Page 31 of Whirlwind (Seattle Blades #4)

T yson’s words play repeatedly in my head during the drive to the event venue.

If someone had asked me months ago if I ever thought about a man spanking my ass, I’d have laughed in their face.

The way he said it, though, with that sexy, authoritative growl, it went straight to my pussy and pulled me out of my chaotic thoughts.

For the first ten minutes of the drive, I kept taking surreptitious looks at him.

I’ve seen him in suits—since they wear them before every game.

Tonight, though, he’s wearing a more formal version.

Smooth black over crisp white, his broad shoulders and thick thighs only looking larger under the fabric.

After he catches me staring the fourth time, he tells me to quit hiding it.

“I hope you always look at me like this,” he says.

“Sometimes I watch you while you sleep,” I say. He laughs, but I’m not teasing. I really have watched him a few times.

“Okay, Cullen.”

“I’m kind of sparkly like a Cullen tonight,” I say. “Also, how do you know Twilight ?”

“I’m more than a meathead jock; I’ll have you know.”

“I do know that,” I say. “I still wouldn’t peg you for a Twihard.”

“You want to peg me, Kit?” he asks, feigning shock.

“Oh my God.” I hide my face in my hands.

“Lottie loves all things vampires,” he finally says after he’s done laughing.

“Me too—maybe that’s why I like it when you bite me,” I say. “It’s sweet that you embrace the things she loves.”

“She’s always been my best friend. It’s easy to do what she wants when I just want to be around her,” he says. “When she got into reading, I did, too. We’d lounge in complete silence right next to each other and just read. But it was still valuable time, you know?”

“I can understand that,” I say. Only because that’s how I’ve always felt with Willa.

“So much of our childhood centered around my life and hockey. Often, I felt guilty about that. She deserved more but was always happy to make sacrifices for me.”

I imagine that’s what you do for the people you love.

It would be easy to fall into my childhood sadness for not having that.

Fighting isn’t as easy, but I try to push it away.

Pulling my phone out, I send my grandmother a text.

Tyson and I took a selfie before we left my house, and I attach that for her.

Me:

This is the guy I was telling you about.

The last time I spoke with her, Tyson and I had only begun talking about dating. She was excited for me, though—happy and hopeful. She’ll enjoy seeing me all dolled up, too, since that isn’t something I ever had the opportunity to do as a kid.

She won’t see my text until tomorrow, as I’m sure she’s long asleep, by now.

After Tyson and I talked about my mother on our date, I’ve thought about my family dynamics a lot.

Every day I grow closer to wanting to find my mom.

I’m keeping my expectations low and in check.

If she wanted to know me, she knew where I was for so long, after all.

Yet, I can’t deny that I’m missing something in my life.

Roots, maybe. A sense of grounding. History, for sure.

Who knows how much family I have in the world.

What if it’s not too late to get some of what I always wanted?

Or some of what Willa has, or Tyson has.

I shouldn’t continue to let my fear stop me from finding out if something good can come of it.

That’s easier to say when I know I have Tyson standing beside me.

“You ready?” he asks. I look out the window to see we’re parked. I hadn’t even noticed we’d arrived.

“Yeah, sorry. Zoned out there, for a minute.”

“You want to talk about it?”

“Not necessary,” I say, not wanting to bring down the mood for tonight—well, any more than I already did with my micro-freakout earlier. I’m so embarrassing.

“If you say so,” he says. “Let me go show you off, then.”

Tyson holds my hand as we walk inside. The event is being held inside a warehouse basement that’s been renovated to look like an old wine cellar.

Tonight it’s dressed up with soft pink linens and twinkling white lights.

Every year, the team’s charity foundation picks a charity for the gala to raise money for.

There will be a silent auction, with proceeds going to a local domestic violence shelter.

The first people we run into are Coach and his wife, who has begun insisting that we all call her Mama Cole. Zander and Damian both have complicated family situations; the Coles have taken them in the same way they have me.

“You look beautiful,” she whispers while giving me a big hug. “I’m so thrilled you’re here.”

“Thank you.”

“Enjoy yourself,” Coach tells me after he, too, gives me a hug.

“I will,” I promise.

“Take care of my girl, here,” he tells Tyson.

“Always, Coach.”

The next group of people are the rookies who were recently called up and I’ve yet to meet.

“Killer, Sammy, this is Kit. She’s the mastermind statistician for the team, and my girlfriend,” he introduces me. My stomach flips and flutters at the moniker that we’ve never discussed.

“Hey, Kit. Nice to meet you,” Killer says. His government name is Victor Kirill. His nickname is an obvious one and I know it’s been a joke with the guys that attract all the league murderers with ‘Victor Kill’ and ‘Cill Wylder’.

“What he said,” Sam Vogel says, pushing his buddy out of the way to hold his hand out to me. I give him mine, thinking he’ll shake it, but instead, he lifts it to his mouth and presses a quick kiss. His shaggy hair falls over his baby face as he does.

“She’s out of your league, fuckwit,” Tyson says, wrapping an arm around my shoulders.

“Dude, I’d say she’s out of yours,” he shoots back.

“I’m smart enough to know that.”

“Nice to meet you guys, too,” I say as Tyson leads me away.

“Wash that hand,” he mutters, making me grin at his jealousy.

“Miss Kit,” I hear from my right. “Zhivago looks damn good on you, darling,” Odette says when I turn to her.

“Thank you! I was worried I wouldn’t fit in, but I love the dress so much.”

“Standing out is superior to fitting in, every time, my dear,” she says, winking before she walks back to where Gavin Vaughn is waiting for her.

“I told you,” Tyson says.

“You did. I should learn to listen to you more.”

“Easy now, you’re by far the smarter one in this relationship.” He leans down, I think he’s going to kiss me, but instead, he smells my hair.

“Did you just smell me?”

“Maybe.”

“Now, who’s a Cullen?” I ask, and he just grins.

“Do you want a drink?”

“A white wine, please.”

“I see Willa.” He nods to the next room. This time, he does kiss the top of my head. “Head in there, I’ll grab drinks and find you.”

I don’t move right away, deciding to take a minute to admire my date.

His suit is tailored to perfection, and his ass looks juicier than ever.

For a gal that had little to no interest in sex a couple of months ago, I sure do have a healthy libido, these days.

Shaking my head, I move through the archway that separates the bar area from the ballroom.

I pass by a small group of women and hear the catty comments from them as they discuss what other women in the room are wearing.

It’s exactly what I expected tonight, even if this conversation isn’t directed at me.

Or—yet, anyway. Women in this world tend to gather in cliques and get as competitive as the men.

Only, they’re competing for attention rather than a cup.

It’s one of the things that makes me most nervous about a relationship with Tyson, because I don’t want any part of that pettiness in my life.

Nor do I want to feel like there is a woman around every corner trying to steal my man—especially when I already feel like I’m not on equal ground with him. It’s an anxious girl’s worst nightmare.

I hold my chin high as I pass, though, remembering Odette’s words. She’s a fashion icon—if she says I look good, I’m going to believe it. Besides, fuck those bitches.

“We’re all a little mad around here,” Willa is saying as I arrive at the group that includes her, her fellas, Isla, and Cillian.

“At me?” I ask.

“What? No!” she protests, and I smile so she knows I’m joking. “Fuck, look at you. You sexy beast.”

“Damn, Kit,” Damian says. “Did Tyson drop dead when he saw you? Is that why he’s not with you?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t want to pass up the free food, so I came anyway,” I deadpan.

“Atta girl,” Cillian says. “I heard they’re feeding us some fancy wagyu dish.”

“I don’t know what wagyu is—other than it’s delicious,” Zander says.

“It’s Japanese cow, raised in a comfortable environment with traceable lineage. It also has more good fat and amino acids than other beefs. But you have to cook it quick and hot,” I say.

“How?” Cillian says in awe. “How the fuck do you know everything?”

“She doesn’t sleep,” Tyson says from behind me.

“True,” I admit. “But I don’t think my limited knowledge of wagyu is all that impressive.”

“I guarantee none of us knew all that,” Zander says, and everyone nods their agreement.

“You all need to read more,” I say, rolling my eyes.

“Why, when we can just ask you?” Isla teases.

“I’m going to go see what I’m buying tonight,” Damian says.

He was born wealthy—not like how the Coles are wealthy, or even like Cillian and Tyson are.

Damian is old Southern money. You wouldn’t know it by hanging out with him, though, and when he gets the chance, he enjoys spoiling Willa and Zander.

“I’ll go with you,” Tyson says before looking to me. “You want to look?”

“No, I’ll wait here,” I say. My meager checking account wouldn’t get me anywhere in a room full of professional athletes and local celebrities. I know from past purchases by both Damian and Cillian, that the silent auction items are always extravagant, luxurious, and expensive as hell.

“Okay, be back soon,” he says, kissing my forehead.

Conversation continues around me, mostly about nothing of importance.

I keep stealing looks at Tyson as he makes his way down the line of items. He writes on a couple of pages, so I know he’s bidding on things.

My curiosity almost pulls me toward him, but I resist. It’s not my business anyhow.

And the view of him from here is better than if I was up close.

“You’re cooked,” Willa says, nudging my shoulder with hers.

“Fully fucking baked,” I mutter, looking away from Tyson. In all my admiration of the man, I hadn’t noticed that our little group grew even smaller. It’s only us three ladies, now.

“Does he know how toasty you are for him?” Willa asks me.

“I haven’t said. Neither has he—though, he did introduce me earlier as his girlfriend.”

“A title is meaningful,” Isla says. “Tyson wouldn’t have used that word if he wasn’t committed.”

“I agree,” Willa says.

“And for what it’s worth,” Isla adds, “he’s a very loyal guy.”

I look back over to him to see that a woman—Renee from the Blades’ social media team—approaches him. As they talk, she keeps touching his arm.

“So, you are saying the urge I feel to go rip Renee’s hair out right now is unnecessary?”

“Oh, no. I’m not saying that at all. Some women can’t be trusted,” she says, speaking from an abundance of experience. “But I believe Tyson can be.”

I hope she’s right. She once thought that about Cillian, though, and that didn’t work out so well. Maybe we can never truly trust anyone. Human nature isn’t the most reliable thing in the world.

And how can we ever be sure if we know someone or not? People can be excellent liars and deceivers.

“Jealousy is weird,” I say. “It’s uncomfy, but also sort of exhilarating.”

“It’s like an adrenaline rush,” Isla says. “It makes you want to fight. Also makes for great sex.”

“That’s the truth,” Willa confirms.

“Does it ever go away?”

“Yes and no,” Isla says. “I’ll never like the attention Cill gets from women. The knowledge that he has other options will always tickle the back of my brain. But the stronger we get as a couple, the easier it is to ignore those thoughts and be secure in our marriage.”

“You’re saying that, in time, I’ll still want to stick her hand in a waffle iron, but I won’t be picturing them in bed together while I do it?”

“Something like that, yeah,” she says with a small laugh.

“I’m kind of digging this side of you, Kit,” Willa says. “It’s like your gamer girl attitude has bled out of cyberspace and entered the real world.”

“Well, if she tries to show him any more of her tits, I’m going to have to change my gamer tag to Murder She Wrote, or some shit,” I grumble.