Jett (Arizona Vengeance 10)

Her head tilts. “Is date ‘code’ for sex?”

“I’m not opposed to sex,” I say neutrally. “Are you?”

“I like sex,” she agrees with a smirk.

“It would be exclusive,” I say definitively, because while I’ve never liked to hamstring myself in that way, the thought of Emory seeing other men causes something deep in my chest to rumble fiercely with possessiveness.

I don’t try to analyze it though. I keep moving forward. “It can be whatever we want. It can be as simple as you want, so you don’t have more complications in your life.”

“I do like you,” she admits. “You’re easy.”

“That I am,” I reply with a lewd smile. “You can do whatever you want with me.”

Emory snickers and shakes her head, her smile turning warm. “I mean you’re easy to be with. I like that you’re uncomplicated.”

“And I like that you don’t like complications,” I reply.

“Sounds like we’re well suited,” she observes, and I note something husky in her voice. Something… sexual.

In all my fantasies about Emory Holland—and there have been quite a few—I never imagined her being so open to something like this. Maybe I had stereotyped her into being more on the straight and narrow given the brush off she’d given me when we first met. Not exactly a prude, but definitely one who needs to warm up to intimacy.

“Let’s set something up then,” she says, the husky tone gone and her accent crisp and sharp once again. I almost shake my head, wondering if I imagined it. “Drinks, or maybe dinner?”

“Fan day,” I say without giving it much thought. It’s tomorrow, and I don’t want to waste any opportunity to see her.

Last year, Dominik threw a massive carnival on the grounds of the arena. It can’t possibly accommodate all the Vengeance fans, so he has to have a lottery for the tickets, but it was so well received last year, that he doubled the size of it this year.

“I was going to take Felicity,” she says hesitantly. “And try to talk Jenna into coming.”

“I’ll meet you there,” I say, not wanting to give her a chance to back out. “Maybe Jenna can take Felicity home after all the Ferris wheel rides and cotton candy sure to make her little tummy churn, and then you and I can go out for a drink?”

Emory’s eyes shimmer with appreciation that I don’t try to cut her daughter out of the plans, and there’s an underlying glimmer of excitement that we’ll have alone time after.

Whatever I’m seeing in her expression—the excitement of something new between us—is echoed within me. I have no clue what in the hell I’m getting into, but I’m glad it’s happening.

CHAPTER 8

Jett

Vengeance Town is what they call the area of Phoenix that houses the hockey arena. It sits on the very edge of the city and takes up three city blocks. The arena itself sits in the exact middle and it cost $375 million to build. Investors put another $100 million in a retail shopping center that surrounds it on the perimeter, separated by several large parking lots and garages.

The carnival is set up throughout the concourse separating the arena from the retail stores and it’s really quite the spectacle. It has all the standard rides from merry-go-rounds to a huge Ferris wheel. Dozens of game booths are set up where kids can win stuffed animals and goldfish. Not as prolific, but still aplenty, food stalls are dotted around providing all kinds of weird delights from huge turkey legs to deep-fried Snickers. I can feel my arteries clogging as I walk past them.

In an effort to keep things casual and uncomplicated, Emory told me via text she’d be here sometime between 2-4 PM.

My reply was just as laid back. I’ll find you.

Of course, I’ve been here most of the day as the carnival is for the fans, first and foremost. It’s well past two PM now, and I’ve been walking around for almost forty minutes, keeping my eyes peeled for that raven hair.

I’m not a total stalker though. I’ve run into several teammates and their families, entered friendly competitions at some of the game booths, and enjoyed a beer with Dominik, Willow, and their soon-to-be son in the eyes of the law, Dillon. While I don’t have an ounce of desire to create such a familial unit, I can’t help but be moved by how happy they are.

Most particularly, Dillon, who moved out of a group home for boys right into a stable family environment with two caring people who will move heaven and earth to give him happiness.

“Jett.” A male voice—more particular, the left-wing to my right-wing—Jim Steele. He’s at the Whac-a-Mole booth where his daughter Lucy and his wife, Ella, are both furiously trying to smash the vermin as they pop up from their holes. Jim is casually leaning against the corner, arms over his chest, as I approach.