Page 82 of Whirlwind
“Oh, no. I’m not saying that at all. Some women can’t be trusted,” she says, speaking from an abundance of experience. “But I believe Tyson can be.”
I hope she’s right. She once thought that about Cillian, though, and that didn’t work out so well. Maybe we can never truly trust anyone. Human nature isn’t the most reliable thing in the world.
And how can we ever be sure if we know someone or not? People can be excellent liars and deceivers.
“Jealousy is weird,” I say. “It’s uncomfy, but also sort of exhilarating.”
“It’s like an adrenaline rush,” Isla says. “It makes you want to fight. Also makes for great sex.”
“That’s the truth,” Willa confirms.
“Does it ever go away?”
“Yes and no,” Isla says. “I’ll never like the attention Cill gets from women. The knowledge that he has other options will always tickle the back of my brain. But the stronger we get as a couple, the easier it is to ignore those thoughts and be secure in our marriage.”
“You’re saying that, in time, I’ll still want to stick her hand in a waffle iron, but I won’t be picturing them in bed together while I do it?”
“Something like that, yeah,” she says with a small laugh.
“I’m kind of digging this side of you, Kit,” Willa says. “It’s like your gamer girl attitude has bled out of cyberspace and entered the real world.”
“Well, if she tries to show him any more of her tits, I’m going to have to change my gamer tag to Murder She Wrote, or some shit,” I grumble.
21
Tyson
Fucking hell, this woman couldn’t be more obvious with her intentions if she was wearing a blinking sign flashing the wordsWILL FUCK FOR AN NHL HUSBAND. She’s a pretty woman, but her forwardness would turn most men off. This is a charity event, not speed dating.
This is always how it is for the single men on the team. Once women know you’re in a committed relationship, it simmers down, some. Usually. Not completely, but mostly.
“I’ve never skated before, which is so funny since I work for an NHL team. You know?” she says, once again reaching out to touch my arm. The number of times women have fished for skating lessons from me could fill Lake Ontario. It’s been a common theme since I was twelve years old. Renee is trite, obvious, and desperate.
“Well, I hear they give free lessons at the Iceplex once a month,” I say, scanning around for someone to help me make a polite exit. Kit and I make eye contact. Like every time I see her, I feel instantly lighter.
I watch her say something to Willa, then start to walk toward me.
“That’s so awesome, but I think I’d learn better privately,” she says, practically purring the last word. Thankfully, Kit’s close enough that I can ignore Renee without the silence becomingoverly awkward. She works for the team—I don’t need animosity from her—but fuck, take a hint.
“Hey, lover,” Kit says, sliding between me and Renee. Her arm wraps around my waist as she presses herself to me.
“Hey, baby.” I kiss her—nothing vulgar, but possibly more passionate than the event calls for. I’m only thanking her for interrupting this nonsense woman. “You taste good.”
“Thank you,” she says brightly. “Did you find something to bid on?”
“I did,” I tell her, looking over her shoulder to see that Renee has walked away. “She’s gone—thank you.”
“Thank fuck,” Kit whispers. “She was making me crazy.”
“Crazy enough that you walked up on me like a sexy succubus—which was hot as hell.”
“Glad I pulled it off, then. It’s very much out of my comfort zone. And I didn’t try and trip her as she left. I should get brownie points for that,” she says, frowning. “What was she even on about?”
“She was spouting the usual bullshit.”
“Well, that’s her first mistake. I could have told her all she needed was a wayward puppy.”
I pull her closer, my hand dropping lower from her waist to the top of her ass. Her face—especially when she scrunches her nose—is my favorite part of her, but her ass is high on the list, as well. “Thank fuck for wayward puppies.”
