Chapter 5

Cheyenne

Stevie seemed slightly embarrassedthat Damien had rudely interrupted our conversation with Henrik and Autumn. She gave me an apologetic look as Damien put his arm around her and motioned to his friend.

"Chey, this is James Cromwell. Jim, the one and only Cheyenne." He paused. "What's your last name?"

"I don't use a last name." Chey smiled and shook Jim's hand. "Nice to meet you. I understand you're going to be Damien's best man?"

"I am." He shook my hand with a lot more vigor than necessary, but I kept my smile on my face.

"This is my boyfriend Ivan," I said, the words slipping out before I could stop them.

"Uh, nice to meet you." Jim looked confused as he glanced at Damien, but obligingly shook Ivan's hand.

"How long has this been going on?" Damien demanded, as if he somehow had a right to know anything about my personal life. "Stevie said you were single."

"It's been on and off since June," Ivan interjected mildly. "We both have busy careers so we're keeping it casual."

"I'm sorry," Stevie said softly. "I, uh, didn't know you'd started back up again."

It was a good thing I loved her because I really wanted to throttle her right now.

"It's fine. Anyway, it was nice to meet you, but we have more people to say hello to." I might have yanked Ivan's arm out of the socket as I pulled him toward Saylor.

"You okay?" Saylor caught my gaze immediately.

"I'm going to kill her," I hissed.

"Price goes up another ten percent," she deadpanned.

It was enough to make me laugh. "Thanks, but that doesn't help. She fucking knew he was trying to set me up with his friend and she didn't even warn me."

"Stevie needs an intervention."

"I was waiting for her to fuck up, and now she has. It's happening. I just don't know when."

"It's all right." Ivan's deep voice soothed me. "I won't leave your side tonight, so you won't be subjected to any more of his bullshit."

"Thank you." I looked up at him gratefully. "But unless you're planning to leave hockey to become my full-time bodyguard, I'm going to have to deal with this."

"No plans to change careers just yet," he said with a grin, "but for tonight, at least, I don't want you to worry."

He was a really nice guy, and for the first time in years, I wondered if having a boyfriend would be such a bad thing. We didn't have to get serious. We could just have fun together, right? I'd had a relationship like that with Kingston Knight about a year and a half ago, and it had been great. He was one of the biggest rock stars in the world and we'd had fun together. The sex had been incredible, we both liked music, and he was a gentleman in every way.

It got to a point where we'd spent enough time together to be on the verge of catching feelings, so we'd called it quits. We were still friends, and he was now engaged to the bass player in his band, which told me that we'd done the right thing at the right time. He'd been ready for more, and he knew I wasn't, so he'd gone looking for what he wanted.

Maybe Ivan would be down for something like that?

Glancing up at him, the seriousness in his eyes spoke of something else.

He was a man with needs.

I just didn't know what they were.

If they were sexual, I could fulfill them.

If they were emotional, well, that was something I wasn't ready for.

"Oh my god." Harper came over to us, her eyes wide with annoyance. "I'm going to strangle Stevie."

"Get in line," I muttered. "At least she's not trying to set you up with his best friend."

"God forbid." Harper grimaced as her eyes drifted down to where Ivan and I were still holding hands. "You appear to have found a way to keep them at bay, though."

"Rent-A-Boyfriend is on the job!" Ivan replied, making us all laugh.

"You're a good man," Gabe told him.

"I try." He smiled down at me and for some reason this didn't feel fake. When he looked at me, he didn't rake his eyes down my body or stare at my chest. He looked right in my eyes, giving me no doubt he was listening to me.

And it was so refreshing I wasn't quite sure what to do about it.

"Excuse me, I have friends to see." Harper drifted off and Ivan and I eventually began to explore the gallery.

"This one is my favorite," I said, getting to a contemporary abstract self-portrait Saylor had done. I'd seen it before, at her home studio, and I'd always loved it.

"Why don't you buy it?" Ivan asked.

"She tried to give it to me once but it's so touching and poignant, I think she can sell it for a lot of money. I told her put it in the gallery and if it didn't sell within the first week, I'd buy it."

"It will sell," he said thoughtfully. "It's stunning."

"Those are my favorite colors," I said, referring to the mostly red and pink color scheme, "but it's also the look on her face. And the fact that the only blue in the picture is her eyes. It's just so damn striking."

"You really love it," he said, his eyes meeting mine.

"I do."

"If it moves you that much, you should own it. I think art speaks to people, so when you hear those voices, the only acceptable response is to own the whatever it is that's doing the talking."

Jesus, who was this guy?

Underneath the gruff hockey player was the soul of a poet.

Or an artist.

"I'm thinking about it," I said softly.

"I like that one," he said, moving down to the next aisle.

It was another abstract, which was Saylor's specialty, but this one in shades of blue and gray. A mishmash of color with a tall building in the middle. There were lots of windows, but just one was faintly yellow, as if it were the only room with a light on. Or maybe the only one with an occupant. It was also striking.

"Is it speaking to you?" I asked.

"It is." He stared at it for a few seconds, his head cocked. "It would look nice in my bedroom."

"Are you going to get it?"

"I want to look at everything first, but yes, I think so."

I'd never dreamed when I'd invited him that he would not only appreciate the art, but also buy something, and it endeared him to me. More than that, he wasn't buying it to be nice—he really liked and wanted it.

We walked around and discussed art and the gallery and our upcoming trips to the east coast. Ironically, the Phantoms were playing all three New York area hockey teams next week, so we would be there at the same time.

"There's a fundraiser Thursday night," he told me. "At the Barnaby Club. It's for a new burn wing at the hospital. Harper asked a few of us to attend, as unofficial ambassadors for the team. Gabe, Jensen, Connor, and I are all going. Bailey's flying in with Jensen, so would you want to go with me?"

"Sure." I didn't even hesitate. "Just send me the specifics so I know what to wear and to make sure I'm free."

"How long will you be in New York?" I asked her.

"All week. Maybe two weeks, but if I can get everything done, I might come back here. I've been on the go so much, I'm tired."

"Do you just do one photo shoot after another?" he asked curiously.

"Yes and no. I do interviews and fashion shows too. Sometimes I shoot commercials for designers or perfume companies and whatnot. I do videos to promote products and my brand online. I've also had small roles in movies and TV shows."

"Is that the goal?"

"To be an actress?" I shook my head. "Don't get me wrong, if they offer me a leading role with the paycheck to go with it, I'll do whatever they want. But I have a plan. I'm going to work as hard as I can, bank as much money as possible, and retire when I'm thirty. Then I'm going to eat cheesecake for breakfast and lie on the beach somewhere getting fat."

He chuckled. "I don't have a timetable, because I love hockey and want to play as long as I'm healthy—not to mention, thirty is right around the corner for me. I'm twenty-eight, twenty-nine before this season is over, so I think I've got another five seasons in me. But after that, I have similar feelings. I'd like to have a house that's paid off, maybe somewhere close to my mom, so she can be part of the lives of any kids that might be in my future. A beach house would be nice, though."

"You want a family?"

"I don't know. I guess it'll depend on the woman and the circumstances."

"You're a very nice guy, Ivan Rochenko." I eyed him suspiciously. "Why are you single? You don't have a small wiener, do you?"

He threw back his head and bellowed out a laugh. "I'd be happy to show you," he said, "but you're probably not ready for that, so you'll have to take my word for it that that is not the issue."

"So what is?"

"There was someone for a long time. She was Russian. Her plan was always to go home when I retire. I was never going back. I was always honest about that, but I think she believed she could change my mind. When she realized she couldn't, she left."

"If you haven't been back to Russia since you were thirteen, how did you meet her?"

"She was in New York on vacation, came to a game, called out to me in Russian, and we struck up a conversation. We hooked up, did the long-distance thing for a while, she started coming to visit, and I finally got her a visa as my significant other. We were together a long time and she's been gone almost a year. I wanted to wait a while, give myself time to truly get over both her and the loss of the relationship."

"That's smart."

"And what about you? You are one of the most beautiful women in the world. How are you single? I see men vying for your attention day in and day out."

"That's the problem. None of them see me. They see Cheyenne the supermodel, whom they want to either fuck, possess, or show off to their friends. None of them give a damn what's inside here." I touched a hand to my chest. "And until I find someone who does, I'm not interested. Not to mention, my retirement plan. Guys start talking about babies, and that is not going to happen before I'm thirty. Period."

"It's good to stick to your convictions," he said.

"And anyone who meets me now is going to think this…" I used my hands to make a sweeping motion down my body. "…is what they're getting. But I'm not living on lemon water and celery for the rest of my life. Once my modeling days are over, I'm going to embrace pasta and bread and all the things I don't get to eat now."

"Never?" he asked, making a face.

"I allow myself a few treats at Christmas, my birthday, stuff like that, but otherwise, no. My body is how I make my money, so I'm always cognizant of that. Don't get me wrong, I don't plan to balloon up to an unhealthy weight. I didn't eat like this all these years to die of a heart attack at forty because I stopped taking care of myself, but I'm five feet ten. I don't need to weigh a hundred and fifteen pounds. I can happily weigh one thirty or one forty and still look good."

"You'd look good at any weight," he said softly, his eyes on mine.

"Thank you."

Guys gave me compliments all the time, so why did it sound so different coming from Ivan?

And why was my heart stuttering with excitement?

The answer was something I refused to think about.

No matter how good it felt.