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The VIP room is a haze of perfume and desperation. Girls in barely there outfits adorn the sofas like living decorations. They turn their heads as I enter, smiles spreading across their faces like they’ve hit the jackpot. And maybe they have.
Gail
Predictably, Soren’s house is cast in complete darkness as we pull up. I try not to get deflated, but each day it becomes harder and harder not to let Mickey’s absence weigh me down. It’s been one week since Soren took me shopping, and when we returned, Mickey was gone.
From Soren, I know that Mickey shows up for practice and their games, but he hasn’t been by the house, and since he left his phone and laptop behind, it feels very final. I know I shouldn’t miss him, not when he’s made his dislike for me and Fet clear, yet I do. More than I want to admit.
I haven’t told Soren about the laptop, but I did give him Mickey’s phone. He needed to know why his calls went unanswered. I don’t even know if Soren still has it, or if the guys are talking since I spend most of my time at the house. Once, I went to their practice, but since Luce wasn’t there, and I could feel Mickey’s disapproval across the rink, I pleaded with Soren until he allowed me to stay at the house.
“Mickey?” I don’t know why I call his name when he’s clearly not here, well, unless he’s sitting somewhere in the dark. No response.
I glance at Soren, who’s carrying the bags with the loot from the shop we stopped at on our way home, his broad shoulders outlined, flexing as he walks in front of me into the kitchen. “Probably still at his house,” he grumbles, his deep voice resonating in the hush of the house. He drops the bags by the fridge with a soft thud, the sound somehow loud in the silence.
Shrugging, I bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from saying that I doubt Mickey’s alone. From stalking his ass online, I’ve seen all the pictures of him drinking himself into a stupor with puck bunnies.
Even though I have no business being hurt, I am—irrationally so.
While Soren goes to get changed, I walk from room to room, turning all the lights on. When I meet him back in the kitchen, he’s already busy unpacking and putting everything into its rightful place.
I can’t stop watching him, watching his muscles bunch and flex with every movement. Jeez, it’s like my very own porno except for the fact he’s fully dressed. Then again, gray sweatpants are a dirty blessing.
It feels odd to be alone with Soren like this. No, that’s not true. It’s not strange, it feels… normal, which is what makes it odd. Yep, make it make sense.
“Soren,” I say, worrying my bottom lip as I look up at him from beneath my lashes.
He stops moving, leaning back against the counter. “Gail.”
I roll my eyes at the way he’s mirroring me. I don’t know if I should tell him what’s on my mind. It’s one of those situations where I don’t know if it’s a good idea, but I still want to do it.
Clearing my throat, I lift my chin. “I want to be completely honest about something.”
“Oh?”
“About earlier, in the bathroom at the arena…” I trail off as I think about what he did to me only a short time ago at the Sabertooths arena.
His green gaze locks onto mine, and I see the flicker of heat there before he schools his expression into one of calm attentiveness. “What about it?”
A blush creeps up my neck, but I push through. “I liked it. A lot.” There, it’s out—an admission that makes me feel naked and powerful all at once.
“Did you now?” His voice is low, a tease edged with something darker, something that promises more.
“More than you know,” I reply, meeting his gaze squarely. There’s power in owning my desires, in voicing them to this man who can both intimidate and excite me in equal measure. “But I still don’t accept payment in food.”
Soren throws his head back and laughs loudly. “Noted. So what kinda payment do you accept?”
I shrug, feigning bravado I don’t really feel. “Money and orgasms, preferably both.”
“So even though I made you come all over my fingers, you still want to get paid?”
Nodding, I explain, “Yes. As long as you treat me like a whore, you’ll pay. If you stop that, I’ll decide whether I think it’s fair to pay me or not.” I have no idea where the words are coming from. But as they tumble from my lips, I feel good about them.
With Mickey being gone, and all the time alone during the day, I’ve had a lot of time to think about our unique situation. Said time has made me realize something; I’m the one with the power. They’re responsible for me, which means I can make this extremely hard—no pun intended—on them.
I have no intention of doing that. All I want is the respect I feel I’m due.
“Do you have a payment plan option? A price list?” Soren asks, pulling food from the fridge and getting ready to cook. “Here. You can slice this.” He hands me a pepper, his fingers brushing mine, sending a spark up my arm.
The knife feels good in my hand, solid and real. But it’s not the weight of the blade that occupies my mind—it’s the memory of his touch, the way he’d made me unravel with just his hands and his commanding presence.
