Skater (Seattle Sharks 6)

She shook her head, giving me a look that a few months ago I would have rolled my eyes at. I was beg

inning to understand that Ivy might be a flirt, but it was like it was simply built into her DNA. Almost unintentional, just part of her nature. But I’d also learned the difference between her natural magnetism and when she chose to turn on the charm, to seduce a simple smile from me.

“That’s perfect,” she yelled above the music.

I clued Eric and Pepper into our plans, and they headed up to the VIP lounge, knowing that Lukas was waiting for them.

“It seems busy for Tuesday night,” Ivy shouted.

“Nah, this is pretty normal. I think the weeknights are just as popular because you have a higher chance of getting in.”

“Unless you’re a Shark, in which case you always get in, right?” She asked. I watched her transform from the Ivy I knew into the analytical reporter looking for her scoop. It was ridiculously hot to see that beautiful brain at work as her eyes swept the crowd.

“I don’t know,” I said as I leaned back against the bar. “I’m having a hell of a time getting in.”

“Really?” She threw a look over her shoulder that would have withered a lesser man.

I answered with a smile that wiped that glare right off her face. Her lips parted, and she nibbled the lower one between her teeth before turning her attention back to the crowd.

Sorry, Ivy Harris, you’ve met your match.

The problem with getting that taste and knowing she’d wanted it, too? I wasn’t going to be satisfied until we’d plumbed the depths of what we could be. It wasn’t just a physical attraction, and I wasn’t about to be deterred because she’d had a freak-out mid-kiss. So until she was ready to tell me just what the hell had gone through her head, I was going to use our insane chemistry, both physical and verbal, against her.

And I was going to win.

“There’s Rob Dyon,” I pointed over her shoulder and leaned so she could follow.

“The tech genius?” she asked.

“Yep.”

“If I was a real reporter, he’d be exactly who I was looking for,” she muttered, but I heard her.

“What do you mean?” Something ugly turned in my stomach.

She turned slightly so I could hear her as the music switched to Snoop. It was circa 1997 in here, and I was loving it.

“I mean, if I was a real reporter, I’d go ask him if I could get a few quotes on his new smart house tech that’s making it possible for a greater percentage of the disabled community to live independently. Maybe I’d even work up the nerve to ask him to give me a tour since he’s been so secretive about the whole thing.”

“Right. It’s because his daughter has special needs, right?”

She nodded. “But he’s so private about it and doesn’t do interviews about it because he doesn’t think charity is something that should be publicized.”

“Ah, yes. It’s hard to get good guys on the front page if they won’t show you their capes, right?”

“Something like that,” she agreed. “But it doesn’t matter, because I don’t get to write those stories.”

Sick of yelling over the music, I grabbed her hand and walked to a deserted alcove that was usually used for much less platonic reasons.

“So write the story. Tell him that you’ll keep his daughter out of it. I bet he just wants to respect her privacy. Or you could ask his partner, what’s his name?” Tech was not my scene past how to work my DVR.

“Matias Alameda,” she answered. “He’s more the public face of the company, especially since Rob Dyon’s wife died a few years ago.”

“Okay, and tell me again why you can’t write the story?” I couldn’t figure it out. “I mean, if you write the celebrity column over at the Chronicle, that should be right up your alley…right?”

“It doesn’t exactly work like that, Connor,” she snapped. “I haven’t paid my dues yet, so I don’t get to decide what I write. To be honest, sometimes I feel like I work at a glorified version of a tabloid. They just want the bigger names. All gossip, just verified.”

“I thought this was your dream job?” I asked, trying to understand why she would do something that she obviously wasn’t happy with.

“It’s more like the front door to my dream job. Kind of like I got past the bouncer, but can’t get up to the VIP lounge just yet. Not unless I give them what they want.”

Before I could tell her that was bullshit, that I’d read her column and knew she was capable of so much more, turning it into what she wanted—a place to find hope in the good deeds in the world—Zach appeared behind her shoulder.

“Have you seen who’s here yet?” He asked. “I saw few Sharks headed up to the VIP lounge…”

Okay, this guy just lost his golden ticket with me.

“I told you, Sharks are off-limits.” Ivy stared him down. “That’s my family you’re talking about.”

Zach put his hands up. “Fine, I’m just trying to help you keep your job. Keep our jobs.” He gave her a look that had me assessing the best way to knock his ass on the ground, but there was also a hint of desperation that told me there was more to this than his need to score the next story.

“Yeah,” Ivy fired back. “We can do that without taking advantage of my family. I saw Rob Dyon here. Maybe we could ask him for an interview about that new tech.”

Maybe it made me a sucker, but my heart swelled, not just proud of her, but weirdly satisfied that she’d listened to me.

“You know that’s not going to fly at the paper.” Zach took his camera from around his neck. “No one is interested in that technology, at least not the people frequenting this column. They want to know who’s hooking up with whom, who split up, and who’s in the middle of a midlife crisis. That stuff you want to write about is great, but it’s not what they’re looking for.”

Ivy’s shoulders drooped just a fraction of an inch as if Zach had actually cut her off at the knees.

“Fine, then let’s head up to the VIP lounge and see who we can find,” she suggested.

“Exactly,” he answered her with a relieved smile. Yeah, I hated this guy.

“Let’s go,” I said, taking Ivy’s hand again. I’d take them up there, but it was only for Ivy’s good. Fuck the other guy.

We made our way around the dance floor, sticking to the edges so we didn’t get pulled into the throng of people. As we approached the staircase that led up to the VIP lounge, the bouncer gave me a nod and stepped aside, clearing the way.

“Damn,” Zach muttered. “I guess it’s good to be king.”

“I’m not even close to the king. But until recently, I liked to unwind here, so they know me pretty well.” That was another aspect of my life Hannah had changed, and definitely for the better. In the past month, I was in better shape, not only from eating better as I made sure she got nutritious meals, but also because I could hit my personal gym once Hannah was asleep. The new house just gave me a bigger version of my old set up and a pool. There was nothing like swimming to tone your whole body.

Ivy and I were up the first couple of steps when the bouncer stopped Zach.

“No cameras,” he ordered. “Not up there.”

“Are you fucking serious?” Zach asked. “What happened to freedom of the press?”

The bouncer held his hand. “That ends at the velvet rope. People don’t come here, don’t go up there to be watched. They pay for privacy, and we give it to them. I’ll ask you one more time, and that’s only because you’re here with him,” he pointed up to me. “Would you like to give me your camera, or would you like to stay on the main level?” There was zero room for negotiation in his eyes.

Zach’s face tensed, but he handed the camera to the bouncer. “You break it or lose it, you buy it,” Zach warned. “And it’s worth thousands of dollars.”

“I’ll keep it nice and toasty warm for you,” the bouncer answered with a wink that told me he really didn’t give a fuck.

He let Zach pass, and we continued up the steps, finally reaching the level of the VIP lounge. There was a small balcony overlook

ing the dance floor, and a frosted glass door that read, “Club 36, one above the rest.”

I pushed open the door and let Ivy in, dropping her hand to avoid anyone assuming they knew what was going on with us. Maybe I should’ve left it and let someone else tell me what was going on with us because I sure as hell didn’t know. The only thing I did know? I would do whatever it took to protect Ivy from team gossip. God knew she’d already had her fair share of it thanks to Crosby.

“There he is!” Lukas exclaimed from the red velvet couch. Pepper and Eric occupied the loveseat that faced him, and Porter consumed the armchair that rounded out one of five seating areas in the lounge.

Ivy and I sat on the couch, leaving Zach to drag a chair over from the small tables that ran along the one-way glass. I wasn’t sorry. The guy was lucky I’d even let him in here after that shit he pulled.

I handed Ivy her martini, which been delivered to our table, and took my ginger ale. I learned from an early age that if you drink ginger ale, no one looked twice, assuming the tan color included your choice of alcohol. I’d also learned early to watch how much I drank, knowing that addiction was in my blood.

“I miss my wingman,” Lukas declared. “It was so much easier to get laid with you at my side.”

“Oh come on, don’t tell me you’re having problems with the ladies,” Ivy threw at him with an easy grin.

“Me? Never. The accent gets them every time.” He winked at her, and I felt a surge of possessiveness that I had no right to.

Not that he was actually flirting with her. Lukas was lethal with charm when he wanted to be. In that way, he was a lot like Ivy.

“I’m just saying that it was a lot easier to take a lady home if Connor was willing to take her friend.” He leaned back against the couch.

Ivy turned and raised an eyebrow at me.

“Down girl,” Pepper ordered. “He’s young, gorgeous, and single, too.” She arched an identical eyebrow at her sister, and I would’ve killed to know what conversation had been had that this little inside comment was referencing.

Ivy raised her martini glass toward her sister. “Touché.” She took a sip of her martini and looked around the lounge, no doubt surveying the space to see who was in here.