GAME MISCONDUCT (The Dartmouth Cobras) (42 page)

“I’m glad you got a new lawyer, babe.” Oriana rose and slipped behind Max to hug his waist. “This one is awesome.”

“Asher is the best.” The quiet, familiar voice came from behind Sloan.

Not possible. Oriana covered her mouth with her hands as Sloan rolled his eyes and stepped aside.

Dressed in a pale pink trench with a thick, black belt, Silver stepped into the room with the same detached poise she used on the red carpet. Her updo gave her hair the appearance of a short, sweeping pixie cut, but Oriana knew the fine golden strands were hip length. Silver was vain about her hair. With her stance and “you’ve been graced with my presence” air, she came across as vain about everything. Pretty decent performance, but Oriana had reading her sister down to an art.

She strode across the room and dragged her sister into the hall. “What are you doing here?”

“No ‘thank you’?” Silver’s painted red lips formed a pretty pout. “After I sent Asher to save your man?”

“Your boyfriend is a lawyer?”
How did I miss that?
Okay, sometimes she mentally logged out when her sister’s stories got downright crude, but she wouldn’t have missed her sister trading in her bad boy fetish and settling for a stable, normal man.

Not that I’m one to talk.

“Yeah, he got me out of a parking ticket, and we fell in love.” Silver batted her eyelashes. “His boyfriend is a lawyer, too.”

Sloan snorted behind Oriana. She spun around and scowled at him. “Can we have a minute?”

“Yes, ma’am.” The waiting room door closed. Hard.

Rudeness? Punishable offense?
She couldn’t find it in her to care, although her pulse sped up a little because her body wasn’t interested in where her mind was at.

Regardless, she put her hands on her hips and faced Silver, continuing as though they hadn’t been interrupted. “You never answered me. Why are you here?”

With no one around to catch her being less than the renowned Silver Delgado, her sister’s shield of perfection shattered like a fine coating of crystal. Her face crumpled up, and tears spilled down her cheeks in black streaks.

“It’s Daddy. He had a heart attack.”

* * * *

Beep, beep, beep.
The monitors filled the room with rhythmic medical sounds. Oriana sat on the edge of the bed, holding her father’s hand. Silver had told her he’d woken up a couple of times, long enough to tell her to get her gay boyfriends out of the room. And that the doctor said he was stable.

Stable. She kept hearing that word, but it had lost all meaning. Tyler was stable. Her father was stable. And neither would ever be the same.

Apparently, her father had the first attack on Sunday, but when Anne, his secretary, checked on him, he said he was fine. After watching him struggle with simple tasks like eating and getting dressed, Anne insisted he see a doctor. He refused. Said he was feeling a little off. No reason to panic.

He lost consciousness watching the game at home, and Anne called for an ambulance.

Stubborn man.
Oriana used a tissue to wipe some drool off her father’s chin.

His lashes fluttered, and his eyes opened.

“Daddy.” She bent down to kiss his hollow cheek. “I’m here.”

His hand twitched. He shook his head. Then mumbled something.

She put her ear close to his lips to hear him better. “What? Try again, Daddy; I didn’t hear you.”

“Out.” His voice was a raspy croak, and every word seemed grated out of his throat. “Get out.”

Stroking his hand, she shook her head. “You have to stay here. The doctors are doing everything they can to make you better.”

He shook his head again. The heart monitor screamed as his pulse became erratic. “You. Get out! Get out! Silver! Silver!”

Her chest felt like it had been cracked open, like her heart was exposed, hammering cold, hard beats. She let her father’s hand fall to his side and retreated, one step at a time, until the wall wouldn’t let her go any further.

Not a wall. A solid body.

“He’s not thinking straight, love.” Max rubbed the back of her neck and drew her out of the room. “Look, the nurse is here. Let her deal with him. Tyler’s been asking for you.”

Tyler. Yes. Tyler wants me. Needs me.
She grabbed Max’s hand and clung to him, because she wasn’t sure her legs, which didn’t feel like part of her anymore, would take her anywhere.

“Bring me to him.”

* * * *

Max watched Oriana, curled up next to Vanek, holding him as though he was a delicate teddy bear. She laughed and chatted and scolded the boy in a way that made the hospital a cozy place, like they were at his house, just hanging out.

She was giving the rookie all the love and support she couldn’t give her father. Which had Max a little worried. It wouldn’t be good for either her or Vanek if she kept him on as a lover out of some warped sense of obligation.

Vanek kissed her forehead, then her nose, then her lips. Weak, sloppy kisses, like he’d had trouble finding her mouth. “I didn’t score the winning goal, but I came close. Is that good enough?”

“Good enough?” Oriana let out a tense, high pitched giggle. “You almost got dead for that assist! Yeah, it’s good enough!”

One arm flopped across Oriana’s ribs, Vanek closed his eyes and sighed. “As long as you think so, works for me. Just . . . just promise me something?”

“All you have to do is ask.”

“Stay with me.” Vanek gave her a lost little boy look Max couldn’t write off as fake. “I’m a little freaked out here.”

Without hesitating for a second, Oriana snuggled closer and whispered, “I’m not going anywhere until we can take you home.”

Vanek fell asleep, and, not long after, so did Oriana.

Max pulled out the sole chair, which doubled as a stiff, single bed. He got a pillow and blanket from the attending nurse and settled in for the night after sending both Dominik and Sloan home for a change of clothes for them all. He knew he couldn’t keep them away for longer.

But if Oriana was hanging around, so was he.

Four months later

T
he aroma of grilled steak filled the kitchen as the patio door swung open. Sloan added the last touches to his potato salad and glanced over his shoulder as Oriana’s laughter lit across the room. Vanek followed, dragging the garden hose behind him.

“Spray that in my kitchen, and I’ll crack the other side of your skull.”

Oriana slapped his arm and he jumped. “That wasn’t nice.” She reached for the spoon he’d dropped in the bowl, licking her lips. “Oh, this looks good.”

Rapping her knuckles lightly with a big wooden spoon, Sloan snapped. “Wait for supper, bunny.” He grinned when she glared at him. “Actually, you can do so right there.” He pointed at the floor by his feet.

She shook her head.

He pressed his lips together. “On your knees.”

She knelt gracefully, eyes down. He knew she hated submitting where others could see her, which made her doing so that much more special.

Smoothing a strand of hair behind her ear, Sloan said softly, “Good girl.” Then, as a treat, he fed her a bit of salad. “Tell me what you think.”

Her cheeks flushed. “I think you were born with an unfair advantage. A pro athlete, an amazing cook, a . . .”

“Yes?” Sloan held out another spoonful for her.

Vanek made a disgusted sound as he slammed around inside the fridge. “Why must you treat her like a dog?”

The screen door snicked shut. “Tyler, honey, what’s taking so long?”

Oriana almost scrambled to her feet as Chicklet sauntered across the kitchen, but Sloan kept her in place with a heavy hand on her shoulder.

Chicklet gave Oriana a sympathetic smile, then winked at Sloan.

Tyler came out from behind the fridge door with a couple of beers and a winning smile. “On my way, babe. Me and Oriana were just playing around. Sloan got all anal.”

“Oh, yeah?” Chicklet’s expression hadn’t changed, but disappointment seeped into her tone. “I thought we’d discussed this. Their relationship is none of your business.”

A stubborn look on his face, Tyler set the beers on the counter beside him. “She’s still my friend.”

“Yes, she is. And I’m sure if she needs your help, she’ll ask for it.” She tapped her fingers on her hip. “I’m not hearing a reason for you to keep me waiting.”

Idly petting Oriana’s head, Sloan watched as Chicklet exerted her own brand of control, and Tyler, without even knowing he was doing so, surrendered to her.

Had to give Dominik credit, he’d read the boy well. Sloan never would have considered Chicklet a good match for Vanek, but they’d . . . clicked. The night after they were eliminated from the second round of the playoffs, they’d seen Max and Oriana off on their delayed trip, then taken a drive down to Darby. And stopped off at Chicklet’s bar for an early morning drink. Chicklet struck up a conversation with the boy and coaxed him out of his sour mood. She’d gotten him to let out his frustrations. About everything.

Oriana wouldn’t be thrilled with how much Chicklet actually knew, but Vanek should have someone outside their “group” who understood his needs.

Chicklet understood. And even though Vanek might never kneel to her, she had him pretty well trained.

Vanek inched closer to Chicklet, then brought his hand up as though to caress her cheek. He didn’t touch her until, with a regal nod, she let him know he could.

“Are you jealous?” Vanek sounded like that would please him, which proved how young he still was.

“I’m not jealous.” Chicklet’s smile was serene and unassuming. “I just won’t come second.”

“You don’t.” Vanek leaned forward and kissed her. His look held something close to worship. “Can I give you a foot rub to make up for it? You’ve been on your feet all day.”

“You may.” Chicklet drew her index finger down his chest, then hooked it to his belt. “And if you’re good, I might let you watch me and Laura make out.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Sloan chuckled as Vanek trailed Chicklet out into the yard.
Boy’s got it made, so long as he doesn’t mind being treated like a dog. Or a treasured, loyal pet . . .

He reached down and tugged Oriana’s hair to get her attention. She tipped her head back and gave him a happy smile.

“Get up here.” He patted the counter and waited until she hopped up before holding out his hand. “You still haven’t shown me your ring.”

A light, glowing blush spread across her cheeks. She’d been a little shy with him ever since she’d returned from her travels with Perron. This was as good a time as ever to find out why.

She displayed her ring as though it was a jewel-encrusted bomb she’d hang onto until it blew her hand off.

“Max said he proposed in the sanctuary gardens.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Then Dominik showed up and asked you to wear his collar.”

“Yeah.” She touched her naked throat. “The ceremony will be the same day as the wedding. But . . .”

“But?” He took out a fancy glass bowl, distracting himself by transferring the salad so she wouldn’t feel pressured.

“I’ll be connected to both of them in some way. What about you?”

So that’s what’s been bothering her.
Well, he’d fix that soon enough.

“We’ll discuss that later. So, about Silver. Is she hanging around?”

Oriana groaned. “Yes. Daddy gave her power of attorney. And her boyfriends helped her make a case for taking over ownership of the team. But . . .”

“Why didn’t he give it to you?”

“Because he didn’t!”

Her lips quivered. Time to change the subject.

“Did Max tell you about T.J.?”

She shook her head.

“Well, Richter is trying to cover up the whole scandal, so he bought out his contract. The traitor’s gonna retire without anyone knowing he tried to throw a game for a lousy ten grand.”

“The ten grand was a down payment. He would have gotten more if you’d lost.” She fiddled with the hem of her skirt, keeping her thighs together in a way that told him she’d been denied panties. Again. She crossed her legs when she caught his eyes on her thighs. “His daughter’s been living with a nonunion in her tibia for a while. If he hadn’t brought her to the States to see a specialist, she’d still be waiting for treatment. She has diabetes. She—”

“I would have loaned T.J. the money. But whatever. It’s over. You wanna play nurse tonight?”

Letting out a
pff
between her lips, she slid off the counter. “No, thank you, Sir. I’ve had enough of hospitals to last me awhile. Didn’t Max tell you I’m changing my major?”

“Nope, Max won’t stop going on and on about plans for the wedding. If he says the words ‘flowers’ or ‘cake’ to me one more time, I’m gonna get medieval on his ass.”

“You’ve been watching too much TV.”

“Yes, well I’ve gotta keep my material fresh.” He gave her the sly grin he knew creeped her out and slid a butcher knife from the cutting block case beside his bowls. “You get so wet when I use the right threats.”

The way she was looking at him, she was probably pretty wet already. “Are you planning to use a sharp knife this time?”

“Not yet. You still twitch too much.” But he would ice the blade next time they did knife play to give the illusion of a sharper edge. “Bring the salad out and ask Mason to serve the steaks. They should be ready.”

“Okay.” She picked up the tray with the potato, pasta, and Greek salads. Then she bit her lip. “You never answered me. I’m getting married to Max and collared by Dominik. What about you? Do you feel left out?”

“Why should I? I have my own unique way to claim you.” He prowled around her, eyeing her breasts, then her flanks, running his tongue over his teeth. “I just haven’t decided where I’m going to leave my mark.”

“Your mark?” She squeaked. “Umm . . . what kind of mark?”

“I was thinking branding.” He ran his hand down her thigh, enjoying the way she shivered, the same way she did whenever he suggested something new and potentially painful. They were taking baby-steps with most forms of pain play because she had some “squeamishes” and limits they both still had to learn, but he constantly found new things for them to try. Branding would be one of those things, once he found someone he trusted enough to do it to him. And once Oriana was comfortable with something so permanent. For now . . . “In a few years, we’ll discuss it. Until then, there’s a procedure called body etching. It’s not as permanent, but it hurts more.”