She seemed like a sweet girl. Of course, I didn’t talk to her. I didn’t talk to anyone, but sat far enough away in the stands so that no one could make a positive ID. I saw the way she looked at Emmett, though. She stole glances at him from the time she arrived to when we left. She tried to talk to him at one point, but I could see how nervous she was because she balled her hands into fists. I don’t know what he said to her, because I wasn’t close enough, but it was brief, and the exchange looked a little terse. She skated away to the boards not that far from me, and I had to resist the urge to go talk to her. I don’t know their history. I don’t really know the first thing about Emmett, other than that he loves his brother, my music, watching moose in the Canadian wilds, and Count Chocula. Oh, and hockey.
“Hey Em, who was that girl?”
He shifts in his seat, facing me. “What girl?”
“You know, pretty, blonde hair in a bob? She tried to talk to you.”
“That’s Sadie.”
“Sadie, huh?” I try for nonchalance, but I can tell by the way Van’s eyes glare at me in the rear-view mirror that I’m about as subtle as a sledgehammer. “What did she say?”
“She wanted me to skate with her.”
“So why didn’t you?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know.”
“I think Sadie likes you, Emmett.”
He turns and gives me the same incredulous look his brother is. “No, she doesn’t.”
“Yes, yes, she does. She was crushed when you rejected her.”
He makes a scoffing sound. “I want a normal girlfriend, not someone with Down syndrome.”
Van sighs from the driver’s seat, and I come to the conclusion that this is not the first time they’ve discussed this.
“Emmett?” I venture, because I’m already pushing the friendship here, and I’ve never been one to do anything halfway.
“Yeah?”
“Do you see yourself as normal?”
“Of course.”
“So don’t you think that Sadie sees herself that way, too?”
“I don’t know, but she’s not.”
“Why not? What’s normal anyway?” I throw my hands up and slump back in my seat. “Your brother’s inability to take a hint is not normal. Nor is my—”
“Cooking,” Van finishes for me. “That shit is whack.”
I scowl at him. “Shut up, Van.”
“Maybe I want what you guys have. What’s so wrong with that?”
I meet Van’s eyes in the rear-view mirror and look away when a blush creeps across my cheeks. “What we have?”
“You know, chemistry and shit. I want a girlfriend that looks like Stella, and not my ugly mug.”
“I think Sadie is gorgeous. I mean, have you seen those eyes?” I lean forward and tap Van on the shoulder. “Van, you saw her up close. What shade are they?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know? Blue.”
“They’re green,” Emmett snaps.
A slow grin spreads across my face. “So you have noticed them?”
“Maybe.”
“I think you might have a little crush too, Emmett.”
“I don’t have a crush, alright?”
“Okay, no crush.” I throw my hands up in a placating gesture when he turns to scowl at me. “If you did, though, you might wanna be nicer to her.”
“I thought you were supposed to treat them mean, keep ’em keen, eh?”
“Who told you that? This jackass?” I point to his brother.
Emmett punches him in the arm, and Van chuckles. “What? I was eighteen.”
“You told me that a year ago, asshole.”
“Van Ross, do you have any idea what you’ve done? You, sir, have stood in the way of what could have been true love, and now some poor girl is probably crying into her pillow because you told your brother to be mean to girls. Emmett, you like her, right? No bullshit. How do you really feel about Sadie?”
“I don’t know. I guess I like her.”
I sigh impatiently. “Oh, come on, you don’t sort of guess you like a girl. You remembered her eye color. I’ve been with you guys for a whole week, and I bet this jackass couldn’t even tell me what color mine are.”
“They’re blue. Not regular blue . . . more like the Arctic Ocean under the ice.” This startles me, and I meet Van’s gaze again in the mirror. He grins and I arch a brow, but I can’t help smiling as I look away and turn my focus back to Emmett.
“The point is, you like her, and she really likes you. I think you owe it to yourselves to see where it goes. Invite her on a date.” Van’s whole body goes rigid at that. “Okay, so maybe it has to be a supervised date, but at least just think about it.”
Van chooses that time to turn up the radio and the conversation appears to be finished. For now.
When we pull into the driveway, Emmett jumps out and runs through the snow into the house. I get out too, but I’m stopped by Van before I can make it around the Hummer. He towers over me. “What are you doing?”
“I was going to go inside. I’m freezing my boobs off out here.” This, of course, forces him to lower his gaze to my nipples, and I cover them, even though I have on enough layers for it to not be a problem.
“What the hell was that?”
“What?” I ask, my teeth suddenly chattering. I hop all about to keep my blood from freezing in my veins and turning me into a giant popsicle. How do Canadians live like this?
“Why are you filling his head with that shit?”
“What shit?”
“You’re giving him ideas and setting him up to fail.”
I reel back as if he just dealt me a physical blow. “Why? Because you don’t have time for a regular relationship? What is so wrong with him liking Sadie, or maybe even feeling more than that for her?”
“Come on, Stella.” Van scoffs and folds his arms over his chest. “It’s not like he’s in love with her.”
“And what if he were? What’s wrong with falling in love, Van?”
“Nothing—”
“Really? Have you ever been in love?”
“Have you?” he snaps back.
“Yeah, tenth grade, before my whole life got turned upside down by the recording industry.” I attempt to move past him but he puffs himself up, widens his stance, and I suddenly find myself very close to the Hummer. Turns out hockey players are kind of hard to get by when they don’t want you to leave.
“I thought you were a virgin?”
“Sex and love are two very different things, Van. I don’t have to sleep with someone to know how I feel. If you do, then I feel sorry for you.”
He chuckles. He freaking chuckles. As if what I just said was funny. “You don’t need to feel sorry for me, country. I do just fine without your pity.”
“Oh, I have no doubt you do. I’m surprised this place isn’t crawling with . . . What are they called? Puck bunnies? Guys like you are the reason I don’t give it up for just anyone.” I make another attempt to slide by him but a huge hand comes out and gently pushes me up against the car. My heart hammers, and I glare up at him.
“Guys like me don’t fuck virgins, but goddamn, do you make me want to break the rules.”
“Then I guess it’s a good thing you don’t, because I wouldn’t say yes if you were the last man on earth.”
“Bullshit, country. You want me.” His hand is no longer pinning me against the Hummer, but instead toys with the faux-fur trim on my winter coat. He leans in, and if there wasn’t a tank behind me, I’d absolutely back up. Instead, I stay completely still as he leans forward, and when his lips meet mine, it’s explosive. His hands grip my hair, tugging off the baseball cap, and my arms slide around his neck and cling tight like a monkey’s. I couldn’t pull away if I wanted to. Do I even want to? Van’s tongue thrusts into my mouth, deepening the kiss as it twirls with my own. Nope. I definitely do not want to. In fact, I scramble up his big body and climb him like a tree. Van’s hands pull free of my hair to cup my ass, and I wra
p my legs around his hips. He slams me back into the truck and I cry out, but his mouth devours mine hungrily and I can’t breathe. I can’t think of anything but him, and I never want to come up for air again.
Van groans and I rock my hips against him, trying to feel more of that delicious friction. “Jesus, country. Keep doing that and I’m going to come in my pants.”
I can’t answer because I’m busy kissing the scruff on his perfect jawline while his strong hands knead my ass. Not that I could form words anyway with how distracted I am by his body pressed against mine.
“Eww, gross, Van. Stop mauling Stella,” Emmett calls. Van pulls back, my mouth gapes, and there’s a long pause as we stare into one another’s eyes. Oh god, what the hell did we just do?
“Fuck.” He sets me down on my feet, and my spaghetti legs decide now is a good time to give out. Van steadies me with a chuckle and I scowl up at him, and stalk away. Assuming, of course, that you can actually stalk on legs made of wet noodles.
His resounding laughter follows me as I walk passed Emmett and into the house.
Stupid, dumb Canadian jerkoff.
On Saturday, Van doesn’t have to train. He makes pancakes for breakfast, and I sit around in another one of his flannel shirts and a pair of tights as I play my guitar. I’m working on a new song today. It’s called, “I Hate Van Ross.” I think it’s going to be a rock number with lots of squealing guitars, feedback, and heavy drumbeats driving the track.
We haven’t discussed that kiss, but the smug bastard has been getting on my goddamn nerves by not meeting my gaze and chuckling quietly whenever I come near. At this point, I’m surprised he hasn’t pulled my pigtails.
Emmett sits opposite me looking glum, even though I’m playing music, which he seems to almost turn catatonic for. He’s not himself today. I’m not sure if it’s because he caught Van and I molesting one another or if it’s just because it’s kind of rainy and extra especially cold. I pluck a few strings and ask in a singsong voice, “What’s up, Em? Why’re you lookin’ glum? I’m sitting here thinkin’, that this song might be dumb.”
This does get a laugh out of him, and even Van turns from his place at the stove to grin at me. Emmett grimaces. “I was just thinking about Sadie.”
I sit forward, setting the guitar on the ground between my feet. “You were?”
His frown deepens, and he rests his head in his hands. “I was really mean to her.”
I nod and say placatingly, “You know, it’s never too late to say sorry.”
“Yes, it is. Justin Bieber says so.”
I make a pfft noise and sit back in my seat. I don’t bother telling him that that isn’t how the song goes. “Come on. You really gonna take Justin Bieber’s advice on dating?”
“Do you think she hates me?”
“I think she does the opposite of hating you.” I dare a glance at Van. He doesn’t turn to look at me, but he shakes his head. And again, because I can’t stop myself from meddling, I say, “Do you have her number?”
“No.”
“But we could get it, right? I mean, she must be listed in the phone book.”
“Her parents might be.”
“So, call her house.”
“Isn’t that kind of weird?”
“No! No, it’s not. If you really like this girl, a grand romantic gesture is just what you need.”
Van does turn around this time, and with the scathing look he gives me, it’s not hard to see why others might skate the other way when he’s hurtling towards them on the ice. “Stella, that’s not what he nee—”
“No, enough out of you,” I say, pointing my finger at Van. “Your bad advice is the reason he’s in this mess right now. If he hadn’t listened to you, they could already be together.”
“Jesus Christ.” Van pinches the bridge of his nose. He rolls his heavy shoulders and then turns and pulls a bottle of pills from a cabinet near the stove, shaking several out into his palm. He chews them like candy, and I make a note to do some super sleuthing later to find out exactly what he’s taking. I know his shoulder is still causing him grief, but crunching pills as if they’re treats is definitely new.
“I wanna call her,” Emmett says.
I set my guitar down in the case and jump out of the chair with a squeal. Bending to close the lid, I pick it up. I forget about the fact that I’m not wearing a bra and quickly straighten. Emmett is still staring at his pancakes, but his brother is not. Van’s eyes are on me, and they are filled with lust, and maybe still a little bit of ire. I blush and scurry from the room, returning a few minutes later with Van’s phone and a laptop that mostly lives in the den. Oh, and I’m wearing one of the bras he bought from Victoria’s Secret.
We find several listings for Clarks on the internet, and Emmett rings each one until finally we reach the last. I take the seat beside him and crowd in close.
A female answers on the fourth ring. A beat later, Emmett confirms that it’s Sadie’s number, and that her mother is calling her to the phone. I get up to leave and give them some privacy, but Emmett’s hand shoots out and pins mine to the table. I’m a little surprised by his strength, and stare at him with wide eyes. “You can’t go anywhere.”
“I was just going to give you a little privacy.”
“Em, let her go,” Van says, a little too harshly.
Emmett glares at him. “Tell her to stay.”
“I want no part in this, Brother.”
“I’ll stay,” I assure Emmett. “Just talk to her.”
“Hello? Hello?” Sadie’s small, feminine voice squeaks from the other end of the line.
“Start talking,” I whisper, and sit down beside Emmett.
“Sadie?”
“Yes?”
“It’s Emmett, from group.”
“Hi Emmett from group.”
“Hi.”
Several long seconds pass, and nothing is said.
“Ask her out,” I whisper.
“You wanna go out?”
Sadie hesitates. “Out where?”
“Out where?” Emmett asks me.
“To coffee.”
“I hate coffee,” he says to me, and I roll my eyes.
“I hate coffee too,” she says from the receiver. I take a deep breath and try not to show my exasperation. Seriously, he hasn’t learned anything good from his brother? How sheltered has Van kept him from the hockey hookers? I guess I can’t fault him for that, but still. I would have thought even a little of Van’s game would have rubbed off on Emmett.
I roll my hands and gesture that he should keep going, and he takes the wrong idea completely. “What do you hate about it?”
My shoulders sag in defeat. “Ask her if she wants to go somewhere for a drink that isn’t coffee.”
Emmett relays the words exactly as I said them. By now, I can feel Van watching us closely.
A few beats pass, and Emmett tells me Sadie’s asking her mom. Then Emmett hands the phone to me and tells me Mrs. Clark wants to talk. I gulp and press the phone to my ear, deliberately avoiding Van’s gaze. “Hello?”
“Hello? Who is this?” the woman says.
“Oh, I’m er . . . I’m Stella, a family friend.”
“Can I speak to Van? He’s such a lovely man, and I’d just feel better knowing he’s on board with this.”
“Of course. I’ll put him on,” I say, holding the phone out to Van with a pleading expression. He snatches it from my hands, and shakes his head.
“Please,” I whisper.
“Hello, Mrs. Clark?”
I can’t hear what she says on account of him leaving the room, and I glance at Emmett with an “at least we tried” expression, and move closer to the den.
“Yes,” he says with his back to us. “Uh-huh, I agree. I think that’s the only smart thing here. You’ll have to forgive my friend. She gets a little over-excited by romance.”
I scowl, and he turns with a mocking smile. “Yes, that’s for the best. Thank you.”
He hangs up and my whole body deflates, but I’m angry, too. Why wouldn’t he let his brother have this small bit of happiness? It’s selfish, and just plain mean. I know relationships don’t always come with the same set of obstacles, but denying Emmett the chance to be happy because he has a disability is wrong. In fact, I’m not even sure I can look Van in the eye right now without wanting to punch him.
I stalk out of the kitchen and through the den toward the staircase, but he grabs my arm and pulls me back. “I hope you’re happy, country.”
“No! I’m not happy. I’m pretty damn far from happy. How could you do that to your own brother?”
“Do what? Organize a ‘not coffee’ date in an hour and agree to play chaperone?”
I pause, and search his gaze. “You what?”
“We’re meeting Sadie in Banff. Mrs. Clark didn’t want me to have to deal with the crowds, so she’s going to do some shopping in town while we all go to have not-coffee.”
My mouth falls open. “Oh.”
“Yes!” Emmett fist bumps the sky and does a booty-shaking dance.
“Em, don’t try anything funny,” Van warns. “Stella and I are going to be with you at all times.”
“Thanks, Brother.” He gives Van a slap on the arm. It looks like it hurts, but the man in question doesn’t say anything. The corners of his mouth turn up in a smile, though.
“Get outta here before I change my mind.”
Emmett hits the staircase at full tilt and disappears, and I’m left staring at his older sibling. There’s a wistful smile on his face, and a hint of sadness in those bright blue eyes. “Well, don’t just stand there, country. Go get dressed. We don’t wanna be late.”
I turn away, wondering what the hell a celebrity wears to a not-coffee date when she’s trying to go unnoticed, but the ache in my chest keeps me from moving up the stairs. When I glance back at Van, he’s watching me closely. “I’m sorry I yelled at you.”
Puck Love Page 9
