Chapter 20

Duncan and Marc left Monday for a Tuesday night game in Detroit, then came back Wednesday. It was a heartbreaking loss in a shoot-out in overtime, but the Aces had played really well. They had to be happy with that, but losing was never fun. Watching the game, Lovey knew Marc would not be satisfied.

She spent Wednesday afternoon out looking for topics for her blog, taking photographs, and exploring. Then it started to snow and she headed back to the condo.

When she got home, Marc and Duncan were there. The music of Van Halen blasted on Duncan’s stereo system. Marc stood in front of the washing machine loading clothes into it. As usual, their eye contact was loaded and hot as they greeted each other casually.

“So.” She climbed onto a stool at the kitchen island. “You guys played great.”

“We lost.”

“I know. You have to be positive though, right? You did some good things. You’re back on track.”

“You’re right. Have to focus on the positive. There has been a big change in the dressing room. What were you up to?”

She told him what she’d been doing. Duncan came and poured himself a glass of milk. She took in his dark pants and dress shirt. “What’s up with the fancy clothes?”

“Going out.”

“With the model again?” She leaned in.

“Yeah.”

“Whoa. Two dates with the same girl. This is serious!”

“Eh.” Duncan lifted his chin at Marc. “What’s with you? You haven’t had a date in weeks.”

Marc and Lovey’s eyes met with a little jolt of electricity, but they both looked away immediately. It was true. He hadn’t been out with anyone else. Possibly because they’d been banging their brains out with each other every chance they got.

What would she do if he went out with someone else? They were just having casual, convenient sex. Well, sometimes it wasn’t at their convenience, it was more dependent on Duncan’s social life. But still.

She found she didn’t really like the idea of Marc seeing someone else.

“Dry spell.” Marc gave a cocky grin. “Also I’m very focused right now on my career. Unlike some people.”

“Fuck off, I’m focused. I’m allowed to have a social life.”

Marc grinned and Lovey knew he was just yanking Duncan’s chain. Especially after Duncan had totally deflected attention from his sex life to Marc’s. Or Marc’s lack of sex. Which she and Marc both knew wasn’t exactly the case.

Damn. She sighed.

Then she regrouped. The positive was, Duncan was going out. Which meant while he was out boinking some model, she and Marc could have their own hot, sweaty boinking session. Yay.

She lifted her gaze to Marc, and once again, the connection snapped between them. Yup. He was thinking the same thing she was.

“We’re going for dinner at The Cellar.” Duncan finished his milk and set the glass on the counter.

“Put it in the dishwasher.” Lovey nodded.

He grumbled but did so.

“It must be a swank place for you to ditch the jeans and baseball cap,” Lovey said. “You look nice, by the way. Other than the beard.”

“Uh. Thanks. Okay, I’m outta here. Stay out of trouble, kids.”

Now Marc rolled his eyes. Lovey laughed.

When the door closed behind him, she looked at Marc. “If he only knew.”

He didn’t smile at her teasing comment. “This is getting kind of old.”

“What is?”

“Sneaking around behind his back.”

She sighed. “Yeah. I hear you. But what can we do?”

“He hasn’t actually said anything for a while. As in, warning me off. And at the party Sunday night, I was waiting for him to say something to Ryan when he was flirting with you.”

“He was not flirting with me!”

“Oh, hell yeah, he was.”

“He’s twenty-two years old!”

“Big whoop. Two years younger than you.”

She eyed him. “Were you jealous?”

“No.” He broke eye contact and spoke to the floor. “I was just waiting for Duncan to go all protective big brother on his ass. It didn’t happen.” He crossed his arms and looked at her again. “Maybe he’s accepting that you’re all grown up.”

“You think?” She considered it. “Nah. But what are we talking about him for?” She hopped off the stool and sauntered over to him. “He’s gone. And you know what that means…the mouse is gone, the cats can play.”

He burst out laughing but reached for her hips. “I think we’re the mice, not the cats. Comme on dit en français—le chat parti, les souris dansent.”

“Oooh.” She ran her hands up his chest. “That sounds so sexy.”

“Talking about cats and mice. Not really sexy.”

“Still. It sounds sexy. I want you to take me to bed and talk dirty to me in French. Say something else.”

“Les chats me font éternuer.”

“Oooh. I like it. More.”

His lips twitched. “Mon camion a un pneu à plat.”

“Yes, please,” she breathed, although she had no idea what he’d just said. He bent and slid an arm behind her legs and picked her up. She grabbed his shoulders, which were shaking with laughter.

“What did you say?” She narrowed her eyes.

“Which?”

“Both.”

He carried her to his room. “First I said cats make me sneeze. Then I said my truck has a flat tire.”

“Oh shoo.” She smacked his shoulder but had to laugh too.

In the bedroom he lowered her feet to the floor, wincing.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Just a few sore muscles. A few hard hits into the boards last night.”

“Oh.” She ran her hands over his shoulders and biceps. “Where does it hurt?”

“Everywhere.”

“I know what you need. A massage.”

“I had a massage.” He paused. “Wait, are you offering?”

“Um, yeah.”

He grinned. “Okay, that was stupid, wasn’t it? I’m going to turn down a massage from you? I don’t think so.”

“I have a massage bar.” She whirled around. “Be right back.”

She went into her room and retrieved the wrapped bar that melted easily on warm skin.

“It’s edible,” she shared, unwrapping it to show him.

“Don’t even tell me why you have that,” he muttered, pulling his T-shirt over his head. “Don’t wanna know.”

She smiled. “Okay.” Let him worry about that. “All your clothes off, and then lie on your stomach on the bed.”

“Are you going to be naked too?”

“Do you want me to be?”

“Fuck yeah.”

“Okay.” She undressed too. She watched him grab a condom from the drawer before he lay down. “Ha. This is a massage. Getting a bit ahead of yourself with the condom there, hockey boy.”

He smirked. “If you say so. Toujours prêt!”

“And what does that mean?” She climbed onto the bed and straddled his hips.

“It’s the Boy Scout motto. Toujours prêt!”

“Be prepared. Ah. I get it.” She rubbed the bar over his shoulders and upper back. “Were you seriously a Boy Scout?”

“Sure. For a while. Then hockey started taking too much time.”

She began kneading big, tight muscles, finding tight spots and digging her fingers in.

“Câlisse,” he said and groaned. “That feels good.”

She smiled and kept massaging, working over each arm all the way to his hands, then down his back. Her hands were starting to get tired but she wasn’t quite finished yet. She rubbed his lower back, then shifted down his thighs to squeeze his ass. She sighed with pleasure. “Your ass is really nice.”

He groaned into the pillow beneath his head. “You’re killing me, Lovey.”

She massaged there too, big, taut, powerful muscles. She started to wriggle because she was getting turned on. “Want me to do your front?”

He lifted his head. “I don’t know if that’s going to work. I’m hard as a fucking goal post.”

“I can massage that too.”

He made a choked sound but rolled over. Yep. His erection was thick and stiff and so beautiful. She licked her lips and rubbed the massage bar over his pecs, starting there, but that massive erection was distracting and in her way. She rubbed his chest, bringing forth more groans, caressed his abs, and then, her hands slick, wrapped them both around his cock.