Unsportsmanlike Conduct Page 2

“North Carolina.”

  “Really?” I sat up. “My best friend just moved to Charlotte.”

  “Charlotte. That is where I live.”

  “What a small world. She lives downtown, in the Avenue condos.” I paused to correct myself. “Well, I guess you guys call it uptown instead of downtown.”

  “Why did she move to Charlotte? Did she get a job there?” Adonis leaned sideways and picked up a plastic cup from the ground next to his chair. He took a sip of his drink.

  “No. She moved in with her fiancé. He’s a hockey player.”

  Adonis didn’t respond, but he choked on his drink and diverted his eyes toward the pool.

  “His name’s Aleksandr Varenkov,” I added. “Do you know him?”

  “No,” he answered quickly, and adjusted his aviator sunglasses, which had slid down his nose. “I never heard of him. Maybe if I saw him, I’d know his face.”

  “If the Internet worked here, I’d show you a picture on my phone.”

  “The ship has Internet,” Adonis corrected me.

  “Yeah, but I can’t afford the hundred dollars a minute they charge to access it.” A hundred dollars a minute was only a slight exaggeration—the ship charged enough that I didn’t feel the need to waste my money. I’d wait until we docked somewhere with a restaurant or a bar that offered free Wi-Fi. “So what do you do?”

  His gaze veered from my lips to my eyes before he answered. “I am a Pilot.”

  “Really? So you’re always traveling, eh? Do you love it?” I reached over and grabbed my water bottle off the tiny table next to my lounge chair.

  “I like to fly. To travel. It is, um, a good job for me.” Adonis took another swig from his drink, something clear with a cluster of crushed ice floating in it. “Where do you work?”

  I leaned back in the chair and bent my knees slightly—perfect position to soak up the sizzling sunshine. “I’m the assistant to one of the owners of Motor City Bar Management. It’s a company that owns a group of bars around Detroit. I coordinate all the volunteers and employees for events that our bars host or sponsor.” I finished my water and set the empty bottle on the table.

  “What kind of events?”

  “Concerts. Bar crawls. Promotional events before games,” I said, rattling off a few of the things I’d helped plan recently.

  “Wonder if I’ve seen you around,” he said. “I go to a lot of concerts.”

  “Probably not,” I said. “I just started two months ago. Before that I was at Central State.”

  Adonis’s eyes darted toward something behind me. “You like the party life?”

  “Sure. It’s fun right now while I’m young.” I wiggled my toes, watching the pink glitter polish sparkle in the sunlight. “My goal is to learn the ropes of event planning, then turn it into something more professional in a few years when I don’t want to be immersed in the bar scene anymore.”

  Suddenly he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the chair, planting them on the ground facing me. Then he leaned close, his face inches from mine.

  Was he going to kiss me?

  My heart hammered, excited and eager to accept a kiss from this stranger. I licked my lips and closed my eyes. But instead of feeling his mouth on mine, I felt his breath against my face.

  “The guy you are trying to avoid is behind you,” he said.

  My eyes flickered open. “Huh?”

  “The guy you ran from.” Adonis nodded. “He is behind you now.” He leaned back, resuming his original lazy, reclined position. Then he tilted his cup and drained his drink.

  How did this guy already have my heart pounding and my mind begging for his lips on mine? I figured the salty ocean air must be permeating my brain and breaking down my common sense.

  I sat upright and swiveled around, pretending to be interested in scoping out the scene, so that the hottie lying next to me wouldn’t see my disappointment at not being kissed.

  True to Adonis’s report, Spiros was plodding toward us, clad in navy blue board shorts with a matching navy-and-green-striped towel draped around his neck.

  “Is this seat taken?” he asked. Without waiting for an answer, he tossed my beach bag onto the next seat over and covered the chair with his towel.

  “You’re gonna have to move when Lena and Sia get here,” I warned, refusing to let him feel welcome.

  Adonis stood up. “I am going to get a drink. You need one?”

  “I’ll go with you,” I said quickly.

  He put a hand on my head to stop me from standing. “It is okay. I go. You relax. Tell this friend all about me.”

  What happened to the heroic guy who’d “saved” me on the running track?

  “Can you grab me a vodka soda with a couple of lemon wedges, please?” I asked.

  Adonis winked and retreated toward the huge bar spanning the entire length of the pool.

  Spiros leaned over, speaking through the corner of his mouth like he was conveying a secret. “Is it smart to let a stranger get you a drink?”

  “He’s only a stranger to you,” I reminded Spiros. Though, I really should ask Adonis his name. Just not when Spiros is around.

  “Well, I’m watching him.”

  Spiros might be watching under the guise of a cautious friend convinced that Adonis would slip something into my drink, but the reason I watched every single step that man took was the pure pleasure it gave me.

  And believe me, watching him walk away was quite the view.

  Adonis didn’t wear boring navy blue. He screamed exciting from the top of his perfectly coiffed Euro-sexual undercut hair to the hem of his red swim trunks laced with fine white lines bouncing across the fabric to create star-shaped flowers. His trunks showed off his incredibly muscular thighs. Which was another way I could tell he wasn’t one of the second-generation Greek American guys on the cruise. Most guys I knew wore board shorts or longer swim trunks. Europeans wore shorter shorts—or Speedos.

  “Can you please hand me that bag?” I pointed to the chair next to Spiros. I’d shoved the new Richelle Mead novel in there somewhere. Pretending to read would save me from talking to Spiros. Under normal circumstances I rocked at small talk, but with him I couldn’t even fake it.

  When I found my book, I lifted it in front of my face. With my eyes concealed by oversized sunglasses, I had no shame in watching Adonis’s every move. As he strolled back to our chairs, I swear his stomach shot me multiple smiles. At least, it looked that way when the hard curves of his eight-pack crunched with each stride.

  I squeezed my eyes shut, willing myself to stop thinking of him as a piece of man candy from the newest Magic Mike film.

  “Let me know if you need me to save you,” Spiros mumbled.

  I bit back a laugh, which turned into a cough. Adonis and Spiros were on opposite ends of the same wavelength.

  Adonis returned with our drinks, carrying plastic cups in his hands and dangling a water bottle loosely from his pinkies.

  “You okay?” Adonis asked. His eyebrows drew together in concern as he watched me cough into the bend of my elbow.

  I nodded. “Thank you.” I set my book down and reached for the cup with two lemon wedges perched on the rim. As I reached out to accept my drink, Adonis dropped the water bottle into my lap. Ice-cold condensation hit my inner thighs and I jumped.

  “Whoops.” Adonis reached between my legs. His fingers skimmed the inside of my thighs when he grabbed the bottle.

  “Holy shit!” I gasped, trembling from the innocent yet sensual touch.

  Adonis’s lips quirked up on one side, diminishing the innocence of his actions.

  After he set the water on the table next to me, he reached out and pressed two fingers on the skin at my breastbone. Then he lowered his head and brushed his lips across my cheek. “You need lotion.”

  I dropped my gaze to my chest, trying to control my breathing. When he lifted his fingers, two light spots appeared before quickly turning back to a darker olive color. I couldn’t believe he didn
’t feel my heart bursting under his touch. I nodded because I couldn’t speak, something that rarely ever happened to me.

  “I’ll help you,” Spiros interjected. He snatched my beach bag from the chair and reached inside, which pulled me out of the moment with Adonis.

  “Hey!” I jerked the bag out of his hands and clutched it to my chest. “Don’t go through my stuff.”

  Adonis’s shadow covered me as he leaned toward Spiros with fists clenched at his side.

  Spiros threw his hands up. “I was getting her sunscreen.”

  “Any good man knows you do not go through a woman’s bag,” Adonis growled.

  Adonis continued to impress me with his manners. He had a way of stating things that diminished Spiros to the size of an ant.

  After I found the can of SPF 30 spray, I shoved my bag under Adonis’s chair, out of Spiros’s reach. Then I stood up and handed the bottle to Adonis. “Can you help me, baby?”

  “Ridiculous,” Spiros grunted under his breath.

  It was ridiculous, because I had never called any guy “baby” in my life. It actually made me gag a little.

  Instead of reacting, I ignored Spiros and stepped behind our chairs, giving Adonis room to cover my skin with a mist of sunscreen. “It’s the kind you have to rub in after you spray,” I informed Adonis, sprinkling salt into Spiros’s wounded ego.

  He started with my arms, spraying from one wrist up my arm and straight across my chest and neck all the way down to the other wrist. Then he held the can between his knees and used both hands to work the lotion into my skin. When we stood face-to-face, my forehead came to his chin. I looked up at him, which caused my heart to race, so I moved my gaze to the side, watching as he worked on my arms. When he squatted to spray my legs, I closed my eyes and allowed myself to enjoy his hands.

  Adonis acted like a perfect gentleman as he sprayed and rubbed. But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t affected by his touch. Before he stood up, he pinched the back of my knee playfully and a shiver rippled through me.

  —

  Out of all the fucking girls who could have knocked me down on a cruise ship in the middle of the Caribbean, it had to be Auden Varenkova’s best friend.

  And I couldn’t keep my mind—or my hands, evidently—off her.

  Her body quivered, visibly affected by my teasing nip to her knee.

  “Let’s go in the pool. It’s hot out here.” My words came out between quick pants, as if in desperate need of water—to immerse myself in, not to drink.

  Kristen must’ve felt the heat from the sexual tension, too, because her eyes were wide when I reached out to her. In lieu of an answer, she nodded and placed her hand on my forearm, allowing me to lead her to the pool.

  What the fuck am I doing?

  I needed the shock of Lake Baikal in a Siberian winter to knock some sense into me. Instead, the lukewarm water of this solar-heated pool lulled me into continuing with this horrible decision I’d made to pursue Kristen—or KK, as Auden called her.

  I knew exactly who Kristen had been talking about when she mentioned friends in Charlotte. Aleksandr Varenkov and I had been friends since age six, when we learned to skate together at a hockey program in Russia, where we hail from. In some strange twist of luck, after playing for different teams during our teenage years, we were both drafted by the NHL’s Charlotte Aviators in the same year. Before going to Charlotte, we played together for the Detroit Pilots, the Aviators’ minor-league team.

  But I couldn’t tell Kristen any of that.

  Though we’d never met before now, I knew she hated me.

  Girls don’t like it when someone tries to break up their best friend’s relationship.

  Shortly after we joined the Pilots, Aleksandr fell in love with Auden Berezin, the translator his agent had found for him. During a regrettable period in my life when anger and jealousy fueled my actions, I attempted to break them up—to ruin my friend’s happiness—because I was miserable.

  If Kristen had known who I was, she wouldn’t have been speaking to me right then. And that would have sucked, because of the stupid primal, selfish tug I was feeling that made me want to get to know her, to protect her.

  Fuck me.

  As she approached the water, I took a second to look at her. I’d noticed her figure on the track this morning, but now that I had a chance to study her in depth, I realized she was thin, too thin; though her muscles were toned, she seemed frail.

  My gut tightened with the urge to pick her up and carry her into the pool. I wanted to inspect her gorgeous mouth and glowing cheeks up close—with my lips.

  Kristen held on to the railing and dipped a foot into the water. “Shit,” she mumbled, and stepped out.

  “What is it?” I asked, walking backward slowly, without taking my eyes off her. The gorgeous Greek girl screamed sex from her thick brown hair to the pink polish on her toes.

  “This is my tanning suit, not my swimming suit,” Kristen responded, as if that answer made any sense at all.

  “So take it off,” I said, teasing her.

  “Funny,” she retorted, placing a hand on the sparkly silver fabric covering her chest. She lifted her head and caught my eyes still looking at her chest.

  I didn’t mean to stare, but every time she moved the sunlight bounced off her swimsuit, creating quick flashes that drew my eyes to her assets. She had a large chest. A good-sized chest. “The girls” were real.

  I’m a fucking guy. I couldn’t help but notice.

  She looked over her shoulder, back at the lounge chairs we’d vacated a few moments ago, and seemed to quickly resign herself to staying in the pool with me.

  I cupped my hands and dug into the water, splashing it over my face. Kristen lowered herself to the edge of the pool and let her feet dangle instead of meeting me in the deeper zone.

  Guess she wasn’t kidding about not getting her suit wet.

  I waded toward her. When I got close enough, I reached out, put my hand on her hip, and skimmed my thumb over the scratchy fabric of her one-piece swimsuit. “What is the point of wearing a suit that does not get wet?”

  I knew pursuing her was trouble, but I couldn’t shake the instinct to keep her away from the guy from the track, who seemed to keep popping up everywhere she was. The one she obviously didn’t want to be around. Over Kristen’s shoulder, I saw him watching our every move like a hawk stalking prey from its perch on a tree branch.

  Maybe that guy should be protecting her from me.

  Though I pretended to struggle internally with the situation, I’d already made my decision. Despite the epically fucked-up way our paths had intersected, I wanted to see what could happen if she got to know me as the person I was now, rather than as the bastard I’d been at a particularly low part of my life.

  “What’s the point in wearing sequins if they get covered by water?” she countered. “Sparkle is meant to be seen.”

  I cocked my head and squinted at her, assessing whether or not she was being serious. Had I misinterpreted her feistiness and quick wit? Maybe my fascination with her would end before I had to confess my identity.

  “I’m not an idiot,” she snapped, evidently having noticed my reaction. “I just like things that make me happy.”

  “I, um, well…” Surprised by her vehemence, I took a step back and searched for words to apologize, even though I hadn’t said anything.

  She reached out and grabbed my biceps to stop my retreat. “Sorry. I suppose that reaction was a bit dramatic.”

  “A bit?” I grinned and leaned toward her again.

  She rolled her eyes and smiled, obviously amused by my teasing. “So what’s your name, hotshot?”

  I thought quickly. “Pavlos,” I said, since I couldn’t tell the truth. The fictional name fit, since I was supposed to be a young professional Greek.

  This time she was the one who leaned away. She knew I was lying, especially since she’d already called me out on my non-Greek accent.

  I placed my other
hand on her hip, holding her in place, and took another step closer, situating myself between her legs. “But you can call me Pasha.”

  “Pasha,” she repeated. “Well, that’s better than Adonis.”

  “Who is this?” I asked.

  “The Greek god of hot.”

  I laughed, though part of me wanted to puff out my chest and smirk. “Where did that come from?”

  “I had to call you something, since you ran off without telling me your name.” Her slender fingers skimmed the top of my swim trunks.

  I clenched my abs, trying to keep my mind off how much her touch affected me. She’d be in for a show if she kept that up. The slight contraction must have made her realize what she was doing, because she dropped her hands and gripped the edge of the pool again.

  Her stalker kept shooting us daggers behind her back, so I grabbed the outside of her thighs and squeezed them to get a reaction.

  Her breath caught. “Don’t you want to know my name?” she asked.

  “I know your name,” I told her.

  “How?” she asked.

  “The stalker guy called you Kristen. I assume this is your name, yes?”

  “Oh, well, yeah,” she said.

  “Speaking of that guy, his staring is creeping me out. Can we move this conversation over there?” I nodded toward the bar along the pool with stools inside the water.

  In all honesty, I would have preferred to hang out between her legs for the rest of the day, preferably with our clothes off, but that wasn’t the kind of impression I wanted to make after we’d just introduced ourselves.

  “We just got—” She paused as if remembering that we’d left our drinks at our seats. Then she nodded and said, “Lead the way, Pasha.”

  Before following me, Kristen glanced back at our chairs. Two girls had joined her stalker. Instead of leaving or finding another chair, the dickbag had taken mine.

  Not that it mattered, because I was in the pool with the girl he wanted.

  Kristen jumped off the pool edge and followed me through the waist-deep water toward the pool bar. I gestured for her to sit on one of the underwater stools before I slid onto the one next to her.

  “Your suit got wet.” I skimmed my fingers over her stomach, where the waterline hit.