EIGHT
Isobel couldn’t take her eyes off the perfect breasts being shoved in her face. Similarly, the body attached to those breasts was a work of art. Gilded skin, curves in all the right places, a hint of glitter over the décolletage.
“You havin’ fun, hun?” the perfect specimen asked, and there it was—that revealing bobble of an Adam’s apple.
Isobel nodded dumbly, placed a dollar bill in the performer’s G-string, and watched the hip swivel that took her away to a table of rowdy bachelorettes.
She turned to Harper, who was eyeing the proceedings at the Kit Kat Lounge and Supper Club, Chicago’s premier drag bar, over her martini glass. “I’m not sure if I should be jealous of that body or think seriously about my sexual orientation.”
“No reason why you can’t be both,” her older sister mused. “She’s hot.”
Violet popped a truffle fry into her mouth and groaned. “Too. Good. But y’know, if you’re leaning that way it might make things easier—or explain a lot.”
Lesbianism would really be the simplest solution. Women were a lot less needy.
Harper asked, “So how’s Gerry?”
Isobel made a face at Harper, who responded with, “Just asking.”
Violet looked puzzled. “What am I missing?”
“All allusions to lesbianism come with the obligatory ask after my mom’s health.” Isobel leaned in and cupped her hand over her mouth. “Because my mom’s a lesbian.”
“I didn’t know that!” Violet threw a look of giddy glee at Harper. “But I thought she was remarried to some guy called Danny and playing golf in Scottsdale.”
“Dani is a woman. When my parents divorced five years ago, she finally came out.”
Harper chuckled evilly. “Cliff was pissed.”
More than pissed. The notion that the gold-medal-winning ice skater he left Harper’s mom for faked her way—in every possible way—through her marriage had made him livid with rage. What did the man expect when he’d chosen his second wife like a man chooses a breeding mare? Ice-skating pedigree. Check. Childbearing hips. Check. The rest. Who cares?
As for why her mother had not only hidden who she was but also married a brute NHL enforcer—and wrecked another home in the process—Isobel had never really obtained a satisfactory answer.
I had sponsorships, Izzy, expectations of my sexuality because of my career in ice-skating. And your father was very persuasive . . .
God save us from alpha dickheads who could make women “forget” they were lesbians. Isobel was determined she wouldn’t make her mother’s mistakes. Not that she was hiding who she was, but she wanted control over her life. And that included both her professional life and her sex life.
She was still mulling over Vadim’s “warning” about getting involved with Kelly. What business was it of his—of any of the team—whom she dated? And while he half seduced her with all that Russian ferocity at this morning’s practice? The nerve of this jerk.
Affirming the soundness of her internal process, Chaka Khan’s “I’m Every Woman” came on, sending the bachelorettes at the next table into a frenzy.
“So I have a hypothetical.”
Harper raised an eyebrow. “Go on.”
“Let’s imagine there’s this guy who on paper looks like he could check all the boxes. Good-looking, common interests, easy to talk to, and best of all—”
“Hung like a horse?” Violet offered.
“Interested in me.”
Harper and Vi looked suspicious, wondering about the catch.
“There doesn’t seem to be any problem—”
“Except . . .” Harper did her eyebrow thing again. Tomes were communicated.
“Being with him might start people gossiping.”
Violet pointed. “You sneaky cur! Is some bangin’ hockey player trying to get in your sweatpants?”
“No. This is hypothetical. There’s this guy I sort of like—not a player!” She glared at Harper, who was giving off her patented Harper Does Not Approve look. Hypocrisy levels through the roof. “But it might look like I’m using him to get ahead in my career.”
Harper sucked down a mouthful of martini. “Would you be?”
It had never occurred to her until Vadim Petrov had opened his big, sexy mouth.
“No. I actually like him.”
“This guy”—Violet squinted—“it’s not Moretti, is it? Because he’s playin’ golf with your momma, if you know what I mean.”
“I know that, but daaamn, right?”
A moment of silence was offered for the female tragedy that was Dante Moretti’s homosexuality.
Vi continued. “So this guy could be the one. The one who meets all your requirements. Tall, built, looks good in a suit.”
“That sounds sort of shallow,” Isobel mumbled, though those were the specs she’d listed during a previous sister-bonding session. They also happened to fit a certain Russian to a T.
Not thinking of him.
“So he’s perfect on paper,” Harper said thoughtfully, “but you’re looking for excuses to sabotage it before you’ve even given it a chance.”
Isobel nodded with the enthusiasm of a very happy basset hound. “Basically!”
Over the sound of their laughter, Harper’s phone rang and a smile lit up her face. “Speaking of out-of-bounds players, I’m going to take this somewhere quieter.”
Watching while Harper moved out of earshot, Violet popped another truffle fry into her mouth and chewed slowly.
“You and Kelly would make beautiful babies, chica.”
Isobel’s cheeks warmed. “Let me guess. That gossip Cade Burnett.”
“You were spotted in the Empty Net weaving your tangled web.”
“Which I didn’t even know I was weaving until Kelly asked me out to dinner.”
Violet grinned, her smile so like their father’s that Isobel’s chest tightened.
“And you said?”
“Sure! Let’s do that sometime!” Her fake cheer gave way to worry. “But now that the old biddies are gossiping, I don’t want anyone thinking I’m using Kelly to get entrenched with the backroom staff.”
Violet scrunched up her face. “Why would you even think that? Did someone say something? Because Cade didn’t mention it.”
Her heart skipped a beat. “No, not at all.”
Violet visibly relaxed. “Oh, that reminds me. Tina at the Empty Net said there was a bit of a kerfuffle in the bar a couple of nights ago.”
“Kerfuffle?”
“Yeah. Vadim and Shay.”
She sat up straight. “What happened?”
“She said Vadim and Shay almost came to blows. Erik and Cade had to talk him down.”
“That’s not like him. He’s very concerned about his beautiful face.”
Violet laughed. “If I looked as hot as the Russian, I’d be worried about it getting punched, too. Cade said it was just a bit of territorialism over the left wing. Weird, right?”
Yeah. Weird. This must have happened the same night the boys were gossiping about Isobel’s “sleeping her way to success” career strategy. What was going on here?
Violet was tapping into her phone. “So, what can you tell me about Petrov? Dick-tabase-worthy or no?”
Her sister maintained a very inappropriate Tumblr dedicated to dick pics and GIFs. Isobel wondered how many of the Rebels she’d managed to inventory and how much they should set aside for the inevitable lawsuit.
“It was years ago, and I don’t remember much.” Timber!
“Have you seen his underwear ad?” Violet shoved the phone up close in Isobel’s face, leaving her no choice but to take it so Vadim’s package wasn’t melting her face Indiana Jones style. She examined where Violet had zoomed in, right on the mouthwatering ridge pressing against the thin cotton.
Her sister pointed at the image. “Left curve. Nice girth. And looks like they had a fluffer on set for the shoot.”
“I doubt it.”
Violet snatched the phone away before Isobel could embarrass herself. “So, you do remember! I’m tellin’ ya, if the Russian wasn’t a walking example of false advertising with the no-no on the oh-oh, I’d be telling you to hit that till you can hit it no more.”
“We have rules.”
Violet was momentarily distracted by a Beyoncé impersonator, who looked far too good in a sparkly leotard as she belted out “Single Ladies.”
She turned back to Isobel. “You’re taking your cue from Harper ‘I bought him, I own him, I’m fucking him’ Chase? There’s this cavalcade of hot-assed muscle at your fingertips. Why the hell shouldn’t you be taking advantage of the perks of team ownership?”
“Like you and Cade?”
She smiled regally, which immediately made Isobel suspicious. While Vi had a lot going for her, regal wasn’t really in her wheelhouse. “The Texan has a zillion problems that not even someone as amazing as me can solve. I’m looking for something a bit more compelling. A fixer-upper.”
Like a certain brooder of a captain with a Scottish accent, a six-month AA chip, and more baggage than could fit in the hold of a 747. Everyone had noticed Violet teasing Bren St. James and how he glared at her like she was something on the sole of his shoe. Isobel couldn’t help thinking Vi was setting herself up for heartbreak, though. Men were incapable of fundamental change—she’d witnessed it with her father, a philanderer who never saw a puck bunny he didn’t want to pet.
Hockey player was just another synonym for cheater.
“Look, I’m going to say something here,” Isobel said. “About dating hockey players.”
Violet groaned. “This again.”
“This isn’t just because of us being team owners and how it’s an ethical minefield, though it is. I would tell you this even if that wasn’t the case. Hockey players have the toughest schedules in all of professional sports. Half the season they’re on the road during the coldest months of the year, which means they’re usually looking for a warm body.”
Her sister grinned and raised a hand. “I volunteer as tribute.”
Isobel remained serious. “The problem is when your feelings go beyond that. You’ll end up falling for one, but his schedule won’t change. Now you’re a wife and/or girlfriend, hanging out with the other WAGs, all of you feeding this vicious cycle of ‘what’s he doing in Denver?’ or ‘the game was over thirty minutes ago, why isn’t he answering his phone?’ I’ve hung with minor league players for the last two years, and even those little shits are playing away. I dated two guys in college who, yep, you guessed it, cheated on me. That’s how my father met my mom, Vi. At an away game in Philly while he was married to Harper’s mom.”
“That’s how he met mine, Iz.”
Isobel’s heart sank to the floor. Of course, Violet would know that. She was the result of a one-night stand in Vegas.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to imply your conception wasn’t a beautiful thing.”
Violet was all mock affront. “How dare you? The heavens opened in chorus as soon as Cliffie’s sperm top-shelfed right into my mom’s egg!”
That set them both off into giggles. Isobel had tried to encourage Vi to talk about how she felt on the subject of deadbeat dads, but the girl always deflected with humor.
Violet grasped Isobel’s hand. “You know how I said this was the year of the V, in all the ways that can be taken? I’m not combing the Rebels’ classifieds looking for open WAG positions. I just want to have a good time.”
Isobel squeezed her sister’s hand back. Violet was a breast cancer survivor, something she’d only recently shared with them, and she was grabbing life by the reconstructed tits. It was admirable, and while Isobel had had her own brush with mortality on the ice a couple of years ago, she had handled it differently. Turned inward and lost all her confidence. She didn’t feel like that girl who had her whole life spread out before her like a success buffet.
Silver, Izzy? Clifford’s voice boomed in her head, and she tried to filter out the tinge of disappointment in his tone. Next time, you’ll get gold.
Those who can’t, coach.
Or perhaps, those who can’t, figure out a way to get back on the ice and win for Team USA.
No, a man wasn’t the answer, not even a cute, nonthreatening trainer. Why not take a page from the Book of Violet and make this her year?
Not to get some, but to get some piece of herself back.