Chapter Six

Karrie

Holy. Fucking. Shit. I take my phone out from under the blanket and text Vivienne.

I think Matthew just said he wanted to eat my vagina!!

Her text comes back right away.

What do you mean?

He said that ‘Whenever you’re around, I’m suddenly famished. Like I haven’t eaten for days.’ Does that mean he wants to eat my vagina?

I don’t know. Hey, go to the kitchen table, get on it, and lie down naked and see what happens!

Are you insane?

No, I’m trying to get my best friend laid and find out if he’s packing.

Oh, he’s definitely packing. He ‘dropped’ his towel today. NAKED.

Jesus, it’s not even fucking eight o’clock in the morning and you’ve had more action than I’ve had in a month. And I’m French.

“Come and eat, your highness.” I hear from the back of the house.

I drop my phone like I’m holding a hot potato. I get up, walking into the kitchen where he’s standing buttering toast. “I made more coffee,” he tells me, pointing to my plate that he put on the counter.

I assess the omelet on the plate. It looks mouthwatering. “What’s inside?” I ask, sitting on one of the stools at the counter nook.

“Onions, spinach, asparagus, mushrooms, Swiss cheese, some ham.” He sits next to me, digging in.

“I’ve never had a man cook for me. Well, except my dad, but that was few and far between.” I cut a piece and groan the minute I chew into it. “It’s so good.” I don’t even look over at him. I just continue eating.

“I’ve never cooked for a woman. Well, except my sisters and on occasion my mom.” He laughs. “Mother’s Day.”

We continue eating in silence, both of us just enjoying the meal. When he gets up, he takes my plate and puts it in the dishwasher. He also starts cleaning up the mess he made, but I get up.

“Okay, new rule, if you cook you don’t clean. So beat it, Grant.” I motion with my thumb toward the door. I’m expecting him to go back to the living room, but he surprises me by sitting on the stool. “What are you doing?” I ask him while I start throwing the things in the garbage.

“I’m going to enjoy my coffee while I watch you clean.” He takes a sip of coffee, then smiles and puts it down. “I might also hope you bend over.”

I stop what I'm doing to glare at him.

“What?” he asks when I continue glaring at him, but all he does is shrug his shoulders.

I start mumbling under my breath. “Pig.” While I wet a rag, “asshole,” squeezing the water out, “like I’m a piece of meat,” turning to wipe down the counter, “just going to sit there. Staring.”

“You know I can hear you, right?” he asks me, but I ignore him and the laugh that comes out of him. When I finally finish everything, I start the dishwasher. “We leave at four,” he says right before he gets up and walks out of the room.

I watch his retreating back.

I throw the wet rag in the laundry basket before going back to the living room to continue watching television. I open my Instagram and start scrolling through the feed. I type in Matthew’s name, but since it’s set to private I can’t see anything. I try to zoom in on the little circle picture in the corner, but I can’t see anything. It looks like he’s in his equipment, but I’m not sure.

“Babe!” I hear him yell from upstairs, making me close the app in case he comes down the stairs.

I pick up the remote, flipping through the channels till I hear him yell again.

“Babe!”

I shake my head. I don’t know who he’s talking to, so I turn the television louder and giggle to myself when I hear him running down the stairs.

“Babe,” he says once he gets in the room, walking over to me. “I’m calling you.”

“Really?” I say, muting the television. “I didn’t hear my name. I heard something, but I didn’t know who you were talking to.”

“Babe,” he says again. “My parents aren’t coming.”

I turn off the television. “What happened?” Worry sets in.

“Nothing really. Justin, my youngest brother, fell on the ice and his cage lifted up, and he has to have stitches and Mom doesn’t feel right about leaving him.”

My hand flies to my chest. “Is he okay?”

“Yeah, he’s fine. They are already home.” He sits down, grabbing the remote from me and switching it to the sports channel. We aren’t even on the channel for long before his name is brought up.

“Today is the day to see if New York actually made a mistake by signing the washed-up Matthew Grant.”

“Oh, please,” I say out loud, looking over at Matthew, watching his eyebrows pinch together while the two reporters go on and on about the pros and cons of having Matthew here. I can’t stand to listen to the bullshit, so I reach over and snatch the remote from his hand, turning the television off. “Assholes.” I get up, throwing the remote on the table, sitting on the table in front of Matthew. “Listen to me. Don’t let them get in your head.” When he doesn't say anything I continue, “If anyone is getting in that thick headed skull of yours it's me.” Nothing. He just blinks. “You get me, babe?” I throw in the babe to try and get him to focus on my words. I know I reach him when he smiles. His eyes light up, the sides of his eyes crinkling. “Now we need to get ready. You need to go pack and get in the zone. Or whatever you guys do. But you won’t give those two wannabes any other thought.”

“You like me.” Is the only thing he says.

“Seriously, after that whole speech that’s what you get?” I get up, walking out of the room, turning once I get to the first step. “You better not make me look bad by sulking.” I storm up the stairs to my room.

I make my bed, going over a to-do list in my head when I hear a beep alerting me of a text. Picking it up, I see it’s from Vivienne.

Salope!!!

I laugh because it’s the French word for slut. I answer her back.

It takes one to know one.

Touché, mon amie. So did he get to eat his breakfast?

He made us omelets. I’m packing now.

Omelets doesn’t sound like pussy. Is that an English term? She follows with the crying emoji.

I’m rolling my eyes. Can you hear them? When I get back, we need to have coffee.

Oui, madame. Don’t forget to not pack undies.

See you soon. Stay out of trouble.

Moi? Jamais! Me never.

I throw my phone on my bed, going to my closet, and getting my small overnight bag, throwing panties, bras, jeans, and also PJs in it. After my shower, I close up my toiletry bag and dump it into the bag. I look at the clock, wondering how much time I have. I notice it’s already three, so I decide to do my hair and light makeup. This is the first time I’m traveling with the team. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to dress, so I go for business casual.

Once I set my hair in waves I walk over, grabbing my tan pencil skirt that reaches me just below my knee. I grab a black silk button-down shirt that goes up to my elbows. I pair it with a thin gold belt and my black Louboutins. I grab a black leather dressy jacket for after the game. I finally zip up my bag and head downstairs, spotting Matthew in the living room already dressed.

He’s sitting with his elbows on his knees with his hands crossed, his head down on the bench that’s right in front of the window. I walk in and he doesn’t even raise his head. Suddenly a knot forms in my chest. I stop in front of him and put my hand on his shoulder. He’s wearing a plain black suit, his white shirt underneath. The smell of his rich cologne fills the room. “Hey,” I say quietly.

He looks up, his eyes troubled, a dark brown, so dark they look black.

“What's the matter?”

“I’m fucking scared,” he finally whispers out. “What if I fuck up? What if I choke? What if I go out there and I’m really not set for this game? What if this is the end for me?”

I’ve always gotten the strong vibe from him. He’s always carried such a presence about him, a cockiness, but this vulnerability just makes him that much more amazing.

“You can’t fuck up.” My hand rubs his shoulder. “The only thing you can do is prove them wrong. Go out there and skate like you never skated before, all the while chanting ‘fuck you’ in your head.”

He smiles at me, his eyes becoming lighter.

“Do you think my father would do this if he didn’t believe in you? You think everyone would be taking a chance on you if you weren’t that good?” I shake my head. “It’s because you're that good that people want to knock you down.”

“My parents are always the ones to talk me down, always there to cheer me on. I guess them not being here is bugging me more than I thought.” He grabs the hand that’s hanging by my side in his. “Will you be in the stands tonight?”

“There isn’t any place I’d rather be.” I smile at him while he squeezes my hand. “Would it help if I wore a jersey with your name on it?”

“You would do that for me, babe?” He tries to hide his laugh, and I push him away with my hand.

“Not anymore.” I look out and see that the car is here to bring us in. “Now let's go show them that Matthew Grant is back. With a vengeance.” I grab my jacket, putting it on and grabbing my purse.

“You look hot,” he says, standing up, and I finally see all of him. His jacket is tight around his arms. His tie is a skinny black. He’s perfection, complete and utter perfection.

“You're not bad yourself.” I smile at him. “Now grab the bags and let's go.” I point to the bags at the door, waiting for him to walk out before locking up.

The drive to the arena is quiet. We just look out and I don’t move my hand when I feel his on top of mine. I let him have this because I know he needs it, and if I’m honest, the butterflies in my stomach stop me also.

When we get into the arena, there’s already a camera crew waiting to capture this moment. Matthew opens his door, stepping out, the pictures snapping already. I get out from my side, hiding behind him, but he stops so I can walk by his side, his hand going to the small of my back when we make it through the doors that will lead him to the locker room. I don’t have time to say anything to him because Robert is here waiting for him.

“There he is.” He shakes his hand while slapping him on the shoulder. “Ready to do this?”

Matthew smiles at me. “I am now.” He winks at me, making me roll my eyes, and walks down the hallway.

I lean against the wall, catching my breath. The public relations girl, Mindy, comes up to find me. She's dressed in a pant suit, an earpiece in her ear, with a clipboard in her hands.

“Karrie?” she asks, not sure till I smile. “I’m Mindy. I was sent by Matthew to make sure I show you around. Now I’ve emailed you all the itineraries for the next couple of months. You have a seat on the plane and the bus, you travel with the team, so please make sure you are dressed appropriately.” She smiles at me. “Also I’ve contacted the hotels and you’ll be under Matthew’s name with a connecting door. Also I have your badges for the wives’ box as well as a seat ticket in case—” She stops talking when her phone rings, and she picks it up and starts telling them there was a mistake. She moves the phone from her mouth. “If you need anything, my number is at the bottom of the email.” With that, she nods and walks away.

I finally make my way toward the hallway where I almost run into a guy who is looking down at his phone.

He’s wearing a blue suit, a navy tie, and he has a beanie on. A blond scuff on his face. “Sorry,” he says, smiling. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

I shake my head. “No worries. It’s okay.” I smile and I’m about to walk around him when he stops me with his hand on my arm.

“I’m Jamie. I play for New York.” He smiles at me, holding out his hand.

I don’t want to be rude, so I grab it and shake it.

“I’m Karrie Cooney.” The forced smile is still on my face.

“Shit, the boss’s daughter.” He laughs. “Just my luck. The only girl to pique my interest and she’s off-limits.”

I don’t say anything because a big booming voice interrupts us,

“Totally off-limits, bud.”

I look over Jamie’s shoulder, finding Matthew, who has changed out of his suit and is now in his workout gear. Jamie smiles at Matthew, walking past him, slapping him on the back.

“Got it.” Is all Jamie says, making me cross my arms.

“The nerve of him,” I grumble, turning around while I walk toward the arena where I flash my badge. I walk into the arena, stopping at the gift shop and I’m right away shocked at all the Matthew shirts that are hanging everywhere. I grab a jersey and a couple of shirts. Once I pay for the shirts, I walk out where I bump into a couple of the wives I’ve met through the years at some of the fundraising activities. I follow them into the box where we sit and have something to eat and I grab a glass of white wine.

When we hear the music come on and then the roaring, we get up to go and check what is going on. I’m not even at the door when I see Matthew’s picture on the jumbotron. His face is hard, his eyes ready while he skates around, making sure his skates are exactly how he wants them to be.

I hear a couple of girls in the box next to me. “Holy shit, he’s hotter than I thought he would be,” one of them says while another vows to find his dick size by the end of the month.

I roll my eyes while my hand itches to point the fuck you finger at them. It’s the last girl that makes me lose my shit.

“I heard his cock is like a baseball bat. I know a girl who slept with him in Cali. Well, him and another teammate tag teamed her. I think she has pictures.”

I walk away before I tell them to keep fucking dreaming.

I grab another glass of wine, taking my phone out to text Vivienne.

I can’t go to these games alone. I almost bitch slapped a girl for knowing someone who fucked Matthew.

You know it is only going to get worse. I Googled him and there are about a gazillion pictures of him but none are with any women.

LIAR.

Okay, fine, none of him with the same woman twice.

ASSHOLE.

Him or me?

Both. I’m going to check Google now.

NO. DON’T DO THAT TO YOURSELF.

I think it’s best if I don’t do it. At least not now. Maybe when we are together.

I don’t have time to think of anything else but the game because the lights go down as the singer comes out to sing the national anthem. After that it’s game on. The first period, Matthew starts on shaky legs, messing up with a pass in the neutral zone, making the other team have a breakaway. Thankfully, the goalie is on fire, stopping it. He skates to the bench, his head down, his shoulders slumped, the hockey stick taking a beating when he smashes it on the boards before sitting on the bench.

The second period they come out with the same push and pull as before till Matthew intercepts a pass at the defense line. He skates up to the puck ahead of the defenseman toe dragging the puck through his skates and coming one on one with the goalie, shooting it just above his pad, hitting the net.

The building goes crazy. The fans are on their feet. I throw my hands straight over my head, yelling at the top of my lungs. Matthew celebrates by skating with one foot bent at the knee in the front while he roars with happiness.

His teammates all go to him, celebrating with him, then they skate over to the bench, high-fiving everyone on the bench. One guy puts his glove in Matthew’s face. His smile lights up his whole face.

The smile that lights up the room is now looking directly at me. He spots me and winks. The camera catches it and everyone in the arena is thinking that it’s for them, but deep down I know it’s all for me.