One Timer: An Nashville Assassins Novel Read online

  “Tell me the truth. Tell me what the pictures don’t say.”

  I grin, my heart nearly exploding in my chest. I’m unsure if it’s a good idea to tell my adult daughter our story, but my wife did tell me to fix it. I wrap my arm around her, kissing her temple before clearing the emotion from my voice.

  “Well, one thing these photos don’t show is the moment I fell in love with her.”

  “Or how he hit on me with the perfect confidence of a man who knew what he wanted.”

  I look up to see my wife in the doorway.

  “He knew I was it. And all I was looking for was a good time.”

  “But I wanted more than just a good time.”

  Her eyes lock with mine, and it feels like it’s more than twenty years earlier and I am falling all over again. “He wanted everything.”

  I nod, feeling Allison’s gaze on us. “And I got it.”

  Harper’s eyes darken, and my whole body explodes in flames. This woman. This life she gave me. Nothing could ever compare. “You gonna let me tell the story?”

  She gives me a dry look, coming toward us and sitting beside Ally. “Have we ever done anything apart since then?”

  Our gazes stay locked as I shake my head. “Never.”

  “Well, we won’t start now.”

  My heart burns in my chest for this woman. “Are we censoring?”

  Harper laughs, but Allison’s face is full of horror. “Yes, please censor. I don’t want to hear about y’all’s sex.”

  Harper grins at me. “Fine. Plus, we know what happened.”

  Man, we sure do, and she will always be the best moments of my life.

  Nice Stick

  Harper

  Twentysomething years ago…

  * * *

  My best friend Elli Fisher would seriously lose her ass if it weren’t attached.

  She forgets everything and anything. She blames it on her thyroid, says it makes her forgetful, though I have a hard time thinking something the size of a butterfly can ruin so much. But I have seen it happen. I’ve watched my best friend gain so much weight so fast, and it wasn’t like she was eating junk food. It all just happened, quickly, and because of it, I’ve watched her lose a man and her career over it. Elli being Elli, though, she fought back, lost the weight, and made a new career.

  She’s my idol.

  We’ve been best friends since we were maybe five. We lived next door to each other, and then we shared an apartment in New York. I went to NYU for digital arts, and she was on Broadway. Man, those were the times. We partied, we laughed, and man, did we live. The men threw themselves at us, but Elli was committed to a fuckface named Justin, so I made sure to console all the men she rejected. I don’t know what it is about a man, but hell if I don’t love them. Relationships are for the birds, though. Elli is a good example of that, and I am A-okay without one. Love ’em and leave ’em is my motto.

  As I haul ass through Luther Arena to meet up with Elli, I can’t help but remember the times she would run across campus to bring me my camera or notebook. She is the ultimate best friend. We’ve been through so much together, good times and bad, and we’d die for each other. We always based our relationship off the one in Sex and the City. There are only two of us, but we might as well be four. I have enough personality for four women, and she has enough love. We’re a pair, Elli and I. She’s always dressed to the nines and looks perfect in her heels, while I’m lucky if I brush my hair. She budgets and likes control; I live on one hell of a prayer. She’s insecure, and I’m so confident that it makes her confident. She’s a romantic, and I just want to fuck.

  But hell if I don’t love her more than I do myself some days.

  When I see her looking pristine as always, I grin as I wave the bulbs in the air. I cry out, “It’s a madhouse out there!”

  Elli is panicked. This is a huge thing for us. We’re shooting the Nashville Assassins, our hockey team, and while yes, her uncle owns the team, this is the first time she’s been asked to shoot for them. Believe me, we’ve applied like nine times, and I even asked Bryan Fisher over dinner once. He laughed at me. He doesn’t take me seriously, though. I’ll always be Elli’s flighty, artsy-fartsy friend.

  “I know. Come on! Let’s go put in the bulbs.”

  I’m pretty sure she’s five seconds away from curling up and crying like a baby. She doesn’t do well under pressure, and she loves the Nashville Assassins. The woman is probably the biggest fan I know. She has a room in her house dedicated to them. Her massive cow of a dog, yeah, he’s named after the captain of the team. Which is good for me because I won trivia at the bar the other night because I knew his name. Sure as shit didn’t know his first name, but I got the Adler part down and won fifty bucks for drinks. When I told Elli, she was disgusted that I didn’t know Shea Adler’s whole name and said she’d failed me. I now know his name is Shea Ryan Adler, he’s twenty-nine, has a twin sister, is from Boston where he grew up with both parents, he’s looking but hasn’t found the one, and he’s been the captain of the Nashville Assassins for three years. So, the next time there is Shea Adler trivia, I’m so winning.

  Elli says something to some lady, but I’m off screwing in the bulbs. She’s the talker of the pair. She oozes professionalism. I have purple hair, so, ya know, people don’t take me seriously. I graduated at the top of my class with a major in graphic design and even have a minor in business studies. I think one of the rules is don’t dye your hair crazy colors, but I tend to stay away from rules. I like being me, and I refuse to change that.

  As I move to fix the lights and position them, I slip a little. The ice is a whole lotta slippery, but of course, it is ice. Duh. My heart is pounding, and I know it’s because Elli is freaking out. She looks gorgeous with her auburn hair down in curls along her shoulders. She’s wearing a cute little dress that hugs all her curves. After losing most of the weight she had gained, she was left with some killer curves. I don’t have curves. Or breasts. But hey, I can suck a cock like no other.

  I crouch down and open her bag to get out her camera. After attaching the right lens and making sure the flash is connected, I stand up to hand it to her. She takes it, but she doesn’t smile or say thank you. I don’t take offense. I’m just glad she’s standing. “Go on over there and let me test-shoot, Harp.”

  I nod and quickly but carefully head to the spot we have marked for the players. Usually they do these in a black room, but I made the suggestion they should do it on the ice so it’s more realistic. Bryan was appreciative of my artsy-fartsy self then. I pose with a stick, making sure not to smile since I don’t think hockey players do. No teeth and all. I do it to make Elli laugh, but she’s too nervous. I do get a small smile, though. When she looks down at the camera with a nod, I place the stick back and head toward her just as the guys start to come onto the ice.

  Now, I am aware how gorgeous hockey players are. Elli has that room that shows off all of them, but there is a difference between seeing them on TV or in a picture and seeing them up close.

  Big difference.

  “Good golly, Miss Molly! Look at them. Good Lord. They are gorgeous,” I whisper to her, and I can see she wants to die. If she weren’t such a professional, I’m pretty sure she would have smacked me. Not that I would feel it, though. I’m too engrossed in each gorgeous man and his snazzy little jersey. The purple looks great on the guys, and the Assassin on the front with the Nashville skyline coming out of his shoulders is pretty badass. As I gaze at each of them, I realize I want to taste them all.

  But then I notice a certain green-eyed devil checking me out.

  Hell. Yes.

  As each guy poses, I lean in as the amazing assistant I am. “For the love of God, El, that dude is hot.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Hush, Harp.”

  “No, really. Like, please, can I hit on one of them? Just one?” I don’t know why I agreed not to hit on any of these fine men, but that was a really big mistake on my part. I want to be in an Assassin