Countdown to a Kiss Read online

  Spotting a group of women in the corner, I snag a glass of something a server is delivering to someone else and walk over.

  “Hey ladies,” I say, sipping my drink.

  They all turn around and each one knows who I am already. What can I say? Being a hockey player has other perks besides keeping me away from the family business.

  “Ford,” two of the women say at the same time, stepping closer.

  Seriously, what a life?

  They introduce themselves and soon were talking about who they are. Gotta make sure they’re not related to Mr. G in any way.

  I’m deep in a conversation about the superficial shit when Mr. G slaps me on the back. “Ford Jacobs, I was hoping to corner you.”

  He looks to the women and they all scurry away. Mr. G’s not intimidating, well at least not to me. I’ve been around men like Mr. G since I was in diapers. They like to use their wealth and status as intimidation, but my trust fund could buy this place plus his infamous orange orchard.

  “Great party, Mr. G.” I sip my drink and stuff my free hand in my pocket. I know what he wants to talk to me about and I already got the lecture from my father this morning, I don’t need to hear it from him too.

  “I shouldn’t be surprised you found your way to the group of girls, should I?” I watch his pinky ring raise with his glass as he eyes me over the rim.

  “What can I say, I’m irresistible.”

  He raises his bushy eyebrows. I guess right now isn’t the time to joke about this.

  “You gotta keep your dick in your pants.”

  “You can’t be serious?” I ask.

  He stares at me dead on. “You’re giving the Florida Fury bad press.”

  I clasp him on the shoulder. “Oh, Mr. G, there’s no such thing as bad press, we know that.”

  “Tell that to your family PR rep, Lena Boyd.”

  Is he really bringing up Boyd to me? She’s nothing but a pain. Why my father thinks we need her is ridiculous, we’re not the damn Kennedys. But he hired her, and now she’s on my ass every time I get in the press.

  “Boyd needs to mind her business.”

  Mr. G laughs. “You are her business.”

  “The Jacobs family is her business. I’m down here and she’s up in New York. She should stay up there.”

  “With stunts like two nights ago, she has no choice.”

  I open my mouth, but Mr. G’s large paw of a hand raises to stop me.

  “Listen, Ford, you’re a hell of a hockey player, and when we drafted you, we understood your reputation off the ice. But things are getting out of hand and it’s putting a bad image on the team. Womanizing is one thing, but fighting is a whole other.”

  “I told you, Mr. G, the guy threw the first punch.”

  “Yes, I know, but you have to have more control. On the ice is one thing, off the ice is another.”

  I blow out a breath. So I got into a bar fight the other night and video footage was leaked. Turns out my temper and Ketel One don’t mix well. I learned my lesson.

  “I promise I’ll clean up my act,” I say, not sure exactly what that means, but it will make him happy to hear it and hopefully get him off my back.

  His hand lands on my shoulder and he squeezes. “Good to hear. Now go enjoy the party, but remember, Ford, when you’re as well known as you are, people want you to fail. They’re looking for you to screw up. Be smarter than them.” He smiles, showing me his mouth full of veneers, and walks away.

  I shake my head, annoyed since I didn’t do shit wrong that night. If I was anyone else, it would have been a bar fight, and that’s all.

  I head to get an actual drink since the one I snagged is mixed with soda. What kind of guy drinks a watered-down scotch?

  Just as I get to the bar, my phone vibrates in the inside pocket of my suit jacket. I pull it out and groan seeing Boyd’s name flashing across like a red killjoy light. Not in the mood for her lectures, I click ignore and stuff it back into my pocket, but it only vibrates again.

  After the bartender hands over my scotch without soda, I click accept and step into a quieter part of the room.

  “What? You couldn’t find a frog to kiss at midnight?” I answer.

  “Funny. If I could put an ankle bracelet on you, I would.”

  “Oh, Boyd, you can handcuff me to my bed and spank me if you’d like.”

  She groans. I love getting a rise out of her. “I just heard from your friend’s lawyer.”

  “Friend?”

  “The guy you hit at the bar?” Her voice is one of annoyance. “Ring any bells?”

  “Well, he’s not a friend, he’s a foe. Should we go through the difference now or I can just send you a dictionary if you’d like.”

  A long breath flows and I smile to myself. “You’re in desperate need of help. You do realize that? You have five family members who can keep their shit together, but here I am always dealing with you.”

  “There’s a solution to your problem. Would you like to hear it?” I ask.

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Just stop working on me. I’m an adult and I can handle myself.”

  “If only.”

  “Listen—”

  “No, you listen, you spoiled, self-centered prick.”

  “Don’t talk dirty to me, it makes me all hot,” I say.

  “You’re hopeless. You do know that, right?”

  “Oh, you say the sweetest things. We really should catch up another time. But I’m at a party. You know one of those places you go and laugh. You do remember how to laugh?”

  She grunts and I imagine her teeth clenched and her body going rigid. It really is more satisfying when we have these banters face-to-face.

  “I hear you’re struggling for words, so let’s talk tomorrow—”

  “FORD!” she yells.

  “Happy New Year and I hope you find that frog to turn into a prince.” I hang up and she immediately calls back, but I silence my phone. No one should need to get a hold of me for the rest of the night.

  I sip my drink. She killed my mood like she usually does, but I spot the women from earlier and the night starts looking up.

  Chapter Four

  Saige

  I make quick work of getting across the room. That man is dangerous. He’s so gorgeous I imagine the women he picks up probably just strip in front of him and ask where he wants them. At least I was having a hard time not doing that when I turned around and came face-to-face with that chiseled jawline. Usually it’s the eyes, or the mouth, or hell, the hair, but jawline? I shake my head for being so ridiculous.

  “There you are.” Joran’s arm slides around my back. He’s a nice guy. Dresses in expensive suits, drives fast cars, not overly arrogant but enough to be sexy.

  “Sorry, there was a bit of a wait at the bar,” I say, smiling at the man in front of me.

  “Saige, this is Carl Gerhardt. This is his party.” Joran motions between us.

  Carl puts out his bear paw of a hand and I shake it. “Welcome, Saige.”

  “Your home is beautiful.” Understatement of the year.

  He smiles and I catch a hint of a silver cap in the back. How can a man who can afford to own half of Florida not have an implant? “Thank you. The wife decorates.”

  I bite my tongue at the fact that he just referred to his wife as ‘the wife’ and not by her name. Maybe it’s a generational thing. If I was with my own people, I might make an offside comment, but I barely know Joran and I’m not going to make him look bad.

  “Well, she did an amazing job.”

  “I’ll tell her you said so.” He sets his gaze on Joran. “Now, what were you telling me, that Drake still has it? He’s going through something?”

  Joran tenses next to me. “He’s just stuck in his head. Thinks his luck has run dry.”

  I let my gaze linger around the room because sports don’t really interest me. Joran’s a sports agent for professional athletes, and Mr. Gerhardt is the owner of the Florida Fury hoc
key team. I assume they’re talking about one of the players and how ridiculous it is that he thinks his career success is based on luck.

  I remind myself that I’m just bitter after finding myself at an impasse in my own career and deciding to manage other people’s social media. At first it was a one-off in order to pay my bills. Then I was referred by that person because they were happy with my work. Joran found me for one of his clients and that’s how we met. I even have one employee under me now, so I shouldn’t complain that athletes make millions of dollars to throw a ball or skate across some ice.

  “Don’t worry, he’ll be back to being a top scorer in no time. I’m booking him in with a psychologist.” Joran puts his hand in front of the big man, who looks skeptical at best about this Drake guy.

  “That’s a good idea. You know, my daughter was saying how she thinks we should bring a psychologist in for the entire team. Have open hours.”

  Joran nods. “It’s not a bad idea. I think the Georgia Blades did it.”

  “Really?” Mr. Gerhardt asks.

  “You don’t have to do it just because Ned is.” Joran laughs. It’s annoyingly fake, but I understand that most of his job is schmoozing people.

  I’d never make it in that profession. As it is, I bite my tongue when my clients post on their social media without consulting me, with the usual excuse that they want to connect with fans. Newsflash: arguing when someone makes a negative comment isn’t going to gain more fans.

  Mr. Gerhardt clasps Joran on the shoulder. “You know me well.” He laughs and Joran does too. Mr. Gerhardt winks at me and disappears into the crowd. I guess the conversation is over.

  “Interesting man.”

  “That man makes me a lot of money.” Joran sips from the glass holding his dark alcohol. “Are you enjoying yourself?” he asks.

  I nod, sipping my wine. “It’s beautiful here.”

  “You should see outside. He has an entire orange orchard on his property.”

  “And does Sunkist pay him for his oranges?” I look around at the fancy chandeliers and expensive woodwork and marble.

  Joran laughs. “You harp on money too much.”

  I don’t say anything, but you tend to notice these things when you grow up with nothing. So I just smile.

  “JORAN!” a guy yells and raises his hand up in the air.

  “I’m going to get some air,” I whisper.

  Joran nods, but he’s already on to master level schmoozing with the guy who’s approached him.

  I smile, weaving through the crowd. As I grab a cheese puff off a tray, I walk out the back doors to find the dark ocean. For a moment I consider slipping off my sandals and allowing the sand to squish between my toes.

  It’d be nice to sit on the beach and reflect on this past year. A year that hasn’t been my best, but not my worst either.

  Walking out to the balcony that overlooks the pool below, I rest my elbows and sip my wine, wishing I’d gotten another glass. A couple walks up the concrete steps, the woman giggling in his hold. My heart pricks, yearning for that.

  “And now I find you out here all alone?” I glance over my shoulder, surprised to find the guy from earlier approaching me. His tie is loose around his neck now, and he’s got a bottle of beer instead of a glass like earlier. “If I was your date, I wouldn’t leave you alone so much.”

  “Nice line. How many women have you used that on tonight?”

  He leans his side against the railing, facing me. “It’s not a line, it’s a fact. Just look at what’s happening right now. Your date is letting a guy like me slide right in and get all your attention.”

  “Maybe he’s secure with what we have?”

  He moves his head side to side. “Is he?”

  I shake my head and roll my eyes. “This is more of a work function for him,” I answer honestly. Joran really shouldn’t even bother bringing dates.

  “Is he one of the waiters?”

  I choke on my wine. “What?”

  He chuckles and the deep timbre of his voice spurs my belly into flutters. “I’m here for work and look at all the time I have.” He pushes off the ledge and walks toward the stairs.

  “Where are you going?” I ask.

  He stops at the first step. “Why, are you going to miss me?”

  “I just want to know which way to point the police when you go missing.”

  He chuckles again and I get that fuzzy feeling in my stomach again. This is all a bad idea.

  “I’m going to see if the orange orchard really exists.”

  “You make it sound like you’re looking for the golden treasure at the end of a rainbow.”

  He shrugs then looks to the door that leads back into the party. “Want to join me?”

  I say nothing at first, finishing my wine and setting my glass on the table.

  “Or I guess when he’s ready, he’ll seek you out. You should probably stay here.”

  Stay here, Saige. You do not need to run off into an orchard with some heartthrob of a man. But a part of me has always loved the bad boys. The ones who break your heart, but you have so much fun headed down that path that you don’t notice you caught feelings until it’s too late.

  “First one to find it wins and owes the other one.”

  He finishes his bottle of beer and leans forward, placing it on the table by my wine glass then runs his hands together. “Owes the other what?”

  I start down the concrete steps. “The loser has to jump in the ocean.”

  “Easy,” he says.

  “Naked,” I say.

  He grins. “I can’t wait to see that dress slide down your body.” He nods to the right. “I say it’s this way.”

  “Hope you’re right,” I taunt.

  He chuckles. “Me too.”

  There’s worry in his voice and I’m surprised to see him lack the cockiness that’s been there since we met. Ugh. This is even worse. A bad boy with a wounded ego is my kryptonite. I should run back up the stairs and find Joran. I shouldn’t take off my heels and I shouldn’t follow him. But I do.

  Chapter Five

  Aiden

  “I’m Aiden,” I say in case she didn’t figure that out earlier.

  “So your admirer said. Saige.” Her heels hang off her fingers.

  “Nice to meet you.”

  “You too.”

  Sometimes as a professional athlete, you can tend to think people know who you are but with Saige… I’m not sure if she does. If she does, she hasn’t given it away.

  “So, Saige, don’t you think your date is going to miss you?”

  We walk along the perfectly manicured lawn toward where I think the orchard exists.

  “You didn’t much care about my date when you asked me to join you. Why don’t we just not talk about him?”

  “Does that mean I’m right and you don’t have one?”

  Under the moonlight, I catch her rolling her eyes.

  “Let’s see, your date is off the table… how about your job?”

  She shrugs. “I’m a social media manager.”

  I laugh. “You manage other people’s social media accounts?”

  She playfully shoves me. “I do.”

  “Why can’t they do it themselves or dare I even suggest they just not have a social media presence if they don’t want to handle it themselves?”

  The hell if I’ll ever get one. Of course, there was that douchebag who pretended to be me for a while, so Joran made me sign up for some accounts to claim my username. Accounts I never use.

  “It helps my clients.”

  “And who are your clients?”

  “Professionals, athletes, and people who need to have a public persona but prefer privacy.”

  “How do you keep anything private when social media is involved?”

  She stops for a moment and turns to me. “You sound bitter. What is it that you do, Aiden?”

  I’m enjoying her company. Her comebacks and the hint of attitude she has—it might all turn off
the minute she finds out I’m a professional hockey player. “Nothing that requires me to have a social media manager. I hate everything there is to do with social media.”

  “I agree, it can be addictive and annoying, but to defend myself a little bit, I think of it like I’m helping my clients have a life. I mean, being a professional athlete takes a lot of time away from their lives, so if I can take a little off their plate so they can spend time with the people they care about and be present in the moment with them while at the same time keep their fans happy, it’s a win-win.”

  I blow out a breath. “When you put it like that, I get it.”

  “Whoa, did you just say I was right?”

  I point ahead of us. The orchard has to be there. “No, I did not.”

  “You did. Admit it.” She gives my rib a poke with her finger.

  I cover the area like she hurt me. As if she could. “Come on. It’s over there.”

  “I think we went the wrong way.”

  “Well, I guess we’ll see.” I shrug.

  We walk the path toward where I think I see trees, but five minutes later we arrive there and nothing. Damn, I thought for sure I was right.

  “Maybe it doesn’t exist?”

  She makes an annoying buzzing sound like I’m on a game show and gave the wrong answer. “Time to try my way. But can we walk along the ocean?” Before I can answer, she walks toward the shore.

  I follow her, admiring the way the moonlight shines over her body and take a moment to appreciate her ass in the short champagne-colored sequin dress she’s wearing. She tiptoes her way in and backtracks with a yelp from the temperature of the water.

  As much as I hate to admit it myself, I really do hope she’s not here with a date.

  “Are you afraid of the water?” she asks.