Love In Moments: An opposites attract hockey romance (Love Distilled Book 2)

by Scarlett Cole

  “It was. It is. I think it was frustrating for the team too, because they knew I wasn’t happy and that I wasn’t going to stay around once my free agency came about, but they needed me. I tend to be intense.”

  Olivia looked over at him and shook her head. “Really? I would never have guessed that about you.”

  He couldn’t help but grin. “Fine. Yes. I am. But they traded me to Denver. The organization has expressed interest in me staying for the long term. They offered me a one-year extension beyond the rest of this contract, and I turned it down. This isn’t my dream situation, either.”

  “Why not?” she asked as they came to a stop before a five-story building.

  “My older brother’s here and, while I love him, it’s sometimes hard for him to forget he’s my peer, not my older sibling on the ice. And second, I don’t want this to interfere with negotiations with teams I want to play for.”

  “This is me,” Olivia said, looking at the door briefly.

  Damn. He didn’t want to stop talking with her just yet. “Do you want to grab a drink with me? Perhaps there’s a coffee shop?”

  She shook her head and held up the bag she was carrying. “My dinner is likely already cold.”

  “Right. Sorry.”

  He should go. He should leave her to what was left of the evening.

  “Do you want to come upstairs for a little while? Just to talk,” she added hastily.

  The tense muscles in his stomach relaxed. “I’d like that.”

  They didn’t speak as she led them up the elevator to her apartment. It was a riot of color. A vivid turquoise sofa in a plush fabric that looked like velvet. Contemporary artwork of vibrant circles hung in the open-plan living area. There was a deep green accent wall in the kitchen. It shouldn’t have matched, but somehow it all did.

  “I like your place.”

  Olivia smiled. “I share with my friend, Natalie. It’s her place and mostly her doing, but some of the art is mine.”

  “Who’s the artist?”

  “Oh, me. When I said some of it was mine, I meant I painted it.”

  He looked from Olivia to the artwork and back again. “Wow. You’re really talented, Liv.”

  She shrugged as if it was no big deal. “It relaxes me. At least, it used to. Do you mind if I eat?”

  He shook his head. “No, please do.”

  Anders watched as she moved around the kitchen. She had the same grace of movement as she had the night at the distillery. There was a lightness to it. Olivia grabbed a bottle of red wine off the counter and offered it and a corkscrew to him. “Would you mind opening that? I know it should probably be white, seeing I’m having fish, but it’s all I’ve got, and I think this conversation needs alcohol.”

  He’d stuck with water at the restaurant with Karl, but Olivia was right, having a glass of red would make things feel less formal somehow. As they poured the wine and got settled at the small kitchen table, Anders thought about what he was going to say.

  “I’ve been really torn, Liv. I’ve thought about you. A lot. Even before I knew I was being traded. You gave me plenty to think about. What a great leader you were. How you stayed calm under pressure after your staff were injured. How you turned the night around. How good you looked in that black dress and how you looked even better without it in bed. Even how honest you were with me. And how you trusted me so easily.”

  She waved her fork as she finished chewing her mouthful. “Don’t elevate me to sainthood, Anders.”

  He took a gulp of wine and then smiled at her comment. “I’m serious. But I’m also messed up. Before I left Sweden, I found my girlfriend in a compromising situation with someone I thought was a friend. I’m not as trusting as you are. And I really do need to focus. I become so single-minded that I don’t let anything get in my way. So, none of that adds up to good relationship material.”

  “Are you trying to make up or scare me off? Because it’s positively charming to know you noticed more than my body the night we met. Yet I feel as though I’m not meant to be charmed.”

  For a moment, Anders swirled his wine glass, watching as the red liquid made patterns up the side of his glass. “I’m not sure. A part of me thinks I should just go and leave you alone. But there’s a part of me that’s desperate to know . . .”

  “To know what?”

  He took her hand and kissed the back of it. If she wanted charming, he was sure he could figure out how to live up to it. He’d research it if he needed to. “To know how good we could be.”

  Olivia blushed as she ate more of her dinner. “I think we know how good we can be,” she muttered.

  Unable to resist, he ran his knuckle down her cheek and along her jaw. “I meant how good we could be out of bed, Liv. We know how good we are in it.”

  She looked away, seemingly unable to meet his eyes. “I’d like that too.”

  Shit. That was where he’d gone wrong. “We did this backwards.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Most relationships start with meeting somehow. Bumping into someone in a bar. Being introduced by a friend. A dating app. Whatever. You go out, get to know someone. You like them enough, you sleep with them and hope you are as compatible in bed with them as you are out of it. We went straight to bed. To sex.”

  Olivia’s fork clattered against her plate. “Sorry.” Her cheeks took on the pale flush of embarrassment.

  He reached for both of her hands and, buoyed by his idea, he pulled her onto his lap. He loved the feel of her ass against his thighs. And the way she fit into his arms. “It’s okay. Don’t you see? We need to back up. We need to date, get to know each other.”

  “You want to date me? I thought you needed to focus. To be intense. To get a mega-contract or whatever it is.”

  “I do. I did. I still will. But let’s try it. Let’s see what happens if we date. You said it had been a while for you, that last year had been a hellish year. And I need to prove myself, to the Rush, and to you. I want to be that guy that can do both. Let’s figure this out together.”

  Olivia’s features were filled with confusion.

  “Just say yes, Liv. Take the first step with me.” He ran his hand along her waist, his thumbs brushing the underside of her breast, and he had to shake the image of how they’d filled his hands when she’d been naked.

  She placed her hand on his cheek and he leaned into it. “Okay. But I have rules.”

  Anders nodded. “Sure. I probably do too. What are yours?”

  “It’s new, I know. Like we’ve barely spent a dozen hours together. It’s not even a relationship. And you are . . .you.”

  “Wait, what does that mean?”

  Olivia looked at him as if he were dumb. “Oh, I don’t know, Mr. Millionaire Good-Looking Hockey Player.”

  “You think I’m good-looking?” He kissed her palm and tried to ignore the way his dick had currently joined the party. Olivia had a way of waking up that side of him with just her smile.

  “You know you are good-looking. You don’t need me to inflate your ego.”

  He grinned at her. “Fair point. Continue.”

  “You are you. And I know you have options. Hell, I’ve seen you with redheaded options who’d look good in a paper bag.”

  “After I lost you at the club, I walked outside and took a cab home. Alone.” Anders ran a hand along his jaw. “If this is your roundabout way of asking if I’m dating or interested in anybody else, I’m not.”

  “Good.”

  “I have a rule. No sex for at least five dates.”

  Olivia wiggled against him, making it crystal clear that she could feel what was going on in his jeans. “Does that really need to be a rule?” She leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his lips. Fuck, it would be so easy to turn his face a fraction and savor the taste of her again. Instead, he gently placed her on the floor and stood.

  “I think it does. We need to figure out how to fit.”

  Olivia laughed playfully. “I
think we already figured out how to fit.”

  “Liv,” he warned.

  “Fine. Fine. Okay. No sex for five dates. But can we hurry them along?”

  Anders shook his head. “The joy of my career is that there are going to be periods when I’m out of town or with the team. We’ll have to fit them in when we can, find moments when we can be together.”

  “Can we define sex?” she asked, glancing down at his thumbs currently stroking the underside of her breasts.

  He snatched them away. It would be impossible to keep his hands from her completely. “Fine. Remain clothed at all times. Closer to second base than third.”

  “So, we’re doing this. We’re dating?” Olivia asked, stepping up against him.

  He couldn’t resist putting his arms around her, pulling her close so his hand could rest on the curve of her ass. Damn, she felt as good as he remembered, and suddenly he was cursing himself for his bright idea and moral high ground. “We are. So, I’m going to leave before I break the rules minutes after making them.”

  Her hands ran up his sides, and he savored the warmth of her touch. “Liv?”

  “Yes, Anders?”

  The way his name breathlessly left her mouth made his balls throb. “Kissing’s allowed, right?”

  And without waiting for an answer, he pressed his lips to hers and reminded himself just how good she tasted.

  5

  “Well, this isn’t nerve-wracking at all, is it?” Emerson said, as Jake held the door open to the offices of the architects they’d selected to work on the designs for the distillery.

  Jake squeezed her shoulder. “Just breathe, Em.”

  Olivia took Jake’s advice and began to do the same.

  Just breathe.

  She ran her palms down the front of the black pants she wore. Thank goodness the meeting was happening early in the morning. She’d barely gotten a wink of sleep the previous evening. Partly because she’d been thinking over her conversation with Anders, and partly because she’d been worrying about the details, realizing the reason the renovation was being done slowly and in pieces was her fault.

  Sure, she hadn’t caused the storm that had destroyed the main events venue. But everything else was all on her. She’d sucked at her PR crisis management, she’d messed up filling out the insurance company paperwork, and she’d failed at being strong enough to withstand the impacts it had on the business. And her father had been forced to take out an additional loan to pay off the clients who’d trusted them with their weddings. Days later, he’d died.

  Yeah, it still stung.

  By rights, she wondered if she should even be here. Jake and Emerson did all the real work. What did her contribution add up to?

  She forced herself to recall what Connor had said, about her branding and design for Dyer’s Medallion gin being a large part of why people were taking it off the shelves. He’d reasoned that the everyday shopper didn’t really follow awards and medals. They just went to the shelf and grabbed the product that caught their eye. Then they bought it again because they loved it.

  But in the grand scheme of things, that didn’t really feel like enough.

  Emerson practically ran the company, Jake made the goddamn gin. What did she do? She didn’t work sixty percent of the hours they did.

  She was lazy, as well as incompetent, by comparison.

  Her therapist would have something to say about her thoughts sliding back that way. Doubting her own worth was something they’d talked about often.

  “I hope they found a way to fit space for five stills, even if we can only afford to put three in it for now,” Jake said, while Emerson spoke to the woman at the reception desk. “And I know Em hopes they can do it without a major rebuild of the events hall. From a cost perspective, it would be better to not have to deal with too much demolition. If the footprint could remain close to the same, or with an extension that only affected a small portion of the foundation, that would be the best option.”

  Olivia felt selfish for hoping that any offices built wouldn’t be freezing in winter and a tropical forest in summer. Prints of contemporary buildings the company had worked on framed the walls.

  “I hope they retain the character of the distillery,” Olivia said quietly to Jake. “That’s the charm.”

  By the time they were seated in a conference room with large windows that faced over a park, Olivia had managed to rein in her emotions.

  Terrence, the chief architect on the project, stood at the front of the room next to an enlarged drawing of the side elevation of the events hall. The plan was to renovate this into the new distillery. Then turn the old distillery into a new events hall. “This is the view from the parking lot. By moving the doorway from the long edge of the building to the short edge, you’ll improve the flow of goods, but it will also create a longer, uninterrupted internal wall to run the stills against. It’s obviously cheaper to brick it up, but if you wanted, you could put in large ceiling-to-floor windows so customers could see into the distillery from the lot.”

  Olivia studied the drawing. “Given the space isn’t big enough as is, which way do you intend to expand the building? This elevation is right on the edge of the parking lot.”

  Terrence nodded. “Yeah, losing the parking lot would be the most ideal, but I get why that isn’t practical, especially once the old distillery building becomes the events hall. Our thought is to expand the south end to bring the factory closer to the road. Currently, you get seen from the road, but only when you’re about to turn into the lot. This way, the front of the building is visible from three angles from farther away.”

  Olivia turned to Emerson. “That would be perfect for marketing space. We could advertise campaigns and events.”

  Emerson grinned. “I like it. And am I right in assuming the costs are kept down because the foundation is only affected on the south side?”

  Terrence nodded. “Yes. We’re making the building longer, that’s all. Jake took us through the distillery as it stands now, and this works better.”

  “It’s actually better because it’s more oblong than square. In the existing building, we have a central corridor with stills on either side,” Jake said. “This way, we’ll have them all in a line with better flow.”

  “To be honest, Christopher Cunningham made this suggestion. He’s looking out for you guys,” Terrence said, referring to the owner of the construction company they’d chosen. “He also told me a couple of stories about the three of you when you were kids, hanging out with his two, Cassie and Carter.”

  “It’s fair to say we got into quite a lot of trouble,” Jake said.

  Olivia grinned. Quite a lot of trouble was a huge understatement. Carter and Jake were the lead mischief makers, and the rest of them just went along for the ride. As adults, when they’d needed building advice, it had been Christopher they’d gone to. He’d been their father’s best friend, and the first to show up after the storm to see how he could help. Carter and Christopher had helped carry her father’s coffin into the church, while Cassie had helped Liv and Emerson pull together his wake.

  Terrence and his team took them through other drawings. Artists’ renderings of what the inside of the old building would be like. Different exterior elevations. The roof.

  God, the roof. Her nemesis.

  “Because the roof was a mix of original glass, polycarbonate sheet, and rusted corrugated metal, it didn’t stand a chance against the storm. And the way repairs had been conducted over the years left instability between joints.”

  “Dad,” Olivia muttered, and Emerson reached for her hand. He’d been so concerned after their mother’s death to not leave his three children with a mess, that he’d refused to take on loans to upgrade the distillery beyond emergency repairs. Hence the mismatched roof unable to withstand anything more than a solid downpour.

  “To be honest,” Terrence added. “It’s a wonder that the roof hadn’t succumbed to the weight of snow or a storm before now.”

&nb
sp; Quiet fluttered between Emerson, Jake, and herself as the words sunk in. What if it had happened while there were people in there, celebrating the happiest day of their life?

  Oh, shit. A wave of nausea had Olivia pressing a hand to her mouth. What if someone had been killed? That in and of itself would have been the absolute worst outcome. But god, what if someone had died and they’d had no insurance? They’d have been sued. Her father ruined. And it would have been all her fault.

  Olivia stood and hurried to the restroom that she’d seen on the way in, just down the hallway. Flinging the toilet door open, she dry-heaved twice, her stomach in knots.

  Pressing a hand to her forehead, she forced herself to breathe. Slow and steady breaths that somehow seemed to calm her. When the nausea began to fade, she stood and leaned back against the cool stall.

  Guilt.

  Somehow, she needed to make her peace with it, but she wasn’t sure how. When she’d first started on her meds, she’d felt numb. Too numb to process all the emotions that were now rattling around in her head. And if she was honest, she wasn’t being truthful with her therapist, or her family, with how she was handling it.

  How could she explain that this was almost the opposite of how she’d felt on meds? Emotions exploded through her like fireworks on the Fourth of July. Fast, vibrant, loud. It was almost too much to take in. It was as if she’d gotten out of the habit of letting herself feel anything at all, and this was feeling overload.

  Those emotions were gusting back in like the storm that had ripped off the roof.

  The door to the restroom opened and Olivia stepped out of the stall.

  “Liv.” Emerson peeked her head in. “Are you okay?”

  Olivia nodded, then shook her head. “What if the roof had fallen in on guests?”

  Emerson rested her hip on the counter. “But it didn’t, Liv. It was an empty building.”

  “It would have ruined everything,” Olivia whispered, looking at her pale face in the bathroom mirror. “There would have been no insurance, we would have lost—”