by Cathryn Fox
I remove my hand and sink back into my seat. “Yeah, we’re pretty tight.”
“Even with her living on the East Coast.”
As a shimmer of anxiety moves through me, I lean forward and pinch the bridge of my nose to chase away the dark images that race around my brain when I think of my sister, and her reason for living on the other side of the country. My goddamn demons are still as vicious and ruthless today as they were all those years ago.
“Shoot, sorry. I didn’t mean to take that corner so fast.”
“It’s okay,” I say, thankful she misinterpreted my reaction. “So, this Paint Nite,” I say redirecting. “You’re really going to make me paint a damn daisy?”
“Yes, and it will be nice to have something personal in your house, don’t you think? Something of yours, your own personal touch.”
Yeah, it would. Problem is, the only personal thing I currently want in my place is Nina—the only thing I want to personally touch—and she’s not mine.
Never will be.
9
Nina
“I can’t believe you’re making me paint a damn daisy,” Cole says as he leans into me, his warm scent and proximity overwhelming me, and making me feel insanely close to him, oddly content. Over the last couple days, we’ve developed an ease with each other. I’m not sure how it is for him, or if he’s ever felt this way with anyone before, but for me, it’s a completely foreign feel, and one I probably shouldn’t like so much.
People all begin to file into the bar, and as drinks are served, the noise level rises. Guys and girls alike make their way to their seats, and many glances are cast our way. Whispers reach my ears as people shuffle by. From their hushed words, it’s clear everyone is trying to figure out if they’re looking at the real Cocky Cole Cannon—The Playmaker—or someone who just happens to looks like him. Although I can’t imagine another man ever coming close to Cole’s kind of good looks.
Cole is either oblivious or ignoring the stares as he shoots off a text and shoves his phone back into his pocket. Me, well, I just smile politely and try to give nothing away. Cole deserves his privacy, and honestly, I kind of like having him all to myself tonight.
“Stop complaining already. It could be worse,” I say when he kicks his legs out and slides down in his chair.
“How?” He picks up his brushes to examine them, looking at them like they’re foreign objects. I can only imagine they are. The only thing I’ve ever seen in his hands is a hockey stick for as far back as I can remember. There were times I’d take the shortcut home and secretly watch Cole practice his shots at the old skateboard park. He’d be there well into the night, unaware of his audience of one. I might have hated him, but I always admired his dedication to the sport.
I cock my head. “You could be sitting at home alone in the dark.”
He nods in agreement. “Yeah, okay, you’re right. That shit was getting old fast.”
“So you’re going to stop complaining and have some fun then? Or are you going to sit there and sulk like a baby?”
“You and that mouth,” he grumbles under his breath, as his gaze races over my lips like he’s considering all the ways to stop me from talking. “And I don’t sulk.”
“Actually, you should be thanking me. Your doc said to relax and I’m making that happen,” I say. “Do you know the effort I went through to book this for us?” I add, feigning exasperation.
His slow, sexy grin materializes. “Oh, don’t worry, I plan to thank you over and over again later tonight. Ropes and bedposts might even be involved.”
Heat crawls up my neck at his dirty words, and my mind takes that moment to visualize me tied to his bed. Lust spears me and I gulp, and judging from his widening grin, my needy reaction doesn’t go unnoticed. But anything involving bedposts and ropes will have to wait until he’s better. Nothing strenuous during his concussion.
Then again, when he’s better, he’ll be back on the ice and our secret affair will be over.
I swallow down my disappointment and say, “You know we can’t—”
My words fall off when I hear a gasp, and I glance up to see some cute, big-breasted blonde staring at me wide-eyed, like she can’t believe Cocky Cole is with me and not her—and not so quietly talking about tying me to his bed.
“Excuse me,” she says to me, then turns her attention to Cole. My insides tighten as she dismisses me, treating me like I’m not even important. But she’s the kind of girl Cole normally goes for, and she likely knows it.
He angles his head her way, and I lean back in my seat, fully expecting him to charm the panties off her, literally. Maybe he’ll even take her home, have sex with her in his bed, while I’m in the next room. Cole and I are not a couple, and truthfully, he can have sex with whoever he wants, and it really shouldn’t bother me so damn much.
“Hey,” he says to the girl, and with my throat tightening, I turn my attention to the front of the bar and pretend to examine the picture of the daisy on canvas, all the while working to ignore Cole as he does his Playmaker thing.
“Are you Cole Cannon?” the girl asks, her high-pitched voice reminding me of a yappy Chihuahua. Yap, yap, yap. Really, her voice is fine. I just don’t appreciate her approaching when Cole is trying to have some relaxation time—among other reasons I probably shouldn’t examine so hard.
“Yeah, I’m Cole,” he says, and shifts backward so I’m in full view. “And this is Nina Callaghan.” He puts his arm over the back of my chair—a possessive move that takes me by surprise—and shifts closer to me. “She thought it would be fun for me to paint a daisy on our date night.”
Date night.
My heart leaps in my chest. We’d already established this wasn’t a date, and if he was going to pick up this girl, no way would he allude to the fact that we were together—like that.
Deep green eyes meet mine, and I don’t miss the spark as his gaze moves over my face. “Isn’t that right, Nina?”
“Yeah,” I say, my brain working to catch up. Cole isn’t flirting with the blonde.
Cole isn’t flirting with the blonde
Instead, he’s pretending we’re a couple and gazing at me like he can’t wait to get me back in his bed. A flutter moves through me, settling deep between my legs.
He looks back at the girl as she leans into him, putting her cleavage right out there, inches from his face. Blatant much? Cripes, why doesn’t she just offer him up a spoon?
“I’m Becca, by the way, and I’m sure there are other things you’d rather be doing tonight.” She flashes him a come-hither smile, and I wait for him to take the bait. She laughs, a breathy little sound that grates on my last nerve. She waves her hand around the busy bar. “If I were on a date with you, we certainly wouldn’t be here.”
Bitch! Seriously, right in front of me, she’s putting that out there. I’m not one for confrontation or sparring—unless it’s with Cole, or flipping off impatient guys in their fancy cars—but no way am I going to let this girl treat me with such little respect.
I open my mouth, but Cole’s hand closing over mine stops me.
“The thing is, Becca, I’m recovering from a concussion, so right here is exactly where I need to be. Thank God Nina knows exactly how to take care of me. I’d be a wreck without her.”
The girl’s gaze flickers to me for a second. “Ah, okay…”
“Good luck with your daisy,” Cole says, and shifts his focus back to his canvas.
I stare at him, dumbfounded. He wasn’t rude to the girl, but he certainly didn’t turn on The Playmaker, either.
No, what he did, the way he pulled me to him, made me feel important, well, that was like…really sweet.
God, when did I start using Cole and sweet in the same sentence?
“You’d better close your mouth, Nina. Or you’re going to eat that fly buzzing around your head.”
I whack the fly away and shut my mouth. “We’re not on a date,” I say for lack of anything else.
“I
know,” he says, and I wait for him to say more, but instead he examines his brushes again.
“Cole,” I say, wanting to ask what that was all about. Why did he say we were on a date and give up a night with a hot blonde?
Because he’d rather be with me?
I shake my head. Dammit, while I like the thought of that—and I wish I didn’t—I probably shouldn’t read too much into this. Maybe he’s just following doctor’s orders and trying to take it easy so he can get back on the ice. Everyone knows hockey is the most important thing in the world to him, and he’d let nothing and no one stand in the way of his career. I can’t blame him for that. I’d never seen anyone put the work into the sport the way he had. He deserves to be on the ice for the playoffs, which is why I brought him here tonight to paint. It’s always helped me clear my head, and I’m hoping it does the same for him.
“So you’ve done this before?” he redirects. “This Paint Nite?”
“Yeah, with Jess.”
“What did you paint?”
“It was a sunset, actually.” I exhale a slow breath, and think back to the times I climbed Mt. Rainier when I was younger. “I loved watching the sun set from the mountain,” I say quietly, and the wistfulness in my voice takes me by surprise. I shake my head to snap out of it.
“I didn’t know that.”
When I lift my gaze and find him looking directly at me, those green eyes intense, not a hint of teasing or playfulness about him, something inside me melts. His mouth dips, and for a second I think he’s going to kiss me.
I wait, and when the kiss doesn’t come, I swallow against the tightness in my throat and say, “Remember when we’d all go to Mount Rainier? One of my favorite thing to do was watch the sun set.”
Cole nods. “You know, for two people who didn’t like each other, we used to do a lot of things together.”
I grin and point to the canvas. “We still are doing things together.”
“Yeah, lots of things,” he says, a hint of humor in his eyes. But it disappears when he asks, “When was the last time you hiked?”
“Before the accident.” I crinkle my nose. “I don’t think I could make it very far now. I’d likely end up in traction.”
A long pause, and then, “That’s too bad, Nina.”
“Yeah, it’s okay. I’ve learned to live with my limitations.”
He frowns like it’s not okay. “Cason always wanted to take you with us.”
I give a very unladylike snort. “And you hated that, didn’t you?”
“I never said that.”
I wave a dismissive hand. “Oh, please, you didn’t have to. All the times you threatened to toss me over the cliff pretty much told me how you felt about your best friend’s kid sister tagging along and getting in the way of you picking up girls.”
“Jesus, I was a prick.”
“Total nightmare.”
“Seriously though, Cason loved when you came, and you never slowed us down. You were always so fit and up for anything. You were different from other girls.”
“I know that.” That’s me, different, overlooked, underestimated.
“Not in a bad way,” he says, and I find him looking at me like he can read my thoughts. “Seriously, Nina, Cason liked it, and I kind of…”
His voice falls off, so I pick up the conversation. “Doubtful. I was the one who always asked to go along. Mom and Dad probably forced him to take me. I can’t imagine he ever wanted me around. There isn’t a teenage boy in all of the world who wants their sister on their heels.”
“Cason did.”
My head lifts at the seriousness in his voice. I stare at him for a moment, take in the narrowing of his eyes, the tenderness flickering there. It only makes me want him even more. My gaze rakes over his face, and I can’t help but think he’s lying, but everything about his expression, his body language, indicates he’s telling the truth.
Cason wanted me around?
I take a deep breath, and it almost hurts to breathe. I miss my brother so freaking much. Miss the closeness we used to have. As loneliness invades my soul, tears pound behind my eyes. Maybe I should reach out to him.
Do not cry, Nina.
“Welcome to Paint Nite,” our instructor says, and the speaker behind us gives a high-pitch squeal that nearly deafens us. We all cringe, and the instructor quickly makes an adjustment. “Better?” he asks as he twists the mouthpiece on his headset.
“Better,” a few people call out.
“Okay, let’s take a look at your brushes and I’ll explain how we’re going to use them, while Danni comes around and fills your paper plates with paint.”
We all pick up our brushes, and the instructor goes over everything. Soon enough, we all fall into a rhythm and begin painting our flowers. It’s cathartic, really. A daisy might not have been Cole’s first—or even millionth—choice, but he’s doing a fine job and seems quite happy and content beside me. If I’m not mistaken, he even has a hint of a smile on his place.
“Hey, Cannon, I thought that was you,” a male voice says, pulling our focus.
We both glance up and I try to place the handsome blond who probably spends hours, and too much gel, to get his hair to fall into a hot messy look that the girls probably go crazy for. Still, no one comes close to Cole in the looks department, at least not to me.
“Scott,” Cole says. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
“Blind date,” Scott says, and cringes as he gestures with a nod to the girl behind him.
“Not working out?”
“Nope.” Scott’s gaze leaves Cole and slides to mine. He looks me over, and a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.
“Well, well, if it isn’t little Nina Callaghan,” he says.
“You know me?” I ask, then narrow my eyes and search my memory bank. That’s when it hits me. He used to play hockey with my brother and Cole in high school. From the snarl on Cole’s face, I’m guessing they weren’t really friends.
Scott scoffs. “Hell yeah. How could I ever forget Crazy Callaghan’s sexy little sister?” I sit up straighter, sure I’d heard him wrong. “Fuck,” he says as he scrubs his face and winces. “Bastard gave me a black eye just for looking at you.”
“He what?” I ask, incredulous.
Cason gave Scott a black eye?
Scott’s gaze goes from me, to Cole, back to me again. “Are you two—”
“We’re friends,” I say quickly, so quickly, Cole’s head swings around and his eyes flash to mine.
What? Is he surprised that I actually called him my friend, considering all the ‘issues’ we’re working through? But seriously, we’re nothing more, and I don’t want anyone thinking I’m a puck bunny who sleeps with anyone wielding a…stick. More importantly, I don’t want Cole to think of me that way. I don’t want to examine why. All I know is, I hate the idea of him thinking I’m one of those girls who stalks all the players—and sleeps with them.
Scott nods. “Cool, can I give you a call sometimes? Now that you’re all grown up, and Callaghan isn’t threatening every guy who looks at you, maybe we can hook up.”
Hook up?
As in get together for sex. Damn, maybe he really does think I’m a bunny. My stomach clenches at that, but the truth is, isn’t that what I’m doing with Cole? Hooking up for sex?
“I…” I begin, but I’m not really sure what to say. I’m used to guys overlooking me, not asking if I want to hook up, and truthfully, I don’t like the way this guy is gawking at me. Sure, I’m hooking up with Cole, but he looks at me with appreciation, not like I’m some piece of skin, his for the scoring.
Hateful images of Kenny Foster, and the way he treated me like I was nothing but his plaything—not to mention my date with the bartender—come back to haunt me, and I shiver.
Cole moves closer to me, as if picking up on my unease. “She’s already seeing someone,” Cole says, the muscles along his jaw rippling as he clenches his teeth.
“Shit, missed my chance,�
�� Scott says. “If anything changes, you can get my number from Cole.”
“Yeah,” Cole says, and refocuses on his daisy. Scott saunters back to his table, and I look at my canvas, but from my peripheral vision, I can still see the scowl on Cole’s face. “Did you want to date that guy?” he asks, his voice devoid of emotion, but his shoulders are pulled tight, his back poker straight.
“No.”
He relaxes a bit, his steely expression softening. “Good, because he’s a grade-A douche bag.”
“I kind of got that.”
“That’s way worse than an expert asshole.”
I laugh. “I guess that’s why you told him I was seeing someone.”
“I didn’t like the way he was looking at you. You’re a nice girl, Nina.” A pause, a shrug of his shoulders, and then, “I mean, you can go out with whoever you want.” He gives me a concerned look. “I just don’t like him. But if you want—”
“I don’t.” He gives a tight nod, and I look at his canvas. “You’re doing a good job,” I say, wanting to lighten his mood.
His eyes go wide and when he pretends shock, I’m happy to see the old Cole back. “Was that a compliment?” he asks, disbelief in his tone as he looks down at his feet, like he’s searching the ground for something.
“What are you doing?”
“Checking to see if hell froze over.”
I cock my head and plant my brush-free hand on my hip. “I’m sure I must have complimented you before, at least once. Maybe even twice.”
“Nope, don’t think so, and there were so, so many times I think I deserved it.”
I roll my eyes at him. “You’re such a—”
“Dick.”
“Yeah, that’s one of the nicer words I’ve called you.”
“Are you going to use that word tonight, Nina?” He wags playful brows at me, and my insides flutter, like a silly schoolgirl with a crush. “Are you going to tell me about all the nasty names you used to call me when I’m buried inside you.”
I pucker my lips as warmth creeps through my skin at thoughts of being in his bed tonight. “It will take hours, and we don’t have all night.”
