Skater (Seattle Sharks 6)

Just as well. I suppose I didn’t really want to know what Connor made of the situation. Of me letting him in—letting him part my lips with his tongue and claim my mouth one second and then bolting out his front door the next.

I stabbed my spoon into the creamy goodness and took a huge bite.

“Better?” Pepper asked, nibbling at her own.

I nodded. “Might need something stronger.”

She laughed. “I thought that, but know you have an early day tomorrow.”

“Right. Work.” The thing that was supposed to have my full focus. Supposed to help prevent things like this from happening. I ate a few more bites, feeling more wretched the longer we sat in silence.

I’d fallen hard for Crosby because he’d said all the right things.

And Connor…he’d hated me for it. For what it’d done to the team and what it had made me do to Eric and my sister.

They’d forgiven me…well, maybe not Crosby but I wasn’t worried about him since he’d lied to me the entire time we were together.

But had Connor? Somewhere between the banter and me helping Hannah, we’d found a common ground. Hell, we’d even had moments of connection that I’d never felt before. Like when he stunned me with his sweet gift of his jersey. Or when we’d sat in his giant marble tub while house shopping—me sharing my silly dreams of the puppy I’d never own.

But what did that make us? Friends? No…we fought all the time. Lovers? How could we be that when I’d bolted during a kiss?

“God,” I said aloud, unable to make sense of the thoughts rushing my mind. “Pepper…” I swallowed hard, shifting on the couch because my stomach was in knots. “Do you think I’m a slut?”

Pepper spit the bite she’d just taken back into her pint. “What?”

I stared at my ice cream, unable to look her in the eye. “With Crosby…and then now Connor—”

“First off,” she cut me off, sitting her pint down. “You never slept with Crosby, and he played you and hurt you and he’s the asshole. Two, even if you had slept with him and Connor, you are not a slut.”

I rolled my eyes.

“I’m serious, Ivy. Don’t you dare think that. You aren’t married. You are young and gorgeous and single. You’re allowed to do whatever you want. The only reason I tried to warn you off of Crosby was because I knew how he truly was because you can tell everything about a man by how he behaves in the locker room. And I can’t warn you off Connor because he’s just too damn good.”

I sighed.

“Plus,” she continued. “I love how he calls you on your bull shit.”

I gaped at her, and she chuckled.

“You’re not a slut,” she said. “I hate that you’d even think such an awful thing.”

“I don’t know what to think,” I admitted. “I didn’t see him coming. I love Hannah, and I don’t want to lose her…but how do I be around him now?”

Pepper reached for her pint again. “You have to talk about it.”

“Ugh.”

“I know. It sucks. But you can’t pretend it never happened.”

“Why not?”

A flush dusted her cheeks. “It’ll build until one or both of you combust.”

I stared at her, realization clicking in my brain. So that’s how it had happened with Eric. She’d never given me the full story on when or how they’d come to be. Only that once she’d fallen for him that was it and nothing else mattered.

“What do you want, Ivy?” she asked, no judgment or demand in her tone. Thank God for her. I would be a wreck if I didn’t have my sister.

Good question, too.

For weeks, I’d imagined what Connor would feel like against me. What he’d do to me with that sharp tongue of his. And now that fantasy had crossed into reality—even the PG version—I was at a loss.

“I don’t know.”

“That’s fair,” she said.

“I do know that even if I did want something more with him—which I don’t know if I do—I couldn’t…we couldn’t…”

She arched a brow at me.

“Well, look what happened with Crosby. Dad kicked him off the team. And then Dad forced that ultimatum on you with Eric. I wouldn’t want that to happen to Connor. Not when he’s trying to gain custody of Hannah and all the things he’s going through. He needs this job. Hockey is his life.”

“Dad lifted the ban on players,” Pepper said. “He’s promised to stay out of our romantic lives. So, sorry to say, you can’t use that as an excuse.”

“Great.” I huffed. “Thanks a lot.”

She laughed. “I’m here to tell it to you straight, Ivy. Always have been.”

“I know.” I set my pint down and wrapped my arms around her. “I love you.”

“Ditto,” she said, squeezing me back. “Word of advice?” She asked when I’d pulled back.

“Might as well,” I waved her on.

“Talk to him. You’re Ivy Harris. Queen of the bold and Princess of the wild. You don’t hide from this. You’re such a light in Hannah’s life, and you owe it to her not to run away because of a kiss.”

“Ouch.”

“You know what I mean. If the kiss meant something, explore it. If it didn’t…then who cares?”

It did mean something.

I could feel it in the pit of my stomach.

And it scared the hell out of me.

Thank God for lightweight concealer and highlighters or else I’d be sporting dark purple circles under my eyes and some seriously luster-lacking skin today.

I’d stayed up half the night with Pepper, watching more of her deliciously distracting superhero movies in a way to avoid talking about Connor and the kiss for one second more. We’d also consumed two pints of ice cream and one bottle of red, so I had a splitting headache. And I had a good two hours before I could even contemplate throwing in the celebrity-story-towel and go home to sleep everything off.

“Harris,” Shelby said my name like she was already disappointed in me despite not seeing me the entire day.

I glanced up to find my editor practically hovering over my desk, her nails and lips matching in a perfect color of dusty-blue today. Damn, she always looked fabulous. How did she manage to score all the stories and look so freaking polished? Maybe someday, if we ever became friends, she’d teach me all her makeup-ninja secrets.

“I want to help you,” she said like she’d read my mind, and with my sleep deprivation, I half expected her to start telling me where she scored all her colorful goods. “Your festival piece was decent.”

I raised my brows, waiting for the but.

“But…”

There it was.

“It was lacking a bit of punch.”

I opened my mouth, but she continued on.

“I enjoyed the light angle. The focus on celebs who are genuinely doing good. It’s refreshing. Different from th

e norm. But it can’t always be cupcakes and rainbows.”

Hannah and I would beg to differ.

I bit back a smile that cropped up whenever I thought about that kid.

It was easy to drop the grin when thinking of her immediately led to thinking of Connor and then I was nothing but a heart-racing mess, barely hearing what my editor was saying.

“…and you can’t find the goods unless you place yourself in their path.”

I cleared my throat. “I’m not following.”

She sighed a sigh to end all sighs. “Club Thirty-Five,” she said. “Heard of it?”

“Been there.” I nodded. With Crosby and the Sharks for Halloween. The memory didn’t hold the bite it once had.

“Good. It’s a celebrity hot spot. The staff are used to it and leave them alone, plus the clientele rarely accosts them either.”

“Okay.”

“Spend time there,” she continued. “Run into people. Mingle but don’t be obvious. Find. The. Stories.”

“All right,” I said, the idea of clubbing it every night actually sounded tiring which was the first sign I was seriously sleep deprived. I lived for the nightlife, for the fast paced adventure that only happened when you hit up a place with no agenda.

Except, if I went tonight, I’d have an agenda.

It would be work.

My spirits brightened at the thought of finding a story there.

“I’ll go tonight,” I said when Shelby hadn’t moved.

“Good. Weeknights are hot since a lot of local celebs like to blow off steam.” She glanced toward Zach, who as usual sat quietly in his chair, listening but never adding to the conversation. Not where Shelby was concerned. Poor kid was terrified of her. “And you know the drill,” she said to him. “Follow her.” She pointed to me. “Whenever she goes out, you better be there. Just in case.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” He nodded, and Shelby flashed him a satisfied smile before spinning on her Prada heels and clicking away.

“You’ve been to Club Thirty-Five?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“How did you get in?” His eyes widened. “Dumb question. You’re Ivy Harris. Your Dad—”

“I went with—”