5
SCARLETT
Let Me Be The One
“What a wonderful trip,” Sherise Warner declared with a contented sigh. “Reid really showed us a good time, didn’t he? Gave us the royal treatment.”
“He sure did.” Wheeling her small suitcase, Scarlett followed her mother inside the house. Her father brought up the rear, grumbling as he carried his and his wife’s luggage through the front door.
“Good Lord, woman. Your suitcase weighs a ton. When will you ever learn to pack light?”
She laughed over her shoulder. “You’ve known me for thirty years, and you’re still asking that question?”
Lavell Warner grunted, closed the door and reset the alarm.
Sherise came to Scarlett’s side, tucking her arm through hers. “I just adored Reid’s family. His parents were such gracious hosts, weren’t they? It was so nice of them to spend their Sunday showing us around and treating us to lunch. Looks like your aunt and uncle really lucked out with their future in-laws.” She gave Scarlett a conspiratorial smile. “I hope we get as lucky with your in-laws.”
“What in-laws?” Lavell demanded, turning from the alarm panel. He narrowed his eyes at Scarlett. “Something you wanna tell me?”
“No, Dad,” Scarlett said in a tone of longsuffering patience. “You already know I’m never getting married.”
“Nonsense,” her mother protested. “Of course you’re getting married. You’re too pretty to end up a spinster.”
“Really, Ma? Seriously?”
“What? It’s true.”
Scarlett shook her head in exasperation. It was too late for this convo. “I’m going to bed,” she muttered, heading toward the curved staircase.
“Don’t forget we have spin class at six.”
“Oh God,” Scarlett groaned, turning around. “Do we have to? I wanted to sleep in before I have to be at work at ten.”
“If you want to keep your girlish figure, spin class is the way to go.”
“Beating the crap out of drums has been pretty effective, too,” Scarlett said drolly.
Her mom gave her a plaintive look—the look perfected by guilt-tripping moms around the world. “Come on, Scarlett. Working out together gives us a chance to bond. You know how much I miss you when you’re on the road.”
Scarlett rolled her eyes. “Way to lay it on thick.”
Her mom grinned. “Did it work?”
“Doesn’t it always?” Scarlett kissed her parents goodnight, then dragged her suitcase up the stairs and down the hallway to her bedroom. She flipped on the light, kicked the door shut behind her and wheeled her bag to the window seat, which looked out over the landscaped backyard and kidney-shaped pool.
She’d slept in this room since she was four. It was the largest of the secondary bedrooms and had its own bathroom. Her brothers had fought over it, and rightfully it should have gone to Luke as the eldest child. But their parents gave the room to Scarlett, reasoning that, as the only girl, she shouldn’t have to share a bathroom with her sloppy older brothers.
Sometimes she loved it when sexism worked in her favor.
After toeing off her black combat boots and stripping naked, she padded to the bathroom to take a shower. She was worn out from a long day of sightseeing and traveling, and it didn’t help that she’d gotten only a few hours of sleep thanks to a certain gorgeous hockey stud. She was ready to face plant into bed, but since she had to be up super early for spin class, she might as well wash off the airplane funk now.
Of course she thought about Viggo while she showered. The memory of their kiss was seared into her mind and every inch of her body. Making out with him had left her so hot and horny that she’d masturbated herself to sleep, woke up from an erotic dream and rubbed one out again. At the rate she was going, she’d have to pull out her vibrator tonight just to get some relief. But judging by what she’d felt in Viggo’s pants, her battery-operated dick would be a colossally pathetic substitute.
After showering and brushing her teeth, she smoothed on some lotion and donned her satin bonnet. Then she threw on a pair of red boy shorts and a black T-shirt that read “Girl Drummers Do It Better.”
She turned out the lights and climbed into bed, then grabbed her phone off the nightstand. Chewing her bottom lip, she unlocked the phone and tapped her fingernail against the glowing screen.
After a few seconds she whispered, “Screw it” and pulled up Viggo’s Instagram page. She’d been following him ever since he joined IG, drooling over him from a safe distance. She was a huge fan who knew his phenomenal stats by heart and, yes, she’d fantasized about him more than she dared admit to anyone.
But it was totally harmless. She’d never sunk to the level of creeping his social media pages. She rarely visited the dozens of Pinterest and Tumblr fan pages dedicated to worshipping him. And she definitely tried to avoid the sites where puck bunnies gathered to swap stories about the players they’d banged. The last time she’d waded into the cesspool, she’d been unnerved by a girl who went into salacious detail about the size of Viggo’s dick and his superhuman stamina. A few others had backed up her claims.
Whether Scarlett liked it or not, Viggo Sandström was a superhot hockey player who drew a stampede of slobbering women wherever he went. So it was no shocker that he was massively popular online as well. He had a gazillion Instagram followers, and every picture he posted drew thousands of likes and comments. Legions of bunnies stalked his page, fawning over every image and boldly propositioning him. They took thirsty to a whole new level. Seriously.
The most recently posted photos featured the Rebels celebrating last night’s big win. They were whooping, pumping their fists and tackling one another like rambunctious little boys. The most-liked picture was of Viggo and Reid sharing a backslapping hug with the caption: Huge Congrats to The Rocket. #goal300 #fuckyeah
Reid had commented on the photo: Couldn’t do it without you, bro.
“Aww,” Scarlett cooed softly. The two friends’ bromance made her feel all warm and mushy inside.
Settling back against her pillows, she scrolled through more pictures of Viggo. There were photos of him scoring goals for Team Sweden at the World Cup of Hockey and helping the Swedish team win the silver medal at the last Winter Olympics. Another image had him racing across the ice as a pack of laughing children skated after him. It was an awesome photo that showed off his playful side and made Scarlett smile.
In another picture, he was scarfing down some sort of Swedish pastry during a trip home to Stockholm. She lingered over that one, remembering the pure satisfaction on his face when he’d bitten into the chocolate croissant and groaned with pleasure.
As her body heated at the memory, she licked her lips and kept scrolling.
Viggo’s dominance on the ice and stunning good looks had made him one of the most bankable players in any sport. He had a shitload of endorsement deals, so he was even richer than the average NHLer. His extensive list of corporate sponsors ran the gamut from Reebok to Rolex. There were several photos of him sporting the different brands. He’d also been frequently featured in GQ. In one iconic image, he was charging toward the goal wielding his hockey stick like a Viking spear. He wore a custom-tailored gray suit with a pair of skates—urbane businessman meets badass hockey warrior. The picture had over ten million likes.
The Internet was saturated with shirtless pictures of him. Ripping off his jersey and pads after a game or running through a wooded park, thick muscles rippling, sweat glistening on washboard abs, testosterone leaking from every pore. Horny women shared and tagged the beefcake pics everywhere. But none of them appeared on his Instagram. Either he didn’t want to look like an egotistical prick, or he didn’t want to crash his own page.
As Scarlett eagerly swiped from picture to picture, her phone rang. She didn’t recognize the number on the screen, but she picked up anyway. “Hello?”
“Evening,” a deep, lazy voice drawled in her ear. “Hur är det med dig?”
A rush of warmth flooded her body. She pretended to play dumb. “Who’s this?”
There was an offended silence on the other end of the phone. “How many other Swedes do you have calling you?”
A slow grin curved her mouth. “Well, let’s see. I met several while in Sweden this summer. There was Gustav and Otto—”
“You met my brothers?”
That threw her for a second. “Those aren’t your brothers’ names.”
He chuckled. “Thought you didn’t know who was calling.”
She bit her twitching lip. “It took me a minute to recognize your voice,” she lied. “You’re not the only Swede I know.”
“But I’m the only Swede you need to know.”
“Oh my,” she purred as heat curled through her belly. “So it’s like that?”
“Yeah. It’s like that.”
“But the Swedes are such lovely people. Why should I deny myself the pleasure of knowing more than just one?”
“Because I wanna be your one and only.”
“Yeah?” Scarlett grinned. It was a nonsensical conversation, but she was thoroughly enjoying it. “Tell you what. To set you apart from the others, I hereby anoint you Numero Uno. Top Dog. The Swede of all Swedes.”
“The Swede, right? Capitalized?”
Scarlett laughed. “Yes, Mr. Sandström. You are now officially The Swede. Capitalized.”
“Awesome,” he rumbled with pleasure. “I’m going to enjoy being your numero uno.”
Shivery tingles ran down her spine like the stroke of his finger. She smiled and sank deeper into the covers. “How’d you get my number, by the way?”
“Reid got it from Nadia. Seems we, ah, forgot to exchange numbers this morning.”
Scarlett grinned wickedly. “Guess we were otherwise preoccupied.”
“Indeed.” His low chuckle was deliciously sexy, warming her from the inside out.
She licked her lips. “So what was that you said in Swedish?”
“Hur är det med dig?”
“Hmm. Say it again.”
He repeated himself. “It means ‘How are you?’ Hur är det med dig?”
She haltingly repeated the words, trying to roll her tongue the way he’d done so effortlessly.
“Not bad. It takes practice and repetition, but you’ll get the hang of it.” There was a smile in his voice. “I’ll try to teach you a different word or phrase every day.”
“Awesome.” Scarlett grinned. “Will you teach me curse words, too? I wanna swear like a Swede.”
He laughed. “I’ll teach you anything you want, Scarlett.”
Her girl parts tingled as she imagined all the things he could teach her. Dirty, X-rated things that would leave her totally addicted.
“So what were you doing when I called?” he asked.
Creeping your Instagram.
She didn’t say that, of course. “Just getting ready for bed.”
“Yeah?” His voice went low. “What do you wear to bed?”
Her stomach flipped over. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“I would. That’s why I asked.”
She smiled coyly. “What’re you wearing?”
“I asked you first.”
Her smile spread. “I’m wearing flannel pajamas. Long sleeved and dotted with big yellow lollipops. They’re really warm and comfy.”
There was silence on the other end.
It was all she could do not to laugh. “Disappointed?”
“No. I’m just trying to picture you in flannel pajamas.” He actually sounded intrigued. “I bet you look sexy as hell.”
Scarlett laughed. “Yeah. Sure.”
“I’m serious,” he drawled. “You’d look sexy in anything. Even flannel pj’s.” He paused. “I wish I could see you right now.”
Heated tingles raced down her spine, spreading through her fingers and toes. Suddenly her skin was so sensitive that even the brush of her cotton sheets aroused her.
“I wish you were here, too,” she admitted.
“Do you?”
“I do.” She grinned wryly. “At the risk of sounding crass, you kinda gave me the female equivalent of blue balls.”
A shout of deep laughter erupted over the phone.
The sound made her smile, even as she pretended to take umbrage. “Glad you find my suffering so amusing.”
“Oh, I’m not laughing at you, babe. I’m commiserating.”
“Commiserating, huh?”
“Absolutely. That kiss…Let’s just say I’ve been in a world of hurt all fucking day.”
Scarlett grinned. “Really?”
“Like you wouldn’t believe. Shit, I’m still hurting.”
His words sent a bolt of lust straight to her core. She bit her bottom lip and let her hand roam down to her stomach, stopping just above the waistband of her boy shorts. “Are you in bed right now?”
“I am,” he murmured.
“What’re you wearing?”
“Nothing.”
The muscles clenched between her thighs. “You sleep naked?”
“Sometimes.”
She could hear him smiling. Closing her eyes, she pictured him lying naked in bed, all muscly and sexy with tousled hair and his eyelids at half-mast, his deep voice floating through the darkness of his bedroom. She wondered if he had his hand under the covers, stroking himself as he talked to her. The thought turned her on even more.
She was seconds away from shoving her own hand down her shorts when he spoke again. “What’re you doing tomorrow?”
She sighed, staring up at the ceiling. “I have spin class with my mom at the ass crack of dawn.”
He chuckled. “Spin class, huh?”
“Yeah,” she grumbled. “I fucking hate it. The instructor’s a total whack job who gets off on screaming at the class and making grown women cry. But as soon as class is over, she’s all sunshine and smiles and ‘Each one of you is a winner! Now get out there and show the world!’” Scarlett snorted. “Crazy ass bitch.”
Viggo burst out laughing.
Scarlett chuckled. “The only reason I go is for my mom. She’s trying to stay in shape for my brother Luke’s wedding, and I’m her favorite exercise buddy.”
“That’s sweet,” Viggo said warmly.
“If you say so.” Scarlett rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. “Anyway, after spin class, I have to go to work.”
“Work?”
“Uh, yeah.” Her tone was wry. “This may come as a shock to you, but being in a band hasn’t made me rich and famous yet, so I work at a music shop when I’m not on the road. We can’t all be gazillionaire athletes.”
Viggo chuckled. “Touché.”
She grinned. “Do you have practice tomorrow morning?”
“Ja.”
“Ja,” Scarlett echoed. It sounded like Yah. “That means yes, right?”
“Right.” He was smiling. “After practice I’m getting in some extra ice time and working out with the trainer. Then I’m free for the rest of the day.”
Scarlett nodded, even though he couldn’t see her.
“So where am I picking you up tomorrow night?” he asked.
“Tomorrow night?”
“For dinner.”
Her pulse stammered and skipped. “Oh.”
“I’m not letting you back out,” Viggo warned.
“I wasn’t going to.”
“Good. Because I wasn’t letting you.”
She raised an eyebrow. “You’re kinda bossy, aren’t you?”
“Kinda.”
She could hear him smiling, and her own lips tilted upward.
“I can’t wait to see you again, Scarlett.”
Heat swirled in her stomach and spread outward. “No kissing on the first date,” she teased.
He let out a deep, rumbling laugh that curled her toes. God, she could listen to that laugh for the rest of her life.
“All I’ve been thinking about is kissing you again,” he confessed. “I can’t promise I won’t jump your bones as soon as I see you tomorrow night.”
Scarlett laughed, low and throaty. “I can’t make any promises either.”
That caused him to groan. A hot-blooded, purely male groan. “Tomorrow can’t get here fast enough.”
She wholeheartedly agreed.
“So where do you live, beautiful?”
Scarlett hesitated, suddenly self-conscious. “If I tell you, you’re gonna think I’m a loser.”
“Why would I think you’re a loser?”
She sighed. “Because I live at home with my parents.”
“What’s wrong with that? My baby sister still lives at home and she’s only two years younger than you.”
“The supermodel?”
“Yeah. Svea.” He pronounced it Svay-ahh. Beautiful name for a beautiful chick.
“She doesn’t really count,” Scarlett said.
“Why not?”
“She’s a supermodel who spends most of her time jet-setting around the world. I bet she’s not even home enough to justify paying for her own place.”
“And you’re a musician who spends several months on the road. What’s the difference?”
Scarlett pursed her lips. “You have a point.”
“Always.”
She grinned. “Well, anyway, I’m saving up to get my own place.”
“Cool,” Viggo said. “Let me know when you’re ready and I’ll put you in touch with my Realtor.”
“Okay,” she said. “Thanks.”
“No problem. In the meantime, give me your address so I can pick you up for dinner. Seven work for you?”
“Um…” Scarlett pictured her mother peering excitedly out the window when Viggo pulled up. She pictured her rushing to the door, batting her lashes at him and saying all sorts of horribly embarrassing things.
She cringed just thinking about it. “Uh, maybe I can meet you at the restaurant.”
“Why?”
Before she could respond, her phone beeped with an incoming call. She looked at the screen and was surprised to see her manager’s name.
“Um, I gotta run,” she told Viggo. “My manager’s calling.”
“That’s cool. Don’t forget to text me your address.”
“Okay.” She hesitated, reluctant to let him go.
“Night, Scarlett. Sleep well.”
“If I’m lucky.”
He chuckled. “You and me both.”
She was grinning when she pressed the button to take her manager’s call. “Hey, Cara.”
“Hey, babydoll.” Cara sounded excited. Always a good sign. “I have great news.”
“Really? What?”
“You’re going on tour with Black Kross!”
“Holy shit.” Scarlett bolted upright. “Black Kross? Are you serious?”
“You think I’d joke about something like this?” She wouldn’t. She knew better. “I just got off the phone with their booking agent. Seems their opening act had some sort of conflict that forced them to bail on the band’s holiday tour. Crazy, right? Who in their right mind cancels on Black Kross?”
“Seriously.” Black Kross was one of the biggest indie rock bands out there right now. Touring with them would help expand Off The Grid’s domestic audience. For whatever reason, they were more popular overseas than in the States.
“Their booking agent has seen you guys perform and he really likes your sound,” Cara said. “Plus you’ve already got a nice fan base, so he knows you can draw some numbers. He called me up to see if you guys are available.”
“Hell yeah, we’re available!”
“That’s what I told him.” Cara laughed. “Anyway, it’s an East Coast tour covering twenty-two cities including Boston—your home base. Hopefully your fans will pack the house for that show.”
“They’d better.” Scarlett grinned.
“So…there’s just one catch.”
“What’s that?”
Cara hesitated. “The first show is tomorrow night in Brooklyn.”
Some of Scarlett’s excitement fizzled. “Tomorrow night?”
“I know it’s super short notice,” Cara said apologetically, “and they’re not paying much. But they agreed to cover your hotel expenses since the rooms were already booked for that other band. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that this is a great opportunity for you guys to sell merch to a packed house and grab some new fans.”
“Of course,” Scarlett agreed. But even to her own ears, she sounded half-hearted.
Cara picked up on it. “Do you have something else going on?”
“Not really.” Other than a hot date with a supersexy hockey stud who lights up my body like no other. “I was supposed to work tomorrow. The shop gets pretty busy around the holidays. And then I promised to do some wedding stuff with my cousin who just got engaged. I’m her maid of honor so…” She trailed off lamely.
She could picture Cara frowning, probably wondering what the hell had gotten into her. Nothing came before the band. Ever.
“This is a big deal, Scarlett.”
“I know.”
“You don’t turn down an opportunity to go on tour with Black Kross.”
“I know,” Scarlett said defensively. “The timing just threw me off. It’s really short notice.”
“I agree, babydoll. But you’re a pro, so roll with it.” Cara was all business. “Listen, I need to make some calls and confirm the arrangements. I won’t be able to join you guys until Wednesday in Queens, but I’ll definitely be there. Can you call up the fellas and tell them the good news, and make sure they get their asses to the show on time?”
“Will do.” Scarlett mustered a smile. “They’re gonna be so excited.”
More excited than she suddenly felt.