The Slot: A Rochester Riot Sports Romance (10 page)

Cole took a seat next to Eloise, ordering her another Death Rides a Pale Horse. “Should be a fun night,” he said.

“Well, it’s certainly starting off with some excitement,” she agreed. “I see Spud working hard. Where’s your friend Trey? Shouldn’t he be here? I thought he organized this event.”

“He’s picking up some supplies, door prizes and stuff. He should be here any minute,” Cole said, taking a swig of his beer. “He wouldn’t miss a chance to get behind a microphone.”

“Oh? He likes to sing?”

“Yeah, it’s how we met. I used to go to these open mike reggae nights back in Milwaukee; Trey was a regular. So hot he’d melt your heart. Or your panties.”

“I didn’t know you wore panties.” Eloise laughed and shook her head. “Reggae. How do you stand that stuff?”

Cole looked crushed. “It’s great music,” he insisted. “It’s relaxing, it’s soulful. It’s truly the music of love, if you understand its roots.”

Eloise gave an amused shrug, wanting desperately to connect with him since it seemed so important. Tonight, she’d give it the old college try. “If you say so.”

The first contestants took the stage, some of them laughably horrible and others remarkably good vocalists. Eloise applauded each of them in turn and couldn’t remember having such a good time since her carefree college days. The beer was cold, and her date was hot. She and Cole held hands and kissed in between watching the performers and talking about their families and backgrounds. He confessed his love of Italian food, “just the way mama makes it,” he’d joked, and again mimicked his mother’s authoritative voice.

“Hey, buddy, you’re up next,” a voice called from behind the bar. Cole turned to the sound and broke into a wide smile.

“Hey, man, where you been? It’s about time you showed up! There’s someone I’ve been hankering for you to meet. Someone important.”

Eloise looked over as she heard Cole speak, still clapping for the last contestant. Her hands suddenly froze together as if time had shrieked to a shit-screeching halt and stared at the man behind the bar. He and Cole clasped hands in an urban-style handshake.

“El, this is Trey Reynolds,” Cole said, breaking away. “Proud owner of
Blues & Brews
. Trey already knows you, from the Town Hall meeting.”

He sure does.
El felt her blood turn to ice inside her veins. She gasped for breath as the room started spinning. This couldn’t be happening. Not now. Not when everything she’d never known she’d wanted was dancing just at the tips of her fingertips. This was the guy in the ginger beard? He’d shaved it off since then, and underneath was a face she couldn’t forget.

“Eloise? Something wrong?” Cole prompted, a worried look on his face as she teetered, almost falling over.

Speak, you chickenshit. If you don’t, he wins.

“Hello,” she murmured, not recognizing the painful grit in her own voice. Her heart felt as if it had been ripped from her chest cavity without the benefit of anesthesia.

Trey nodded, swept his obsidian gaze over her body in appraisal and dismissed her as insignificant in the same glance.

“Hi.” He turned to Cole, handing him a fuzzy-looking bundle. “Your wardrobe, man.”

“Hey, respeck, mon!” Cole said, unraveling the bundle and rising from his seat. Eloise kept her eyes on Trey. He acted as if he didn’t recognize her at all, and she felt torn between relief and bitter resentment. Twelve years, a gold stud in his left earlobe and a new-age nickname didn’t alter his true identity. Trevor Reynolds stood not five feet away from her, alive and well and apparently oblivious to the past.

She flicked her gaze over to Cole as he shook out the bundle, revealing an oversized knitted cap in stripes of yellow, black and green, with two-foot long fake dreadlocks sewn into the brim. He placed it on his head and made a great show of stroking the dreads into place. She laughed nervously, desperate to mask her discomfort. Now wasn’t the time. Supporting Cole was all that mattered in this moment.

“S’iree,” he said, adding a pair of sunglasses to the mix. “No problem.”

He smiled and strode to the stage in his makeshift Rastafarian gear as the sounds of mellow reggae chords began to play. The crowd cheered as he took the microphone, bobbing his head and swaying back and forth through the intro.

Kylie slipped into Cole’s vacated seat and put her hands on Eloise’s shoulders. “You gonna be alright? Relax, boss lady, and you’ll live through this!” she laughed. “Even if he sucks, at least he looks good.”

Of course, Kylie had no idea of the real reason behind El’s obvious distress. She managed a pained expression and let out a groan just as Cole started to sing.

“Noooo woman, no cry,” he crooned, and the audience roared in delight. After a few choruses, Cole began to ad-lib his own lyrics to the Bob Marley classic, things like “I remember when we sat…in da penalty box on Broadstreet…observin’ da hy-po-crite re-fer-ees…”

Eloise laughed and cried at the same time, her stomach knotting with anxiety. She sat with her back turned to the bar, not daring to acknowledge the man who’d hurt her so deeply all those years ago. Wounds she’d once thought she’d never recover from until Cole. And now? Now, she didn’t know because slivers of doubt had crawled back inside her brain and remained wedged there.

So instead of having the nervous breakdown she so richly deserved, she watched Cole strut and sway on stage, thinking that his version of the number actually made more sense than the original she’d watched on YouTube. Despite his amazing rendition, she still thought reggae sucked. She cheered for him as he concluded the song, or maybe because he concluded the song, and he took a bow, tossing his fake dreads over his shoulders.

Kylie made room for him as he returned to his seat. Eloise gave him a big kiss in front of everyone. “Let’s get outta here, you big Rastafarian wannabe,” she said, feeling an overwhelming need to escape the room.

“No problem,” he said, maintaining his mock accent. “Love is da most important ‘ting, mama.” He doffed his costume and put his arm around her shoulders, drawing her in for another kiss before moving them toward the exit.

Kylie tugged at Eloise’s sleeve. “I have something to tell you,” she said, a troubled look on her face.

Eloise held up her thumb and pinky to her jaw as she moved away. “I gotta go. I’ll call you.”

Chapter Eleven

The interior of the Lincoln Town Car felt warm and cozy as Cole and Eloise hopped in outside
Blues & Brews
. She’d barely slid onto the plush seat before Cole slid his massive hands alongside her cheeks and pulled her forward for a sweet kiss. Eloise warred with herself. On one hand, Coles soft, full lips sent sensations tumbling through her she’d never felt before. On the other, remnants of useless memories of Trevor plagued her, keeping her from being fully present.

Her mind raced, unwanted flashes of Trevor exploding like land mines in her brain. They made her feel used. Dirty. They tainted the beauty of Cole’s feather light caress on her face.
She wanted it to be so good between them, yet couldn’t let go of the memories that haunted the moment with a vicious reverent of the past.

But something else tugged at her heart strings. Something more. Like if she made love to Cole, all of the sins of the past would somehow wash away. He could be her own personal holy water. Baptized at the altar of the Beantown Bard and born again.

Eloise found she wanted nothing more than to forgive herself. And forget.

It was time.

“Where to?” asked the driver, clearing his throat to get Cole’s attention.

Reluctantly, Cole disentangled his lips from hers only to hold her in the magnetic gaze of his luscious blue eyes. “Your place?” he asked. “Shredder will likely stumble home in a few hours. Who wants a drunk goalie mumbling about the crease?”

“Yes, take me home please,” she said, giving the address to the driver. Cole hit the button to slide the privacy screen in place.

“I want you,” he said, nuzzling her neck, his right hand moving to clasp her waist. Eloise breathed rapidly, her heart thudding. His mouth worked its way up her throat and to her earlobe, sucking on it briefly before his tongue ventured into the shell of her ear, licking and exploring.

“Stop,” she said, giggling. Grateful that everything he did felt right. Things were playful between them, and it seemed to be just what she needed. “That tickles.”

“Perhaps I should tickle you somewhere else then,” he whispered, his voice dropping. Low and urgent. The first sign of deadly seriousness she’d sensed in him since they’d entered the vehicle.

God, would he not wait until they got to her condo? Would he be so bold as to try and take her right here in the limo with the driver only feet away? Eloise had never been one for public displays. Her conservative nature simply didn’t allow it. But every nerve ending in her body screamed out for his touch with wanton abandon. The tousled bristles of his hair rubbed her chin as his mouth moved across her collarbone. He pushed the neck of her sweater open and her bra cup aside. His warm lips found her nipple as it popped free of her black lace bra, hardening in arousal like a diamond bit.

Eloise moaned and shoved against him. “Please, wait,” she gasped. “Not here.”

“Here’s good, baby,” he murmured, his voice muffled against the tender skin of her breast. “I can’t wait. Eloise, I’ve wanted you since I first saw you with your hand wrapped around the cellophane bag. Are you going to make me beg? I’m not above it, you know.” His hand slid to the waistband of her leggings, one finger slipping underneath and tugging downward. Clearly, Cole Fiorino was used to getting what he wanted, the moment he wanted it.

Instinctively, she bucked up and grabbed his hand. “Please, Cole. I want our first time to be special, not in the back seat of a car. No matter how luxurious said car may be. My place isn’t far.”

He halted his ministrations, clasping her fingers instead. Lacing his huge ones through her tapered ones. Weaving together and making them one. “Okay. I’ll wait, but it won’t be easy. Because it’s really
hard
.”

Eloise suppressed one final shudder, recalling Trevor’s words from so long ago.
This is not that night. Put it behind you, for God’s sake
.
Let it go.
She refused to let the past ruin this moment. One that might never be repeated because it was dipped in perfection.

“It’s not far,” she repeated. “You’ll love my condo. It has great views.”

His eyes narrowed in passion. “El, nothing could be more magnificent than the view inside this car.”

After the town car pulled up to her building, they hurried inside, laughing and running like kids. Cole tugged her arm so hard it cracked in protest. In the elevator, he caged her body against one wall with his own, kissing her neck, her cheeks, her forehead. Eloise sank back and relished the moment, fully aware the security cameras were getting an eyeful. Not caring. She felt weak, drunk on his kisses and the tantalizing scent of his cologne. She fought her way to the doors as they slid open on her floor.

“This is me,” she said, leading him to her corner suite at the end of the hall.

Unlocking the door, Cole let out a long whistle at her copious collection of plants. “Holy cow. This is some grow-op. Don’t suppose you’re incubating any of the Devil’s lettuce?” A waggle of his eyebrows accompanied his question. “If there is, I’m going to be pissed you held out. That would have been the perfect accessory to my Rastafarian costume tonight.”

“There most certainly is not,” she said, his comment taking her by surprise as she shrugged out of her jacket and removed her tall boots. “Please tell me that’s a joke? Or, that you only toked up once in college on a lark. Professional athletes cannot partake in the drug scene. It’s bad enough that you ingest alcohol.”

Weed had been virtually everywhere in the college campuses she’d attended, but she was always too deep in her studies, too much the sheltered Midwest girl to even consider partaking.

“Hmm, too bad,” he said, gathering her in his arms again. “It could significantly enhance the experience.”

“Am I not enough of an experience for you?” she asked in mock insult.

He bent his head close to her ear. “I’ll let you know,” he said, his sexy voice sending shivers down her spine and to other private places. “Which way to the bedroom?”

“Take your coat and shoes off and I’ll show you.”

His signature grin flashed, the killer dimple creasing his cheek. “Lead on, milady,” he said, prying his woven leather loafers off each foot with the toes of the other and dropping his jacket to the expensive hardwood floor.

“Don’t you hang your things up?”

“My ‘thing’ is already hung up big time right now,” he said, grabbing her around her waist and hoisting her onto his shoulder. “This way?” He pivoted, carrying her Shrek-style as he started in the direction of the hallway. It wasn’t hard to guess the location of the bedroom.

Ordinarily, she’d be horrified at his guerilla tactics – her attitude toward Ryder springing to mind. But tonight she only wanted to block out the past, focus on the here and now and just feel – really feel an emotional connection to a man that totally turned her on. The first one ever.

“That way,” she said, gesturing straight ahead as her head and arms flopped in rhythm to his steps, her long brown locks swaying in a pendulum-like rhythm.

He laid her on her silk-covered duvet, the bed giving way with a squeak as he flopped next to her. “Let me get the light,” she said, rolling over and reaching for the touch-control on a sleek chrome bedside lamp. Its soft, muted light cast a surreal glow across the room.

“Are you sure,” his handsome face became touched with a poignant vulnerability. A look she’d never seen before. It made her fall even harder. So hard she feared she might never recover from the impact. “I’d be willing to bet a Benjamin that you’ve never taken someone like me home with you.”

“Someone like you,” Eloise parroted, lost in confusion.

“A hockey thug.”

She caught her breath and shook her head. “Hardly. Most likely, you’ll end up in the Hall of Fame one day. Besides, didn’t Murphy spring for mirrors in the locker room? Have you seen yourself lately? Women in a coma would want you.”

He chuckled at her words and puffed his chest out, drawing her eyes to his perfectly sculpted torso, itching to run her fingers over the indentations of his abs. “You find me hot? Sounds like a public relations nightmare. Shh… if you don’t tell Michelle Batiste, then I won’t.”

She lay there, gazing into his eyes that burned with blue fire. His hand slid under her chin and stroked the line of her jaw. “Eloise,” he whispered. “You’re very special. I hope you know that.”

“Mmm, why don’t you just keep telling me,” she said, her breath expelling on low pants, laced with yearning. Those fingers that clutched a stick for the game-winner and enchanted the crowd with his guitar traced a path from her jaw down her throat and into the hollow of her collarbone. Her breasts rose and fell with each breath. Dipping his tousled head toward her chest, his hand glided downward, hovering over her breast but not landing.

Touch me, Cole.

“I’m telling you now. Past. Present. Future. You could have your choice of any hot guy you wanted, Eloise. I’m glad you chose me.”

She stared at him a long moment, her expression lined with understanding, like she suddenly saw through to his soul. It was both comfortable and comforting. Eloise felt like this man belonged here in her home. In her bed.

“I could not have my pick of any hot guy,” she argued. “But even if they lined up the entire roster of the NHL naked before me, I’d pick you.”

He laughed. “That image might scar me for life, woman. I’ve seen most of the guys in the NHL naked. We won’t even mention Shredder, who likes to waltz around our place sans towel like a glove wielding puck basket. I like my odds.”

“Then take me. Now.”

***

Cole didn’t think he could want a woman as much as he wanted Eloise Robertson. The desire coursed through his blood as if it had heated the liquid past the boiling point. But something else lingered on the sigh of his breath. Something he couldn’t define and didn’t want to. Because he’d never felt it before.

His cock responded to the soft-spoken demand she’d issued, just as it had every fucking time he’d been in her presence. With his total lack of restraint, Cole was surprised she hadn’t fled from any further interactions with him, shocked by his baser desires. Only this time, there was no shock on either side. Only need. Yearning. A want so powerful it threatened to overtake his well-established control.

“Eloise, you are going to leave this bedroom so well fucked, you won’t even know your own name,” he promised, moving his fingers from her face to slide them into the heavy mass of her chestnut hair. Damn. He loved the silky feel and the weight of it in his palm. What would she do if he yanked it? Instead, he cupped her scalp and tipped her head back so she was forced to look directly into his eyes.

He claimed her lips again, but this time, he unleashed the full fervor of his passion. Every skill at his fingertips he brought into play, allowing his emotions to pour between them in a river of lust. Searching, his lips claimed every nuance of her mouth and then his tongue slid past the barrier to mesh with hers.

Heat.

The only word Cole could summon from the recesses of his brain was molten hot lava. An eruption of hunger. For the first few seconds, she seemed surprised by the ardor of his appetite for her, but then she surrendered and wrapped her arms around him so she could return the fevered kiss with an onslaught of her own.

He slid one hand down the curve of her spine to caress the rounded globe of her ass cheek, drawing her hard against him, letting her feel how fucking hard she made him. So hard, steel couldn’t compare. She made a soft purr of pleasure into his mouth, their breaths mingled and he barely pulled away.

“I am?”

“I speak the truth.”

Her hand started at his shoulder and ran down the length of his torso to land on the button fly of his jeans.

“I want to feel it,” she whispered, staring.

“Oh, you will. But there’s something I’ve wanted to do since the first time I saw you lick a speck of powdered sugar from your lush lips. And I won’t wait.”

She said nothing but stared at him through hooded lids. Slowly, she nodded her ascent and didn’t argue as he gave a slight push with his palm that sent her tumbling back onto the mattress in exactly the prone position he’d hoped for. He returned to kissing her, tasting every inch of skin he exposed and claiming her mouth with his own.

And while he set to touching and licking Eloise into mad thrashing, he began to push at her leggings, sliding them down her shapely legs. Her skin felt like the finest silk, and he loved the smoothness and length of her legs. Damn it. He wanted them wrapped around his waist as he pounded into her slick heat and she writhed beneath him in a wicked dance of passion.

Cole stroked a hand up El’s thigh, and she gasped, clamping her eyes shut. Her head fell back on a strangled sigh. He examined her gorgeous face as he massaged the sensitive flesh there. Teasing. Tormenting. Using her labored breathing to know just how far to push her. Those lush lips trembled.

With one final deft movement, he swept her black lacy thong from her body until her bare pussy was exposed. And perfect. Parting her folds, he used his fingers to lightly graze her sex until she squirmed and moaned. She pushed up against his hand as if asking for more. And he’d give it.

“I want to touch you, Eloise. Then, I want to taste you.”