Alex Page 2

Page 2

  ***

  Walking up the stairs to my apartment, I pull my keys out of my pocket, eager to strip out of my monkey suit and drink a cold beer. When I hit the top step, I stop as I recognize who is standing at my door.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask tiredly.

  Cassie cocks a perfectly shaped eyebrow at me, pursing her full lips as she smirks at me. “You had a great game tonight—which means you’re probably in the pissiest of moods. I thought I’d come over and help you blow off some steam…‘blow’ being the key word. ”

  Yeah, Cassie Gates gives the best head and I’m probably not going to turn her down, but it pisses me off that she came over without me asking her to. She’s been my casual hookup for the past year, ever since moving to Raleigh with her sister, Allie, whose husband, Kyle Steppernech, is a defenseman for the Cold Fury.

  “You weren’t invited,” I tell her as I insert the key into the lock, not even bothering to look at her.

  She merely steps in close and reaches a well-manicured hand down to cup me between the legs. Leaning her chin on my shoulder, she whispers, “Come on, Alex…you know I’ll make you feel good. ”

  Her hand squeezes me and, along with the sexy purr in her voice, it works like magic and I start to get hard. Cassie’s a f**king knockout with her platinum blond hair, mile-long legs and fantastic tits, so yeah…my body reacts.

  Pushing the door open, I walk in, dislodging her hand but knowing she’ll follow me to finish the job. I hear her close the door as I walk into the kitchen. Dropping my bag on the floor, I pull a beer from the fridge and twist the cap, tossing it in the sink. Taking a deep swallow, I watch as she walks into the kitchen, sauntering forward like a woman on a mission.

  I know she thinks she has me figured out. That she can worm her way into a relationship with me by giving great bl*w j*bs and even hotter sex, but she’s way off base. No self-respecting woman would get down on her knees for an ass**le like me, just to try to trap an ass**le like me.

  If I had more of a conscience, I might feel guilty about the give-and-take of our situation, but I’ve got no qualms about the part where I take what she is offering. I’ve been straight up, honest with her about how I play, and relationships aren’t part of my makeup. She knows she’s barking up the wrong tree if she’s looking for anything more than Richter-inducing orgasms.

  “Don’t come over again unless I invite you,” I tell her after I take another swallow of beer.

  Stepping up close to me, she trails a finger along my jaw, smiling apologetically. “Sure thing, baby. ”

  “I’m not your baby,” I remind her, just because I feel like being an even bigger ass**le than I normally am.

  “What are you, then?” she teases me as she starts to work at my belt buckle.

  “I’m the guy that f**ks you when it suits me. Nothing more. ”

  She chuckles, because that’s not the first time she’s heard those words from my lips. But being the glutton for punishment that she is, she merely says, “My, my, my…you are in supreme ass**le mood tonight. I don’t get why you have to be so mean. ”

  Stepping away from her grasp, I walk into the living room, grab a pillow off the couch and walk back into the kitchen. I resume my spot in front of her and drop the pillow at her knees.

  “There,” I tell her, pointing down at the pillow with an evil smile. “So your knees don’t get sore. See…I can be a nice guy. ”

  And because Cassie expected no different of me, because this is actually a nice gesture on my part, she laughs in delight as she tugs open my fly and reaches her hand inside. With a few strokes, I’m ready for more and I push down on her head until she’s kneeling in front of me.

  She looks up at me with smoky gray eyes that would really be quite beautiful if I didn’t know about all of the conniving she hides behind them.

  “Let’s see if I can put a smile on your face,” she says and gives me a sexy purse of her lips.

  I bring my hand up and skim my fingers tenderly across her cheek. I love the feel of a woman’s skin, no matter if poison runs in her veins. Sliding my fingers through the hair at her temple, I hold her gently as she leans forward and takes me in her mouth, content to let her do the work and for me to enjoy the ride.

  Yeah…she’ll put a smile on my face. But that’s about the only thing she’ll give me that’s worth a damn.

  Chapter 2

  Sutton

  Bending over in my office chair, I take the black Sharpie marker and color over the scuff mark on the heel of my pump. I’ve had these shoes forever and they’re looking a little ragged, no doubt. Unfortunately, they’re going to have to last me a little longer since I make peanuts and have more important things to pay for, like electricity and food.

  The phone on my desk buzzes and I pick it up. “Speak to me. ”

  “Sutton, dear…I’ve got to run down to the drug store to grab some allergy medicine. Can you come cover the front desk for me for about ten minutes?”

  Flipping my wrist, I look at my watch. “Sure. My two o’clock is twenty minutes late so I’m assuming he’s a no-show. I’ll be right up. ”

  Snapping the cap back on my Sharpie, I toss it on my desk. Grabbing the top file from my in-box, I walk out of my office and down the hall toward the main reception area of the Wake County Drug Crisis Center. I love my job, but our building is depressing as hell. It’s nothing but a square box of cinder blocks and steel with dull tile flooring and institutional gray paint peeling on the walls. About every five feet, a cheap poster is tacked to the wall with an inspirational message about finding the fortitude and strength to beat addiction. I can’t help but think how sad the contradiction is between the messages of hope and the depressing décor.

  Reaching the end of the hall, I slide my ID card through the reader beside the steel door, hearing the snick of the lock, and push through into the lobby. At least here, the decor is a little more welcoming, with beige carpeting, faux-leather couches and an abundance of green plants. Our receptionist, Minnie, has a green thumb and took it upon herself to decorate the area as she saw fit. Of course, Minnie’s an institution unto herself and has been covering the front desk of our crisis center since before Moses was born.

  “That was fast,” Minnie says as she pulls her purse from the bottom drawer of her steel, county-issued desk. She opens the purse, and I wait patiently for her to pull her compact mirror out and dab powder on her nose. Then she pulls out a tube of bright red lipstick and glides it on her thin lips while watching herself in the mirror. Finally, she smooths her hands over the sides of her silver hair, which is pulled back into a severe bun, and smiles at her reflection.

  Minnie is old Raleigh and a Southern woman never steps outdoors without looking her best. Snapping her compact shut, she tosses it in her purse and stands up. “Do you need anything while I’m out?”

  “I’m good,” I tell her, although I’m dying to ask her to pick me up a bag of Hershey’s Kisses with Almonds. They are my addiction. To put it in drug-crisis terms, they are my crank…my smack…my horse. But I’ve made a resolution this year to cut back on my chocolate intake and, ten months in, I’m not about to break. I allow myself two pieces a day, and I always reserve them for after dinner at home.

  Minnie steps past me and heads toward the door. “Be back in a flash. ”

  “Take your time. My next appointment isn’t until four. ”

  She calls out a “toodles,” which makes me smile because that’s so Minnie, and I sit down at her desk to review the file that I grabbed. It’s a run-of-the-mill case, which sadly I see all too often. While my job at the center is to provide counseling to anyone affected by drug or alcohol addiction, my chosen path is to work with at-risk youth and children whose parents have addiction issues. While I can’t pick and choose my cases, my boss, Ken Silver, understands my interest and tends to throw those types of cases my way when he can.

  This particular cas
e file is for a young girl…a senior in high school, who got into her parents’ stash of meth and decided to give it a try. She overdosed on her first attempt, and while she swears she hasn’t tried it again, the temptation is still there since her parents are still very much using. Her name is Mara and she’s coming in to see me this afternoon for our third session together. Our services are free, paid for by the good taxpayers of Wake County, and the best thing going for Mara right now is that it scared the shit out of her when she woke up in the hospital hooked up to an IV.

  Since then, she’s diligently come to each appointment, on time and eager to talk me.

  Which is more than I can say for my two o’clock who didn’t show, which disappoints me to no end. Not because it was a compelling case, but because it was a career opportunity that shouldn’t have been passed my way at such a young age. Ken had told me earlier in the week that he was giving me a very special project, knowing it would be near and dear to my heart. Apparently the Carolina Cold Fury hockey team wants to start an anti-drug campaign that they can build locally and possibly take to a national level.

  The part that is near and dear to me? Well, they want to target at-risk youth, and I was all over that.

  Ken told me that they were assigning their top player, Alexander Crossman, as the spokesman and that I would be working personally with him to create and implement the program. The hallmark would be an outreach plan to use with all of the local area schools where Mr. Crossman and I would be talking to the students.

  Yay, me!

  I’m terribly excited because while I love counseling—wouldn’t trade it for the world—I want to make a bigger impact, and the way to do it is to reach the masses. Now, I have no idea who this Alexander Crossman is, because frankly, I know nothing about hockey. I mean…I know we have a professional team here in Raleigh, but besides knowing that they’re called Cold Fury, I don’t know a damn thing else about them. But if he can help me achieve my goals to target larger groups of youth, then he’s going to become my new best friend.

  So the fact that their shining star of a player didn’t show up for his appointment has indeed left a bad taste in my mouth. However, that could be par for the course. I’ve never met a celebrity or sports star, but I’m guessing arrogance and entitlement might be part of the makeup involved. In fact, this may be something I’ll need to learn to deal with as we are trying to set boundaries in our new working relationship. I may be a young woman but I’m not without moxie—that would be Minnie’s terminology—and I’m not without a pair of figurative cojones—my terminology—when I need them.

  The bell over the front door chimes, indicating a visitor. We don’t have much foot traffic with most appointments being scheduled, but none of the other counselors are showing any appointments at this time so it’s unusual for someone to be stopping by.

  When I look up, I’m momentarily stunned speechless by what may possibly be a mirage. It has to be, because seriously…it’s beyond belief.

  He’s beyond belief.

  In fact, he’s beyond my imagination.

  A man walks in, the early afternoon sun outlining a massive body. He has to be at least six-five, six-six with a solid chest, narrow waist and pretty big guns hanging from his shoulders. For a man so large, I’m surprised to note he moves with a natural grace. Charcoal gray dress slacks and a lightweight black sweater are molded to his body, showcasing dips and valleys of muscles that you see only in men’s health magazines.

  If I thought his body was incredible, I almost pass out once I take full stock of his face. It’s enough to make angels weep, and I consciously close my mouth as I realize my jaw has flopped open in disbelief.

  Dark, dark hair…almost black, but most definitely the deepest mahogany, is worn midlength, chopped in helter-skelter layers around his face. The front portion of bangs sweeps left to right across his forehead, while chunks stick up this way and that around his entire head. His face, if cast in marble, would be sought after by all of the world’s finest art galleries. Strong jaw covered in dark stubble, high cheekbones, straight-as-an-arrow nose, and even from fifteen feet away and with the sun at his back, I can see the most crystalline blue eyes I’ve ever beheld on a human being.