by Elise Faber
Mostly judgment free because the last time she’d been up here, Aiden—Blue and Anna’s son—had told Dani that she needed to relax her face, otherwise she’d get wrinkles.
Kids.
Back to the whole honest to a fault thing.
Sara stopped, eyes gentle. She was intuitive and probably reading too much into that tiny bit of displeasure Dani felt. “Or you can stay and—”
“It’s fine.” Dani smiled. “I really should get ready for the game.”
And great, now there was regret in Sara’s eyes.
God, why did she have to be so bad with people?
“Or maybe I could stay for a little?” she asked. “That way I can help you get them over their initial excitement.”
Sara smiled again, the regret softening into amusement. “I’m sure you can picture me covered with approximately a hundred palm prints.”
Dani’s lips twitched. “Maybe.”
Sara linked her arm with Dani’s. “Come on, we’ll use the old table.” Thus called because it was old, but also because it was stained from years of similar craft projects, crayon marks, and matchbox cars driving over its deep oak finish. “Oh! And I want to introduce you to someone. Roxanne!” She waved her hand, and a slender blond spun to reveal a startlingly beautiful face. Her hair was styled to perfection, soft waves cascading down narrow shoulders, stopping just before gently curved hips. “Come here. I want you to meet Dani. She’s the video coach for the team.”
Roxanne’s hand felt like actual velvet as it brushed Dani’s, and she noticed that even Roxanne’s nails were perfectly shaped, her nude nail polish impeccable.
They matched the rest of her outfit—crisp jeans with red flats, a shimmery beige and peach floral blouse. She was beautiful and feminine and effortlessly coiffed in a way that Dani knew she never would achieve.
“Hi, Dani,” Roxanne said. “It’s so nice to meet you. I was actually reading an article about video coaches last week. I didn’t realize how much went into it.”
“Oh, it’s just a job.”
Roxanne’s brows rose, and Dani realized what that sounded like.
“I mean, I—” She sucked in a breath. “It has good and bad parts, you know. But I really do love it.”
“I hear that,” Roxanne said with a laugh.
This should have been the point in the conversation where awkward silence descended, but instead, Roxanne asked Dani a few easy questions, mostly about work, which was lucky for the other woman since Dani was most comfortable when talking about programs and editing equipment. Well, lucky was relative, she supposed. Lucky in this case meaning there wasn’t awkward silence, but not so lucky as to not have to listen to Dani prattle on.
But during the few minutes they spoke, Roxanne didn’t give one indication that she was bored to tears and desperate to escape.
Instead, she asked several intuitive questions.
“I’m a bit of a computer geek,” Roxanne said when Dani looked at her with surprise. “I’ve been spending my spare time building a P.C.” God, even her blush was fucking adorable, tiny pink swathes on each cheekbone, as was her self-conscious chuckle. “No wonder I’m single, huh?”
She turned when Aiden ran up to her, wrapped his arms around her waist. “Roxy!”
“Hey, little one,” she said, crouching and beginning to speak to him quietly.
“Roxanne works at the gallery,” Sara whispered into Dani’s ear as they talked. “I’m going to—oof!” Madeline darted over and began begging to see what was in the bag. “Just a second, honey,” she told Mandy’s daughter. “Yes, it’s a craft project that Dani brought.”
“Crafts!” Madeline squealed.
Mandy had trailed her daughter across the room, snagging the tote from Sara and laughing. “Yeah, baby.” She held up the bag. “The supplies are in here. We just have to go to the old table and get everything set up.”
“I’ve got it,” Roxanne said, standing when Aiden ran off again. “I can get things set up so you two can enjoy your chat.”
“I—” Dani began.
But without any trace of awkward, Roxanne took Madeline’s hand and led her to the table, easily getting everything spread out, even as more kiddos found their way into the supplies. In even movements, her musical voice trailing across the room, her smile bright as the lights inside the arena, she got each kid setup with a plate, a rock, brushes, and paint and didn’t even get a speck on her.
Effortless. Again.
So freaking much that Dani should hate her, strictly on principle.
But she couldn’t.
Because Roxanne seemed like a really nice person.
“I’ll catch you guys later,” Mandy said, moving to help Roxanne when a few of the boys thought it was a good idea to chase each other with paintbrushes . . . loaded full of paint.
“I’m going to set her up with Ethan,” Sara said quietly.
Scratch that.
She hated Roxanne. She was the worst with her flawless hair and body and smile and no awkward in sight and—
“Isn’t she just perfect for him?” Sara said. “I know he’s a little scruffy, but he cleans up nice, and they’re both just so nice. I can already picture tiny little blond babies with Ethan’s gray eyes. They’ll be adorable.”
Dani’s heart twisted and filled with lead, growing heavy, sinking to the bottom of the ocean.
Ocean of despair that was.
The past was weighty, intense, reaching up and sinking its talons deep, reminding her of everything that was wrong with her.
And everything that was right with Roxanne, a woman she hardly knew, and yet a woman she knew would be—
“Dani?”
Perfect.
Beautiful and flawless and perfect for Ethan.
The pressure on the seabed compressed her heart, squeezing it on all sides, squashing the organ, forcing out the hope she’d stashed there after her conversation with Ethan.
Wisps flitting away into dark water.
Her heart crumpled smaller and smaller, until she felt nothing.
Nothing except for pain and the urge to clutch her safety net closed.
This was why she didn’t let people in.
Because Roxanne was lovely and perfect for Ethan, so much more than Dani could ever hope to be, and her only consolation was that if it hurt this much after a couple of conversations and a near kiss, then she was lucky to have been reminded of it now and not when she was in deeper and—
Fingers on her arm. “Dani?” Sara asked. “Are you okay?”
She shook herself. “S-sorry,” she said hurriedly. “I just remembered that I needed to meet with Jess before the game.” She edged away from Sara before the other woman could see how deeply the thought of Ethan with anyone else hurt. That was a ridiculous thought. He’d asked her out on one date, and she hadn’t even agreed to that much.
He was much better off with a woman like Roxanne than her.
That was just reality.
And if she was in the way, she would deny Ethan his chance at perfect.
She couldn’t do that. She . . . fuck, but she liked him too much to do that.
Perhaps, if her misery wasn’t so heavy and forbidding, perhaps if she wasn’t already on that seabed, water and pressure on all sides crushing her, she might have been able to recognize that Ethan could choose to be with who he liked.
Perhaps, if Roxanne just wasn’t so freaking perfect, Dani might have seen past the wretchedness that had swept up and was smothering her.
But Roxanne was perfect and lovely.
And Dani wasn’t good at shrugging off her insecurities.
“I should go,” she said.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Sara asked.
A smile, one that felt and probably looked forced. “Just peachy.”
Sara’s expression darkened. “Are—”
Desperate times called for desperate measures. She patted her pocket, pulled out her cell and glanced at the screen. “Oh, that’s J
ess, I’d better run.”
Sara opened her mouth, protest all over her expression, but Dani put words to action and hustled out the door of the Family Suite. Her face felt hot, and her pulse scattered. God, her lungs weren’t working. She couldn’t pull in enough air, couldn’t breathe.
She jabbed at the elevator button and managed to suck in just enough oxygen to stumble down the hall and into her office.
Then she closed the door, threw the lock, and sank into her chair, thinking how lucky she was to have had this close call.
Otherwise, she might have really gotten hurt.
Yup, she was really lucky.
“Definitely lucky,” she whispered.
And if there were tears streaking down her cheeks, then she was just going to ignore them.
God knew, it wasn’t the first time.
Chapter Twelve
Ethan
It took until he got into the locker room and sat down at his cubby before he felt it.
It being Dani’s rock, he realized as he reached into his pocket and pulled out the hard object that was jabbing him in the thigh.
Sparks skating down his spine, tiny fireflies floating in his blood as he stroked a finger over the smoothly painted surface. Turquoise flowers and pink toes, glasses sliding down a nose, soft fingers on his jaw.
Want tearing him up inside, need stitching him back together.
God, he was in deep for that woman.
Noise gathered at the door, Coop and Max chatting as they came in, their gazes coming immediately to him, and he knew the gossip train was fully boarded and awaiting departure to its next destination.
As quickly—and slyly—as he could, he stashed the rock in his backpack and set about getting ready for the game.
A quick workout, stretching, copious amounts of foam-rolling, and then finally, at the last possible minute (a fact that used to drive his coaches to worry) getting dressed. But there was a method to his madness. He only got his gear on when he was in the right frame of mind.
Game time.
Or, he thought with an inner snort, was it game mind?
Decisions, decisions.
“Someone looks happy,” Max said, sitting next to him, literally rocking the boat (bench) with his nosy enthusiasm. “I’m guessing this has to do with a certain shy female, who was looking at you like you’re wielding Mjölnir.”
Ethan waited for there to be more information in that sentence. When it didn’t come, he said, “I think you underestimate my nerdiness.”
“Right,” Max said. “You’re the career student who hasn’t had the chance to learn all the important things.” A beat. “Like Marvel.”
Tugging on his T-shirt, he raised his brows.
“As in one certain blond-haired hero.”
More brow-raising.
“As in Thor.”
“Ah,” he said, loving the irritation and disbelief creeping onto Max’s face right now, as if he couldn’t believe that someone hadn’t heard of Thor and the movies. Ethan knew of both, had watched them, actually, since he did occasionally do something that wasn’t book-related, but it was about fucking time that Max got a taste of his own brand of humor (that being mostly annoying and only somewhat funny). “We’re talking about Norse mythology now.”
Max choked for a moment then recovered. “We’re talking about summoning lightning bolts from the sky, kicking ass with a giant hammer, and—” He stopped, probably because Ethan had little to no poker face. “You’re fucking with me.”
“’Bout time someone does.”
Brit.
He glanced up.
She winked. “You boys running with me today?”
“God, no,” Ethan said. “I want to have legs for the game.”
Brit’s pre- and post-game workouts were famous . . . or perhaps infamous was more accurate. She was fast, could run like hell, and no matter how hard Ethan pushed during the workout or trained beforehand, he never could catch up with her. The woman was like liquid lightning, graceful and effortless as she all but flew up and down the steps lining the arena.
“Baby,” she grumbled. “Max?”
“Ditto what the Big, Juicy Brain said. Legs. Game. Don’t wanna die.”
She frowned, sighed heavily. “I miss Stefan. He always ran with me.”
“Run with your boyfriend on your own time,” Max grumbled. “God knows the man must be glutton for punishment, considering he’s the only one who ever comes close to catching you.”
Brit blew on her knuckles, buffed them on her shoulder. “That’s how he put a ring on it.”
Max snorted.
Ethan grinned, just as Coop and Blue strolled up, workout gear on. Those two, apparently, were gluttons for punishment.
“Ready?” Coop asked.
“These two”—Brit waved a hand at the pair—“are real men.” Her voice rose. “Just in case anyone was looking for them.” Boos and hisses abounded, along with a few rolled-up socks tossed in her direction. Which she caught effortlessly because she had that killer glove hand. “Later, losers,” she called, throwing them back.
Ethan grinned, shook his head, and got ready for the game.
His way.
Though he found himself adding one new ritual.
Brushing his thumb over the rock Dani had painted and remembering the feel of strawberry-scented skin.
Yeah, life was good.
The game went great.
One of those perfect matchups where the system worked, bounces went their way, and they won handily in front of a kick-ass home crowd.
He’d skated hard, done his job, coming off the ice on a high that would take several hours to come down from.
Of course, he had one thought of how he’d like to come down.
Or . . . with whom, anyway.
Maybe he could tempt Dani into a milkshake from the Dairy. He wouldn’t call it a date . . . just an exchange of milk-based fluids? He froze, hands in his hair, shampoo running down his back. Yeah, no, he wouldn’t sell it that way. Instead, he’d call it . . . a chance to discuss the positive qualities of rock-painting in correlation to reduced stress and increased satisfaction? This time he snorted because that, too, was horrible.
How about just going for milkshakes in a no pressure, no expectation, no—
Just milkshakes.
Keep it simple.
Satisfied with that, Ethan knew he’d even slum it with a frozen yogurt variety (on the diet plan), if it meant that he could chisel out some time with Dani.
She was shy, nervous around people in general, but sometimes she relaxed with him, and seeing that smile, hearing her talk without being self-conscious . . . well, the glimpses he’d gotten of that side of her made him feel like a fucking superhero.
Not to mention the little moan she’d given, rasping up from the back of her throat, sliding through the air and caressing his skin like velvet.
That made him feel like a superhero who was desperate to kiss every inch of her.
And then to plunge deep inside, to get his hands on that lush ass, to hold her close and bring them both up to and over the edge again and again and again.
But first, he’d start with milkshakes.
Because if he continued down this train of thinking, he’d end up giving himself a boner. In the locker room. With no shortage of teammates to tease him for eternity about it.
Shuddering, he pushed the thoughts from his mind and took his time through his post-game routine, knowing that Dani would have plenty of work to keep her busy in the meantime, then he dressed and slipped out into the hall, finding himself—look at that—in front of her office.
The door was open, Jess, her assistant, was shrugging into her jacket and gathering up her purse.
Their voices—one laced with humor and plenty of volume (Jess) and the other softer, more melodic (Dani)—tangled in the air, weaving together into a pleasant series of techie terms and players’ names. Then Jess called out a goodbye and slipped into the hall, nearly stumbling
into him.
“Oh,” she murmured. “I’m sorry, I—”
“It’s okay,” he said. “My fault.”
She looked up at him, and he struggled to keep his focus on her, his gaze already drifting to the office, to Dani.
“Go easy on her,” Jess whispered. “She’s had a rough day of it.”
He frowned, wondered what that meant. Dani had been smiling when he’d left her, and not a fake one either, the beautiful, genuine smile he was just starting to learn. So, what had happened in the last few hours?
Nodding as he puzzled that out, he waited until Jess had disappeared around the corner before knocking lightly on the doorjamb.
Striking brown eyes on his.
Eyes that filled with happiness for one glorious heartbeat before they went cold.
And God, cold was such a fucking lame word to describe the ice that overlaid Dani’s gaze, that shut down her expression, that had her shoulders curving forward and down, just slightly.
Just enough that he knew something bad had happened.
A vice clenching around his heart, frost prickling through his veins sharp enough to make his fingertips ache, he stepped inside, closing—and locking—the door, for good measure. “What happened?” he asked without preamble.
She became a statue.
Like one of those iron ones outside the library, a still life in repose, a granite formed into an amalgamation of life. But the statues didn’t have her pain.
Pain that was sharp enough to wound.
“What is it?” he asked, crossing over to her. “Is someone hurt?”
In an instant her face changed, going completely blank, shoulders straightening, chin tilting up. She would have appeared . . . well, not completely at ease so much as neutral and unaffected—if he hadn’t seen her in agony just seconds before.
“Nope.” The P made a popping sound, and he was processing that serrated noise as she turned back to her computer, effectively giving him the cold shoulder.
“Dani?”
“You should go.”
