I peel myself out of his arms, because I have to at least pretend to be dignified. “We complicated our lives again,” I explain. “It’s messy.”
“Well, I hear what you’re saying,” he says softly. “But last night it seemed pretty simple. And I have no regrets. Do you?”
As if that’s an easy question. I will regret this. But right this moment, he’s watching me with those warm, hazel eyes, and I can’t bring myself to shut down that soft look he’s giving me. “No, I don’t regret it. It was a little harmless fun. Between…” I hesitate. “Friends.”
He laughs suddenly. “Hurt you to call us friends, did it?”
“No,” I lie. If I admit that Neil and I are friends, I have to admit that I was wrong about him. I’m not good at admitting I’m wrong.
He lowers his voice to a sexy growl. “I told you we’d end up in bed again.”
“Friends don’t say I told you so.”
“Touché.” He grins. “You enjoyed yourself, wifey. And I’m willing to bet you could enjoy yourself a whole lot more before our little situation ends.”
Our little situation. He means our marriage. I can’t decide if this euphemism is a kindness or a copout. “Probably,” I say primly.
“Probably,” he repeats, a smile in his voice. He smooths a hair off my forehead. “Like I’ve said before, you’re hard on my ego.”
I doubt that’s true, but it’s beside the point. “So this is a short-term thing. A little fling,” I clarify.
“It’s not that little,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows.
“Neil! I’m trying to set some ground rules here.”
Then he hugs me, damn it. I’m a tough girl, but affection—when I allow myself to enjoy it—is my Achilles heel. “A short-term fling,” he repeats. “I can work with that.”
I lean into his warmth in spite of myself. And I wonder when the regret will start to kick in.
It’s coming for me. It always does.
TWENTY-SIX
LIKE SHIPS PASSING IN THE NIGHT
Charli
It turns out that two professional athletes who are married to each other don’t actually spend that many hours together. Neil travels at least half the week, and my team has traveled the last two weekends.
When Neil first asked me to stay with him, he’d said we’d be like two ships passing in the night. He would’ve been right—if ships also spent each fleeting moment ripping each other’s clothes off and banging on every surface of the apartment.
Well, not every surface. We’ve never once resorted to that awful couch.
Still, I can barely believe my own behavior. Sometimes when Neil’s not around, I’ll stop whatever I’m doing and remember one of our crazy moments together. I’ll picture his heated gaze as he rolls over in bed to kiss me. Or the groan he makes when I drop to my knees in the shower to suck him off—
“Charli?” Sylvie nudges me with her elbow. “Are you okay?”
“Yep,” I say quickly.
“You zoned out. Want a cocktail before we pick a table?” She points across the hotel ballroom. “That bar in the corner doesn’t look too overrun.”
“Sure,” I mumble, following her across the carpeting. It’s a Sunday night, and we’re attending a charity event—Brooklyn Hockey Casino Night. Members of the public and hockey players mingle and play cards. The chips are real, but every dollar goes to the Boys and Girls Clubs of Brooklyn.
Nate and Rebecca sure know how to throw a party. The place is packed. We get in line for a drink, and I find myself gazing out over the crowd again, looking for Neil. I haven’t seen him in four days.
“Can’t find him yet?” Sylvie asks.
I turn back to her with a frown. “Who? I was just looking around.”
She rolls her eyes. “You don’t fool me at all.”
That’s disheartening, because I am really good at fooling myself.
“There he is, by the way,” Sylvie says, nudging me. “Neil just sat down at a blackjack table by the window.”
I turn my head like a lost dog looking for her master. And there he is, smiling at a teammate, peeking at the cards the dealer has just set in front of him.
“Here,” Sylvie says, pushing a glass of red wine into my hands. “Now I’m going to find my man, just like you’re going to find yours. And please give him a big fat kiss so your teammates can all stop arguing about whether or not you two are practicing for a gold medal in naked bobsledding.”
“Naked bobsledding? What the hell kind of a metaphor is that?”
She shrugs. “I can’t pretend to understand what’s in your brain, so I guess you don’t have to understand mine. I love you anyway, though.” She leans in and gives me a kiss on the cheek. Then I watch as she saunters through the crowd toward Anton.
I take a sip of my wine and make a slow circuit of the big room, pausing here and there to watch my teammates play a hand, and clapping for Samantha when she has a great roll at the craps table.
But I’m really just stalling. I’m headed for Neil, whether it’s a good idea or not. And when someone leaves the seat next to his, I drop my pretense and hustle over there to take it before anyone else can.
“Good game last night, boys,” I say, nodding at Neil’s teammate across the table as I slide into the empty seat.
“Thanks, wifey,” Neil says as I slide into the chair. “Long time no see.”
Newgate watches with a smirk as Neil leans in and gives me a chaste kiss on the cheek.
What Newgate can’t see, however, is that Neil’s hand just landed on my knee. And his fingertips are already busy stroking my inner thigh in the space between my tall boots and my short skirt. “I heard you guys beat Albany again with Sylvie in the net.”
“True story,” I say, pulling a stack of chips out of my purse. The Bombshells were given our chips, so I don’t have a financial stake here.
I’m playing for pride only. My usual currency.
“You any good at blackjack, wifey?” Neil asks casually as his thumb takes a slow tour of my thigh.
“Not a huge gambler,” I say lightly. “But once in a while it’s fun.”
Gambling is a pretty big problem for my brother. He’s always sure that he’s right around the corner from a huge win. Honestly, I don’t understand where he gets the optimism.
“Place your bets,” the dealer says.
I nudge a chip onto the better circle. Neil nudges two chips. “Oh, so it’s going to be like that?” I put a second one down to match Neil’s bet.
The dealer gives us each two cards. I’ve got a six and a seven. Neil has a nine and an eight. Newgate crows over his two face cards. The dealer gets a five.
Neil brings his naughty hand up onto the table to take a sip of his drink. As he sips, he waves his hand sideways to decline another card.
I tap the table for a hit and get a two.
Newgate beats the dealer, and I mentally wave goodbye to my two chips.
I bet one chip for the next hand and decide to get my kicks a different way—this time it’s me with a hand on Neil’s thigh. I watch my cards—they’re better this time—and I take my fingertips on a slow, teasing journey of Neil’s leg.