Erik (Arizona Vengeance 2)

“How?” I demand, eager to knock out whatever task she has for me. I just dropped five thousand dollars on a painting for her brother, so she shouldn’t underestimate my drive.

I’m stunned when she puts her hand on my chest and comes up on her tip toes so her face is closer to mine. I could easily kiss her and would if I didn’t think I’d get kneed in the nuts.

She’s fucking close enough I can smell her minty breath.

“Remember that night we were together?” she asks in a throaty voice.

God, do I fucking remember it. It’s all I’ve been able to think about lately, particularly lying in bed at night with my fist for company. I merely nod at her.

“You seemed to be especially crazy for the way I waxed myself,” she whispers.

My mouth actually starts watering as I remember how great she tasted and how soft her skin was. I nod again.

“So here’s the deal, Erik,” she says, and I can hear a tint of wickedness in her voice. “You get yourself waxed downstairs for me, and I’ll go on one date with you.”

“Because you like men bare too?” I ask her, not quite willing to think about doing something like that. But I’m sure she could persuade me.

Blue drops down to her heels and takes a step back from me. Her eyes glitter with mischief. “No. I just want to exact some painful revenge on you first. Trust me, waxing is not for the faint of heart.”

I bite my tongue not to laugh. Instead, I stick my chin up. “I’m a hockey player. I’ve played with broken bones. I doubt a little wax is going to hurt me.”

Blue throws her head back and she does laugh. When she looks back to me, I get a wink. “We’ll see.”

“Yes, you will,” I say stubbornly.

Her eyes hold mine for a moment before she turns for the doors. There’s hesitation in her step and she looks over her shoulder at me. “And thank you for the bid on that painting. That was really very nice of you.”

“My pleasure,” I return to her.Chapter 7ErikI walk out of the team shower area, a towel around my waist and another draped around my neck. I’m all kinds of weirded out by how good the water felt on my freshly waxed balls. Goddamn, that shit hurt, and I will never, ever do that again. Not for any woman. Not even if humanity’s fate rested on it.

My level of respect, though, has increased for any woman who does that to her body. I personally suspected women had a higher pain tolerance than us men—you know, childbirth and all—but this sort of confirms it. My eyes were watering the entire time and I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from yelling each time a wax strip was yanked off.

Bringing my fingertips to my left eyebrow, I run them along the three stitches that are there. I dropped the gloves early into the second period tonight and took on Ronny Reaves. I didn’t like the way he cross-checked Tacker in the back, and gave him a little jab with the end of my stick in retaliation.

“Do it again, and I’m going to kick your ass,” I’d told him.

He did it again.

So I kicked his ass good.

Unfortunately, he did land a lucky hit to my temple and my skin split just to the side of my eyebrow. That was nothing but a ten-minute trip to the locker room, where the team doctor stitched me up. I didn’t even let her give me anesthetic because I didn’t want to waste the time.

Yeah, the doc stitched me up without anesthetic, and it was a mere tickle compared to the waxing of my groin, nuts, and ass.

I take a seat on the bench that runs the length of the cubbies. They’re custom built with our names written on fancy plaques across the top of each. There are no doors on the front of each unit, but our locker room is closed off from the public and you need a security code to get in. None of the players would ever steal from one another, so no doors are totally okay.

Leaning over, I pull my duffel from a bottom shelf toward me and unzip it with one hand, while pulling the towel from around my shoulders with the other. I let it drop to the floor.

“How’s that cut feeling?” Bishop asks as he sits a few feet away on the same bench since his locker is two spots down. He’s fresh from his shower too.

“It feels like a butterfly kissed me there,” I tell him, which gets a deep belly laugh from our assistant captain. As hockey players, we would never admit to being hurt in a fight.

I snag my boxers out of my bag and push up from the bench. I undo the towel around my waist and let it drop to the floor. As I lift one foot to step into my underwear, I ask, “You and Brooke going to come out to the Sneaky Saguaro tonight?”