Hooking - Kristine Allen Page 0,52

barely made it out the door before he was squeezing his big ass past me and puking in the toilet.

Feeling slightly better after purging some of the awful feeling from my guts, I returned to my seat. I dropped down like I weighed five hundred pounds. A huffed grunt escaped me.

McGregor rolled his head my direction. Heavy-lidded, he stared at me. “Did you end up going back to that puck bunny’s room?”

“Huh?” I asked, looking at him like he was speaking a foreign language. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“That chick that was all over you last night. You left with her, so I figured you went to her room,” he explained. By then my eyes were wide open.

No. No way.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” I asked again, as I sat up straight and fought the spinning in my head.

A phone dropped in front of my face from behind. I grabbed it and my stomach that had begun to settle suddenly cramped up, and I wanted to vomit again. Bold as you please, I was taking a shot from in-between some chick’s huge tits with my mouth.

Oh fuck.

“The First Cut Is The Deepest”—Sheryl Crow

“How are things going?” I looked up with a smile at my uncle Simon’s voice. He was peeking around the doorway, and I laughed.

“You can come in. I’m busy, but not too busy for you,” I said as I motioned him to take a seat. His big body dwarfed my office much like Alex’s had. As he sat, he unbuttoned his suit jacket. The lines around his eyes and the tightness in his mouth spoke of strain or fatigue. Possibly both.

“Maybe I should be asking you if everything is okay?” I propped my chin in my hand.

The size of his sigh told me I was on the right track. He was dealing with some crap.

“Yeah, everything will be fine. I don’t know what the hell I was thinking being a sports attorney. Fucking hockey players.” He ran a hand through his hair, leaving it standing on end.

“Yikes. That bad?” My nose wrinkled. I wished there was something I could do to help him.

“Yeah, but it’s okay. Nothing I can’t handle. I just needed to get away from it all and figured I’d come check on you. Every time I’ve planned to swing by to see you, something came up.” He leaned back. In defeat, he dropped his head a moment.

“Well, don’t feel bad. It’s not like I haven’t seen you at the house,” I said with a light laugh.

“Not the same, but thank you.” We chatted about my job and whether I truly liked it or simply liked it because it wasn’t working for my father. I assured him it was the former.

My desk phone rang, and he stood. “You have work to do. I’ll talk to you this weekend when your aunt and I come by.”

“Sounds good. Hope things get better,” I offered with a wrinkled nose and smile.

With a wave and a wry grin, he left, and I answered my phone.

“Ms. Drake. Umm, there’s a man named Cooper at the desk here to see you,” the lobby receptionist said in a hesitant voice. I heard the murmur of a voice in the background. It sounded like a man, and I wondered who it could be.

“Did he say what he wanted?”

“Um. He said it’s personal,” she whispered scandalously. That didn’t sound suspicious at all.

“Hmm, okay. I’ll be right up.” Grabbing my work cell in case Katie needed me, I left my office and made my way to the front desk. I stuttered to a stop when I saw who was standing there.

With his back to me as he stared out the huge window, I could see the leather vest he was wearing. I immediately recognized the patch from that night on Sixth Street. If I wasn’t mistaken, it was Alex’s brother.

“Truth?” I called out with a questioning tilt to my head. He spun to face me, and I was hit with how attractive both brothers were. They both had dark brown, shoulder-length, wavy hair, blue eyes, and an air of mystery that looked a lot like… well, sex.

Though I could see why Natalie had been so enamored with him, in my eyes, Alex was better-looking. Maybe I was biased.

“Sydney. Hey.” He gave a fleeting glance the receptionist’s way, then stepped closer to me. “Is there somewhere we could talk? Privately?”

“Sure?” I replied hesitantly as I noticed the receptionist pretending like she wasn’t listening.