“Wrong answer, Becca,” I say softly, and she chuckles.
“Why is that?” she asks. “For me, I win either way.”
“I hate to lose,” I say, and I’m not talking about hockey anymore. I don’t know what it is about her, but she’s making me go crazy, and she has no fucking clue either.
“No one likes to lose, Nico,” she says. All I can think about is her saying my name over and over again while I bury myself inside her.
“You’ve gotten under my skin, Becca,” I say.
“I thought nothing gets under your skin.” She smirks and moves in closer, placing her palms flat on my chest.
“I thought so, too, and then …” I bend my head down ever so slowly. “Then there was you,” I say as my lips get closer to her. “You know what I thought when I saw you today?” I murmur. “I thought that your lips were made for me to fucking kiss.”
“Nico,” she says with a sigh, and it’s the last thing she says before my lips are on hers. Her mouth opens for mine, and when my tongue slips into her mouth, I swear the world stops. Her tongue slides against mine, and my hands move up to her face. Our heads move from one side to the other, both of us fighting against the other. Her hands finally move from my chest upward as her chest presses against mine. She wraps her arms around my neck, and we both moan.
The sound of talking gets closer, causing us to move away from each other. “No chance in hell.” We both hear Francis from the hallway.
We don’t have a chance to say anything else before the door opens, and he comes in, followed by the four girls hanging around him downstairs. “Hey, you two.”
I nod at him and put my hands in my pockets to hide the fact my cock is hard as a rock. I look at her, and if my cock wasn’t hard before, it definitely would have gotten hard looking back at her. Her eyes are an emerald color, and the tint of pink trails down to her chest. But it’s her lips that make me get even harder. They are plumper than before and are still painted the brightest red.
Chapter 11
Becca
“Becca.” Hearing my name, I look up from my phone toward Matthew Grant.
I smile at him, getting up from my chair. “Mr. Grant,” I say, holding out my hand, and he just shakes his head.
“Enough with the Mr. Grant bullshit,” he says. “It’s Matthew.” I laugh at him. “Follow me,” he says, and I take my cashmere jacket and my wine-colored Louis Vuitton bag that matches my shoes and sweater. “Is it cold enough for you?” he asks, seeing me put my jacket over my arm.
“I love New York,” I say, “from April to October.” He laughs as he holds open the glass door to the conference room.
The big brown table in the middle has black leather seats all around it. Water bottles sit in the middle of the table, and the New York Stingers logo paints the wall. Pictures of them with the Cup throughout the years hang all along the wall. “Those are the same months I hate Dallas,” he says, pulling out a chair for himself to sit down. I put my jacket and purse in the chair beside him and sit down facing him. “The humidity is enough to make you crazy.”
“Fair enough,” I say. “Thank you, by the way.” I sit down in the chair. “I hated to cancel our meeting, but I was needed in Dallas.”
He nods his head. “I got to give you that.” He looks at me. “You handled that like no one else,” he says of Manning and the fucking blowup I handled.
“Between you and me,” I say, “it’s always easy when you have someone who won’t run his mouth.” Matthew puts his hands on the table.
“You’ve got that fucking right,” he says. “MC is on his way up,” he says, and I look at him. “That is Cooper’s nickname. With my father and the other kids, it was always MC even when he was younger, and it stuck with him.”
When the glass doors open, I look up to see Cooper come in, and he is the stamp of his father, just a touch skinnier. He wears track pants and a black T-shirt. His baseball cap sits backward, and you see the hair coming out in the back. I get up. “Cooper,” I say, putting out my hand. “Becca.”
“Nice to meet you,” he says. After shaking my hand, he walks to his father and gives him a hug.
“Did you eat?” Matthew asks him, and he looks just a touch embarrassed.
“Dad,” he says, “I’m almost eighteen.”
“You could be almost a hundred, and I’d still ask you,” Matthew says, sitting down. “Now answer my question.”
“I had a protein shake. I was going to grab something, but I was running late,” Cooper says, looking at the water bottles and grabbing one. “I didn’t want to be late.” He looks at me, and I smile.
Matthew looks at me. “Did you eat?” he asks, and I nod.
“Please order the man some food,” I say, and Cooper groans while Matthew picks up the phone and calls an order in.
“Sorry about that,” he says, sitting down.
“It’s fine. We can talk until the food gets here,” I say, and Cooper looks at me. “I’m sure you’re wondering why I wanted to sit down with you.” I don’t make him answer. “I mean, getting drafted, there is nothing I can do for you.” I look at Matthew. “There is nothing that anyone can do. I can’t negotiate even the starting salary.” I look at Cooper. “But I’m not just thinking about Cooper, the hockey player. Who is Cooper Grant?” He looks at me, not sure what I mean. “What does Cooper Grant stand for?”
He sits up, playing with the water bottle in his hand. “Hockey.”
I nod at him. “Family.” I tap my nail on the table when he looks at Matthew, who just looks at me smirking.
“Let me tell you what I see when I look at Cooper Grant,” I say.
“Oh, this is going to be good,” Matthew says.
“I see the top rookie of the year.” He smiles, his eyes lighting up. “With that comes sponsorships from two, maybe even three sports companies.” Cooper’s eyes light up. “I see the Cooper who works out in the gym. Tracksuit, shirts, shorts.” Cooper looks at his father. “You are talking about sponsorship for even nutrition products.”
“What about hockey camps and schools?” he asks.
“The sky is the limit,” I say. “The question is, how much do you want it?”
“Fuck, Becca,” Matthew says, and I look at him. “I’ve told him that since he was young.”
“Look, I can’t promise you that it’ll come in six months or one year,” I say. “Let’s be real. When you’re drafted, it’s to a team at the bottom of the barrel. Usually, the team is rebuilding. You aren’t going to be starting with the Stanley Cup champions.”
“That is what I told him,” Matthew says. “It’s going to be rough.”
“You are going to be with a team that will probably be shit on day in and day out. It’s going to be a learning curve, especially for you since you’re at the top of the league right now. It’s like when you graduate from middle school. You are the cool kid at the back of the bus, and then you start high school, and you’re in the front of the bus again while the cool kids sit in the back. We all know that sucks. But what I can promise you is that I’m going to work as hard as you do. I’m going to get those meetings for you.” I lean back in the chair. “Your father knows I have the contacts. He also knows how I work.”