Good Guy

by Kate Meader

  “You can’t change what happened, Levi.”

  “No, but Josh had so much going for him. A lot of people who cared about him. Who mourn him.”

  Her instincts fired: human, female, and reporter.

  “You think no one would mourn you, Levi?”

  His face crumpled—how had she ever thought it expressionless?—and it was a moment before he spoke. “I don’t have the connections that Josh did. My father’s dead. My mother skipped out on us when I was a kid. No siblings. I have friends back in Jersey and in the service but I didn’t build a life like Josh or have a woman worth coming back to. He was crazy about you.”

  Her throat tightened with unshed tears, not all for herself. “I know. We were a good fit.” Josh was the life of the party, always full of cheer, so unlike Levi who was reserved and insular. Yet her husband had nothing but good things to say about this man.

  This was the man she wanted to profile. These were the conversations she wanted to have.

  “He thought very highly of you. You were a good friend to him.”

  “Until I tried to screw his wife the night he went into the ground.”

  She blew out a breath, her patience with it. “Is that why you’re here? To tell me what an asshole you are and scare me off the story? Because I’m not buying it.”

  “The tactic or the asshole status?”

  “Neither.” She pointed at him, but because he’d leaned in at the last moment, her finger met the center of his chest. Sensual awareness of just how hard that chest was dripped through her, all the way to a hollow spot between her legs.

  I would have screwed you that night.

  I would have let you.

  Did she mean that or was she just trying to one-up him in this game that suddenly felt far too dangerous?

  He placed a hand on the finger still idling away in Levi pec territory and wrapped his big palm around it. Rough, calloused, a working man’s hand.

  A voice in her brain started up a chant: Put it in your mouth. Lick it. Suck it. She should pull away, but every muscle in her body—including her traitorous finger—had frozen.

  “You’re not giving up on this, are you?” His voice was a raspy murmur, so low she had to inch closer to be sure she wouldn’t miss another precious word out of his mouth. Precious, because of the story, she insisted. Everything happening right now—breathing, thinking, speaking, being—felt fraught.

  And exciting.

  This emotion racing through her veins was the most alive she’d felt in years.

  “No, I’m not giving up, Levi. We need to figure out a way to work together. What are you so scared of?”

  “You think I’m scared?” His hand still covered her finger, cocooning it, warming her through. Something flickered in his eyes … was this man really that concerned about spending time with her? Did breathing her air threaten him so much?

  No, she was merely projecting her own insane concerns onto him. Frankly, she was terrified of the pull she felt toward him.

  “I think you’re scared of something.”

  Ignoring her response, he released her finger. “Team dinner is in thirty minutes.”

  He didn’t ask if she’d be there, probably because he already knew the answer.

  It was her job after all.

  Alone again, she grabbed a mini-bar bottle of scotch, dumped it into a glass, and downed it in one desperate gulp. Her heart still beat erratically, unnerved by Levi’s visit and the sensual connection they’d just shared.

  Perhaps it was her imagination. Perhaps those blue eyes weren’t on fire as he held her finger.

  I would have screwed you that night.

  What was more terrifying is that she would have let him.

  8

  The doorbell rang. The cluster of guests on his sofa looked at Levi, given that it was his door to answer.

  “Thought everyone who said they were coming was already here.”

  He gave a quick eyeball interrogation of the teammates over to play video games: Jorgenson, Kershaw, Burnett, and Remy DuPre, who might be retired but had a permanent invite to extra-curricular Rebels events. No one looked especially guilty until Levi circled back to Theo who wore the smirk of a man up to no good.

  “Who’d you invite to our video game-playing, ball-scratching, man festival, Kershaw?”

  Theo was all affront. “Why’d you assume I’ve got anything to do with this?”

  “’Cause you’re a troublemaker, Superglutes,” Remy said, sipping his beer. “That’s right, I heard your new nickname and I fucking love it.”

  The doorbell sounded again.

  Cade put the controller down, which was about the only way to beat him. The guy was a savant at Playstation. “I can get it, Kraken.”

  “Kraken?” Levi stared down Cade, then switched to a more likely suspect: Kershaw again. “Explain.”

  “Your name’s Levi, so we have ancient sea monster Leviathan with a quick sidestep over to the Kraken.”

  “It’s also aspirational. Release the …” Cade waved a hand to fill in the rest. “If we scream it at you on the ice, that’s your cue to go ballistic into the blue zone.”

  Probably no shade was intended, but it reminded Levi that he had to start improving, and fast.

  He caught Remy’s eye. “You had your chance to put all this behind you, yet you’re here. By choice.”

  Remy laughed. “Have another beer, Kraken. They sound better after more beer.”

  “Speaking of, anyone need a brew while I’m up?”

  They all affirmed that yes, indeed, they needed more sustenance of the beer variety.

  Levi answered the door and found exactly who he was expecting: Jordan looking fresh-faced and perky. What he wasn’t expecting was the pizza she was carrying.

  Was there no peace to be had?

  “I come bearing gifts.” She shoved the pizza boxes—three of them—against his chest.

  “Jordan!” Kershaw appeared behind Levi and elbowed him aside to collect the boxes. “You didn’t have to do that.”

  “Okaaaayyy, except you distinctly said the price of admission was three large cheese and pepperoni.”

  “What, no spinach?”

  Jordan caught Levi’s eye with a cute-as-a-kitten curve to her lips, the both of them sharing a joke at Theo’s absurdity. His heart leaped and his brain stutter-stepped, remembering how close he’d come to kissing her in that hotel room two nights ago in Philly, on the tail end of the conversation about Josh. Keeping it classy as always.

  Reel it in. There would be no joke-sharing. No intimacies.

  He was annoyed that she was here. He was annoyed that she was pretty. And he was especially annoyed that she was so damn chummy with Kershaw.

  Begrudgingly, he stood back to let her in.

  “Pizza break, boys!” Theo called out. “The lady from the press is buying.”

  Levi dug for his wallet and extracted three twenties. “You shouldn’t pay for these bozos. I was about to order in but Kershaw kept saying he wasn’t hungry yet.” The same Kershaw who was now stuffing his face with a giant—no, two giant—slices.

  “Keep your green, Hunt. I’ll expense it.”

  “This interview business is supposed to be during work hours.”

  “In case you’ve forgotten, I’ve yet to get a single, decent, useable word out of you.” As she slipped off a long cream-colored parka with a fur-trimmed hood, he sneaked a better look at her. The early November chill had given her cheeks a rosy glow. Her freckle-splashed nose, too. A soft gray sweater hugged her curves, figure-forming to her breasts and hips, and when she turned to hang her coat on the hook inside the door, his eyes couldn’t help being drawn to her ass, perfectly shaped in dark-rinse jeans.

  Back to face him, she caught him ogling her.

  “Take the money,” he said, holding it out, which made it sound like he was offering cash to atone for his wandering eyes.

  Waving him off, she walked past him into the kitchen, so all he could d
o was follow her.

  Unsurprisingly, she knew everyone, even DuPre, and no one but Levi seemed to have a problem with an attractive woman who could talk hockey, hang with the guys, and toted pizza. Soon Remy was turning on the Cajun charm, never mind that he was happily married.

  “So what’s it like following Hunt around, Ms. Cooke? Kind of dull, I’d bet.”

  “Oh, please, it’s Jordan. And yeah, he’s pretty tight-lipped. I’m hoping that seeing him in his natural habitat might loosen him up.”

  She bit into a slice, the greasy cheese leaving a shine on her lips that he wanted to—nothing. He wanted nothing.

  “Don’t know about natural,” Remy said, his gaze arcing over the living room of the two-bedroomed apartment the Rebels org had stashed Levi in. No chance of getting lonely, either. Kershaw lived across the hall and had a habit of dropping in unannounced, usually to raid Levi’s fridge.

  Remy continued to wax nostalgic. “I used to live here and it’s just a way station for the newbies until they settle down into a place of their own. Got fine memories of that sofa, I have to say.”

  Levi shut his eyes. “DuPre, do not start reminiscing about sex on that sofa with my boss.”

  Cade chuckled. “Bren said he found condoms in the seat cushions one day.”

  “Stowed ’em there for convenience. Cookie jar, too.” Remy tipped his beer bottle at Jordan. “Pardon the off-color talk, miss. I hope that won’t find its way into your column. My wife would de-ball me with her very sharp stilettos if it did.”

  Jordan laughed. “Your secret’s safe with me. I’m just here to soak it all in. Anything you guys say tonight is off the record.”

  A likely tale. Levi would be keeping his lips zipped.

  As he watched Jordan’s easygoing way with the guys, the memory of their first meeting rose as fresh as the pizza they were chowing down on. Seven years ago, he’d been out drinking with Josh and Kelly at a bar in Clarkesville, Kentucky, one night after returning stateside. It had been a particularly brutal op, with one of their team getting shot but expected to make a full recovery. They were there to unwind with no expectations. That is, until Jordan showed up.

  Levi saw her first. Heard her, in fact.

  That laugh, so husky and big, the laugh of a woman who enjoyed life and looked for the good in people. Everyone around him in that bar had been talking and shooting the shit, and Levi wasn’t even on this planet anymore. He was alone on another world with this woman who laughed like she meant it. She wore a dress as blue as her eyes with delicate straps; her hair fell like a waterfall of autumn leaves over her shoulders; her gilded skin glowed. Only later—on her wedding day—did he realize that she had a parade of freckles on her arms and upper chest, like twinkling stars.

  His heart thumped rabbit kicks in his chest, then and now. He wanted to shut down, to not relive the night that had ended so differently for them both. But his mind raced, the images coming hard and fast, triggered by hearing her big, boisterous laugh and seeing her in her element in his kitchen.

  That night in Kentucky, she’d turned their way and looked—right through Levi. He saw it, that moment when she and Cookie clashed gazes for the first time, like something out of West Side Fucking Story. Tony and Maria alone, the room fell away.

  Only they weren’t completely alone. Levi was still in the room, existing on the fuzzy edges, watching his best friend fall in love with the woman Levi wanted. Watching the dream of her slip right through his fingers.

  * * *

  “Quicksand.”

  “That was your childhood fear?” Levi sized up Kershaw, who had just uttered that gem. “You grew up in Michigan.”

  “Every movie and TV show I watched had someone getting sucked to their death in sand. Way less of a problem in adult life than I was led to believe. That and killer bees.”

  Somehow they’d landed on the topic of irrational childhood fears. Remy had been terrified of some weird Cajun boogeyman under his bed, who snacked on crackers and paté, mind you. Cade was convinced his next-door-neighbor in San Antonio was a child catcher like that creepy dude in Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. Poor Erik lived in fear that a snake would come up through the toilet and bite his balls. In Sweden.

  Every man in the room filed that away for a check later of their respective bathrooms.

  Jordan had chuckled at everything the boys vomited out, leaning in to her one-of-the-guys bit. He shouldn’t be so suspicious—she’d always been so sweet after all—but there was something different about her these days. A glow in her eyes, a set to her jaw, a determination to be counted.

  Jordan had always been the most beautiful woman in the room, and she still was. But now, with her hair pulled high in a fiery pony-tail, her cheeks blush-pink with the heat, all that energy, she simply slayed him.

  “What about you, Jordan?” Theo asked. “What were you scared of?”

  “Okay, don’t laugh now.” She sent a mischievous look around the crew. “I was pretty sure that everyone was a robot and we were living in the equivalent of the movie Westworld but without the murderous cowboys.”

  “Yul Brynner,” Remy muttered. “Classic.”

  “Yep. I’d look into the eyes of everyone I met trying to determine if they were mechanical.”

  “That’s pretty specific,” Cade said. “When’d you grow out of that?”

  She stood and leaned across the sofa, staring right into his eyes. “Oh … ages ago.”

  “Does not compute,” Cade said in a robotic voice. “Reporter is onto us.”

  Jordan laughed again, and it didn’t sound fake. But then she’d always been like that: chockfull of cheer, completely authentic. When she was his friend’s woman, it was easier to dismiss her influence on him. That was the code. But now, being around her was hell. An exquisitely beautiful hell.

  “And you, Levi?” Jordan asked, her lips in a suggestive curve. “What frightened you?”

  “No irrational fears. Just rational ones.”

  She waited, staring hard enough to pierce his armor. What would she say if he told her the truth? How he’d been afraid of the dark and the damp, of having no food or shelter. How his bogeymen were real and they weren’t munching on crackers, either.

  Spending time with Jordan on this interview wouldn’t just be annoying—it would ruin him. One look like that from this woman and he would tell her everything.

  The moment of silence held taut between them, broken only by his doorbell.

  “It’s like Grand Central around here.” But really, this was good because he’d gotten a little lost in the glory of Jordan’s blue eyes. He headed to the door, shaking his noggin and trying to scatter thoughts of this woman to the four corners of his apartment.

  This time, the person at the door was definitely not expected. Eloise Butler stood before him, an off-kilter grin cracking her face.

  “Elle!”

  “Hey, Hunt, up for a visit?”

  His gaze moved from the wobbly smile to the duffle bag at her feet. He’d worked with Elle at Fort Campbell where she was in Special Forces support. She’d left the service a few months ago and the invitation to visit was always open, but usually people called first.

  He grabbed her bag and gestured for her to come in. “What’s up?”

  “Not much.” She stopped, her ear attuned to the noise from the other room. “You’ve got company?”

  “Just a few of the guys from the Rebels.”

  “Oh, yeah. The hockey thing.”

  He snorted. No one did a better job of keeping a man grounded. “Uh huh. The hockey thing.”

  “So that’s going good?”

  “Rocky start but getting better.” With more ice time in Philly, he’d managed an assist and helped the team to its second win of the season. Not exactly lighting the NHL on fire, though. Yet.

  “Nice, nice.” She sounded distracted. “So, this is kind of awkward but I need a place to stay. Just for a couple of days. I promise I’ll put bread and milk in your fridge.”
r />   “Not a problem.”

  “Hey, Hunt, you never said you were inviting your girl.” Theo had appeared to check on the new visitor because with Kershaw around, no man’s—or woman’s—business was their own.

  Levi knew Elle pretty well, and when someone put her back up, she could get as snooty as all get out. Ignoring Theo, she turned back to Levi. “Listen, I’ll stay out of your hair while you hang with your buddies.”

  Something was definitely up with her. The edginess, the small talk, the urgent need for shelter.

  “Come into the kitchen with me. I need to get beers.”

  She followed him and took a seat at the island.

  Theo trailed them and bless the child, he tried again. “I’m Theo, one of Levi’s teammates.”

  Elle merely nodded at him, a curt dismissal.

  If he must. “Theo, this is Elle Butler. She and I worked together at Fort Campbell for a couple of years and she’s here for a visit. Elle, meet Theo Kershaw, D-man on the Chicago Rebels.”

  “D-man? What the hell is that?”

  “Stands for defense,” Theo said. “And other things.” He added a big grin that usually had the ladies melting.

  Elle raised both eyebrows, clearly not in a melting mood. “Way to sell it, Dick-Man.”

  Levi passed off a couple of beers to Theo with an expression that was half-apology for his friend and half-fuck off because it was none of his business. “Go ahead and play without me.”

  “Sure.” He passed a bottle to Elle. “Welcome to Chicago.”

  She blinked, evidently surprised by Theo’s gesture. “Uh, thanks.”

  Kershaw grabbed a couple more beers from the fridge and headed out.

  “Are all the players as pretty as that one?”

  “Christ, don’t tell him that. We’ll never hear the end of it.” Not that it was news. The tabloids made a meal out of Kershaw’s good looks—the blue-black hair, green eyes, and jaw that could cut a hole in the ice were a winning combo, apparently. “Want to fill me in on what happened? Or why you landed on my doorstep without warning? Or why you need a place to stay all of a sudden?”