GAME MISCONDUCT (The Dartmouth Cobras)

by Sommerland, Bianca

  The “good place” was the one they went to every time he had a home game—and the last place she wanted to be. The front of the café was filled with people winding down from hours of clubbing, but there were a few empty tables near the back where she and Max always sat in relative privacy and talked. Here, she felt smart, pretty, special. Here, the jolt came from more than caffeine. It came from just being around this man.

  This man she apparently didn’t know as well as she thought.

  Max took her jacket to lay over the back of a chair before pulling it out for her. She perched on the seat, placed her purse on her lap, then clasped her hands together on the table. Max sat across from her and reached over to cover her hands with his.

  He didn’t speak at first, just looked at her, as though he sensed that, at the wrong word, the wrong move, she’d bolt. And she looked back and realized the last thing she wanted to do was leave. Being in Max’s presence was like a vacation on a tropical beach. His blond hair always seemed windswept. His skin reminded her of smooth sand, glowing as though just kissed by the sun. She licked her lips, tempted to press them to the back of his hand to absorb some of his warmth. To inhale the fresh scent that clung to him, the scent of the ice, which on him smelled exactly like the surf catching the breeze.

  “You came to the bar to see me.” His tone was level, calm, but his hands shook with nervous energy. “Did something happen?”

  Tell him!

  But she couldn’t. Not after what she’d seen.

  Besides, vacations were temporary escapes. Not places to stay forever.

  “No, nothing happened.” She smiled at Max, then glanced at the door. What could she say to convince him she could walk out of there without blindly stepping into traffic again? “I just wanted to congratulate you—maybe have a couple of beers. I didn’t realize you’d be . . . busy.”

  Brow furrowed, Max looked down at their hands and nodded slowly. “Yeah, well, I’m sorry you had to see that.”

  “Me, too.” She flushed and ducked her head when he glanced up. “I was . . . shocked. To tell you the truth, I almost called the cops. I thought you and Callahan were . . . until she said she didn’t want anyone to hear. Then I realized she wanted you both to do . . . well . . . whatever you were doing.”

  A familiar waitress stepped up to their table and flashed a brilliant smile, her gaze, as usual, lingering just a little longer on Max. “Max, Oriana, I’m surprised to see the two of you here so late. Do you want the usual or something decaf?”

  “The usual,” Max said.

  Oriana nodded distractedly.

  After the waitress left, Max leaned forward and squeezed Oriana’s hands.

  “Look, I reckon the whole thing seems pretty messed up, but—”

  She pulled her hands free and shook her head. “You don’t have to explain, Max. It’s none of my business.”

  “Right, then.” He rubbed his face with a hand and sat back. “I just don’t want this to change things between us. It’s not like I do stuff like that all the time.”

  You don’t? Then why . . . ? She inhaled and decided she wanted him to explain. They were friends, and they’d always been able to talk. For some reason, he hadn’t been comfortable telling her about this side of him. Maybe fate had decided to step in and show her who he really was before she made any rash decisions.

  Like you did by jumping into a relationship with Paul?

  No, that was different. Paul was . . .

  Unreasonable, selfish, and sometimes even cruel. But still . . .

  God, what had she been thinking hunting down Max in the middle of the night?

  Not much beyond getting out of that house.

  “I can’t do this anymore,” she’d said, stuffing all the clothes she could grab into a suitcase before slamming it shut. “It’s over.”

  Paul had laughed. “Enough with the drama. We both know you’ve got nowhere else to go.”

  Upper lip stiff, head down, she’d hauled her suitcase to the door and grabbed her car keys. “Yes, I do.”

  “Right. Well, I’ll leave the porch light on for you.” Paul had followed her to the door, stood there, and watched her go. “And ‘cause I’m such a nice guy, I won’t say I told you so when you come back.”

  I’m not going back. She’d thought it then, and she thought it now. But the certainty was gone.

  The waitress brought their drinks and retreated quietly, obviously having caught some of the tension between the two. Oriana sipped her mochaccino, savoring the espresso roast and rich dark chocolate topped with just a hint of cinnamon. Max made a throaty sound of pleasure and licked some frothed milk from his upper lip. Her pulse quickened. Damn the man for being so sexy. This would be much easier if he were ugly. Or gay.

  Then again, probably not. Even if he were ugly, she’d still love the way he made her feel. And if he were gay, she’d wish he weren’t.

  Stop stalling. There’s no easy way out. Get the facts and go from there.

  She set her cup on the table and traced the glass handle with her pinky. “So you were waiting for Sloan to finish so you could—”

  “Not this time. I was fine just watching.” Max’s cup clinked as he set it down. “I’m a voyeur. I get more out of watching than participating.”

  Her quickened pulse seemed to suddenly stop. She lifted her head and stared. The words left her mouth before her brain had time to filter them. “A voyeur? No, I don’t believe it. I can’t see you sneaking around, getting off watching people having sex. You can have any woman you want.” With those big shoulders, so muscular, yet relaxed like they could carry the weight of the world effortlessly. “Voyeurs are insecure freaks who use two-way mirrors and peepholes to invade people’s privacy.” And that smile, the one he was giving her now, the one that made her tingle down to her toes. “They—” She slapped her hand over her mouth to shut herself up.

  Great friend she was. He’d confided in her, and in return, she’d insulted him.

  But rather than take offense, he chuckled, then took another sip of coffee. “Don’t hold back, Oriana; tell me how you really feel.”

  Her cheeks heated up. “I’m sorry. I—”

  “Don’t be. I’m used to it.”

  Like that made her feel any better. “Please. I want to understand.”

  He nodded and put his hands, palms up, on the table. When she gave him hers, he continued. “I was still in my teens the first time I ever did something that would classify as voyeurism. I walked in on a friend of mine having sex at a party. He shouted at me, told me to get out, but I just stood there—I couldn’t move. Then I . . . well, let’s say I did something embarrassing. The guy stopped being my friend after that. I talked to my dad about it—we’ve always been close, so I figured he should know I had a problem. His solution was to buy me a bunch of porn.”

  “Did that help?”

  “For a bit, but I couldn’t help fantasizing about being there in person. I never did anything about it ‘cause my dad gave me a lecture about intruding on people’s privacy, and his word is law. I buried my ‘sick urges’—my words, not his—until I got old enough to go to strip clubs. Some of the girl-on-girl action helped a little.”

  “I’ll bet.” Oriana smiled, thinking—despite his strange urges—Max was a typical guy.

  Max cleared his throat. “Yeah, well, I got exactly what I needed when Sloan and Dominik invited me to a club they go to. They were sharin’ a girl and . . .”

  The cafe seemed to heat up. Oriana inhaled sharply, leaning forward. “And?”

  “Sloan looked right at me and asked me to join in. I was already so turned on, I didn’t even think twice. First time I realized being watched pushed all my buttons too. I could feel the eyes of all the people in the club on me—like they were all sharing the experience. Like it was one great big orgy.” He shook his head and combed his fingers through his hair. “After that, me and Sloan went to the club together all the time. And . . . well, hell, I told him all my deep, dark
secrets, and he acted like it was no big deal. Said so long as the people I watched consented, it was all good. And he consents a lot.”

  “I saw that.” The coffee and the room and her blood cooled as she pictured them. Sloan surrounded by writhing bodies and Max drinking it in, savoring every moment of ecstasy before he joined them. Not something she could participate in. Ever. It was just too . . . out there. Paul’s attitude, his offhand cruelty, even his lackluster lovemaking, suddenly didn’t seem that bad. At least it was normal. She frowned at her coffee cup. “But you do know not everyone is into—”

  “Things would be different with you, sugar.” He ran his thumb over her knuckles, reaching out to tip her chin up with a finger. “I’d find a way to change. You’d be enough for me.”

  For a split second, she was tempted to say yes. But that wouldn’t be fair. She held back a sigh and finished her coffee. “You shouldn’t have to change for anyone, Max. There’s nothing wrong with who you are.”

  “But I would. I’m not telling you this because I expect you to . . .” He studied her face for a moment, then withdrew his hands. “I just want you to understand what happened tonight.”

  The smile on her lips felt like it had been sewn in place. She stood and pulled on her coat. “I do.”

  “Good.” He picked up the bill and shook his head when she opened her purse. “I’ve got it. Just give me a sec, and I’ll walk you to your car.”

  “Thanks, but no. I need a few minutes alone to think.” She focused on buttoning up her jacket so he wouldn’t see the lie in her eyes. “Much as I understand, this is a lot to absorb. Besides, I’m parked right down the street.”

  “It’s awfully late.” He looked helplessly at the line in front of the cash register and the waitresses rushing to clean up after the crowd. “I’d be more comfortable if you’d—”

  “This isn’t Montreal. You’re more dangerous than anyone I’ll meet outside—Hey!” She giggled when he made a grab for her. For a second, things seemed lighter, brighter, their familiar playfulness a splash of yellow paint all over reality.

  He caught her and wrapped her up in his great big arms, holding her close. Surrounded by his warmth, his strength, she felt her knees grow weak. She peeked up at him.

  His eyes twinkled with mischief. He bent low and his lips brushed her earlobe as he spoke, letting his accent thicken his tone. “So you think I’m dangerous?”

  Hell, yes. When he talked to her, in that smooth, rich voice—damn, the things he could have made her do. Thankfully, he didn’t let the Southern playboy out often—with her anyway—but even without the vocal seductiveness and the face and the body, he played havoc with her concept of reality. He made her smile and laugh, made her believe in silly things like love at first sight.

  But she was a Delgado. The responsible sister.

  And he’d just proved he wasn’t the man for her.

  “You really shouldn’t—” She squirmed out of his arms and the pain inside returned, even harder to swallow than before. “I have a boyfriend, Max.”

  His lips drew together in a thin, hard line. “After last time, I thought you were ready to end things with him. You kissed me.”

  Another blush flared up on her cheeks. She smacked his arm. “That’s not fair. You gave me chocolate—and it was a kiss on the cheek. A friendly kiss.”

  “Ah, I see.” He bent over and pressed a light kiss on her forehead. “Well, then, here’s another.” His cheek brushed hers. “And if things are going well between you and Paul, I’m happy for you, honestly. But I hope you’ve made it clear you won’t tolerate him making you feel like shit about yourself whenever he’s having a bad day.”

  She rested her head on his solid chest, breathing in his fresh scent, lightly tainted with beer. As she drew away, the overpowering aroma of freshly ground coffee beans took over, clearing her head.

  “Of course.” She hooked her purse over her arm and nodded at the waitress waiting nearby. “You sure you don’t want me to pay for myself?”

  “I’m sure.” He patted her cheek. “Might make a dent in my savings, but you’re worth it.”

  “All right, then I guess I’ll see you around,” she said, even though she knew she wouldn’t. She swallowed when he let her go and started to turn away. “Thank you for . . . everything.”

  “Yeah, well, take care. And don’t you worry.” His jaw worked as he paused, head down, and shoved his hand into his pocket for his wallet. “I’ll be here when . . . whenever.”

  The bells over the door tinkled as she hurried out, desperate to get to her car before his sweet acceptance of her choices ripped apart her resolve. Before she’d reached the end of the block, the bells sounded again. She glanced over her shoulder and saw him, standing there. The gentle weight of his eyes on her back remained until she’d reached the safety of her car.

  Once inside, she eyed him through the rearview mirror. Her heart beat hard between her ears when he didn’t move. Finally, he stuffed his hands in his pockets and took off in the other direction.

  Make a U-turn! Go tell him the truth!

  Shaking her head, she started the car, then pulled out. All the way home, her decision dragged her down. When she trampled up the front steps, she felt like all her bones were made of lead. The porch light blinded her as she fumbled in her pockets for her keys.

  The door swung open. Paul sighed and gestured her inside. “Let’s get this over with.”

  She closed the door softly behind her, then pulled off her jacket and went to hang it in the closet. “Get what over with?”

  “You’re sorry, you’ll never do it again—”

  Her shoulders stiffened as she turned to face him. “I’m not sorry.”

  His dark brown brows creased in confusion. “But you’re back.”

  “Yeah. I’m back.” She strode across the living room, kicked off her shoes, then plunked down on the stiff, white leather sofa. “And I’ll be sleeping here tonight.”

  The grandfather clock in the hall ticked off the seconds in the silence. Paul’s shadow wisped over her as he crossed the room.

  “Hey, I’m giving the guys a break tomorrow.” He scuffed his socks on the carpet and cleared his throat. “Maybe we can go visit your dad?”

  Damn him, he always knows just what to say. Visits with her dad were . . . pleasant when Paul was around.

  “I’d like that.” Curling up on her side, she wrapped her arms around her chest. The dull ache wouldn’t go away. Almost felt like something inside had been surgically removed. Maybe her heart.

  “Okay.” Paul bent down and kissed her cheek. “We’ll talk more in the morning. I was a little rough on you . . . I like that you’re so into the game, but this is my job. I see things differently than you do.”

  “I know.” The wet spot where he’d pressed his lips felt cold. But for some reason, the spot on her forehead where Max had kissed her still burned. So not right. “But a win’s a win. You’ve gotta give the guys more credit. The goaltender was off his game. If the first line hadn’t pushed so hard—”

  “That’s what you don’t get. If they’d focused on defense like I’d told them to—they deserved to lose after that performance.”

  “The first line worked their asses off.”

  Paul pushed away from the sofa. “You mean Max.”

  “Not only him.” But he was probably the main reason for the fight. Maybe Paul sensed something between them. And if he did, this was all her fault. She reached out to touch the back of his hand. “I really hate when you call me stupid, Paul. Just because I can’t understand why you’d get so upset about your team winning—”

  “And you never will.” He shook his head. “We’ll talk more tomorrow, Oriana. Get some sleep.”

  Lying perfectly still, Oriana listened to the sound of Paul ascending the steps to their bedroom. She stared at the front door for a while, feeling trapped. If only she had the guts to get up and leave again. For good.

  But this was her life. What she’d
chosen. What she wanted. Normal. Stable. Things would get easier once she accepted all her dreams of some great romance were just that. Dreams.

  But for now . . . she closed her eyes and drifted away into a place where reality didn’t matter. Where Max waited with his teasing smile and warm embrace.

  Chapter One

  Mid-March, Five months later

  Rock on blades in the cold, shadowed spotlight,

  The words “flag” and “freedom” stir you.

  Do not be lulled by the song.

  Hear the screams, knights of the ice, wield your stick swords.

  Fly the wings, break away, never shy from the crush.

  Play as though at war and hear the trumpet sound.

  Standing in the shadow of the blocky beast of gray slate and glass, Oriana gazed up at the glaring light coming from the high window of her father’s office. In her mind’s eye, she could see the poem, written by her twelve-year-old self, etched on a bronze plaque. The plaque hung on the wall behind her father’s desk among tarnished gold medals and faded blue ribbons. The original had been lost long ago, but she could still picture her father, holding the stationery with the pink carnation print, hands shaking as he read the meticulously handwritten words. His eyes glistening, he’d laughed and hugged her.

  “Beautiful, sweetheart,” he’d said. “You have no idea how much this means to me.”

  For a while, his words rang true, but, by now, that precious plaque had gathered years’ worth of dust. The Delgado Forum, the largest building this close to the Narrows, was all her father cared about.

  She inched closer to the wall.

  Paranoid much? She rolled her eyes and laughed at herself. Even if she stood in the middle of the street, her father couldn’t see her from way up there. And she was waiting for Paul, so it wouldn’t matter if he did.

  The muffled sound of Metric’s “Stadium Love” came from her book bag. Heavy textbooks thunked on the sidewalk as she dropped the bag between her feet and crouched to unlatch the buckle. Reaching in to fetch her cell, her hand brushed the smallest book and heat skimmed her ears. She should have stopped at home and dropped it off. If anyone saw what she’d been reading . . .