Forty-five minutes later, I’m double parked in front of Indie’s Bucktown brownstone. Putting the flashers on, I get out and jog up to the door, rapping it with my knuckles. Stuffing my hands in my pockets to keep them warm and from fidgeting too much, I wait for one of the girls to answer. I’m about to knock again when the door is thrown open by Indie.
“What’s up, asshat? Haven’t seen you in a hot minute. Who you been hidin’ in?” she cracks, leaning against the doorframe.
“Yo mama! Now let me the fuck in – it’s cold out here, Jones!”
Pushing past her, I notice a rolling carryon bag in the foyer.
“You going somewhere?”
“Yeah, I have a wedding that I got roped into planning for a friend. I’ll only be gone over night though,” she says, leading me into her kitchen.
“So that means Frankie will be here alone?” I hate the idea of her here by herself with Andrew still off the grid.
“Yeah, I know. I don’t like it either. What are you guys doing tonight? Just the game? Can you take her home with you?” Indie asks, handing me a beer.
“I’m going to have to—there’s no way I’m letting her stay here on her own.”
“That’s what I was banking on. I was going to call you to figure it out, but she said you were picking her up, so I figured we could work it out then.”
“Work what out?” Frankie walks in and I stop, bottle halfway to my mouth and stare.
How the fuck did I forget how beautiful my girl is in the few days that I haven’t seen her? She’s got her hair pulled back in a ponytail, what I call her hooker hoop earrings in, and the new necklace I got her for her birthday. Her jeans—fuck me—her jeans, they’re soft and worn looking, nearly white in places and I’m pretty sure they were painted on. As if her jeans aren’t hard on inducing enough, she has on black and red stilettos that have these corset-looking laces tied into a bow up the back.
They are probably the hottest fucking things I’ve ever seen in my life—ever.
Placing the bottle down on the island, I adjust my now-hard cock behind my zipper before I walk over to where she’s standing next to Indie sharing a beer. Her question forgotten in her quest for a drink, thank fuck.
“Nice shirt there, Tits McGee,” I say, gesturing with my chin at her jersey-style Blackhawks shirt and impressive cleavage.
Taking her hand and flipping it palm side up so that I can kiss my spot, I can’t help but inhale her scent and smile against the delicate skin of her wrist when her breath catches.
Pulling her hand out of mine, she reaches for Indie’s beer and takes a sip, licking a lingering drop from her bottom lip, causing my already rigid cock to harden further.
“Shut up, Deac, you know I hate when you call me that.” Laughing, she turns her attention to Indie. “Don’t worry about waiting up. It’s going to be a late night and I know you’re on deadline.”
“Doll, I’m leaving for the night, remember?” Indie reminds, pulling the ends tight on the purple bandana holding her hair in place and adjusting her glasses.
With a small frown, Frankie nods. “That’s right, Cara’s wedding, I forgot. Okay, well, then I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then.”
She gives her a hug and says goodbye. Over Indie’s shoulder, I see Frankie biting the inside of her lip, her mind clearly working, and decide that instead of hashing this out with her here and now, I’ll just take her to my place after the game and deal then.
“All right, Jones, we’re outta here. Have fun and drive safe, yeah?” I wink and give her a small nod.
“Have a good time, you crazy kids. Take care of our girl, Deacon,” Indie says as we head for the door.
Helping Frankie on with her coat, I nod and wave one more time as I usher her out the door and into my illegally parked and thankfully not towed Range Rover. Closing her door, I make it around to my side and slide in.
“You ready for some hockey, Princess?”
“Hell, yes, and some nachos.”
Shaking my head and laughing at her, I put the truck in gear and head to the UC.
“That’s my girl.”
We make it through the throngs of people to our level with about thirty minutes to spare. I hand the two tickets my brothers or dad won’t be using over to Frankie once they’ve been scanned.
“You heading to standing room only with these?”
“Yep. You going to grab beer?” she asks, walking backwards toward the stairs that will take her up to the third level.
“Of course.”
“Don’t forget my nachos. Jalapenos and extra, extra cheese. Oh, and popcorn!” Frankie yells over the crowd.
“I know what to get.” Smiling at her, I turn to get into one of the long ass lines when a thought occurs to me.
“Frankie!”
I whistle loudly, getting her attention and that of a few dozen other people. Smooth move, dumbass. Leaving the line, I jog over to where she’s waiting on the stairs.
“You shouldn’t go up there alone. I’ll go with you and we can grab our food when you’re done doing your thing.”
“Deacon, it’s fine. You would never let anything happen to me and there are over twenty thousand people here. I’ll be okay. Andrew hates hockey anyway,” she tells me, trying to lighten things up, even though I can see a trace of worry in her eyes. “I’ll probably beat you to our seat. I promise to stay put.”
I nod my head in agreement, even though I don’t like it. “All right, just be careful, yeah? I’ll see you in a few.”
Blowing me a kiss, she goes on her usual mission of giving away two seats on the first level against the glass to someone up in the nosebleed section. She does it every time we have extra tickets. I usually just hand them off to the first dad I see with his kid or a couple of hot chicks. That little move has gotten me more ass than I care to admit. Not my girl though—she likes to go search someone out.
About a minute before the anthem starts, which is just as big a deal as the actual game in the Mad House, I make my way to our seats loaded down with all of our shit. Lifting my chin in greeting to the other season ticket holders that sit around us, I can’t help but laugh at who Frankie is sitting with. She managed to find a couple decked out in head to toe Hawks gear. I mean, Head. To. Toe. I wouldn’t be surprised if they were wearing matching underwear. The man even has his face painted black and red.
We have prime seats—center ice on the glass and the first four seats in the row, which means I can sit on the aisle and not worry about my long ass legs being too cramped.
“Hey, Princess, who’re your friends?” I ask, handing her the nachos and popcorn so that I can sit down without spilling our beers and other goodies.
“Deacon, this is Paula and her husband, Steven. They’ve never been to a game before,” she says, beaming at me.
She loves this and I love her for it.
Reaching out my hand, I shake theirs in turn. That’s all we have time for before Jim Cornelison is being announced to begin singing and the roar of the crowd drowns out everything else.
Two periods fly by. The game is fast paced, straight up “old school” hockey. Seconds before intermission, the Hawks score, and “Chelsea Dagger” fills the arena, bringing everyone to their feet, high fives all around. Paula and Steven are jumping up and down, making Frankie smile even brighter. Turning my way, she gives me a wink, and just that has me fighting the urge to scoop her up and kiss the hell out of my girl right here in front of the whole damn place.
After turning down the offer to “shoot the puck,” a little intermission time killer they do with local celebrities and athletes, I settle in next to Frankie and throw my arm over the back of her chair, leaning in to talk to her.
“I missed this,” I tell her, my lips against her ear so that I can be heard over the crowd.
Frankie dips her head slightly, her hair falling over one shoulder, nodding before looking at me.
I can see that she is going to say something, so I lean down, tucking my loose hair behind my ear, putting her mouth only inches from the side of my face.
“Me too, Deac. I feel like we haven’t seen each other at all lately.” Her warm breath fans over my face.
I’m just about to say something in return, when I feel someone nudging me in the back and pointing over my shoulder toward the ceiling, yelling something that I can’t make out. Looking to where he is pointing, I see that Frankie and I have been captured by the Kiss Cam and we’re on the Jumbotron. I bump her leg with mine to bring her attention to the screen and raise my eyebrows at her suggestively, a smirk lifting my lip waiting for her answer to my silent invitation. She shakes her head no, laughing the whole while, but when the crowd starts to chant “KISS HIM! KISS HIM!” she has no choice but to kiss me. I turn my face offering her my cheek, tapping the stubble roughened area right above my jaw, then at the very last second I pull the man move and turn my head quickly, catching her lips with mine in what starts out as a very innocent kiss. The moment our mouths meet, I know I’ve fucked up. There is no way this little peck will be enough and without a moment’s hesitation I deepen the kiss, slanting my mouth over hers, my hand fisting in her ponytail, using it to guide her. I lick at her bottom lip tasting the salt from the popcorn, begging for entrance, and I would’ve gotten it too, had the twenty-two thousand other people in the room not exploded into loud catcalls and whistles. Cockblocks, all of them. I allow her to pull back and hide her face, while I throw my head back, laughing at her embarrassment, adjusting in my seat to try and alleviate the rock solid hard on one kiss has caused.
Midway through the third period as she’s explaining a penalty to Paula, I take hold of her hand, placing a kiss to my spot and then settling it on my thigh. I can feel her eyes on me, but I never take my gaze from the game. If it makes her uncomfortable, she doesn’t say and doesn’t remove her hand until the Hawks score again and we all jump to our feet in excitement. Steven leans over, raising his hand for a high-five over Frankie’s head. She smiles up at me and throws me a little hip bump, mouthing thank you. I bend down and cover her lips briefly with mine, startling her with the quick kiss. I feel the need to throw her off balance, just as she’s done to me without even trying.
The car ride back to my place is quiet, not exactly awkward but close enough. I’m waiting for her to notice that we aren’t heading back to Bucktown and Indie’s place, but she hasn’t yet, so I leave it be. Turning the radio up, she says, “Ooh, I love this song, we’ll have to check them out when they’re in town next.”
“Who is it?”
“It’s Neon Trees, ‘Everybody Talks.’ It’s one of my favorite songs on their album. This one and this one,” she says, grabbing my phone from the cup holder. Cranking the volume, she starts dancing in her seat to the song she queued up and then stops abruptly as the song’s lyrics fill the cab.
“‘Sleeping with a friend,’ huh?” I throw her a cocky smile enjoying her embarrassment for the second time that night. “Great choice, I think this might be my new favorite song.” Winking at her, I turn the volume up even higher and drum along with the beat. Probably not smart to get her fired up since she’s going to be plenty pissed when she finds out I’m not taking her home. I can’t help it though -- it’s too much fun making her blush.