Chapter 3
Charlotte hung up with the Pirates' representative after ironing out details for dinner with Jordan King, wondering what she had really gotten herself into. This wasn't just her dinner. Other people would be there so it wasn't like it was a date or anything. And by there, she meant here. As in her penthouse, the place she lived that was still only half unpacked.
She was actually excited about having everyone over. Her mother was a bit too fancy and formal at times, but even Charlotte loved a good dinner party. When she first moved out of her parents' place, her mother made sure to send her daughter away with a set of china, silver and crystal. Sure, it was ostentatious, but she still found it fun to set the table in her small condo in Manhattan with all the decorative pieces, even for a quiet dinner with friends. Her place now had much more space, which allowed her to have a huge kitchen and a big table. It was just another reason why moving to a city with a much lower cost of living was actually a good choice for her.
Of course, that also meant Charlotte was going to have to unpack her fancy dishes along with everything else still in boxes. Despite the fact that she had lived there for almost a month already, she was still trying to figure out exactly where she wanted things to go before unpacking them.
There were also boxes that Charlotte was dreading, boxes she had pushed into one of the guest bedrooms, knowing she would have to sort through them at some point. This wasn't just a small move for her. She left absolutely nothing behind in New York. The extra space had allowed her to pull things out of a storage unit she had rented in Brooklyn like old report cards from school, souvenirs she had picked up from trips over the years, photos of friends and family.
Charlotte finally decided it was time to dig in and see what she had. After pouring herself a glass of wine, she sat down and started sorting. Books were set aside to go on the shelves she had installed in her office, thankful that she now had a place to actually display them. Some trinkets from college would have to remain in a box for now.
Then there was the box simply labeled "Stuff" in Charlotte's handwriting. But it wasn't just any stuff. The label had been her vanilla description for the Boyfriend Box.
Starting with her freshman year in college, she had spent a decade tossing random items into the box as she finished one relationship after another. Right on top was the bracelet Marcus had given her. She remembered throwing it in the box when she did an inventory of the storage unit a month before moving. It had been sitting on her dresser taunting her, a reminder of her latest relationship with a man she thought she could marry someday, only to have him dump her with the generic "It's not you, it's me," and no other explanation. It had been one of the reasons she had finally decided it was time to get the hell out of the city and for that, at least, she was thankful.
Charlotte kept digging through old t-shirts and postcards, love poems and... Her hand brushed against something plastic, sending shivers down her spine. Her fingers curled around the cage mask and she tugged, pulling out an old helmet from Declan. "This is for you," he explained causally when he gave it to her. "You don't want to lose any teeth and get ugly if you go skating with me."
She stared at it in her unsteady hands. It had been more than two years and Declan still had this kind of effect on her. Clammy hands, shaky arms, erratic stressed-out heartbeat.
She remembered the first time they met when she was at a party hosted by the New York Admirals' owner, who happened to be a family friend. The hockey star quietly got her number, then called the next day and asked her out.
But they never actually went "out" somewhere. Declan seemed skittish about Charlotte's fame and the reality show cameras that would occasionally follow her around. She couldn't blame him. There were times when she didn't want to be recognized either. And frankly, keeping their relationship secret was a bit of a turn on. She would sneak into his apartment building by the back stairs. He would tell her doorman that he was seeing a woman in the building but never said who. Considering the building's glitzy residents, it could've been any number of women desperate to date one of the city's most eligible athletes.
And so it went for a few months. Take-out Chinese food at his place followed by a home-cooked meal at hers. The sex was good, nothing great, but Declan's athletic body made up for his lack of focus on Charlotte in the bedroom.
Then there was that playoff game. New York suffered a heart-breaking loss in the final seconds against Chicago, ending their season, and she had gone wandering in the arena to find Declan and comfort him. Charlotte finally found him in the equipment room, his back to her as he groaned due to the pain of the loss — or at least that's what Charlotte had first assumed. But as she got closer, she realized he wasn't in pain. No, he was screwing some model against the wall by a rack of hockey sticks.
"Declan?" His name came out of her mouth half in anger, half in pain.
He turned to look over his shoulder, a sneer teasing his lips as the leggy redhead angled herself to look at Charlotte standing there, surprised to see her boyfriend doing what he was doing.
"I'm sure you can tell that you don't belong here," he told her, his voice cold and patronizing. "Unless, of course, you'd like to join us."
Charlotte stood there staring at him. She wasn't going to let him see the effect he had on her. "I'd rather not," she replied bitterly before turning and walking out as fast as she could without letting him see how much he had damaged her.
She thought he wanted to keep their relationship secret to protect it from prying eyes. She thought it was something too special to be splashed on the gossip pages of the city. Instead, she realized he just wanted to stay quiet so other women wouldn't know he had a girlfriend.
She shook her head, breaking herself out of her flash with her past and took a long drink from her wine glass. Two years and Declan still had that effect on her. When she first met Jordan King a few weeks ago, she thought about what it would be like to have his strong hands on her, his blue eyes taking her in, his muscles rippling under her touch. What could it be like to be with a hockey player who actually cared about her and treated her right? And then her memories of Declan had shoved their way back into her brain, rendering any idea of dating another hockey player completely moot.
Charlotte took the stupid helmet in her hand and stuffed it as far back down into the box as it would go, making a mental note to shove that whole thing in the darkest corner of her storage closet or, if she could find the courage, the darkest corner of her building's dumpster.
The lights were already on as Jordan made his way into the house with his suitcase in tow. A warm and inviting house to return to was one of the advantages of living with his brother.
Sure, they were both single men and living with a roommate wasn't the coolest idea, especially considering Jordan was one of the highest paid hockey players in the league and could afford this on his own. But it was something he found comfort in.
Ethan was the one who had done all he could to support Jordan when their parents were gone — one by bad chance, one by bad choice — and Jordan felt the need to return the favor now that he was a success. It seemed ridiculous to buy a big house in the suburbs with no one to share it with so he made sure to find one with two master bedrooms: one for him and one for Ethan. It wasn't easy since there weren't many homes like that around, but it was worth it.
So far, the arrangement was going well. Jordan paid the mortgage, Ethan picked up the bills and the grocery shopping, and they both chipped in for the maid service. Seriously, there was no other way the house would stay clean with two bachelors in it, and they wanted to have it looking its best when they brought women home.
It all worked because they were so similar. The brothers had the same boss to complain about and compliment since Jack Foster owned Jordan's team and the buildings Ethan took on as a redevelopment project manager. They also had the same ideas about what made a house great. Big television. Comfortable furniture. A well-stocked kitchen. Ethan always made sure there was cold beer in the fridge, especially after one of the captain's long road trips.
"You want a drink?" Jordan yelled.
"Hell yeah!" came a voice from somewhere else in the house.
He grabbed two bottles, twisting the caps off and dropping them on the counter as he headed to the dining room. Ethan was standing there, pool cue in hand as he sank the eight ball.
"Just in time," he said, reaching for the beer in Jordan's outstretched hand. "It's good to have you home, brother."
"Good to be home," he replied before taking a sip. "You know, we really need to set some rules about this pool table."
"I thought the fact that we put a pool table in the middle of our dining room meant we didn't need rules."
Jordan smiled. It really had been a genius plan to use the space in a way that it would truly be appreciated by them, but one of them appreciated it too much. "It's not fair that you're allowed to get extra practice in while I'm on the road."
"You're not home because you're on the road playing hockey."
"I'm on the road because I had to work this afternoon, which was a Sunday, in Toronto."
"Better than finally getting the weekend off after dealing with deadbeat commercial plumbers."
"Good point," Jordan replied. "New game?"
His brother racked up the balls and let Jordan take the first break as they chatted, drank and traded trash talk over the billiards table. Jordan's job gave him plenty of practice to verbally rip down his brother. Ethan's extra time at home apparently gave him plenty of practice to beat his younger sibling.
Of course, it didn't help that Ethan figured the game would be the perfect time to start grilling him on Charlotte Stone.
"She's just a fan," Jordan insisted, fingers tightening around the pool cue in his hand.
"A fan doesn't spend $61,000 to have dinner with you."
He shrugged. "It's not a romantic dinner. It's just for charity."
"Am I invited?"
"Why would you be invited?"
Ethan rolled his eyes. "That's the point. I'm not invited. It's a romantic dinner."
"I'm pretty sure there will be other people there. Just because you're not coming doesn't mean it's romantic."
"Eight ball, corner pocket," Ethan called before sinking the shot. Jordan grimaced. Yep, Ethan definitely had an unfair advantage with the extra practice. "Food?"
The pair headed back to the kitchen and Jordan grabbed a box of cold leftover pizza from the fridge. A silence fell over them as they started eating, but he knew it wouldn't be long before Ethan felt the need to say something.
"There's nothing wrong with hooking up with Charlotte if that's what you want."
And there it was. "As I have mentioned before, I have a lot of responsibility now. I don't have time for dating someone."
Ethan laughed loudly. "I wasn't suggesting you date her. I was just saying it wouldn't be a bad thing if you were interested in her." He stood up straighter and gave Jordan a curious look. "Wait, are you interested in Charlotte enough that you'd want to actually date her?"
"No," he insisted. "I mean, not that I, you know, it's just that—"
"You actually like her." Ethan shot him a teasing smile before taking another bite.
"I don't," he insisted. "It's just a charity dinner."
"You said that already."
"Because it is."
Ethan huffed and dropped his slice back in the box. "Kitchen table."
Jordan rolled his eyes. "Ethan, there's nothing more to say."
"Kitchen table."
His voice was more forceful this time, and Jordan knew exactly what that meant. He needed to sit.
The brothers had a stash of well-aged scotch in a cupboard above the fridge for emergency situations. Rough days at work. Problems with women. Talking about their parents. It was a routine they had developed after their mother left them, one that involved ginger ale until Jordan got older and they switched to the good stuff. Ethan had come up with it after he decided to take the saying, "Put it all on the table," literally. When Jordan was a teenager, it worked wonders as he tried to navigate the drastic changes in their lives. Now that he was an adult, it gave him a person who was honest with him, not some "yes" man, even if he was stubborn about it.
He just didn't want to talk about Charlotte. Not yet. But this conversation with Ethan had been brewing for a while. It was time he faced it.
Jordan watched as Ethan opened the cupboard and pulled out the scotch before grabbing two tumblers and filling them with ice and liquor.
"Take your glass," Ethan instructed.
He did as he was told and followed his brother to the table, pulling out the chair across from him.
"I know you're trying to change and be more mature now that you're the captain of the team," Ethan stated. "I don't blame you for that. But I know when you're trying to hide something, and I'm telling you that you don't need to hide your feelings for this girl if you have them."
Jordan grabbed his glass and took a long drink, hoping it would give him some courage to put his feelings into words. "This is the best team I've played for, Ethan. We have a chance to win it all this year. A good chance. And we have that chance because I'm focused on hockey."
"I'm not saying that's a bad thing. It's a good thing, a very good thing," Ethan said. "But I know you and this long dry spell of yours is not your typical M.O."
"Because I've changed."
"But are you completely shutting yourself off to something that could be good?"
He shrugged. "Is that a bad thing?"
"Yeah, it kind of is."
Jordan just drank as the kitchen got quiet, the only sound the hum of the fridge. This was normal for their table talks, a time to go back to their emotional corners and regroup. It usually led to one of them bringing up their parents, and Ethan was as predictable as always.
"When mom left—"
"Really?" Jordan growled.
"When mom left, she damaged both of us," Ethan insisted, softer this time. "But if you really like this girl, you need to take a chance on her, and it can be a real chance and not some one-night thing if you want more than that."
Jordan dropped his glass on the table, a little heavier than he expected. "Why do you keep pressing me on this? What makes you think some woman who bought dinner with me at a charity auction is now my one true love or something else fantastically stupid?"
"Because you've never been this defensive about a woman."
"She paid a lot of money at a charity auction to have dinner with me. I can't help if that was flattering."
Ethan flashed him a mischievous grin. "Why do you always act like I don't know you as well as I do?"
Jordan slouched in his chair. He was losing this battle, but this was a conversation he already had with himself. Charlotte was beautiful and unique and there was just something about her, but she was also a well-known New York socialite. Forget the prying press in Detroit. Being with someone like her would make those issues even worse. Could he actually date a woman during the best season of his career? Would the added issue that it was Charlotte Stone, the Charlotte Stone, cause more problems than a potential relationship was worth?
"What's going on in your head, brother?" Ethan asked.
"First, I'm thinking I need to finish this drink."
"That's not what I meant," he said sternly. "What about Charlotte?"
Jordan drained his glass and set it down on the table. "I'll see what happens at dinner."