by Lia Riley
“Look. You should know, I’m not a big reader . . . I get distracted and restless. My mind starts to wander. But you, you live and breathe stories. They’re your oxygen or something.”
“It’s true.” She reached out and touched his perfect, square jaw. “Books are proof to me that magic really does exist in the world.”
“I don’t want you to think that I’m not smart,” he muttered, still not making direct eye contact. “In school I was always in remedial English. My dad would give me shit.”
Rage on his behalf bubbled in her belly. “I’d never think that in a million years. Honestly, I bet a reader does live inside of you. It’s a matter of finding just the right book.”
“You make it sound like a challenge,” he said ruefully, even as the wrinkles in his brow smoothed.
She regarded him steadily. “I see a guy who needs the right story and then there will be no looking back.”
“That a fact?” He peppered kisses down her neck, over her breast, to her belly and kept right on going.
“Call it professional intuition, but I’ll find you a book.”
“Right after I eat you like a sundae with a cherry on top.”
He made good on the promise and as she came beneath his clever mouth, another voice in her head appeared. One that marched over to the negative mumbler and punched it hard, right in the nose, then grabbed it by the back of the head and forced it to bear witness to the activity below, Jed West going to town on her pussy like a champ.
What was she even thinking about? This was like a perverted remake of Inside Out.
She crashed her head back in the pillow and covered her face with her hands to muffle a giggle.
“This funny, is it?” He stuck a finger inside her and pushed right in the spot that sent her back arching.
“I’m happy,” she gasped. Because for once, it was as if everything was possible, like maybe all her dreams really could come true.
Chapter Thirteen
Jed pretended to watch the TiVo’d Denver Nuggets game from last night, but spent more time glancing over at Breezy who sat, feet propped in his lap, wearing nothing but one of his old college jerseys, frowning into space.
“Okay, so what was your favorite childhood story?” she asked at last. “Not counting The Giving Tree.” Her joking tone belied the serious expression on her face, guess she meant what she said, about finding the magical book that would get him excited about reading.
“Okay, okay. Hang on.” He thought it over. “There was this one, it was weird and I don’t remember the name, about a little boy who dreams he is in a baker’s kitchen. There’s this whole bit about how he was in the milk, and the milk was in him.” He laughed, embarrassed. “I don’t know how to explain it, it sounds stupid when I try to—”
“In The Night Kitchen!” She clapped her hands. “An interesting choice. More surreal then I would have pegged for you. Fascinating.”
“Oh yeah?” He tweaked one of her red-painted toes. “I fascinate you?” The bold vixen color killing him in the best kind of ways. He loved her big hair, her soft body, her polished nails. She was womanly, sexy, and yet . . . if she was going to probe him, take him out of his comfort zone—it could go both ways.
“You definitely do.” She nodded solemnly.
“Okay, okay, so you want to inspire the jock to read, I get it. But what about you?” He rubbed her feet, pressing hard on her arches.
“Mmm. That’s good.” Her eyes rolled a little, her lips parting as his massage deepened. “What about me?”
“You’re pushing me out of my comfort zones. How about you? What sports do you play?”
“Oh. Uh. Hmm.” Her lids flew open and she regarded him wide-eyed. “Does stocking shelves count?”
A chuckle rumbled through him. “Not letting you get off so easily.”
“I used to ice skate,” she said with a shrug.
“You skated?” That surprised him. In a good way.
Until her snub nose wrinkled.
“Honestly? I hated it. I mean, I love watching people skate, but my own legs and feet? They just don’t work that way. Neve was pretty good at it, way better than me. My mom coached us. I think she was hoping for more, but I let her down the most.” She shrugged with a grin. “What can I say? I’m a total klutz.”
Her lighthearted tone didn’t mask the flash of pain in her eyes.
“Breezy Angel.” He stared at her a long minute and then checked his watch. “I never thought I’d say this to you in a million years, but go put some pants on.”
“What are you talking about?” She sat back, drawing in her knees, giving him the briefest flash of her near perfect pink pussy. “Why?”
His mouth watered. He could forget everything, just wrap those sweet thighs around his neck, and lose himself in her.
But, fuck. No. He took a steadying breath. This was important, because she hadn’t just found her way into his pants, but also his heart.
Fifteen minutes later they were on the road, in his Land Rover. She was being a good sport despite the fact he hadn’t offered up a single detail of his plan. Her hair twisted into one of her high knots, a few wild tendrils escaping to brush the side of her neck, right at the place where her pulse fluttered—the only clue that she wasn’t as relaxed as she might seem.
When he exited onto the off-ramp, her hands dropped to her lap. Her head jerked as if wanting to glance over in his direction, but she didn’t allow it.
“We’re here,” he said, parking in an empty space, reaching for his Hellions ball cap.
“Hoo boy. I was afraid you might be taking me here,” she said flatly, eyeing the sign on the building. “Mile High Skate Center. This is where Mom used to give me lessons.”
“I figured as much. Most kids in the city do them here.”
“Just tell me straight.” She took off her sunglasses and ducked her chin. “Is it funny to you? I’m not kidding. I really do suck. And if you want to laugh then there are easier ways to—”
“Vixen.” He reached and cupped her chin, turning her face toward his. “It’s like what you said with the books.”
Her brows mashed. “I don’t get it.”
“You believe there is a reader inside me, just waiting to get out. It’s a question of finding the right story, the one that excites me, right?”
She nodded, confusion still plain on her face.
“Well it’s the same here with this. I think there is a skater inside you, but you need the right teacher.”
Good lord, Mile High even smelled the same, the damp rubber tickling her nose, the chemicals in the ice, the cold pizza from a birthday party set up in the corner. It was open skate time and zippy pop music pulsed over the speakers as kids flew past, and couples hand in hand.
While she got fitted for skates, Jed signed a quick autograph for a teenage girl behind the counter, one who clutched the scrap of paper he’d touched as if she’d sleep with it tonight, treasure his scrawled signature for all time.
Breezy had to smile, even as her fingers trembled while she tightened her laces. It hadn’t been all that long since she’d been the same way. And yet here she was, about to step into her worst nightmare, simply because Jed asked, because he believed he could make her enjoy this.
He was already laced up by the time she finished.
“This is ridiculous,” she muttered, hobbling toward him, ankles awkward. “Jed West at a kiddie open skate?”
He shrugged. “I like it. In fact, a couple of times during the year I come alone.”
“You’re lying to make me feel better.”
He took her hand, steadying her balance with a gentle squeeze. “One thing I won’t do is lie to you, Vixen. I started skating because it was so much goddamn fun. Coming here? It helps remind me of that part of it. Gets me out of my head. Loosens me up.”
They reached the ice. If she closed her eyes, she’d still be able to hear her mom screaming at her from the side. Focus!
“Ready?” He s
tepped out and gave her a gentle tug. “Keep your head steady and if you start to wobble, fix your gaze on a point in the distance.”
“Fair warning.” She licked her lips, joining him. “I’m going to make a total fool out of myself.”
True to her word, she slipped immediately, but he caught her by the waist, keeping her steady. “First rule is stay loose. You don’t want to be tense out here.”
“Easier said than done.” Any second she was going to do the splits.
“What’s the worst that can happen?” he asked her, and just like that he was sprawled, ass smacking the ice, his long legs akimbo at awkward angles.
Breezy clasped a hand over her mouth, a few families openly pointing. “What are you doing?”
“Falling!” His smile lit his own face. “That’s the worst thing that can happen, and guess what, it’s not so bad.”
She laughed in spite of herself as the truth settled on her. “I guess you’re right.” Her mom had made it seem like that, but Jed had a point. And the tender way he watched her, if she fell, it might actually feel like flying.
Chapter Fourteen
Breezy strode through the front door of the library and every head in the place swiveled in her direction. She felt as if she starred in her own personal musical and this was the part where she leaped onto the reference desk to belt out a solo. She just spent the past three days having the best time of her life with the best man she’d ever know.
Seriously. Everyone really was looking at her. Two women even pointed.
Had word gotten out that she’d been shacking up with Jed West? Maybe someone saw them at the rink. Her heart raced. Because he wasn’t Jed West anymore. Or Westy. Or even a hockey god. Not to her—he was just Jed. The guy she was falling head over heels for. The man who made her waffles in bed and went down on her not as a cursory to-do item before getting his rocks off but treated it like a hobby, an artistic craft that he was determined to put ten thousand hours in to become a master.
“Breezy!” A volunteer waved.
She waved back but kept going. A little faster. She wasn’t ready to talk about this weekend. As wonderful as it was, as much as she wanted to sing it from the rooftops, she wasn’t sure what to say. She didn’t want to name what was happening because it was too new. Too fragile. If she looked at it too hard it might pop like a frigging soap bubble.
When she was with him it felt so real, so natural, so right. But away. Doubt settled in. That little mumbling voice had put ice on its broken nose and was piping back up.
When she got up to her desk, she hadn’t put down her bag before Daisy ran in.
“Want the bad news, or worse news first?” Her assistant sounded out of breath.
Not how anyone wants to start out the week. “Bad?”
“You have a giant piece of chocolate-glazed donut stuck to your top lip. Either that or you need to see a dermatologist like right now because that’s one funky-looking mole.”
“What?” Breezy reached up and crap. Sure enough the glazed donut she’d bought on the way over was affixed to her face. She’d walked through the entire library covered in her breakfast. No wonder there were pointers! What could be worse than that?
“Also, Tater Tots called a meeting.” Daisy sounded worried. “Just for the children’s department. You. Me. Her.”
“Maybe she wants to give us raises.” Breezy tried to laugh, but it wasn’t funny. In fact, her stomach dropped a few inches and a cool chill slithered across her lower back.
“Not likely. She was wearing red shoes today.” Daisy crossed her arms. “You know what that means.”
“Her butt-kickers.” Tater Tots had a pair of fire-engine red pumps and was fond of saying she wore them when she wanted to kick ass and take names.
Daisy turned around and stuck out her booty. “Mine is bony. This is going to hurt.”
Breezy giggled despite herself. “I’ll sacrifice myself for you, okay? My butt can take a lickin’ and keep on tickin’.”
“What will happen if we get fired? I need this job. My student loans are killing me. Plus my home life isn’t good.” Unexpected tears sheened her eyes. “Not good at all. My husband hasn’t been able to find work for months. If I can’t keep this position, there goes our apartment, our health care . . . everything.”
“No one is losing their job.” Breezy opened up her purse and pulled out her own secret weapon. Lady Dracula. Her boldest, reddest lipstick. If Tater Tots wanted to threaten her department, she wouldn’t go without a fight.
Jed’s doctor appointment turned into a full morning at the hospital, going through a battery of tests. First a full neurological examination that checked his vision, hearing, reflexes, strength and coordination, then cognitive ones to test his recall, concentration and memory. Finally he went and did an MRI.
In the end, his fears were confirmed.
Diagnosis: concussion.
“How long will the symptoms persist?” he asked the doctor.
“All brain injuries are different,” the neurologist said carefully. “And that means there’s no one-size-fits-all when it comes to recovery.”
“Translate that into practical English, Doc.” Jed scrubbed his brow and sat back, dazed, arms tight across against his chest. “You know, for my career, my entire damn life?”
The doctor took off his glasses and went silent. “The damage that I am seeing here isn’t going to sink you,” he said at last. “But there’s a cumulative impact that worries me.”
It was a hell of a thing, experiencing a long-dreaded moment in all its gut-twisting anxiety. He exhaled a long ragged breath, a little detached from his body, as if viewing himself from a distance, his heartbeat steady but heavy, the reverberations shuddering against his chest.
The air-conditioning hummed even as the room felt oppressively overwarm. Darkness loomed but he shoved it back, squaring his shoulders. Now that the worst had happened, he didn’t have to fear it. Not anymore.
“Don’t get me wrong,” the doctor said with a sheepish chuckle. “I’m one hell of a Hellions fan, and would hate to see you leave the game.” The smile faded from his face. “But I see a lot of athletes sitting where you sit now who have to make a choice. Continue with the game, spin the roulette wheel, play the odds and risk long-term, permanent, irreversible brain damage. Or walk away.”
Jed cleared his throat, coughed once in his fist and swallowed, swallowing again. But nothing was going to budge the knot choking his throat. “Guess I should be glad to get the option, Doc.” Because many times—too fucking many—an athlete didn’t get the luxury of making this kind of shitty decision. An athlete like his brother, Travis, a guy just entering manhood who had big dreams, who went hard, had a champion’s heart pumping in his chest.
Jed raked a hand through his hair, fist tugging the strands at the root.
Travis was a player who didn’t know how to give up. Didn’t quit. Didn’t know that his brain was a ticking time bomb.
“You ever give thought to life beyond hockey?” the doctor asked.
Jed shrugged. Hard to admit the truth, but not really. When Breezy had told him of her uncertainties about opening a children’s bookshop, he’d been a hypocrite of the highest order, spouting off all that motivational “Rah! Rah! Go team!” crap.
The truth was that he didn’t know what to do after leaving hockey. He didn’t have the first fucking clue.
He punched a number into his phone as he left the hospital, the one he never called enough.
“Hello?” His sister-in-law, Tamara’s, voice was threadbare. In high school, she’d been the vivacious captain of the color guard and reigned alongside Travis as king and queen of the high school. She’d gotten pregnant during Travis’s second year at UCLA, but his brother had done the right thing and put a ring on his girl’s finger.
That had been the kind of guy he was.
Everyone had been happy. Even their conservative, uptight parents knew it was a good match, hasty, but inevitable. Nothing s
hotgun about it. The two of them had been so damn happy.
Until the accident.
“Hey, TamTam,” Jed said in a low voice. “It’s me.”
Silence. “Been a while, Jed.”
He knew enough about women to know when they said your name like that, they were pissed as hell. He didn’t blame his sister-in-law. He had kept a distance, at first bewildered and not sure what to do. As his brother recovered from the brain injury, gaining limited capacity, it became sadly evident that Travis was never going to be Travis again. In his place rose up a sad man, angry, depressed and the last person he wanted to see was his younger brother who still had a bright career waiting for him. Different sport, but an athlete is an athlete is an athlete.
“I’m sorry. He’s having one of his bad days,” Tamara said slowly.
She tended to downplay his brother’s outbursts so this frank admission didn’t bode well.
“How can I help?”
Tamara’s sigh sounded as if it came from the bottom of her feet. “There’s nothing anybody can do.”
Uncomfortable silence filled the airwaves.
“Did you get the stack of books that I sent Josh?” Talking about his nephew might cheer her up. Her only son was a bright light in a too-often dark life.
“He loved them.” Her voice softened. “Especially the Percy Jackson one. Sorry I didn’t have him call to say thank you . . . there’s just been a lot going on.” Her voice dropped into a whisper. “Josh is staying at my parents’ house right now. Just while . . .” She trailed off. “Jed? Hang on a second, Travis just walked into the kitchen. I’ll—uh—I’ll see if he wants to say hello.”
Tam must have covered the phone. The words muffled, then, “Hey, brother. Long time no talk.”
“Travis.” Jed stiffened, recalibrating. His brother hated to talk to him. He hadn’t wanted to speak to him for a couple of years. “Hey, man.”
