Crazy Thing Called Love (16 page)

“I go to charity things, too.” He was grinning at her and she forced herself not to grin back, but it was hard and he seemed to know it.

“All right.” He grabbed a pencil and a Post-it from her desk. “But if you”—he smirked at her, an eyebrow raised—“change your mind and want a little man candy on your arm …”

Laughing would only encourage him but she couldn’t help it. She would blame it on the sex.

He waggled his eyebrows. “Here’s my cell phone number.”

“A booty call?” Again, she laughed.

“That’s what the kids call it.”

He was totally unhinged. Deluded. But as she stood there, counting the ways he was a fool, even as she laughed, he leaned over and pressed a soft, sweet kiss on her cheek.

She felt every crease of his skin, inhaled the spicy scent of him, part new clothes, part sex, all Billy.

Those fires, put out just moments ago, flickered back to life.

Again, her body moaned. Just one more time.

She pulled back. “I won’t call you,” she said, making it clear to both of them.

“All right.”

His acceptance made her nervous and she was reminded suddenly of the Monday morning meeting. And Phil.

“Billy, I think … I think Phil may have found your sisters.”

“They’re not hard to find,” he said. “They’ve lived in the same neighborhood their whole lives.”

“I know, but … maybe you should call them. Talk to them.”

“And say what?”

“ ‘Don’t do the show.’ ”

His face went blank and her stomach dropped to her feet. She knew he had to feel the same way, embarrassed and horrified at the thought of having them on the show, and embarrassed and horrified that he felt that way.

But Denise and Janice weren’t happy unless they brought the world down to their level.

“You’ve worked so hard—” she said, trying to twist the screws her direction.

“Don’t,” he lifted his hand. “Just … don’t.”

“Fine.” She swallowed the taste of vanity and snobbery. “For me, Billy. Try to convince them not to do the show, for me.”

“Okay.” His immediate agreement surprised her and made her feel worse. Made her feel self-important and crass.
Remember
, she told herself, shoring up the weak spots in her resolve,
remember what they’re like. Dogs with a bone. Do you want your show to be that bone?

“Thank you,” she whispered, because the answer was clear. She would do anything to protect her show. Her life.

“Ah, baby,” he whispered, his fingers touching the side of her face, brushing a hair behind her ear, turning her skin to electricity. “Don’t feel so bad.”

She let his touch absolve her. Let his words wash away the worst of her regret about Denise.

He dropped his hand and unlocked the door, swinging it open as if nothing had happened.

Does it smell like sex in here?
Panicked and embarrassed she grabbed the hairspray from the corner of her dressing table and filled the air with the masking scent of aerosol.

Now it smelled like sex in a junior high girls’ locker room.

He stopped, leaned against the door frame, the smile gone, his eyes serious. “I missed you. I missed—” he glanced sideways at the chair, the floor, “—us. Like that.”

So did she. Painfully. But she would rather eat her foot than reveal that to him.

I won’t lose myself to you. Not again
.

“Good-bye, Billy,” she said and closed the door in his smiling face.

Seventeen years ago

Maddy stamped her
boots, trying to keep her feet warm. Her toes were like little frozen peas in her socks. She could be in the car, the heat blasting as she waited for him, but she was too nervous. Too excited to sit.

It had been two months since she’d seen Billy. He was playing in Rochester in the Junior A’s and had been billeted with a family up there. He hadn’t been able to come home for Christmas or her birthday, but now he had a three day break and was hightailing it back to Pittsburgh.

Billy had been busy lately—he’d been signed by an agent and they’d submitted his name for the draft in June. Last year had been the first he was eligible, but his shoulder surgery had kept him out of the action.

So this was his year.

Her stomach lurched at the thought and she bounced, trying to find a balance between excitement and worry.

Excitement that all his hard work was about to pay off and worry that he would be taken away from her on the wings of his big NHL dreams.

He’s going to leave at some point
, her mom had told her. And in her head Maddy understood that. But in her heart she believed Billy was hers, NHL or not.

A car pulled up, white exhaust clouding the cold cold air. And then Billy spilled out of the passenger seat, his eyes on her.

Her body shook at the sight of him. Her nipples were hard, her skin on fire. So long. It had been so long.

She waited, breathless, as he got his gear, and said good-bye to the guy who’d given him the ride. Then, as the car drove away, she couldn’t stand it anymore. She ran, launching herself onto him.

Hockey sticks clattered to the frozen asphalt, his bag falling with a wet thud. And then he was there, his arms hard around her. His breath in her hair.

Through their coats and sweaters, she felt his heart. And it belonged to her. No question.

“Maddy,” he sighed, as if slipping into a hot bath or a warm bed. “I missed you so much.”

Holding his head between her mittened hands she kissed him. She kissed him like she wanted to put a mark on him, and maybe she did. He was going to get picked up by the NHL in a few months, and his life would change dramatically. But the world should know she got here first. She had known the power of Billy Wilkins before everyone else.

She opened her mouth, her tongue slipping in against his. She licked and sucked at him.

Billy liked that, always liked it when she got carried away. When she took control. He lifted her slightly and in his jeans she felt his dick, long and hard, and she pressed up tight against it, let one of his legs slide between hers.

His groan matched hers as their bodies pulled and pushed toward each other.

“You’re killing me, baby,” he whispered.

“I’ve got Dad’s keys.” She lifted them from her pocket, the old Pit Bulls keychain catching the streetlight and gleaming like silver.

His grin, cockeyed and dangerous, sent sparks of excitement through her body. “Then let’s go,” he said.

They grabbed his stuff and headed for the back door of the arena, making sure no one was watching.

She opened the old purple door and they slipped inside.

It was dark and cool. Emergency lights made red splotches on the cement, and the ice glowed bone-white in the shadows.

“I missed you,” Billy whispered, unzipping her coat. She shook off her mittens and then she started work on his coat. Heat from his car ride was trapped inside his clothes and as she mined for his skin, digging through fabric and buttons for the smoothness of his chest, her fingers got warm. Her body even warmer.

He pulled her turtleneck over her head, and at the sound of his moan she was glad she’d put on the fancy bra he’d sent her for Christmas.

He bent, lifting her breasts together, the mounds coming up high out of the lace, and he licked and kissed her. Sucked her nipples through the fabric as she curled against him, shaking with pleasure. She forgot about his shirt. Another time, maybe. Right now she was too desperate. Too hungry.

She reached for his pants, her fingers finding him under the warm denim. Long and thick and hard.

Mine
, she thought.
Mine before anyone else’s
.

He backed up and turned, pushing her against the wall. The concrete was hard and cold against her back but she didn’t care. Not as long as he was there, hot and hard against her front.

“You missed me?” he asked, laughing a little. Teasing her. This was new, this teasing thing. Like she had to prove how much she wanted him every time they saw each other.

“So much,” she gasped, licking his neck. “So much, Billy.”

“Did you think about me?”

“All the time.”

“Did you think about having sex with me?”

She leaned back, meeting his eyes, his face bathed in the light from the red exit sign above their heads.

“Yes,” she whispered, her heart pounding around her chest like an elephant.

“What did you think about?”

Embarrassed, she tilted her head, looking away. He kissed her cheek, the corner of her mouth, and she turned again, trying to kiss him for real, but he leaned back.

“Billy—”

“I thought about kissing you,” he said. “I thought about going down on you. I thought about the way you look in that red swimsuit and that sound you make when I push my dick inside you. Every day, all day long, I thought of how hot you get. How wet.”

“Billy,” she groaned, arching against him, restless and hurting.

“Feel me,” he said and she reached between them and undid his zipper. Enough of these games. Enough of trying to convince him with words.

She stroked him hard and he hissed. The tip of him was wet. He didn’t bother to remove her tights; he reached down and tore a hole in the crotch.

She groaned, so excited she couldn’t help it. His fingers, rough and big were there. Right there. Billy was the only guy she’d ever slept with, but when he made her feel this good, when he made the world fall away and the lights start spinning, what in the world would she need another guy for?

“No one but you,” she said, because he always seemed to need the words.

“Me too,” he said and then he pushed down his pants and pulled up her denim skirt. She wrapped her legs around his waist, and rested her back against the wall.

When Mom first caught wind of her and Billy dating, she marched Maddy to the doctor and got her a prescription for the pill. Even though they weren’t having sex yet.

But now they were. They were having lots of sex. And Billy was really happy they didn’t need condoms and she felt grown up and excited with his skin against hers.

Hot and hard, he speared into her. Through her. Changing her every time, making her more and more his.

She cried out and he groaned. He wrapped his hands around her back, over her shoulders, holding her still with all his strength while he moved in and out of her, dragging himself slowly against her wetness. It felt like someone was bunching her up, crumpling her together, and she held on, held on, tighter and tighter, until finally she let go in a wild, crazy burst and flew high and bright into the dark.

Billy rested his head against her shoulder, panting and thrusting, and she could feel him. The tension in his back. His arms.

“Baby,” he groaned. “Oh God …”

“I love you, Billy.”

And then he was flying, the skin over her collarbone caught between his teeth, and she sighed and winced at the same time.

She held him as he shook, laughing when he wiped his sweaty forehead against her neck.

“Wow,” she sighed, unlocking her legs from around his hips. Her boots hit the floor and he slipped out of her, she could feel him wet and soft against her belly.

He curled his arms around her back and now that the
storm was over, he just held her, swaying slightly, his pants around his ankles. Her skirt around her waist.

This was her favorite. As amazing as all the other stuff was, this was her favorite part. When he was tired and sweet and they’d made each other feel so good and there wasn’t any other world or person or thing they had to worry about.

At peace, she burrowed her face into his shirt, the chest strong and warm beneath it.

“Marry me.”

She laughed and shook her head. Billy had proposed about a hundred times. Usually after sex.

“I’m not kidding.”

His voice was different and she glanced up at him, only to find him staring at her. Earnest.

“What are you talking about?” she asked.

“I want us to get married. I hate being apart.”

“I do too, but Billy—”

“I’m going to be drafted. Victor said there’s a lot of interest.” The draft was a sure thing in Billy’s head and she didn’t have the heart to say it wasn’t a done deal, no matter what his agent said. Good players didn’t always get drafted. But she wanted to believe he’d be drafted just as much as he did. “And what if I go to Phoenix or Canada? What do we do then?”

“Let’s worry about it later.”

“I don’t want to worry about it at all. Let’s get married and it’s taken care of.” His grin was so sweet, the only argument he needed most of the time. But this was serious.

“I just turned seventeen.”

“Next year, then. Your birthday is right after Christmas. We’ll get married then.”

“What about school?”

“There are schools everywhere. Even in Canada.” He winked. “I think.”

He kissed her cheek and helped her get dressed again. She loved it when he took care of her, the big tough hockey player, straightening her torn tights over her hips, tucking her turtleneck into her skirt.

“I could just move with you,” she said. “Wherever you go.”

“Right. Your parents will love that.”