by Skye Jordan
“Freudian slip.”
“Metaphor,” Eden corrected, turning away from her friend and throwing her uniform into the bag. She hated this topic. It brought up a lot of problems she thought she’d dealt with—until now. Until Beckett.
“You stereotype, and you know it. If Beckett were a contractor, would you see him again? Or a mechanic? Or a fireman? Or a doctor?”
Eden made a face. She couldn’t see Beckett as any of those things. “I don’t know.” Frustration frazzled her already frayed nerves. “Maybe.”
“You’re stereotyping him, and you know it—Beckett’s a hockey player; therefore, he’s violent.”
She turned on Tori, ready to come out of her skin. “I looked into it, okay? I didn’t scratch the guy off my list without any thought.”
“Ha, your list. That’s a good one. I’ve seen you in action. I’ve seen you go toe to toe with gangbangers, cops; hell, I’ve seen you tell doctors to get their heads out of their asses. You are not going to get me to believe you’re scared of one damned hockey player.”
“I work with those people. I’m not involved with them.”
“For an extremely levelheaded, rational woman, you’re not making any sense.”
Angry now, she turned on Tori. “Hockey is second only to football in its level of violence, and there is a forty percent increase in domestic violence among pro football players. Why, why, why would I put myself at a higher risk after what I’ve been through?”
Tori tossed her hands in the air. “You must be putting all those brains of yours into your paramedic program, because you sure didn’t research that information very well.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I did a little research of my own, because I care about you and because I sure don’t want to encourage you into a bad situation. And I found that the NHL is embracing a new policy on domestic abuse, which includes required training for all members. They take it very seriously.”
“After watching a dozen of Beckett’s previous games over the last week, that policy won’t make it any easier to sleep at night.” Eden massaged her forehead. “I’ve seen the way he plays. I’ve seen his hits, his fights. I’ve seen how aggressive, how physical, how violent he is. I don’t care what the statistics say. I’ve seen the raw anger on his face when the cameras focus in on him. He’s intense, and it fuckin’ scares me sometimes, okay?”
“You know what, Eden, you fuckin’ scare me sometimes.”
“What?” She threw her arms out to the sides. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“When you confront people in the field before law enforcement arrives. You do it all the time. And sometimes it scares me.”
Eden was taken aback, and she scanned her memory. “I do that because I’ve had training, and because it puts distance between us and the creeps. Letting them know we’re not going to take their shit keeps both us and our patients safe.”
“Which is exactly what Beckett does on the ice. He’s had training too. And making sure the other teams know there will be consequences if they come down too hard on his players keeps everyone safer. You don’t bring your hostility home. You don’t confront random people in the streets. You certainly don’t turn your anger on those closest to you. So why do you assume Beckett will?”
She exhaled, crossed her arms, and stared at the floor. Tears stung her eyes. “I really like him,” she said softly. “And I’m really scared of that. I understand what you’re saying, but no numbers are ever going to make me feel safe when violence is a way of life for him. And maybe that’s a sign that I’m not ready.”
Tori shrugged. “Only you can decide.”
Eden recognized the look of pity on her face, and she couldn’t take it. She opened the bedroom door, and voices from the kitchen signaled shift change. She hiked her duffel over her shoulder, and Tori followed her into the front room, where Eden said good-bye to the two other EMTs in the kitchen.
Tori walked out front with Eden. “You have to be comfortable with your decision, but sometimes you also have to stretch your comfort zones a little.”
Eden sighed and shrugged, her mind already drifting to whether she should walk to Metro or catch a bus at the corner. She glanced toward the street to check traffic, and the sight at the curb pounded a stab of shock through her gut.
Beckett leaned on a car at the curb. Waiting.
Her heart kicked into a double beat. Fear tightened her gut and pulled at the muscles along her shoulders. Eden reflexively took a step back. She cut a look in every direction, taking in her surroundings and her quickest exits.
Tori stopped short next to her. “Is that—”
“Yes,” she nearly hissed the word.
Tori frowned. “Did you know—”
“No.”
“Dayum,” Tori said. “He’s way hotter in person.” Tori glanced at Eden, then turned to fully face her with narrowed eyes. “Eden, stop.” The bite in Tori’s voice cut into Eden’s rising panic. “Look at me.”
Eden tore her gaze from Beckett and focused on Tori.
“He is not John. He is a major public figure who would suffer horrible repercussions if he abused a woman. He’s here because he’s hot for you and because you didn’t answer his texts.”
Eden fought to clear the panic from her head.
“Breathe.”
Eden took a deep breath, feeling like she’d regressed years. “I’m okay.”
“Good, because if you look a little closer”—Tori’s grin returned along with a spark of excitement in her eyes—“you’ll see he’s leaning against a Porsche.”
She didn’t see a Porsche anywhere near Beckett, but now that Tori had knocked her head back into place, Eden was kinda focused on the smile lifting his full mouth. He pulled sunglasses off and tucked one arm of the shades into the collar of his Rough Riders jersey.
God, he looked great. So handsome and vibrant. Not a trace of the fury he showed on the ice. She never expected him to make this kind of effort to see her again.
He straightened away from an SUV but didn’t approach.
She needed to make a decision. She needed to tell him their one night was over and she didn’t want to see him again. Or… Or she had to actually try to give life more effort than a cursory one-night stand.
She swore under her breath.
Tori frowned at her. “How the hell did you ever get into bed with him?”
“Loneliness, desperation, and alcohol?”
Tori rolled her eyes, then turned and approached Beckett, hand held out. “I’m Tori.”
Beckett shook Tori’s hand. And his smile… His smile made Eden feel like she’d plummeted down the steepest slope of a roller coaster.
She approached, trying like hell not to notice how freaking attractive he was with the morning sun making gold streaks pop in his hair and highlighting a day’s worth of stubble on his jaw. He seemed so big, taller and more muscular than she remembered. And he wore jeans and cross-trainers with his jersey. Eden had to admit, the casual look relaxed her a little and allowed her to get her feet moving toward him.
Tori released Beckett’s hand. “I’d better see what trouble I can stir up inside. Nice to meet you, Beckett.”
“You too,” he said.
Then Eden’s buffer was gone, and she was standing face-to-face with Beckett Croft again.
His grin widened and softened. “Hi.”
She tried to match his smile, but she was too intensely aware of him. “Hi.”
“I scared you, huh?” His brow pulled with concern. “Showing up like this.”
She lowered her gaze. “It was a little unnerving to find you here.”
“I was afraid of that.” He stepped toward her, reached out, and slid his index finger down her forearm, then linked it with her pinkie. Tingles spread along her skin, and her lungs tightened up again. “Sorry. I didn’t know how else to get ahold of you.”
“Yeah.” She nodded. “I know.”
“Here’s
the thing, Eden.” He stroked the back of her hand with his thumb. “I’m not the kind of guy who sits back and lets things happen to him. I’m the kind of guy who goes out and makes things happen. My mom calls it ADHD, or OCD, or plain old making trouble, but whatever, no one’s perfect, right?”
That made Eden laugh and loosened some nerves.
“The truth is, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you for the last six days,” he said. “So I couldn’t take the thanks-for-the-hookup note or the unanswered texts as proof that you weren’t interested. I had to come and see what that looks like up close and personal.”
“Yeah.” A soft laugh rolled out. “I guess you aren’t very familiar with that, are you?”
He winced and chuckled. “Ouch. Has someone been looking into my history?”
“Six days is a long time to think about something.”
“Very true. Felt like a damn month to me.” He threaded their fingers together and met her eyes directly, his expression serious. “Tell me you’re not interested, and I’ll go. I promise not to bother you again.”
So charming. So genuine. Oh, what she would give to be able to accept a man at face value again. And she could. She just had to choose to do it.
“I’ve been—”
“Busy.” He nodded, his expression serious. “I know. I kept telling myself you have more important things to do. That both our lives are already way too full. And a hundred other reasons I should have driven home from the airport this morning instead of straight here.”
She took a breath. “The truth is…I’m not sure about this. Everything inside me tells me it’s a bad idea.”
“Fair enough.” He seemed to take that in stride. “I’m not sure about this either. What I am sure of is that you promised me breakfast and bailed.”
She exhaled a laugh. “True.”
“So let me take you now,” he suggested, then added, “unless you have school."
“Not till this afternoon.”
“Breakfast? Somewhere extremely public? So we can get to know each other better? We can even take your car if you’d be more comfortable driving.”
“My car is Metro.”
His face went slack a second, but he came back strong. “I can do Metro.”
She laughed. “Oh, that deer in the headlights was priceless.”
His hand felt so good in hers. Big and warm. Six short days, and she’d already forgotten how good it felt when he touched her. She closed her fingers around his, and her chest knotted at the rightness of it.
She searched beyond those damned blinders and stereotypes and fears, the way Tori had with her research.
And she found solid ground.
Yes, she really wanted to see where this went.
Eden nodded and smiled up at him. “Okay. Breakfast.”
13
Beckett’s knee jittered as he navigated the streets of downtown DC. His gut was tight, the way it squeezed when he was on the bench, watching other guys play instead of being out there himself.
“Five-game winning streak,” Eden said, pulling her gaze from the passenger’s window.
Her hair was down and loose. She’d come out of the ambulance company in inky jeans, a San Diego hoodie, and not an ounce of makeup. And she looked freaking gorgeous.
“Mmm-hmm.” He wanted to ask if she’d watched or caught that on the news. Wanted to ask if her feelings toward the game had changed. Wanted to ask her if touching him after six days felt as good to her as touching her felt to him.
God, he was such an asshole.
He’d waited outside her work on purpose, knowing it would probably spook her. He’d planned this breakfast for the same reason. She didn’t know it yet, but it wasn’t going to be what she expected. He’d justified it by telling himself he wanted to see if she had what it took to fit in with the people who mattered to him. He wanted to know if she could roll with the perpetual changes inherent in his life. But the truth was, he was looking for a reason to weed her out. An excuse to push her to the back of his mind and move on.
But that had been before she’d walked out of the building and he’d locked eyes with her. Before those bizarre pangs kicked up. Before she’d smiled and agreed to take another chance on him, even after he’d been a creep and borderline stalked her. And now, he was stuck with his stupid plan already in motion, far too aware of how fully this could backfire on him.
“I didn’t know Porsche made SUVs.” Her smile felt like sugar and sunshine all wrapped into one beam that pierced his chest. “Sort of an oxymoron, right? When you think Porsche, you think race car. A Porsche SUV is just…” She seemed to take stock of her words and backpedaled. “But…I mean…it’s nice.”
He stopped at a traffic light and squeezed her hand. “Don’t blow smoke. Truth, remember?”
“It is nice. I didn’t want you to think I—”
“I’m not that sensitive.”
She seemed to like that. Her smile returned and reached her eyes. “Okay.”
And they stared at each other for a long, hot second.
“God, you’re beautiful.” The words were out, floating around the car before Beckett realized he’d said them and not thought them. “Sorry. I’ve never been really good at keeping inside thoughts inside.”
“Thank you,” she said softly, then shook her head and looked out the window again. “Where are we going? There aren’t any restaurants in this area. Are you lost? I know just about every street in this city.”
Of course she did. He’d forgotten all about that.
He released a nervous breath. “Uh…” he hedged. “We’re almost there.”
“You don’t sound as happy about that as you did when you picked me up.”
He turned down their final street and slowed. “Yeah, well, that’s because I thought there was a damn good chance you were going to turn me down.”
She gave him a silly frown. “That doesn’t make sense.”
Beckett turned into the YMCA parking lot, where balloons and banners for the fundraiser flew. “We’re here.” He feigned excitement but braced for…hell, he didn’t even know what to expect. Anger, disappointment… “Surprise?”
“The Y,” she said, part what the hell, part humor.
“Let me guess, you’ve been here a time or two.”
“Or ten.” She looked over the YMCA, took in the balloons and banners, eyes narrowed. Finally, she shook her head. “Nope, can’t figure this one out on my own. You’re gonna have to help me.”
“We’re doing a pancake breakfast this morning. A fundraiser for the Y. We donate things for a silent auction, cook breakfast, then wander around while people are eating and take pictures, sign autographs. The money goes to summer and after-school programs so parents who work don’t have to leave their kids home alone. This is our fifth annual.”
Her head slowly turned toward him, a furrow dipping her brow. “On a weekday?”
“That’s so we can get corporate donors. A lot of Rough Riders fans work in the city and stay late to see games, but they live in the surrounding Metro area. And we discovered that more people showed and we raised more money when we did it on a weekday, because no one wants to commute back into the city on Saturday or Sunday.”
She turned her gaze on Beckett. “So, you’re telling me that you’re going to be cooking and networking at this breakfast? And I’m going to be doing…what, exactly?”
He winced.
She sighed. “Well, this is certainly public. As for the getting-to-know-each-other part…” She shrugged.
He rubbed a hand down his face. “It seemed like a good idea when I first thought of it.”
She lifted a brow. “Is that how you got so damned good at hockey? Going with your first idea?”
He grinned, jumping at the chance to change the subject. “You think I’m good?”
“That’s what people say.”
He deflated. “I’m obviously not as good at other things.”
“I don’t know about
that.” She released a breath, leaned against the door, and stared at him. “You are so sweetly flawed.”
Donovan, Savage, and Kristoff came out of the building and spotted his car. Beckett’s breath leaked out on a groan.
Eden followed his gaze. “This must be the we.”
“If you want me to take you back, now would be the time to ask.”
As the guys approached, Beckett hit the locks, and when Donovan reached Eden’s door with a big smile, he found himself locked out.
“Hey, you said to make her feel welcome.” His smile fell, and he stabbed a finger at the lock and glared at Beckett. “That’s not welcoming.”
Eden started laughing. “He’s really adorable.” She looked at Beckett with a spark in her eye. “Does he have a girlfriend?”
Beckett lifted his hands and waved them in an X. “Wait, wait, wait—”
“For Tori.”
“Oh. Well then, no. But he’s been through a bad divorce recently, so…”
“Oh…” Her expression sobered. “Will you be able to get me home by two? I have class at three, and it takes me an hour to get there.”
Beckett had to pick up Lily at school at three. And he’d already threatened death to anyone who slipped and mentioned her name in the event that Eden showed today. “Absolutely.”
She heaved a sigh. “All right, then. Let’s get cookin’.”
Eden pulled the handle, popping the lock, and Donovan was there to open the door and offer a hand to help her out, as if she were arriving by fucking magic pumpkin coach or something.
Maybe he spent too much time in little-girl land. Puffles, magic pumpkin coaches…
“Dude,” Savage called, then gave him double thumbs-up. Eden was already walking toward the Y between Donovan and Kristoff, talking and laughing. “Comin’?”
Beckett stood from the car and rounded the back to pull out the silent-auction donations as Eden disappeared inside. Somehow, that didn’t surprise him. What really surprised him was how damn happy he was with her response.
14
Eden stood in the industrial kitchen at the Y, wearing a Rough Riders jersey that was three times too big and had Croft emblazoned on the back. While pancakes cooked on the griddle, she tossed blueberries into her mouth and watched Beckett crouch in front of a little boy about seven or eight years old. The child too wore a jersey with Croft across the back. A lot of people who’d come and gone over the last two hours were Beckett’s fans.
