shot? I dare you to make me come again.”

Tristan growls and pulls back on my ponytail. This is what he wanted to do with me. Assert his dominance. I am here for all of it.

“I’m waiting for you to say that you are all mine while you are bent over in front of me with your sexy ass up against my cock, Brooke.”

I bite my lip and smile as I press my hips back, adhering to his demand. “I’m all yours, Tristan,” I whimper.

His hands aggressively grab the sides of my hips as he rams into me again. The different angle makes me scream. Tristan is being dominant and possessive – as if he is releasing all the pent-up energy that has been building for the past ten years between us. I intend to match his energy because it is so damn electric and exhilarating.

One of Tristan’s hands reaches down and pinches my already swollen clit and I let out another moan. I can feel myself getting wetter and I press my palms so hard into the wood panel in front of me, I think I might break through the surface. I am never going to get used to how huge Tristan is. He fills me completely and still doesn’t fit all the way.

“You are so tight and wet. Are you going to come for me again, Cupcake?” He thrusts into me harder and harder as I frantically press my hips back into him, all while he is rubbing me fiercely. Tristan slaps my ass and my body vibrates with an overload of sensation.

“Tristan,” escapes my mouth as pure ecstasy travels to every inch of my body.

“I know how much you love me spanking your ass, Cupcake. Do you want me to do it again?” I nod because apparently I’ve lost the ability to come up with actual words. He spanks me again as he manhandles me in the most delicious way. My body convulses and I completely come undone, sparks coursing through my body as I try to steady my breathing.

Tristan exhales a shuddering breath and I can feel him release quickly after I do. We both breathe heavily, reveling in the magic that just took place between us. It was earth-shattering and I am never going to try to piece back together what we used to be to each other.

“We better get going, Cupcake.” Tristan slowly pulls out, adjusts my panties for me and lightly taps my ass again. Even that small gesture makes me want him all over again. He sits down on the bench before me and reaches down to get his clothes.

Before he has a chance to put them on, I go up behind him and place one of my arms across his broad, tattooed chest and the other on one of his biceps. I kiss the side of his neck and then whisper, “You are so much better than any dream I could have conjured up in my head, Tristan.” I kiss him again. “And you are everything I’ve ever wanted, too, Hot Shot.”

He turns, reaches his hand up behind my head and pulls me in for a kiss. “You are my dream, Cupcake. Always have been.”