Revenge is Sweeter - One

For Lindsay, who sends me the greatest text messages.

ONE

Sidney was aware of the glass in his hand: only a few inches high, no match for his grip.  It was his third drink.  He’s only ordered one, had only tasted two.  This third was meant to be shattered between bare fingers, if only he could risk such rash behavior.

The bar around him was crowded.  NHLPA player meetings had been going on for weeks with nothing to show for their efforts.  Every day the NHL remained locked out only doubled Sidney’s frustration.

He was ready.  Sidney had never trained harder than this summer.  He was tight and light, at fighting weight.  Even on his sculpted body, muscle on top of muscle, he knew it was visible.  LIke a bull ready to charge, he could play a whole season for the first time in three.  This was the year, he could feel it.  Now he only felt it slipping away.  How dare the League that needed him so badly not be there when he needed it?

Gulp.  Four.  At least now if he broke the glass, it would be empty.  But would it break his tension?

He slammed it down, as if to blame the bar for its demise. No such luck.  He only succeeded in making the girl next to him jump.

“Sorry,” he muttered.  She reached over, pried the highball from his fingers and slid it out of his reach.

“No toys for you, I should think,” she said cooly.

People didn’t usually talk to Sid like that.  They stuttered worshipfully or they hated him.  Highest praise or the most vitriolic diatribes were what he usually received - and the latter came mostly on the ice.  It got his attention at least.

Hello.

She wasn’t giving him the adoring stare he was used to.  Her wide, light eyes held a measure of uncertainty, wondering if he could have broken that glass what else he might do.  Thick eyebrows framed her face, the same dark brown as the bangs pushed to one side.  The rest of her hair was shoulder length and pin straight.  A few end-of-summer freckles dotted her nose and her curvy lips were stained the color of her vodka cranberry cocktail.

Without an ounce of shame, Sidney let his eyes roll down her body.  A red tank top with beading along the neckline plunged to a very pleasing point halfway down her cleavage.  The rest of it curved along her body, running out at her hips where a pair of black jeans took up the chase down her mile-long legs.  Painted toenails peeked out the front of red high heels.

I need someone in red high heels tonight, he thought.  And suddenly, Sidney had a new focus for his frustration.

“Hi,” he said.  He’d gotten girls into bed with less.  He’s gotten them off with less, truth be told.  But this foray was simply met with an arched eyebrow... when he finally got his gaze back to hers.  

“I’m Sidney.”  Apparently some reinforcement was needed.  Fucking figures I can’t find a puckbunny the one time I need her.  Sidney wasn’t sure he had the energy for all this work, he intended to save it for the hotel room upstairs.

“Nice to meet you,” she said politely before she walked away.
____

Claude had been watching the scene at the bar.  Crosby was radiating fury like an atomic bomb approaching critical mass.  Claude hated Sidney, hated the way he played, the power he wielded, the status he held.  But he understood the white-hot anger of being kept from the only thing you know how to do.

Any solidarity faded the moment Sidney started talking to a girl.  A very cute girl, at that.  Claude had no interest in seeing another Crosby Chaser soak her thong just because that asshole blinked his shit-colored eyes in her direction.  Claude had his choice of plenty of women, but the way they fell into splits for Crosby made him sick.

This girl, though.  Claude turned away from his friends to watch more closely.  Sure enough, she bristled as Crosby sized her up like an animal at the county fair.  Sid missed it entirely.  He went for the kill and she dropped him like a rock.

“Fucking right,” Claude said under his breath.  Then he followed her.

It wouldn’t do to let her leave.  He felt like fighting, or fucking, whichever happened more easily.  Punching Crosby was frowned upon by the League, but they could fuck themselves for this lockout.  Still Claude knew it would come back to haunt him in the end and that sanctimonious little shit would have the moral high ground.  It was better to beat him at his own game.

“Can I buy you a drink?” he asked in a soft, French-accented burr.

“Uh, yeah.  Sure.”  

She was flustered, or annoyed.  Claude would have to thank Crosby for that.  Her skin was fair against soft dark hair, making the color of her lips stand out.  Between that and the way her breasts pushed up against her tight top, Claude felt that familiar zing of anticipation.  Yes, she would be a sweet kind of revenge.

“I’m Claude,” he extended his hand, establishing physical contact.

She gave him a firm handshake that made his cock twitch.  “Ella.”

“What brings you here?” he moved an inch closer, keeping an eye on the bartender.

“Wedding on Sunday.  I came in a few days early for a little vacation.”

Yes, he thought.  Girls on vacation loved to let go.  Girls facing someone else’s wedding tended to get pretty wild, as if proving to themselves they’d rather be single and free.  Claude smiled at Ella, silently promising to make that particular dream come true.

They traded small talk.  Claude carefully brought her along until he made her laugh, which eased her up.  Crosby had really made a mess in two minutes.  What a noob.  Still, Ella wasn’t falling into his arms.  She wasn’t even touching him.  There were nights where he’d bagged a chick and been back in the bar in less time than this conversation.  But Claude liked a challenge.

“Dude, come and meet Bryce, the Bauer guy,” Scott Hartnell appeared and tugged at his teammate’s elbow.  Claude gave Ella a nod.  

“Don’t leave me,” he said with a grin.  Give her a couple minutes to consider that she wouldn’t do any better than a ginger in bed tonight.
____

Ella closed her eyes.  What did it take to be alone for a few minutes?  Jesus, these guys were looking at her like she was the last meal on death row.  Both of them - and that was weird, there had been two already and she just got here - were all fired up.  Muscles were flexed where normal guys didn’t even have muscles.  Tension rolled off them.  The first guy, well he’d been crazy hot.  Like a climbing wall in a gym, immovable and full of great places to put her hands.  But all that intensity scared her.

She’d done no better on this side of the room.  That red-headed guy’s soft voice and warm, fuzzy accent didn’t hide the edge in his tone.  Nor was he that slick sneaking glances down her shirt.  But he had a killer smile and a lanky, easy body language that she knew would translate between the sheets.

Well you wanted attention, she scolded herself.  The wedding was her sister’s.  Ella had worked her ass off only to be paid back by her mother’s constant questions about when she would settle down too.  No fucking thank you, Ella thought.  If her sister wanted to marry a tax accountant, good on her.  But there was way more fun to be had outside prison.

I should be having it tonight.  Her mind drifted back to the first guy, the dark-haired one with the liquid eyes and arms the size of her thighs.  He could move some furniture around for sure.  Angry, sure, but that was probably just motivation.  Axe murderers were not that pretty.

There was also the ginger.  He was smooth as silk, making her laugh and leaning in to speak to her.  A few days of scruff matched his rust-colored curls and Ella wanted to run her hands through them.  Maybe he’d come back after all.

Maybe I don’t really need to be acting out.  It’ll just prove my mom right if I can’t walk tomorrow.

Still she looked around.  Bad idea.

“You disappeared,” Sidney said.  

Ella gestured at the full glass in his hand.  “You going to throw that one?”
____

Sidney set the glass on the bar.  He did not appreciate being ditched.  He sure as shit didn’t appreciate that same girl giggling it up with Giroux two minutes later.  If that asshole thought he was going to walk away with Crosby’s girl tonight, he was mistaken.  

But how to do it?  She had already walked away once.  Third time would not be a charm.  This was Sidney’s only chance.

Out with it, no time to waste.

“I’d like to throw you up against that wall,” he said, looking right into her eyes.  Sidney knew he was an assault on the senses - he looked good, smelled good, girls and the internet always said he was magnetic.  He focused on pushing all that toward her with his very open invitation.

She flinched.  Sidney almost grinned.  He had her now.

“Ella, hey,” Giroux appeared at their side, glare was fixed on Sidney, who did not back up.  “Crosby,” he spat.  He couldn’t believe this loser was going for another round of rejection.  It really was just sad.

“Giroux,” Sid growled.

Ella’s blue eyes went from one to the other.  “You guys know each other?”

Sid and Claude shared a surprised look.  Of course they picked a chick who didn’t know how lucky she’d be to fuck either one of them.  “We... work together,” Claude said.

“As competitors.  Rivals even,” Crosby added.

“Sorry I had to step away,” Claude angled himself in closer.  “Thanks for waiting for me.”

Crosby had the advantage of placement, and put one hand on the small of Ella’s back.  “Actually, we were just leaving.”

Words died on her tongue.  They were fully formed, like hard candies in her mouth, telling him to take a hike.  But they melted with the heat of his touch.  That big hand, resting firmly against the curve of her body, bled warmth.  She’d almost slapped him for propositioning her.  Now Ella wondered if she’d have felt the same tingle from touching his face.

“You’re not leaving,” Claude said as if it were almost funny.

“We are,” Sid rolled his shoulders back, seeking the full advantage of his size.  He wasn’t taller, but he had thirty-plus pounds on Giroux and knew how to use it.  He’d been practicing for exactly that all summer.

Claude kept his stare blank.  Crosby still thought he could intimidate people, it was as hilarious as it was pathetic.  “I think that’s up to her,” he said.

They turned on Ella impatient expressions, like she should just state the obvious.  Except they disagreed on what that was.  Ella was pretty sure once she was out of the way, they would beat each other to death.  “Leave me out of your lovers quarrel.”  She pushed between them, toward freedom, but Claude grabbed her upper arm.  What was worse, he didn’t even speak to her.

“Take a hint, you fucking bag of milk.  She was fine with me.  Run off and find a high schooler to suck your dick.”  Giroux didn’t even consider their mixed company.  This was on-the-ice talk.

A surge of adrenaline coursed through Sidney’s veins.  It felt almost as good as Ella would, beneath him and panting, as soon as he got Giroux out of the way.  “Didn’t I see Briere here somewhere?  Don’t make your girlfriend jealous, Claude.  Think of the kids.”

“Ow!” Ella wrenched her arm from Claude’s grasp.  He didn’t even realize he’d been squeezing her as hard as he wanted to deck the man insulting him right now.

“Sorry,” he said quickly, not wanting to lose her because then Crosby would win.  Sid went home alone almost every night, one more wouldn’t hurt him.  He’d take Giroux’s loss over a piece of ass anyday.  Or so Claude thought.

Ella wasn’t really hurt.  But if Claude could do that without meaning, imagine what he’d do to her on purpose.  It sent a shiver down her spine even as she was fighting him off.  Sidney’s hand had slipped down to the top of her ass.

“Watch it,” Sid cut between them, boxing Claude away from Ella.  He was nothing if not a knight in shining armor.  He could protect Ella down here, then have his way with her in private.  Secrets were one of the things Sidney did best.  

Ella seized the moment.  All that testosterone was doing crazy things to her.  She didn’t want to be around when it was blood on the floor.  Trying to step away, she said, “You boys take it outside.”

Quick as lightning, Sidney’s arm was all the way around her waist and breath hot on her neck.  “I’d rather take you upstairs.”

“I’ll wait down here,” Claude hissed from behind the wide shoulders.  “Two pump chump, he’ll be snoring in ten minutes.  Then we can have all night together.”

“She’s not coming back.”  Sidney held Ella so close she was practically underneath him already.  Her breasts rose and fell with short, nervous breaths and his thigh was slotted between her legs.

For a split second, as she came to rest with force against Crosby’s huge body, Claude saw Ella’s eyes flash.  Fucking Crosby might actually be right.  If Sid got Ella out of the room, Claude would never see her again.  But he’d fucking hear about it all season.

“Then I’m coming with you,” he said.  Crosby froze, seething.  “Oooh, didn’t get your Scout’s badge for sharing?”  Giroux chuckled warmly, but he lifted one hand to Ella’s bare arm and rubbed the back of his fingers over the spot he’d grabbed before.  “Or you afraid of a little competition?”

“I don’t compete. I win.”  Sid tightened his embrace around Ella.  “Got any trophies, Giroux?”

“Just one,” he turned a soft gaze to Ella, “and Ella here is dying to polish it.”  Ella’s jaw fell open in surprise.  Claude tapped her under the chin.  “Open that pretty mouth again, kitten, and I’ll make sure you’re using it.”

Sidney practically lifted Ella off the floor, placing her behind himself for clear a path to Giroux.  “Can’t do it yourself after those wrist surgeries, eh?”

If ever Claude were going to punch someone in front of a hundred witnesses, this was it.  He’d get fined, reprimanded and publicly crucified for fighting another player when they were supposed to stand together against the League and the lockout.  Privately, he’d be a hero.  Just about every non-Pittsburgh player here wanted to drill Crosby in those fat lips.  His fist flexed.  Those medically repaired wrists could probably deliver a better-than-ever right hook.  

Ella stopped breathing.  She was going to be front row for a brawl.

Crosby sneered, willing Claude to hit him.  That would end this here and now, for all to see.  The Flyers were hotheads who couldn’t even go out in public.  Saint Sidney, taking a punch protecting a woman.  Sounded like a great headline.

Claude swallowed hard.  Ella watched his Adam’s Apple bob like a lion swallowing a piece of fresh kill.  Then it faded - Claude forced his expression into neutral and let his hand drop open.

“Anything you can do, I can do better,” he said with a smirk.

Sidney couldn’t back down now.  A fight had been his only way out.  Instead he mimicked Claude’s words from earlier, “I think that’s up to her.”

Again they both turned to Ella, as if suddenly remembering she were there.  It took her a second to remember herself.

“No,” she said with all the force she could summon.  “Absolutely not.”

But her knees were weak.  Sidney knew that as much as he was holding her, he was also holding her up.  Which he could do easily - another reason she had to come upstairs with them.  There were... things.  Things he wanted to do, to try, to show.  And he definitely wanted to feel them.  Maybe he’d even see a few things.  Flashbacks of a few wild nights with Max or Jordan and a girl or two... those weren’t nights Sidney had often, but when he did he felt like a God.  Of course those girls worshipped him and those guys were his friends.  This would be something else entirely.  

Sid slipped his hand right down over the her backside, into the space between her legs.  She gasped as the raised seam of her jeans was forced against her slit, betraying the ache that had been building down there.  

Claude would be damned it he’d let Crosby drive this train.  Ignoring his rival’s proximity, Giroux stepped in and caught her lips with a short, forceful kiss.

“Ella,” Giroux said in a voice that allowed no argument, “get in the elevator.”
____