by Kendall Ryan
Jason’s suspension means he isn’t allowed on team premises, which includes the jet and games. But then he’ll probably be here in Seattle, which also means there’s no way in fuck Ana is going to stay at Georgia’s. Kress went there once already looking for her. And if he did it again, this time I wouldn’t be around to help her if things went south. I’d be three time zones away.
I shake my head. “You’ll stay here.”
Her eyes widen, appraising me. “Are you asking me or telling me?”
I clear my throat, shifting in my seat. “Right. Sorry. I just mean . . . it’s no trouble having you here, and it’s really the smart move. You, staying here for the time being.”
If she leaves because I’m a surly asshole who doesn’t know how to communicate, I’ll feel even worse. It’s not her fault I’m out of practice at this kind of thing.
She weighs my words, trying to determine if they’re sincere. Then her gaze lifts to mine. “Are you sure you don’t mind me being here when you’re away?”
“It’s really no problem. Plus, I like the idea of the place being used while I’m gone.”
“Are you absolutely sure?”
“Positive.”
Ana nods. “Then I guess I’ll stay.”
“Glad that’s settled.”
A knock at the front door grabs our attention.
“There’s just one other thing,” I say, rising to my feet.
Ana shoots me a curious glance. “Are you expecting someone?”
Nodding, I head toward the door. “I’m having a security alarm installed today before I go.”
“Wait, what?” She jumps to her feet and follows me to the foyer with Hobbes in tow.
I open the front door to a trim man with a beard and blue tennis shoes. “Hi. Mr. Henry?”
“Yeah,” I say. “But Grant’s fine.”
“Great. Well, I’m here to install your new security system, which should take about an hour.”
“Come on in.” I open the door wider and usher him in.
Ana’s right on my heels as I follow the guy deeper inside my condo, where he begins unloading a small set of tools.
“I don’t understand,” she says, turning to face me. “Isn’t Jason traveling with the team?”
I clear my throat and lead her into the hall where we’ll have a little more privacy. “He’s not. With the suspension, he’s not even allowed on team property.”
“Oh.” Her face falls. “And you think he would . . .”
My throat tightens at the expression on her face. “No.” Most likely he wouldn’t try anything. Not now. At least, I hope not, but I clearly don’t know the guy as well as I thought I did.
I still can’t believe Ana spent two years with that fuck. I hate to think about what she went through. I may not know what love is, but I sure as hell know what love isn’t.
“Is it not safe here? Is that what this is about?”
I reach out and place one hand on her shoulder. It’s a touch meant to calm her, but instead, I can feel how tense she is. Shit. This is my fault. I never meant to make her feel on edge.
I drop my hand from her slender shoulder and shove it in my pocket. “No, it’s nothing like that. I’ve just been meaning to do this for a while.”
Her disbelieving gaze says she isn’t so sure I’m telling her the truth.
“I just figured this might make you feel safer while I’m gone.”
“It’s only one night,” she says, frowning.
“Yeah . . .”
“And I’m tougher than I look.”
“I know,” I say quickly.
She inhales, her nostrils flaring. Apparently, I answered too quickly. Now she doesn’t believe I meant what I said.
“Let me do this one thing, Ana.”
“It’s your condo, Grant. I’m not going to stop you. But you’ve done a lot of things already.”
“It hasn’t been any hardship.” That’s the complete truth.
Looking uncomfortable, she shifts her weight. “Well, I promise to be out of your hair soon.”
“I never asked you to leave.” I meet her eyes, holding her gaze.
“No, you’re too much of a gentleman to do that.”
I rub one hand over the stubble on my jaw. “Never been called that before.”
Smiling, she softens. “Well, you are. I don’t know what I would have done without you,” she says quietly, her brown gaze holding steady to mine.
A moment of silence passes between us.
“You’d have figured it out.”
She nods in agreement. “I suppose so.”
And she would have. I’m sure of it, even if she’s not.
“I have to leave in an hour, but I got you something.” I grab a shopping bag from the top of the closet and hand it to her. As she starts to open the bag, I blurt, “It’s bath salt. For when you use the bath in there.”
She smiles up at me. “Thank you.”
The guy from the security company calls out from the other room with a question, and I nod once to Ana and then head off.
An hour later, the security system is all set and the technician is gone. I grab my rolling suitcase from my room and stop in the living room where Ana is sitting on the floor with Hobbes.
“Hey. I’m going to head out. Otherwise, I’ll be late and catch shit from the coach.”
She looks up, her hand still lazily rubbing Hobbes’s exposed belly. “Okay. Well, have a safe flight, and I hope you score a lot of goals.”
I smile at her cuteness. “Thanks, I’ll try my best. You remember the security code?”
She nods. “Yep, I’ve got it.”
I grab the handle to my rolling bag, then pause when Ana rises to her feet and wraps her arms around me in an unexpected hug. Momentarily stunned—and totally unused to warm female affection—I stand there like a statue until she steps back, releasing me.
“Sorry,” she says with a grin.
“Stay safe, okay?”
She nods, and with a slow exhale, I head to the door.
I make it down the elevator and into the parking garage when it hits me. I forgot my toiletry kit. I have no other choice but to go right back to my condo. Sighing, I place my bag in the car and make the trek back upstairs.
Unlocking the front door, I don’t spot Ana on the floor with Hobbes anymore. He lifts his head and blinks at me.
As I head down the hall, I don’t see any sign of her, so I call out, “Hey, I’m back. I just need to grab something.”
No response.
That’s weird. But, whatever, I really do need to get on the road.
I step into my bedroom and open the door to the adjoining master bath. And then my heart fucking stops.
Because standing in the center of my bathroom, completely naked and bent over to adjust the faucet, is Ana.
Creamy pale skin.
Full breasts.
The graceful curve of her lower back leading to a nicely rounded ass.
Oh my fuck.
As soon as she spins to face me, I slam my eyes shut, and Ana lets out a scream.
“I’m sorry.” I hold up both hands, my eyes still firmly closed. “So fucking sorry.”
I hear a whoosh of fabric as I assume Ana grabs a towel from the towel bar and secures it around herself.
“I’m good now,” she says, her voice slightly panicked.
Opening my eyes, I notice the tub is filled with bubbles and steamy water, and I lower my hands to my sides. “I forgot my toiletry bag. I didn’t know you were in here.”
Her gaze darts from mine to the counter. She grabs the gray felt bag I left behind and shoves it at me.
“I’m sorry, Ana,” I say firmly, hoping she knows I mean those words.
She nods and releases a shaky exhale. “It’s okay.”
And then I do what any man would do.
I turn and flee like a fucking coward.
7
* * *
A Sliver of Hope
Ana
; My heart is still hammering away long after Grant closes the bathroom door.
I can’t help but replay the mortifying moment over and over again in my head. Me, unsuspecting, leaning over the tub to test the water. Grant, distracted, beelining from the front door to his bathroom, only to find a butt-naked lady screaming bloody murder at him like he’s some perverted intruder.
Did he know I was getting in the tub? Of course not. I’m just the house guest who’s been inconveniencing him for a couple of days now. Well, now he’s definitely thinking about that house guest, considering he just clearly saw her tits and ass ten minutes ago. Dear Lord.
I sit in the tub, stewing over it for so long that the water grows cold and my fingers get pruney.
It was an accident, Ana. You have to shake this off, or you can’t expect him to do the same. Besides, it’s only fair, after I saw him in his underwear that first night.
I perk up my ears, listening once more for any unfamiliar sounds, making sure that I really am the only one in this condo. Then, when I’m convinced the only sounds are those of an anxious Hobbes, his tiny feet pitter-pattering from the front door to the bathroom door and back again, I emerge from the water.
The air is cool, and my skin is covered with a fine layer of goose bumps, my nipples at attention. I’m cold, but my core is warm. There’s a pulsing deep in my center, a little voice I haven’t heard in a long time asking, Hey, what’s going on here? I ignore the voice, reaching for a towel to pat myself dry. If I listen to that little voice, I’ll end up getting back in the water to do something to myself that’s entirely indecent.
After I get dressed, I do a load of laundry and then make myself an early dinner. While I wait for my grilled cheese sandwich to cook, I have to admit it does give me a nice sense of satisfaction knowing the alarm system is set. Even if I do feel a little guilty that Grant installed it just for me—despite what he said.
I try to watch a movie, but I’m so distracted, I hardly absorb a word of it. Abandoning the movie halfway through, I head to the guest room. After folding my laundry, I slip into my pajamas and snuggle up in bed with Hobbes. I’m not sure how Grant feels about dogs on the furniture . . . that strikes me as something we should have talked about. But Hobbes is so at peace, curled up against my side, I don’t have the heart to push him off.
I pull out my phone, ignoring all the missed calls and texts from Jason, and pull up Grant’s contact. With deft fingers, I type out my message.
I’m safe. All locked in.
In less than a minute, my phone buzzes. Almost like he was about to text me himself.
I’m so sorry I just barged in like that earlier.
I chuckle, appreciating how sensitive he can be.
It’s your bathroom! Plus, I saw you in your underwear the night before, remember? Now we’re even.
My heart nearly jumps out of my throat when the message screen suddenly lights up with a call from Grant, and my phone vibrates aggressively in my hand. I pick up immediately, clearing my throat.
“Hello?”
“Hey, I’m not much of a texter. Is this okay?” His voice is somehow even lower and more gravelly over the phone.
“This is fine. What are you up to?” I ask, suddenly conscious of how my own voice sounds. A little too . . . excited?
“We just got done with team dinner. Some guys are heading to the bar, some to bed.”
“That’s good . . . and Jason isn’t there?”
“Right.”
Wow. They really did it. They really suspended him.
“Did anyone say anything about it?” I ask, twirling a lock of hair around my finger.
“No, no one that I could tell. I only really talked to Jordie at dinner, to be honest. But there’s no way anyone knows you’re staying at my place. I mean, I haven’t told anyone.”
“Thank you for that.” A warm smile spreads across my lips. It’s funny, but I don’t think I ever specifically asked Grant to keep it a secret. He just knew. Knew that I needed to be guarded, kept safe from the world. “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. I won’t be in your hair for much longer, I promise.”
He’s quiet for a moment. “I never asked you to leave.”
My breath hitches, and I pray he doesn’t hear it. At least he can’t know how hot my cheeks are.
“Yeah,” I murmur, uncertain of what else to say. Something deep in my heart grows warmer by the second, to the point where I’m afraid I’ll boil over and say something dumb. Something emotional. Instead, I only say, “But I’m sure I’m cramping your style.”
“Not at all.” Grant’s voice is softer now, gentler. He’s aware of how much I hate to inconvenience him, but he’s determined not to make it a big deal. He would never kick me out, even though I’m sure he’d prefer the privacy. Exhibit A, the bathroom incident.
I scoff. “Grant, come on. I’m not an idiot. A single guy like you? Captain of the team? I’m sure you’ve got puck bunnies lined up around the block, vying for your attention.”
“Not really.” He chuckles, seemingly surprised by my use of hockey lingo.
I have ears, and Lord knows Jason used to love to tell me about all the puck bunnies he used to spend his nights with.
“I’m not much for the bar scene, or wherever that stuff happens.”
I laugh. Who is this man? I can’t remember if I’ve ever seen Grant with a significant other at an event . . . not that I was really looking before.
“Even so, I’m going to figure something else out. You’ll have your bachelor pad back in no time, I promise. It’ll be easier on both of us.”
I can hear a muffled sigh on the other end. “Ana, I’m not who you think I am. I’m not interested in . . .”
When the line grows quiet, my brow furrows and my lips turn down into a frown. Interested in what? Puck bunnies?
“Never mind,” he says. “What I meant to say is that it’s been really nice having you around these past few days.”
My eyebrows shoot up, and I croak, “Really?”
“You cook. You make good coffee. And you give really good massages,” he says, and I can hear his grin through the receiver. “Your dog is kind of a pain in the ass, but—”
“How dare you!” I gasp, involuntary laughter bubbling up from deep in my belly. “Hobbes loves you!” I turn to pet Hobbes, who sniffles next to me in his sleep. Undoubtedly dreaming about those horrible squirrels again, I’m sure.
“Does he?” Grant asks, making a low sound that vibrates through me. “Well, I guess he’s not that bad.”
“Gee, thanks. I’ll have to tell him how highly you think of him.” I snicker, running my fingers absentmindedly through the pup’s wheat-colored curls. “I guess I’m relieved that you don’t absolutely hate having us around . . . but I don’t buy it. You can clearly cook for yourself. And you have that team masseur for regular massages.”
“Thor?” Grant scoffs. “Thor is the fucking worst. I haven’t let him touch me for at least two seasons now.”
“That explains why you’re so tense all the time,” I say with a laugh. My cheeks are starting to get sore from smiling so much. I don’t remember the last time I laughed so freely.
Somehow, talking on the phone is so easy with Grant. He seems more comfortable, probably relieved that I can’t scrutinize every flicker of emotion he tries so hard to conceal behind that stoic exterior. I can’t say that I’m not also enjoying the strange anonymity of it all . . . lying here in bed, so cozy and warm. The low throbbing in my center hasn’t disappeared at all. Rather, it’s grown since I picked up the phone to hear that husky voice on the other end. I don’t know what in the world is happening to me, but I shut it down quickly.
“You’re much better than he is. Some people don’t have the magic touch,” Grant says, interrupting my thoughts. “Now you know why I want to keep you around.”
I lick my lips. “So, are you saying that I have that magic touch?”
My voice is lower now, a little sultrier. Thi
s isn’t my massage voice. No, this is my flirting voice—something a little darker and sweeter, dipped in bourbon and honey. And I’d be appalled at myself for using my flirty voice if I weren’t having so much fun. Grant’s chuckle on the other end of the line soaks my heart in buttery warmth, and I sink into the duvet with a happy sigh.
“You do. If you were a superhero, your power would be just that. One touch, and even your worst enemy would melt into a happy puddle.”
“Well, I only give massages to people I like,” I say, realizing a moment too late that I’ve said too much.
“Then I’m honored.” Grant’s tone is careful, as if he’s only saying half of what he’s thinking.
Part of me wants to push him to spill the beans, and the other half is perfectly okay with unspilled beans at this point in our friendship.
Friendship. I guess it is. Before, we were acquaintances at best, but I realize that’s changed these past couple of days.
“You’ve been a really, really good friend, Grant,” I say, suddenly overwhelmed with the desire to tell him how kind he’s been to me. “Thank you for caring.”
“You make it easy,” he says softly, and my eyes immediately prick with hot tears.
I didn’t realize how badly I needed to hear that. After years of the kind of love that made me tired from the deepest parts of my soul, I always assumed there was something about me that made it difficult to be with me. Difficult to care about me.
“You should tell that to Jason,” I say with a sigh. A joke in poor taste, maybe, but I can’t help it. I’m so comfortable talking to Grant. The words come easily. Even those about my dick ex-boyfriend.
“If I ever see Jason again, I don’t think we’ll do much talking,” Grant grumbles, and I giggle, smiling like an idiot again. It’s nice to have a protector for a change.
“I appreciate that, but please don’t do anything—”
“I wouldn’t.”
“I know.”
The line is quiet for a few moments, and I can feel my heart pounding again. I have this urge to tell him something about myself that no one knows, something personal. Something that matters. But what would I tell him that I haven’t already? I’ve already told him about my mom . . . about losing her. I haven’t told many people about that part of me.
