But whereas Dax has a healthy dislike of Dominik’s interest in me, Regan has full-blown romantic fantasies.
Needing to disabuse her of them, I scoot closer, needing to talk loud enough to be heard over the music but not so much my parents, who are on her other side, can hear. I even cup my hand around my mouth so the words go directly into her ear. “We had sex four times last night, and it was stellar.”
“Wow,” she replies, awed. “Four times? Dax and I have never—”
I throw up my hand to cut her off. “We are not discussing my brother’s sex life.”
Smirking, Regan edges closer. “So, what… are you two dating now?”
My return grimace should be enough of an answer, but I make sure she understands. “No, of course not. I don’t date. Neither does he. We met for mutually advantageous orgasms is all.”
Her curiosity is not appeased, though. “Does that mean you’ll meet again for the same?”
I shrug, although Dominik seems to think so. He told me as much when he dropped me off after the breakfast he’d promised—which was served in bed, yummy, and followed by more sex.
“You’re coming home with me after the game,” he told me after he’d insisted on walking me to Regan and Dax’s door where he’d proceeded to kiss me breathless.
But then I recovered my breath enough to argue about it.
Regan nudges me in the ribs, but I ignore her. I’m tired of talking about the never-ending complexities Dominik Carlson seems to have brought into my life. Instead, I let my gaze focus on the ice, pretending to be enamored with the Vengeance warmups.
I mean… I have to trust Dominik and I are on the same page. I think we both had a meeting of the minds in addition to the other parts of our bodies that met last night.
He’s a player and not ready to settle down. I’m relationship averse and believe there’s nothing wrong with a woman in this modern world partaking in a sexual relationship with a man without expectations of it going any further than some fun times.
We’re perfect together, right?
Regan taps me on the shoulder, but I continue to ignore her, leaning even further forward by resting my elbows on my knees. Dax looks nice and loose out on the ice.
So what does it really mean that I didn’t have a horrible time waking up next to Dominik? I’m sure there’s nothing to read into the fact I wasn’t totally put off at waking up wrapped in his arms. It didn’t even seem too intrusive.
Or that I was slightly disappointed to watch him drive away this morning.
Another tap to my shoulder… this time more insistent. I resolutely stare forward and continue to ignore Regan.
Or, for that matter, I totally cannot give any credence to the fact we had pretty damn good conversation when we weren’t having sex or touching each other. Granted, it had been mostly focused on the playoffs and Dominik’s decision to help Rafe Simmons find a new home with the Cold Fury.
And I most definitely need to ignore the warm and gooey feelings invoked by knowing he put a single man’s love of his family above his entire hockey team’s success, especially since he clearly understands he could be making a very horrible mistake by working that deal with Gray Brannon.
A small sigh escapes as I remember what he said as we’d laid in bed and talked in the moonlight. “If we couldn’t have worked out that waiver deal,” he’d told me while he played with a lock of my hair, “I was just going to put him on the injured list and send him home.”
That really had touched me.
That he was going to willingly let his player go, still pay him his extremely expensive salary, and expect nothing else from him in return.
It was way too telling about Dominik’s character, which caused me to respect him as a person, which made him even more dangerous.
Regan jabs me with a hard elbow in my ribs, which actually hurts.
“Ouch,” I snap, whipping around to glare at her. “What’s your problem?”
She doesn’t reply. Instead, she throws her thumb over her shoulder toward the end of the row where my dad is talking to a man.
And not just any man… Dominik Carlson.
Looking way too edible in an expertly cut dark blue suit with subtle pinstriping and a striped tie in the Vengeance colors, he has his dark, wavy hair slicked back and a thick layer of stubble on his face. It’s playoff season—the season of the beards—and I’d heard he was going to let his facial hair grow in solidarity with his players.
That spells danger to me as well, as I love a good beard and the way it feels when—
Dominik’s eyes move from my dad to briefly connect with mine. I get a knowing smile—as if he realizes exactly what I’m thinking or he was remembering all the dirty things we did last night.
Regardless, his gaze only briefly stays on me before he resumes his conversation.
“What’s he doing here?” Regan asks, her voice slightly pitched with excitement. In her mind, this is the equivalent of the prince coming to Rapunzel’s tower to claim her.
“No clue,” I mutter, returning my attention to the action on the ice.
That lasts a few seconds before my dad calls my name. I hesitantly glance over at him, noticing my mom had finally taken her seat.
My dad points at Dominik and an usher beside him. “Mr. Carlson has invited us into the owner’s box to watch the game.”
Oh, just fucking great.
He’s making this about more than sex by offering my family an amazing perk, which is definitely outside the purview of our no-strings agreement.
I smile politely at Dominik before shaking my head at my dad. “That’s a lovely offer, but I’d like to stay down here. Dax got us these amazing seats. No offense, but it’s just more fun sitting in the crowd during the playoffs.”
My dad’s face falls in disappointment. For the Detroit game, Dominik had hosted my family in the guest team’s owner’s box, and my dad had been so impressed with the free food and liquor.
I casually lift my chin at Dominik in a show of defiance, conveying that we need to keep the lines between us clear. I stare at him with challenge.
The look I get back causes me to shiver. There’s a flash in his eyes—almost a hint of anger at my refusal—and then something a bit warmer that says he enjoys a challenge. Finally, pure determination to put me under his control shines through. My belly flutters.
Crap… why do I like that feeling so much?
Dominik motions to my dad, indicating he wants to move into our aisle. When my mom and dad stand, Dominik starts carefully edging past them toward me. Regan pops up from her seat to make room. For one fleeting second, I think he’s going to do exactly as he did last night and toss me over his shoulder.
Instead, he ignores me—doesn’t even spare me a glance—but leans over me to get the attention of the fans to my left whom I’d barely paid attention to.
I take them in. A group—two men and two women—approximately my age, all wearing Vengeance jerseys.
Dominik shifts over me a bit more to reach out a hand. “Pardon the interruption… not sure if you know who I am—”
One man jumps up. “Dominik Carlson,” he exclaims, shaking Dominik’s hand enthusiastically.
“Bingo,” Dominik replies with a laugh. “And I’d like to offer the four of you the opportunity to sit in the owner’s box for the game. Any interest? There’s free food and liquor.”