job that he was willing to lose her for it? Careers came and went. The love of a woman like Langley? That’s the shit you held onto at night when you were both old and crinkle-eyed.
“You’re home!” She popped up to stand, her ponytail swishing behind her.
“I am,” I admitted, then stalked to Lukas’ ultra-modern kitchen for the coldest bottle of water I could find. I was mid-chug when she walked in, braced her hands on the counter and then jumped so she sat on the hard granite surface.
Her sports bra did the impossible, lifting and curving around her breasts. Weren’t those things supposed to flatten her out and keep my dick limp?
Not a limp dick in sight, that was for sure.
She stretched, drawing my eyes to the toned muscles of her stomach, gently lined, but not overly muscular. Langley was soft in every place that screamed to be touched.
I needed to keep my damned hands to myself.
“So are you dating yet?” I asked, coming to stand next to her.
She raised a flirtatious eyebrow. “You know that could be seen as sexual harassment.”
“What you’re wearing is sexual harassment,” I muttered.
Her eyes narrowed slightly, but she ended up rolling them. “No, I’m not dating. Not going to date. Ever. The only person I’m dating is myself, because then if I let myself down, I’ll know exactly who to blame.”
Our eyes locked, sending my pulse skittering faster than any blue line drills could have.
“You think that sounds stupid, don’t you?” she asked, her brown eyes so close I could make out the flecks of gold in them.
“I think it sounds lonely.”
She sucked in her breath. “Lonely is better than heartbroken.”
“Loved is better than heartbroken. You know how you get back to loved? You date.”
“Well, I’m going to skip that phase in my next relationship. It’s exhausting. I’ll just jump into marriage or something. Besides, what would you know about dating?” she challenged.
“I date plenty,” I answered with a grin, leaning forward on my palm and invading her personal space.
Her eyes widened, her pupils flaring in an awareness she couldn’t hide, just like that little jump in the pulse at her neck. She could play that she was immune, but she wasn’t. She leaned farther away from me, only to bring back that damned envelope. “So you know how your first offer was for ten million?”
“Yes.” Now I leaned back, putting some distance between us.
“Add a zero.”
My brow puckered. “I’m sorry?”
“It’s an eight-year, hundred-million-dollar contract.” Her eyes danced like she’d handed me the holy grail.
“Not signing it.” I took my water bottle and headed for the shower.
“Axel!”
I turned because the sound of my name on her lips sounded so incredibly sweet.
“I got you a fifteen million dollar signing bonus. You’ll be one of the highest paid players in the entire league.” This time her eyes held a sheen of desperation that I downright hated.
“Let me make this clear, Langley. I might be the one person in your entire life who doesn’t give a shit about money. I make enough now to be happy. My brother is here. My team is here. My camp is here. There is nothing in that envelope I want.”
“Okay, then what do you want?” she asked as I walked out the door.
“I already told you!” I shouted back as I headed for my room. Let her stew on that one for a while.
The next day I swam laps in the lane pool that ran alongside Lukas’ house. I’d already had practice this morning, then skated with the kids, and was now actively avoiding the contract waiting for me in the kitchen.
Sure, it was a ton of money. But when was the last time money made anyone truly happy? My parents had been happy with next to nothing. I’d raised Tage on a meager salary until I got bumped to a higher one, and we’d done just fine. Yeah, I liked my new Rover, but it wasn’t like I needed it. Luxury items didn’t do it for me.
What I wanted was Langley. Admitting that didn’t bother me. Knowing it would never happen? That bothered the shit out of me. She’d walk out of this house without a contract, and I’d only see her when I went to visit Lukas. Even then it would be chance encounters at the rink or a party or some other bullshit.
It wasn’t even about sex—not that I wouldn’t sell my soul for a night where I could put my hands on her. A night where