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

by Scarlett Cole

  “Come here,” Emerson said, pulling her into a tight hug. “What happened was in the past. And nobody was hurt. And we aren’t ruined. And the three of us are figuring this out. Together.” She gripped Olivia’s upper arms and stepped back. “Resilience, Liv. It’s all we’ve got. Life will continue to toss challenges at us. Some of them are big, some are small. But there hasn’t been a challenge thrown at this family that we haven’t found our way through.”

  Olivia sighed, letting her sister’s words in. She wanted to fight back against Emerson’s overly simplified view of the world, but she didn’t have the energy. Em dipped her head to make sure Olivia looked straight at her.

  “Mom died. We got through it. Dad died. We got through it. The distillery is a mess. We’re getting through it. You got sick and look at you now. Pulling yourself up by the tips of your fingers and fighting back. The key is that we’ve done it together.”

  Olivia wanted to feel peace from Emerson’s words. She listened to each one, trying to let the words bounce around in her brain so she could make sense of the jumble of feelings. There was good intention in them, and she could see from Em’s face that she meant each word.

  She wanted to believe every single one of them, but no matter how she tried, she couldn’t quite internalize them. It was as if they were meant for someone else. Someone other than herself.

  And she couldn’t quite figure out why.

  Anders flew off the ice and through the gate to the bench. He sucked in gulps of air. The coach had left his line on for what felt like three times longer than the forty-five seconds it likely was. Winnipeg was not for laying down in the Rush’s barn. He looked across at Wyatt Lewis and found his right-wing man gulping down a sport’s drink like he’d been stuck in the desert for hours. The American had a decade on Anders but was just as fast on the ice. His Finnish left wing, Theo Valkama, watched the play on the ice.

  Winnipeg’s defense was on fire.

  He listened as the coach yelled instructions. Jean Paul Fleury had played for Montreal his entire career and was one of the few who had parlayed his skills into coaching. The challenge was his calls occasionally veered to those of a frustrated captain, yelling at those around him about how he would have made a play, rather than how the individual player should have.

  But that made it easy for Anders to sift through to the essence of what exactly was expected of him, even if the comments were deeply personal.

  He watched as team captain Ryan Hall skated up the ice, only to be slammed against the boards.

  Another call to change the line. Canadian Jacob Miller led the charge for the new line, making sure to not skate out too early and draw a penalty. The need to get on the ice and do more crawled over Anders’s skin. He had a love-hate relationship with the bench.

  Another forty-five seconds.

  “Berg, go,” Fleury called, and he was up and out onto the ice.

  Last minute instructions followed the three of them as Wyatt and Theo raced to their zone of the ice. A glance at the clock told him they had enough time to break the deadlock. In a play they’d practiced a million times, Anders handled the puck down the center, dummying left, his usual preference, then flicking it right toward Wyatt, who was waiting for delivery. With a flick of Wyatt’s stick, the puck went flying to the top left corner of the net.

  With arms in the air, he skirted behind the net, and Anders nodded, the closest he came to celebration. They’d done it. But the game wasn’t over. As he got within a few feet of the bench, the fresh defensive pair charged on. Bogdan Demyanov, the six-foot-six Denver Rush monster known for his forechecking abilities, skated onto the ice, along with the Rush’s defense-oriented forwards. Fresh legs near the goal were perfect. Plus, most players didn’t want to mess with Bogdan on a good day. When the guy was on a mission, like now, with only fifteen seconds on the clock, it was highly unlikely they’d break even. Alternate captain Logan Johnson finished the line.

  When the puck was back in play, Johnson was able to stop it in the center, but Winnipeg wanted once last gasp. Their captain was strong, but Forshev, the Rush’s goalie, was stronger. He deflected the puck while Bogdan took out their left wing.

  The sound of the buzzer filled the barn and the fans erupted. Feet slammed the floor, voices roared in support. The noise was deafening.

  And Anders had a fleeting feeling that it would have been nice for Olivia to see it, but then relief that she hadn’t. He’d needed every ounce of focus during the game, and he’d had a couple of moments when his mind had drifted back to how it felt to kiss her in her kitchen. How her body had pressed up against his. How easy it had been to slide his hands into the back pockets of her jeans and pull her up against his erection, so she was left in no doubt about how he felt about her.

  Even skating around the rink, crashing deliberately into his teammates to knock helmets or roughhouse as they circled the ice to thank fans, he was having an episode of cold feet. This was what he’d worried about. Thinking about her more than the game.

  But then, even if he hadn’t seen her and spoken to her and made the agreement that they had, he’d likely still be thinking about her. She was positively unforgettable.

  He made his way to the locker room with the rest of the guys in need of a post-game workout, food, and a shower. Once home and settled on the sofa with an ice pack on his knee, popcorn, and a replay of The Lord of the Rings, he checked his phone. Olivia had messaged him ten minutes earlier, congratulating him on the team’s win.

  Wait, it was nearly midnight. He pulled out his phone and typed a quick response.

  Thanks. What are you doing awake so late?

  Pulling together contracts for some events. Nothing exciting. You?

  Just got home from the game, getting comfortable.

  Oh, sorry. Didn’t mean to interrupt.

  Anders laughed softly. It had felt a little lonely coming back to an empty house. Interestingly, her message had made him feel a little less alone.

  You’re a welcome interruption, älskling.

  What does that mean?

  Darling, I guess. A term of endearment.

  Dots bounced on the bottom of his screen for a moment.

  I like it.

  He was shit at texting. Messaging someone was about as intimate as a car crash. Abbreviated words, zero grammar, no nuance. Every single person he knew preferred it as a way of communicating, but then, perhaps he just didn’t really like chatting with people at all. But he wanted to talk to Olivia.

  Do you need to get work done or can I call you?

  Again, dots bounced on the screen and he found himself anxious for her reply. Hell, even Liv Tyler’s fleeting appearance on the TV didn’t distract him from the dots.

  Sure.

  He dialed her number and rubbed his palm down his jeans.

  “Hey,” she said cheerfully, peppier than he felt, although his heart had raced unexpectedly as the phone rang.

  “Hey, yourself. Have you been working all evening?”

  “No. I stopped to watch the game. How do you think it went?”

  How did he feel it went? They won. Something deep inside him said he should let that be enough. But it was too close. Winnipeg was a strong team. His guess was Denver would end up facing off against them in the playoff series. He’d need to review the files of his game when the performance analysts sent them through. “We won by a whisker, and that’s not how you win the cup.”

  “I’m pretty sure winning game after game adds up to winning the cup, though.”

  Anders muted a thunderous battle scene that had erupted on the screen. “True. But winning the game shouldn’t be a coin toss. There’s a lot you can do to increase the odds.”

  Olivia sounded as though she was moving around. He heard the clink of cutlery and water running. She was likely in the kitchen, where he’d kissed her. And damn, if the thought of her lips on his didn’t juice him up when he should be winding down.

  “Tell me,” she said.

&n
bsp; “Seriously?”

  “Yeah. I just put away the dishes, turned off the light, and am heading to my bedroom. Tell me a bedtime story about all the things you can do to increase the odds of winning a hockey game. I’ll either learn something, or it will be a sedative.”

  “Funny. If you are getting in bed, does that mean you’re naked?”

  “Want me to lie to you and tell you that I am?”

  Anders shook his head. “No. Don’t ever lie to me, and I won’t lie to you.”

  “Fine, I’m in a pair of old, plaid pajamas that I got during undergrad.”

  “If it makes you feel better, I’m in an old pair of shorts and have an ice pack on my knee.”

  “Ouch. Want me to kiss it better?”

  He ran his hand over his jaw. “I could make that happen. Where else would you like to kiss?”

  “Stop,” she spluttered. “Don’t start that over the phone. I need to wind down. Tell me about how to increase the chances of winning.”

  Anders switched off the movie, tossed the ice pack into the popcorn bowl, and made his way upstairs. If she was in bed, he might as well be. “First thing you do is review footage of your opponent. It helps you see their plays, helps you see each player’s preference. Does he dummy on the way to goal? Is he a team player? Does he pass the puck? Or does he keep the puck close? In a tight corner, who does he usually pass it to? Which player is always able to find space on the ice? Who is the weak link in their defense? If you can decode the way the opposition plays, you can play against it.”

  “How can you keep all that straight in your head when you play so many different teams each month?”

  As she spoke, he whipped his hoodie over his head. He wore nothing beneath it. “It’s my job to know. But really, the focus is your own game, how you play. Before each game, we have a series of strategies to play against the team. Those have to be rock solid, with plays practiced a million times.”

  He heard the rustle of covers and took a moment to slip off his shorts. There were other things he should do. Take a piss. Brush his teeth. Close the curtains. Right now, his focus was on Olivia, imagining her snuggling beneath the covers as he climbed under his.

  “This bed would be a lot warmer if you were in it,” Olivia whispered.

  He shivered as the cool sheets hit his body. “I was just thinking the same thing.” Anders glanced at the time on his phone. It was way too late to suggest blowing off the rules of five dates and fixing the problem. Plus, that wasn’t the point. He knew he could get her into bed. Finding common ground out of it was more important.

  Anders reached down and rearranged his dick, which was getting interested in the conversation. It didn’t matter what it thought, he was sticking to his end of the bargain. “Swing by tomorrow and we’ll talk about those dates, älskling.”

  Olivia sighed. “That sounds like a great idea. Now tell me more about those plays.”

  And he did, until he heard the funny little sighs that told him she was asleep.

  6

  Olivia walked up the driveway to the house that looked as though it could have graced the cover of Architectural Digest. Pale gray sidings, white trim, columns holding up a balcony on the upper floor that overlooked the park. She’d not thought about Anders’s income, but given he played in the country’s top hockey league, she guessed it must be high. As the sun hovered on the edge of the horizon, the sky was cast in shades of gold and purple. Lights were on inside, casting an inviting glow through the windows.

  It was a beautiful home.

  She pulled her cream hat down over her ears, looking forward to the cocoon of warmth once she stepped inside. When she reached the door, she rang the bell.

  A few moments passed before Anders pulled the door open, wearing nothing but a pair of shorts. “Liv.” His tone was cordial. Not welcoming, not cold.

  Momentarily, she was struck speechless. A distracting rivulet of sweat made its way over his pec. His abs looked even more defined than the first time she’d seen him naked. The dip of muscles that headed below his shorts had her clenching in intimate places at the sight. She shook her head and reached for words. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt. It’s just, you said swing by anytime and I . . . well, I got you something.”

  He didn’t take the gift she’d spent so long trying to find. His face gave little away.

  “I mean, I can come back if you are busy.”

  He took a deep breath, as if debating whether he wanted her around. A decision that was taking way too long for her liking. He could at least be polite. Could at least smile and tell her he was busy or something. Unless he was busy busy. Oh, god. What if she’d arrived while he’d been getting it on? Working out wasn’t the only reason he could be sweaty and wearing only a pair of shorts.

  “You know, never mind. Here. It’s a housewarming gift. You said you were missing home, so I got you some Swedish things. Enjoy.” She shoved the gift bag into his arms and walked down the drive.

  “Liv,” Anders shouted after her. “Vänta! Kom tillbaka. Wait. Shit. Come back.”

  She paused on the drive, turning when she was certain she was calm enough. “I’m good. I get it. I should have called. I will next time.”

  Anders stepped out of the front door, looking up and down the street before he came to stand in front of her. “Liv. Ge mig ett ögonblick. . . shit. Fucking English. You have to give me minutes to think.”

  His eyes focused on hers before he reached for her hand, his fingers slipping between hers. “Come into the house, kämpe.”

  “I don’t want to interrupt whatever’s going on . . . in there . . . whatever.” She waved her free hand in the direction of the upstairs windows.

  Anders looked in the direction she was gesturing, and the corner of his mouth turned up in the closest he’d come to a smile today. “You thought there was a woman up there. That I was having sex?”

  Heat filled Olivia’s cheeks and she looked away. “It’s not my business to think about what you were doing.”

  “You’re jealous.”

  Olivia rolled her eyes. “I’m not jealous.”

  “You were, and I like it.” He pinched her chin with his thumb and forefinger, lifting her face until their eyes met. “I was just testing out the new gym setup I installed in the basement. And while I love a good weight bench, I definitely wasn’t making out with it.”

  The idea of watching him work out shouldn’t be appealing, not when he was being so darn sullen.

  “Come inside, Liv.”

  Without a word, she allowed him to lead her into the house. The door clicked shut behind them. The interior was everything she’d thought it would be from the outside. Muted grays, hints of shimmer, lots of light. It was breathtaking, and yet not as interesting as the man who stood behind her. She caught his eyes looking at her in the tarnished silver mirror.

  “Mirrors,” he said, a wry smile on his face, and Olivia flushed at the memory of the last time the two of them had stood in front of one. “Come to the kitchen.”

  “You have a lovely home,” Olivia said, finally finding her feet. Small talk seemed like safe ground. The kitchen was a baker’s delight. A huge island with six stools dominated the space, the appliances were top of the range, and the delicate glass light fitting above the counter probably cost as much as a small car.

  “I didn’t pick it.” Anders placed her gift on the island. “Sarah had it on her letting books. It’s convenient given I don’t know how long I’m here. I don’t know where I’m headed at the end of the season, so it didn’t make any sense to settle here permanently.”

  Silence fell between them.

  “We talked about being exclusive, Liv.” Anders’s fingers ran over the thin rope handles of the gift bag. “Why did you jump to the conclusion there was someone here?”

  Olivia shrugged. “Yeah. I’m sorry. You just didn’t seem particularly happy to see me. And you were . . . ” She gestured up and down his body with her hand.

  Anders rai
sed an eyebrow.

  “Grr. You know what I mean. You were practically naked and sweating and made no move to be friendly, or say hello, or invite me in.”

  She watched as Anders dipped his hand into the bag and pulled out the Cloetta Kexchoklad. “You bought me Swedish chocolate wafers?”

  “You said you were missing home.”

  Anders grinned and dipped his hand in again. This time he pulled out a packet and immediately ripped it open. The salty black licorice sounded positively awful when she’d ordered it, but he popped two candies in his mouth. “Want one?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “No, thanks. I’m good.”

  He grinned at the bottle of julmust. When he’d finished admiring the rest of his haul, he walked toward her. “Thank you, Liv. It’s really sweet of you.” He reached for her beanie, pulling it off and running his fingers through her hair.

  “I’m glad you like them.”

  He placed a finger beneath her chin and lifted her face toward his. “I like you, Liv. And I said we were exclusive. You don’t need to worry about that.”

  Her shoulders sagged in relief. “If I’d thought instead of reacted, I might have remembered that myself.”

  Anders kissed her temple gently. “And I might have handled it differently by reacting instead of thinking.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Remember what I said about being ridiculously focused? I find it hard to change gears. I was focused on setting up the gym, on working out, on packing for the road trip tomorrow to Chicago. And then you arrive, and I get paralyzed trying to break out of the thing I was focused on to change gears. And it was only possible because I was so glad to see you. It’s not just you, Liv. Sometimes, you’re just going to need to give me a minute.”

  Relief flooded her. They were so different. They were going to need to figure out how to communicate more effectively. But beneath the differences was the same need for each other. And she had just barged in on his day, assuming he’d be free to see her, even though he had said she could swing by. She ran her fingertips down his bicep, the skin still damp beneath her fingers.