51. Renee

In the few weeks I’ve been benefiting from my time with Weston, things have been intense. Just thinking of him makes my body purr.

And it must be good for him, too—since the season started, he”s been breaking records. Obliterating them, really. He has more goals in the first week of play than any player since Gretzky and more overall points than two of the guys on the team got all of last year.

He’s a one-man show right now. Dominating everything in his path. Opponents, records—and me.

We spend plenty of time together, most of it naked. Sex on the roof, on the beach, in either apartment, quickies in the elevator. We’ve fucked our way through most of both apartments and once in the hallway while Jackson was out. No space has been off-limits.

No sex this morning before work, though, unfortunately for me. I blink down at the papers on my desk. It’s the list of players who’ve signed on to donate their time to the charity auction. Orion. Special K. Jonah. Even Hud has signed on. The only name that isn’t checked is Weston’s and that’s because I haven’t asked him.

Not because I’m afraid he’ll say no.

I’m actually more afraid he’ll say yes.

I don’t want him out there on buy-a-dates with anyone else. Offering up his time to some rich man’s trophy wife who is willing to pony up a fat stack of cash for him? It makes my stomach churn.

Not that I wouldn’t pay the big bucks if I were the trophy wife in question; I just don’t have them to pay.

This is one time I wish I hadn’t told my parents to shove my trust fund where the sun doesn’t shine.

Michelle waves her hand in front of my face. “Earth to Renee. You in there, darlin’?”

When I think about him, it’s easy to forget everything else in the world, including the fact that Michelle and Danni are in my office waiting for me to tell them why Weston hasn’t signed on yet.

I blow out a short breath and twist my mouth back and forth. I’m wracking my brain for a lie, but I’m coming up brutally blank. In the end, all I can do is tell the truth. “I… didn’t ask him.”

“Why not? Big bad Weston have you running scared?” Danni smirks, but she’s not far off the excuse I plan to use.

“Or is it that you can’t convince him?” Great. Now, Michelle is piling on. “Hud says Weston hasn’t even mentioned the auction. And he thinks it’s because Weston doesn’t even know it exists, much less know that we’d like him to participate.”

I shift the focus, desperate to drag someone else into the spotlight instead of me. “What are you doing spending time with Hud? Have you been holding out on us?”

Hud is in his early forties and gorgeous, with a set of pecs she could bounce a quarter off of. Michelle could do worse.

She rolls her eyes. “Easy with the inquisition. Hud doesn’t date.”

Danni chuckles. “And don’t try to change the subject! Look at you. You would rather pretend that you’re scared of Weston rather than admitting you don’t want him out there dating anyone because you have a crush.”

“A crush? A crush?! Pfft.” I shake my head vehemently. “No. No crushes here.”

Dani nudges Michelle. “What are the five stages of sleeping with Weston Scott?”

Michelle gleefully counts each of her fingers as she recites, “Delight. Depression. Denial. Dealing-with-it. And then, inevitably… Departure. Sweet young Renee might’ve skipped Depression for now, but it’s coming. It’s inevitable.”

“Wow. You guys are on one today, huh?” My voice is teasing, but it’s forced, because deep down, they’re hitting on exposed nerves I’ve been ignoring for weeks now.

I am aware that there are risks associated with being with Weston. Painfully aware. But these are supposed to be my friends. A little support shouldn’t be too much to ask for, right? Just let me live in blissful ignorance.

“We’re just kidding,” Michelle nudges Danni, who sits up straighter and nods.

“Absolutely. Kidding.”

“I hate you guys,” I grumble.

“You mean you love us.”

I growl, then sigh and slump back in my seat, conceding defeat. “Fine. Fine. I don’t want to ask him—but not because I’m jealous.” I am. “I just don’t want to deal with all the grumbling and bitching and him acting like I owe him a favor.”

“Plus, you don’t want to share your boytoy.”

“He’s not my boytoy! Fine. I’ll ask him.” I push my chair back and stand. “But you little instigators are coming along for moral support.”

“Faaantastic.” Danni whips out her phone, taps the screen a few times, then slides it into the pocket of the cute white blazer she’s wearing. “Hud’s going to send him up.”

I sit back in my chair and force a smile, although my stomach is churning and I would rather lick sandpaper than ask him to sell himself on the auction block, even if it is for charity. “Oh. Uh, okay. Good. We’ll just get it out of the way now then. No better time. Let’s get it done. Why wait? The present is a gift, that’s why they call it?—”

“I think we broke her.” Danni eyes me with a scrunched brow and narrow eyes.

“Nah, she just needs a reset,” Michelle demurs. “Go unplug her and plug her back in.”

I flip them both off and stand when the door opens. As soon as I’m on my feet, though, I feel like a clown. Who stands just because someone walks in the room? Am I greeting the Queen of England?

God help me. This might be a disaster.

“Weston! Glad you’re here.” My voice, which was too loud and shrill to begin with, breaks on the last word and I suddenly sound like a pack-a-day smoker. “I need to ask a favor.”

He almost smiles at me, but stops. “You’re barking up the wrong tree.”

“I’m not—I mean—you’re not a tree.” Get it together, idiot, I hiss at myself silently. “I need you to…” I clear my throat. “I need you to um…” Shit. Why can I not get this out? “Sell yourself.” Fuck. “For me.” Not better. Not better at all.

Weston tilts his head. “Excuse me?”

“Charity auction. I need you to sign up to be a celebrity date to the highest bitch.” Paging Dr. Freud. “I mean, the highest bidder.” My skin is so hot right now, you could bake cookies on my forehead.

Weston glowers. “No,” he says succinctly. Then he turns to leave the way he came.

“Hey! I’m not finished with you.” It sounds more seductive than I mean. Not what I was intending, but that’s probably the only reason why he turns around with one brow cocked. “I need this, Weston.”

“I’m sure you do. The answer is still no.”

I frown. “The rest of the team is playing along. Maybe you could take the hockey stick out of your ass and do something for someone who isn’t you.”

Danni stifles a surprised gasp. Michelle is completely motionless in her chair, like a wax statue. But my eyes stay locked on Weston.

He glides slowly toward me, face cruelly blank. “P,” he croons, “if your friends weren’t here cock-blocking, I’d do something that would very obviously be for someone who isn’t me.” He pauses, then adds, “But the answer is still no.”

I swallow. Is my skin on fire? I’m pretty sure my skin is on fire. I’m definitely sweating like a pig, too. “Why not?” I squeak out.

“Because I would rather cut off my nutsack than spend one minute breaking bread with a vapid rich bitch who can’t donate to charity without getting something out of it in return.” His eyes burrow into mine for a long minute. “I only share my time with people who deserve it.”

Michelle and Danni blink back to life. They look at each other, then at me. “He’ll be very difficult,” Danni warns.

Michelle nods. “An asshole from start to finish.”

“Yes, I will.” Weston nods. “And I’m standing right here.”

“We’ll probably get sued by whoever buys him,” Danni continues.

I know what they’re doing. It will not work on him. But it’s fun to watch, if for no other reason than it takes the heat off me for a second.

“Could cost a lot. Probably isn’t worth it.”

“Maybe,” I say with a dry throat, “in light of his shitty disposition and his grim attitude, we could allow Weston to donate some special edition gear in lieu of a date. Autographed, of course.”

I try not to let them see me wriggling with glee at the thought of keeping him off the auction block.

I finally risk a glance in his direction to see how this suggestion is landing. His mouth twists from one side to the other, then he nods ever so slightly. “Fine.”

“Excellent! Problem solved.”

Weston nods once more, then disappears. The door clicks shut behind him. I sink back into my seat, my legs trembling like a newborn fawn.

I’m proud of my compromise, but Michelle looks at me with eyes narrowed and her head tilted. She’s suspicious, but she isn’t about to call me on it. For that, if nothing else, I’m grateful.

Danni, though, smiles and wipes her forehead with her hand in an over-exaggerated phew. “Well, we avoided that PR pothole. Thank the hockey gods.”

“Yeah,” I mumble. “I guess Weston being an asshole is a blessing in disguise.”