6. Blakely

CHAPTER 6

BLAKELY

“Press and a red carpet for a figure skating club?” Lawson asks, navigating his car through the line for the valet.

“When you say it like that, it sounds so ridiculous,” I say. “This is a prestigious event. It's not just figure skaters from the University of Maine or professors, but Olympic skaters and others who've made a career on the national level. This event kicks off so many careers for so many different people, it's like… known across the nation. It's one of the best networking events you can attend as a skater who wants to make a career out of their talent.”

Lawson purses his lips and nods, respect lining his features. He looks damn good behind the wheel, slowly waiting for our turn until we get up to the valet. He has on a dark navy-blue suit, his brown hair messy in a perfect way, his hazel eyes radiating nothing but confidence and sex. I don't even think he notices that they do that, or maybe it's just for me, but if the way heads are turning our way when we get out of the car is any indication, then I doubt it.

He immediately slides a hand around my waist, walking effortlessly down the red carpet as cameras flash. This year the event is held in a historical building inside the city, all of the figure skating community’s elite in attendance.

We stop to have our picture taken, and I absent-mindedly run my hand down my silver gown, which shimmers like starlight underneath all the flashing lights. The neck has a plunging V that I wouldn't normally wear, thanks to Brian's constant insistence that the top figure skaters in the world were modest, not flashy. But I love my body, and I feel damn good in this dress, and for the first time in years, I feel empowered by making my own choices without fearing a reprimand by somebody I thought I loved.

“Lawson!” one of the reporters calls out. “Are you here in an official capacity with your skating coach?”

I internally cringe, but we’d prepared for this. To the media, we couldn’t be more than friends, but to Brain, hopefully we’d appear intimate enough for him to back off.

“We’re friends,” Lawson answers smoothly.

“Over here!” another reporter calls, wanting their own picture.

Lawson and I face the cameras, and I lean into him just slightly as he dips down to whisper something into my ear.

“Have I told you that you look stunning in that dress?” he asks, the words sending warm tendrils sparking down my skin.

“Twice,” I say, unable to stop the grin that spreads my red-painted lips.

“Be prepared for me to tell you again,” he says, shifting away from my ear and smiling for the camera again. His moves are practiced and elegant and completely at ease in front of the cameras whereas I’ve never gotten used to it.

The press didn’t show up at every event, thank God, but this one was a highly coveted invitation.

Lawson steers me into the building, and I relax slightly once we’re out of sight of all the flashing lights. “Who knew that the figure skating world was similar to the NHL world?” Lawson asks as we make our way to one of the banquet tables where the rest of the speakers will be sitting.

“Not so similar,” I say as we take our seats.

The ballroom has been completely transformed into an elegant display of twinkling lights, cream linens atop round tables, and servers making the rounds with crystal flutes filled with champagne. The room is already packed with tons of familiar faces, and just as many strangers. I may have removed myself from this community when I went after the job of my dreams, but I still hold enough respect to merit an invitation to speak.

“Trust me, we don't get near as much publicity as you guys do,” I finally finish, forcing myself to look at Lawson and stop scanning the crowd for one face in particular.

There's no way in hell Brian is missing this event, if not to try to convince me to skate with him for the reality TV show auditions in a few months, then certainly to try to network his way into one.

But tonight isn’t about him, despite Lawson sitting dutifully at my left side, smiling and winking at people who recognized him. Looking charming as hell sitting with his arm draped over the back of my seat as more people make their way into their room.

Tonight is about the craft and the wonderful world of figure skating and all its possibilities. And just because it wasn't my chosen path doesn't mean I couldn't seriously hype up those who did choose to pursue it. And I’m truly rooting for those who are in search of a connection, making that invaluable network acquaintance that will help propel them either into the professional competition market or beyond.

“Does that kind of thing bother you?” Lawson asks as the servers start providing the main course. “Paparazzi?”

“Not really,” I say. “I'm not a fan of all the assumptions they jump to, but I'm not going to hide away on the off chance that they might take a picture of me and construe it wrong to the public.”

I don't mention that in order to avoid press in connection to my dad, I’ve always used my middle name as my last, ensuring the connection isn’t made so stories aren’t spread about my prestige in the skating community being solely because of my father’s NHL connections. Dad definitely should get the credit for my skating skills, since he fostered them in me since I was a kid, but it’s a messy business I’d been lucky to avoid my entire college career.

Guilt stings me, and I take a deep breath. I don't owe that truth to Lawson yet, especially when it's not that serious between us. We’re working our way up toward a real friendship, but he’s certainly earned my respect for trading one service for another. My lessons for his role in trying to get Brian to back off.

“That's good,” he says. “They've been following me around a lot ever since I was drafted, and I didn't want us to be out, and it make you uncomfortable. Do you need another drink?” he asks, looking at my empty champagne flute.

It takes me a few seconds to shake off my shock at how considerate and doting he's behaving, but then I chide myself. He may be cocky, but he's always been perceptive to my needs, even as a stranger approaching me with the sole goal of saving me. The two dominant personality traits for Lawson are definitely combating each other, or they're creating this perfect combo that I can't help but be drawn to.

“No, thank you,” I say, taking a sip of my water in between bites of my steak. “I'll be speaking soon and I'm a lightweight. If I have two glasses of champagne and get up on that stage, there's no telling what will happen.”

Lawson shifts his body toward me, his smile downright wolfish. “Oh, I would love to know what would happen,” he says after taking a few bites off his plate. “Would you start belting out something like classic rock? Or would you talk about how all of the bumbling Badger hockey players are driving you nuts?”

I laugh, shaking my head. “Singing would probably be the one I'd do, and I'd be very bad at it.”

“What's your go-to karaoke song?”

“Didn't you hear the very bad at it part?”

“That's the whole point of karaoke,” he says. “You wanna know mine?”

I nod. I really did want to know. The idea of Lawson on a stage singing anything is suddenly the most intriguing idea.

“Bad Blood, by the T Swift herself,” he says, and I laugh so hard I nearly spit out my water. He joins in, smoothing his hand over my bare back in a reassuring way. I flash apologetic looks to our fellow guests at the table, but they wave me off, too invested in their own dinners and conversations to care.

“You're always so full of surprises,” I say.

“It's a good quality to have,” he says. “Naturally, I possess it. So, what would yours be?”

“If for some reason I ever got drunk enough to be brave enough to go up on stage to sing, I wouldn't mind belting out Bad Blood. It's one of my favorites, though with her songs it's hard to choose just one.”

Lawson flashes me an irresistible grin, taking a sip of his champagne before winking at me. “Good to know,” he says. “I can't wait to see you in action.”

“You'll be waiting a long time,” I say. “I don't mind going to karaoke bars, but I never actually partake.”

“We'll see about that,” he says playfully.

Our conversation is hushed by the appearance of the head of the university’s figure skating club walking across the stage. My nerves jolt knowing this will be my cue to go up and give my speech next. I’d been too distracted with dinner and conversation with Lawson to pay attention to who is in the room, but being on stage and speaking to all of the attendees will make it hard to ignore the sea of faces.

The room erupts into applause as I’m called to the stage, and I'm filled with gratitude at the appreciation and recognition the head of the club gives me. Lawson watches me with an intense gaze that's hard to tear my eyes away from even when I take my place behind the podium on the stage.

I have to force my eyes away from his before I forget my entire speech.

Thankfully, after a few deep breaths and a few well-intended pieces of advice, I make it off the stage without any embarrassment. And bonus? I didn't spot Brian’s face among the crowd.

Maybe he forgot.

Maybe he already secured some grand figure skating adventure and didn't need this event to network.

Maybe it’s just a stroke of luck, but either way, it makes the anxiety twisting in my chest unravel a bit more.

Lawson stands and claps as I make my way back to the table, and I can’t help but smile at his enthusiasm. He certainly likes to play the role of doting boyfriend, even though our target audience of one isn’t in attendance.

It’s totally endearing, especially because it’s so nice to experience another person that’s actually here to support me and isn’t here for his own gain. Even if it is just pretend.

“Damn, I didn't know you were an expert skater and public speaker,” Lawson says as we take our seats again.

I laugh softly, shaking my head at him. “You don't have to lay it on so thick, hero. No one is here to see it.”

Lawson furrows his brow, studying me for a few moments. “Do you think I'm behaving any other way than I normally would? I am who I am. And just because it'll make a good show doesn't mean it's fake. You did really well up there.”

Well, goddamn him. My heart actually flutters at the compliment, at the sincerity swirling in his gorgeous hazel eyes. Jesus, what am I doing? I can't stop the way my body reacts to this man, especially when he's looking at me like that. Or when his hands are on me, or his lips.

Our little practice kiss after our first private lesson still buzzes beneath my skin. There was definitely nothing fake about the way I responded to him, or the chemistry that crackled between us. I know there’s no denying it, but neither one of us wants a relationship and we also have the little side issue of me being one of his coaches. That’s like a mess begging for trouble, which neither of us needs.

“Thank you,” I say, and genuinely mean it. He’s certainly made this night a thousand times better than it would’ve been without him.

The event continues with us mingling with skaters, judges, coaches, and producers, and by the time I think I can't utter another word, the music finally starts up and Lawson eagerly drags me to the dance floor.

We fall into an easy rhythm to the upbeat music, immersed among other happy couples dancing and laughing and having a great time. Lawson takes lead, and I find myself laughing as he twirls me around before cinching me tight against his body and working us around the dance floor.

“What's that grin for?” he asks, one hand in mine and the other on my hip.

“I'm having fun,” I say.

“Why do you sound so surprised? Did you really think I was just going to sit here and pout because this event has nothing to do with me? I'm not that much of a cocky prick.”

I shake my head. “Of course, I didn't think that,” I say. “But I've been to several of these things before and seeing someone sitting and pouting is what I’m used to. Especially if he wasn't getting the attention he thought he deserved.”

Lawson takes that opportunity to dip me, his powerful arms easily bending my body this way and that, sending heat shivering down my center. “Can I ask why you stayed with him so long if he was that way with you?”

I sigh as he brings me back up to standing, our bodies flush as one song turns into another, neither one of us moving to let go. “I’ve asked that question myself a lot since leaving him. At first, I think it was because it was my first real relationship. All throughout high school I’d been so focused on my practice and competition circuits that I didn't have time for a real boyfriend. Hell, I'd never been on a real date until my freshman year of college. I finally made time to open myself up to the idea of having a boyfriend and Brian seemed to fill that role very quickly. He liked the same things I liked, and he was a skater too. We were in each other's worlds so much that it was a natural progression.” A weight sinks in my stomach as too many memories flood me. The constant lectures, the subtle passive aggressive jabs that I thought were out of his love for me and his wishes for me to be better. He only wanted to look better. I was never really a factor in the equation.

“You're telling me that douchebag Brian was the first guy you've ever been with?”

I can feel the blush work its way up my body, and I can only hope that I'm not too red, that the low lighting in the ballroom will hide it.

“That's a really personal question, don't you think?” I ask, but my tone is light as we turn around on the dance floor.

Lawson shrugs. “You made a joke about my past romantic history last week. I know mine is pretty public, but as far as personal goes, I have you in my arms,” he says, and leans down so we're cheek to cheek, his lips at the shell of my ear. “And I've had your tongue in my mouth, have felt your body against mine more than once now.” He pulls back, looking down at me with a confident smile. “If that's not personal, I don't know what it is.”

I'm on fire.

This man gets me hot in so many different ways, one is needy and achy and the other is angry and explosive. But he's not wrong, I poked fun at his extensive and public romantic history before.

“Yes,” I finally answer. “He's the first and only.”

Lawson goes still for a moment, pausing our dance and taking a few seconds before he realizes he stopped and starts us back up again.

“What's that look?” I ask.

“I feel awful,” he says.

“Why?”

“I mean, it's natural for your first to be bad, but for your only ? That's just downright depressing.”

I gaze up at him. “Who says Brian was bad?”

Lawson flashes me an incredulous look, then spins me and dips me once more before bringing me back flush against him. “Trust me, I saw the guy, and from what you've told me about him, he fits the bad-in-bed bill. I bet he never even took more than ten minutes with you.”

My eyes fall to his muscular chest, unable to keep looking at him after that comment. How could he tell? How is it that Lawson fucking Wolfe seemed to know more about me and my life than even I did? How could he read me so easily?

“It's a damn shame,” he says, tipping up my chin so I'll meet his eyes again. “If I was given the honor,” he continues, “I’d take much, much longer than that.”

“How much longer?” The whispered question is out of my mouth before I can stop it, my pulse skittering beneath my skin at the way he's looking at me. I already knew his kiss awakened something in me nothing else ever has. I couldn’t imagine what would happen if I actually let him into my bed.

Explosive indeed.

Lawson visibly swallows. “Do you really want to know, damsel?”

Did I? We always have fun bantering, but this feels like dancing on a tightrope—one slip and we’ll cross a line we might not be able to come back from.

But I felt safe with him. Not just in his arms but also in conversation with him. So, there isn’t any harm in enjoying those safe things, right?

I nod.

Lawson leans down again, his lips back at the shell of my ear, and I find myself tilting my head slightly, some instinct wanting to offer up more of my body to him. It’s quite clear in this moment, in his arms, I want to give him full access to anything he wants.

“I would take hours,” he says. “The first of which would be spent working over your entire body and figuring out exactly what it is that makes you tremble. The next few would be making you come so many times you would quickly pass out from exhaustion right after. And once you woke up, after I'd fed you properly, I'd start the process over again.”

Heat pools in my core, and I have the irresistible urge to shift against him to try to soothe the pulsing ache between my thighs.

Lawson pulls back, nothing but desire and mischief in those eyes. “Hypothetically,” he adds, and I can’t help but laugh. I find myself doing that with him more than I ever thought I would.

“What if after an hour you didn’t want anymore?” I ask. “Hypothetically.”

“There is no version of that fantasy that exists where I wouldn’t want hours with you, Blakely.”

I swallow hard, my heart hammering in my chest as we gaze into each other’s eyes. God, I want the fantasy he’s painted. I want to feel alive. I want to burn like his kiss makes me burn.

The song comes to an end, and I immediately detach myself from Lawson, needing space before I do what my friends suggest and climb him like the tree he is.

“Restroom,” I mutter the word, the only one I'm able to get out without him being able to notice the shakiness in my voice.

He nods, watching me walk through the ballroom and out into the hallway where the restrooms are located. I quickly go in the lady’s room and splash some cold water on my face, just enough to shock me out of my lust-hazy vibe and not enough to mess up my makeup.

The water doesn’t help much, if at all. I look at myself in the mirror and almost don’t recognize the woman staring back at me. She has a bright smile on her face, one laced with desire , not an ounce of it hidden.

I don’t look like the proper little figure skating princess Brian always painted me up to be. I look like a confident, strong skating coach. One who knows exactly what she wants.

And right now? It’s Lawson.

In this private little moment, I indulge myself, letting myself think about it for just a few seconds.

I want him. I’d wanted him since the moment he kissed me and I didn't know who he was. I wanted him that much more when he kissed me the other day in the parking lot. And I want him infinitely more now after he’s treated me with such care tonight.

And maybe it’s an act. Maybe this is the game he plays with every woman he meets. Maybe this is exactly how he earned that extensive romantic history, but who cares? He makes me feel safe and wanted and sexy. Isn’t that enough to take things further? Especially if they wouldn’t amount to anything serious? He doesn’t want a relationship and neither do I, which makes the me-being-his-coach thing less important. Because if it’s a purely physical situation, then there will never be a problem during the professional part.

I’m tempted to send my thoughts off to the girls’ group chat, but even trying to type that out seems like a risk. It’s one thing to entertain these thoughts here and now, but to put them out in the open for the universe to judge and analyze?

No thanks.

It’s been ages since I’ve had this much fun, and I don’t intend for it to stop now.

A flower of apprehension blooms in my chest, nerves tangling in that exciting way when the possibilities seem endless. When fantasies seem so close to reality.

I bite my bottom lip, unable to contain my smile as I decide, why the hell not? I can present him with a scenario, and he can either go for it or not. Nothing has to change.

With the new sense of determination and confidence washing over me, I walk out of the bathroom, eager and almost drunk on the possibilities?—

“Blakely,” Brian's voice sounds just seconds before I run smack dab into his chest.

I immediately back up a few steps, my brow furrowing at his sudden appearance outside the women's restroom in the hallway outside the ballroom.

“Brian,” I say, and take a deep breath to slow my racing heart.

The racing heart that was excited not two seconds ago, and it’s now quivering in uncomfortable fear. Which makes me incredibly sad, because at one point I let this man know the most intimate parts of me, had given him my heart to take care of and he’d crushed it over and over again in small sections, slowly, to where I barely even noticed until they’d become a collective loss, and I became somebody I didn't recognize.

I’m not that person anymore, and I’ve worked hard to put my heart back together.

“Are you having a good time?” I ask, opting for civility in the hopes that he’ll return it. I could question him for his presence, but of course he was invited to this event. Why he decided to corner me outside the women's restroom is a whole other thing.

“I'd be having a better time if you weren't throwing yourself at that pretty-boy Badger.” He looks me up and down, shaking his head as his eyes trail the length of my plunging neckline.

The look turns my stomach, and I seriously question my judgment when I realize I used to dress to please this man.

“I'm not throwing myself at anybody,” I say. “Not that it's any of your business. How many times do I have to tell you?—”

“You and I are meant to be together,” he cuts me off. I clench my eyes shut. “You and I have plans.”

Adrenaline cuts into my bloodstream, making my fingers tremble.

“You and I are nothing,” I say. “Brian, you've made it so we can't even be friends. The texts, the showing up and forcing me to speak with you, it's giving stalker vibes.”

“I'm not stalking you,” he quickly argues. He tosses his hand behind him toward the ballroom. “I was invited. Just because you broke up with me, stupidly so, does not mean that I have to stop showing up to places that I enjoy too. I didn't follow you to The Queen’s Rum either. You just happened to be there when I was there. Same as tonight.”

I blow out a breath. “Fine. That's fair. And the texts?”

“I just want you to talk to me,” he says. “You threw away four years, for what? Because you wanted to explore? Fine. You've clearly done that with the Badger. Are you ready to come back to me now?”

“I can't believe you can't take a hint,” I say. “If you ever had any respect for me, you would leave me alone?—”

“Respect for you?” he cuts me off, his voice rising enough that I take another step back. “How can I have respect for you when you have none for yourself? You drop me and all of our future dreams to ride some man-whore hockey player? Give up a career so you can be a skate coach? Why? Did you think it'd be easier to get all of their numbers? Are you fucking all of them or just one?—”

“Lower your voice,” Lawson’s words are low, but lethal. He comes around Brian, stepping in front of me.

“We were talking,” Brian snaps. “You can fucking leave.”

I glance around anxiously at the other people who are going to and from the ballroom. We haven’t made a scene yet, but we're riding that line. The last thing I want is for some reporter to catch the heated conversation between us and Lawson ends up getting a bad headline because of it. We haven’t even started the season yet, and the last thing we need is bad press for any of the Badgers.

“And I told you to lower your voice,” Lawson says with incredible calm. His hands are not fisted at his sides, but Brian's are. The juxtaposition of the two—calm versus rageful—is spinning my head.

I reach for Lawson’s hand, gently tugging him back to be at my side. To my utter surprise, he comes without hesitation, immediately wrapping an arm around me, but his eyes are on Brian's, daring him to say another word.

“Like I was saying,” I say. “You have to leave me alone. There is nothing left between us.”

“Bullshit,” he says. “There's four years of history between us. And I know when you come to your senses, you're going to realize that.”

“You really shouldn't insult my girlfriend in front of me,” Lawson says, and the claiming declaration makes every independent instinct in my body evaporate. I go all warm and melty at the sensation, and I can’t even chide myself for it.

“Bullshit, she's your girlfriend,” Brian says.

“I know it's hard to believe,” Lawson says without missing a beat. “Someone as gorgeous and smart and funny and brilliant and fucking talented as this one?” He nods down to me. “There's no way in hell she'd ever pick a prick like me, right? I know I don't deserve her, but she chose me, and I'm just selfish enough to let her keep choosing me.” Lawson looks down at me, every inch of confidence laced on the chiseled features of his face. “And I'm just cocky enough to thank her for that every single day.”

My lips part, my eyes only for him, and I have no idea what to say. I know he's playing the role I asked him to play, but he's doing it so damn well.

“You want to get out of here?” Lawson asks me, completely ignoring the practically snorting Brian next to us.

“More than anything,” I admit.

Lawson interlaces our fingers. “Let me take you home.”

He gently tugs me out of Brian’s path, leaving him behind without a second glance. With each step we get away from him, my chest opens up and I can breathe a little easier, but just as quickly anger floods into my system, and by the time the valet brings Lawson’s car and we get into it, I'm fuming .

“Fucking asshole,” I snap, dragging my fingers through my hair in an effort to relieve myself of the ache taking up residence in the back of my head.

Lawson navigates the streets, glancing at me before returning focus to the road. “You need to be more specific than that, damsel,” he says. “I can't tell if you're talking about me or the other one.”

A laugh rips from my lips, and I shake my head at the way tension has the ability of melting from my body with just a few words from him. “Not you,” I say. “ Him . He won't listen. He won't believe me. But you show up, another man , and he actually goes quiet? Why does he respect what you say and not me?”

“Because he's a douchebag?” Lawson answers like it's a question, shrugging when he turns onto the road that will take us to my apartment. “I honestly don't understand men like him. I never have. My mom told me stories about my father, and he treated her similarly. Plus, my sister has had her fair share of jerks in and out of her life.”

“That sucks,” I say, shivering at the idea if I’d gotten more connected to Brian than I had. God forbid having a child with a man like that. If he didn't respect my opinions or my needs, of course he wouldn't respect a child’s.

A pang of empathy rattles through me for Lawson.

By the time he parks in the parking lot of my apartment complex, shutting down the car and walking me to my door, I’ve cooled off a little. I look up at Lawson, and I suddenly don't have the proper words to thank him for all he's done tonight.

“So, when's our next mission?” he asks before I even get a chance to thank him.

“Aren't you tired of me already?” I ask, desperately grasping for that humor that chases away all the heavy.

“I can do this for much longer than you think,” he says.

I blow out a breath, thinking. “That was the main event I was really concerned with,” I say. “The one I knew he would attend, but I'll definitely let you know. And we can keep up our private lessons, even though I don't have a date for us on the books.”

Something like disappointment flashes over his features, but he smooths it away quickly enough. I'm still trying to figure out how to thank him when it looks like he's about to leave, and instinct takes over.

I gently reach out, placing my hand on his chest to stop him, then move to my tiptoes so I can gently press my lips to his.

He immediately leans into my touch, his hands sliding easily along my hips as he takes control of the kiss. All my earlier thoughts and ambitions flood back to my mind, but they’re quickly doused with ice water with the memory of Brian's words.

As much as I would love to spend a night with Lawson and allow him to distract me from all my problems, I’m not about to use him like that.

No, if Lawson and I cross this line—give in to this chemistry that seems to be burning us both from the inside out—it’ll be on our terms and no one else’s.

Still, it’s hard as hell to pull away from him, to tell my body to take a step away and put space between us.

“I just wanted to say thank you,” I say, and it sounds as pathetic outside of my head as it did inside.

Lawson smirks down at me. “I like the way you say thank you,” he says, and I unravel at the way he puts me at ease.

No judgment, no lectures, no insisting that I'm leading him on. He knows exactly what page we're on, and he's okay with it. Somehow, that makes him more endearing than all his other endearing qualities combined.

He slowly backs away, sliding his hands into the pants pockets, looking so damn good I'm about to rethink the whole stopping-our-kiss thing.

“Call me any time, damsel,” he says before he spins around and heads back to his car.

I blow out a breath, grateful for his ability to leave when I would’ve stood outside my door all night just to kiss him some more.

I make my way inside, locking the door behind me, and heading straight for a very, very cold shower.