The massive white-and-pink flower is far more vagina inspired than it is rose or daisies.
“Just a little.”
I brush past him to stand in front of the French doors leading to a balcony with yet another stunning view of the lake. To the right of the pool is a second small house—and it’s probably bigger than the one I live in.
“Are you really thinking about buying this place? Why such a big house? For parties?” I voice my earlier thought, frustrated by my bitter tone.
He opens the French doors and I follow him out onto the balcony. “It’s the pool house I’m actually interested in. This place is undervalued because the owners haven’t updated it, and I’m not sure what’s going to happen with my dad, so I want to have space for them if I need it.”
“You’d buy this house so your parents can move into the pool house?”
Ethan shrugs. “It’s a thought. I want to have the space for Dylan and his family, and for my parents’ friends if they came to visit.”
“What if you get traded again? Won’t you have to sell it?” My throat tightens at the possibility that Ethan’s return will be brief. Part of the reason I’m so hesitant to allow this friendship is the fear that he’ll come back into my life long enough for me to care about him again, and then he’ll be off to another city in another state.
“I’ll probably be here permanently if I can’t up my game this year.”
I note the tightness of his jaw and the frustration shadowing his eyes.
“Wouldn’t that be a good thing? Not having to move from city to city, I mean?”
“They sent me home for a reason, Lilah.”
“I don’t understand.”
His smile is rueful. “If I don’t pick it up and play well, better than I have been, this could be my last season.”
“So this is your ‘in case I fail’ house? That’s a little fatalist of you, isn’t it?” I’m pushing his buttons, something I used to do when he’d play street hockey, or any kind of hockey with his friends in lieu of studying for tests.
Back then we were both reasonable about his prospects with the NHL—how short most careers were. And here he is, telling me his might be over. He’s not even twenty-eight yet. Life has hardly even started and he’s looking at the end of his dream when I’m starting to pursue my own.
“I’m sorry—that was uncalled for.”
His jaw works for a few seconds. “I’m trying to be realistic. I’m buying a house because I need a place to live that isn’t my parents’ basement. I’m looking at this one in particular because it’s a sound investment, and because my parents could easily live here without us driving each other insane. Even if this season goes well, I have no idea what’s coming next, so I want to be prepared for anything.”
I don’t ask any of the questions I want to, like what happens if he does do well this season? Will Minnesota extend his contract? Will he still be traded? Does he plan to come back here for good when his career in the NHL does eventually end?
“I guess that makes sense.” I step away from the balcony and Ethan, suddenly aware of how close we’re standing. “Why don’t we check out the basement?”
Chapter Seven
Closed Spaces
Lilah
Ethan follows me down the hall to the stairs. The basement has high ceilings and a walkout to a patio in the backyard.
Ethan immediately checks out the home movie theater and bank of arcade games. The last door on the left seems to be a cold cellar at first glance. A closer look at the shelves reveals not food, but bottles upon bottles of wine.
The space is probably bigger than my bedroom, but the walls are concrete, and there don’t seem to be any windows. It’s not cold, but not the same temperature as the rest of the house, either. Along one wall are several tall fridges, which hold more bottles. I’m not a fan of closed spaces, especially ones without windows, but I’m curious, and I’m not alone, so I step inside despite the shiver that runs down my spine.
“These people are serious wine aficionados.” I run my fingers along the bottles. I’m more of a margarita girl, but I’ll drink wine if the occasion calls for it. I note another door at the far end of the wine cellar, but it doesn’t have a handle. That’s weird. I wonder if it’s some kind of huge safe, and if so, what the hell is in it?
“Hey, Ethan, come look at this!” I call out as I spin around. I crash into his chest, grabbing hold of his forearms to steady myself. “Christ, when did you become so stealthy?”
“Back when I used to sneak up to my room to sleep with you after my parents fell asleep.” His wide palms rest on my waist. He’s always been so much bigger than me—it made me feel delicate when we were younger, strangely feminine when, in reality, I was more of an athletic tomboy.
I fight not to allow those memories to surface. His gaze is hot, warming my skin, starting with my cheeks. Pushing away, I step to the side so I’m a little closer to the exit and gesture to the handleless door behind me. “Is that a safe?”
He lifts a shoulder and moves around me to take a closer look. “Dunno. What’s that?” He pushes a button I failed to notice, and the door slides open with a metallic click.
He peeks inside and I grab on to his arm. “Do you really think you should go in there?”
He looks down at me, clinging to him, the hint of a smile on his lips. “I’m sure it’s fine. I’m going to check it out.” I don’t let go as he takes another step forward, and another. He’s pretty much dragging me along with him, but my body has locked up, and no matter what I try to tell my brain, I can’t seem to let go.
Over the past several years I thought I’d gotten past my fear of tight spaces—I still avoid elevators whenever possible, but I thought I had it managed. Guess not. The wine cellar on its own created a little anxiety, enough to make my palms damp, but I find myself frozen, unable to unlock my arms from around Ethan’s.
A red light flares as we cross the threshold. My heels slide across the floor with every step he takes. Half of me appreciates the feel of his body close to mine, protective, safe; the other half is highly in tune with my uncontrollable rising panic over the small, windowless space we’re in.
“Ethan.” My voice is high, shrill.
“You okay, baby?”
“I can’t—” I dig my nails into his skin, while simultaneously trying to force myself to release him so I can get back to a room with windows.
“I think there’s a light switch right here.” He slaps at the wall to the right, spinning us around so I’m fully inside the room.
A metallic grating follows as the door begins to slide shut. My arms finally obey the command to release him. I shove him out of the way, which is pretty incredible considering he easily must weigh more than two hundred pounds. I catch him off guard, so he stumbles back with a grunt. I can’t see well enough in the dim lighting, so I trip over his foot, falling into the closing door. I try to grab the edge and keep it from sealing us in, but it seems to function like an elevator, and I nearly lose my fingers as the wine cellar disappears from view.
I’m already in full-on panic mode, and as much as I’d like to keep my cool, this is my single phobia. Tight, dark spaces send me from logical and levelheaded to complete freak-out mode.
I pound on the steel door with my fists. I’m not drawing full breaths. I might actually be at risk of passing out if I keep this up, but there’s no room left for reason in my brain. In my head, we’re stuck in the room together until we die.
Strong hands grip my forearms and pin them to my side. Then I find myself straitjacketed by his arms as Ethan pulls me away from the single point of escape. I thrash and scream, because the only way out is through that door, so that’s where my attention needs to be.
“DJ, calm down. You’re fine. You need to take a breath.” Ethan’s voice is soft in my ear. There’s no panic or anger, just that calm, smooth voice I remember from when we were young.
“We need to get out!”
“We
will, but you have to calm down first.”
“Let me go!” It feels like I’m trying to breathe underwater.
“I’d like to, since you keep kicking my shins, but if you go apeshit on that door again, you’re going to break your hands, and I will not be responsible for that, so take some deep breaths with me and calm down.”
“I don’t think I can.” I suck in another raspy, high-pitched breath, aware the panic is something only I can control.
Ethan releases my arms slowly.
As soon as they’re free I spin around and grab his shirt. “What is this? What if we can’t get out? What if no one finds us?” I wish I could get it together, but I’m just not capable.
Ethan must realize this, because he takes my face in his hands. “Delilah, baby, relax.”
His words are gentle, but the intimate contact is jarring. Intense. Familiar and not. He regards me with uncertainty and then resolve. I don’t understand the emotion until he takes action.
I’m shocked out of my panic as Ethan’s lips descend on mine. They’re so soft and warm. I know them, and yet they’re not quite the same as I remember. At first he’s tentative where he was once certain. But his tongue peeks out to stroke the seam of my mouth, and resistance isn’t even a whisper in my head.
When he slides his fingers into my hair and tugs, I automatically tilt my head back and part my lips. When his tongue pushes forward to stroke mine, I moan.
It takes several more seconds, in which I meet his tongue in a soft tangle with my own, before I fully process that Ethan is kissing me, and I’m kissing him back. It’s been so long since I’ve been kissed like this, felt anything close to this level of overwhelming desire. When he steps in closer and his body comes flush with mine, I feel him hard against my stomach. It’s too much. It’s not enough. I’m terrified to want this.
I push on his chest, separating our mouths, and step back. “What’re you doing?”
He drops his hands and blinks at me, and blinks again. That weird red light makes his expression difficult to read. His voice is full of gravel. “Trying to get you to calm down.”
“By putting your tongue in my mouth?” I wish I sounded incredulous rather than breathless.
“You’re not freaking out anymore, are you?” He rubs his lips.
I can’t tell if he’s trying to hide a smile or not. “It’s not funny, Ethan. We’re trapped in here!” I cringe at my reedy tone.
“I’m not laughing.” His voice is smooth satin, stoking the fire he’s awakened with one kiss.
“How can you be so calm?” The panic is already rising again, a siren in my head growing louder, drowning out desire.
“Your sister’s meeting us here soon, right?” He puts his hands on my shoulders. “You should sit.”
I brush them away, my palms clammy. “How is that going to help us get out of this weird fucking box?”
“You’re panicking again, so unless you want my tongue in your mouth, I suggest you take a seat.”
I huff out an irritated breath, not wanting to follow his directions but uncertain whether I can control my reaction if he follows through with that threat. I enjoyed his mouth a little too much. After only the briefest hesitation, I drop to the floor.
Ethan barks out a laugh. “Wow—I’m not sure whether to be insulted or not.” He crouches in front of me, hands coming to rest on my knees. I allow the contact because it makes me feel safe. “I’m going to see if there’s a light switch in here somewhere. Is that okay?”
“Yes.”
“Put your head between your knees and take some deep breaths.”
When I do as he says, he strokes my hair. Eventually he severs the connection, and then it’s just me in the eerie red darkness. It only takes a moment before pale, bright light filters into my line of vision. I turn my head, focusing on deep breaths even though I’m light-headed. He uses the flashlight on his phone to scan the wall.
In my panic I didn’t even consider that an option. I feel around on the floor for my purse but remember I left it on the counter in the kitchen. Fat lot of good that does me when I’m stuck in here.
Ethan bumps around in the dark until bright light suddenly fills the room. At least now I can see where we’re trapped.
I frown as I take in the space. One wall is lined with shelves containing a variety of canned and packaged food. Everything is neatly organized, labels facing out. I count six cases of water, two cases of ginger ale, which I find odd, and an endless supply of crackers, dried fruit, nuts, and other snacks on top of all the canned food. Under the shelves are totes labeled BEDDING, CLOTHING, and TOILETRIES. “Is this a bunker?”
“I think it’s a panic room,” Ethan replies. “Look at this.”
“Well, that’s fitting,” I mumble, and spin on my butt to check out the other side of the space. The sudden movement makes me dizzy, and I’m forced to put my head between my knees again.
Ethan crouches in front of me and his palms smooth down my shins. “Hey, you okay? You need me to distract you again?”
“Don’t make fun of me.” I blindly smack at him, connecting weakly with his arm. He shifts his hold on my legs, fingertips pressing into my calves, kneading gently. I’m pushed into the past—he was always like this with me, touchy, sweet. He took care of me when no one else did.
“I’m not. I’m sorry we’re stuck in here. We’ll be out soon, okay?”
He starts to remove his hands, but I press my palms to the back of them. “Just let me breathe for a few more seconds.”
“There’s an intercom system and cameras that seem to feed to the whole house. It’s actually pretty weird, to be honest. I had no idea the Hoffmans were paranoid, or part of the mob, or whatever would cause someone to build something so elaborate inside a wine cellar,” he says.
I keep breathing, reminding myself that I’m safe and Ethan is with me. “Was it even on the house layout?”
“I don’t think so. I’m not sure a panic room is much of a selling feature. How you doing?” He brushes my hair back, twisting it out of the way so it’s not hanging in my face, then sweeps his knuckle from the bridge of my nose to the tip. I hum at the sensation. It’s been so long since anyone other than me has done that. I missed the feeling.
“I’m okay. I’m sorry I freaked out.”
He runs his palms up and down my arms. “You don’t have to apologize. I know how confinement makes you feel. Can you look at me?” He touches his finger to my chin, and I lift my head slowly. “There we go. There’s my girl. What time did Carmen say she’d be here?”
“Seven thirty, I think. My phone’s in the kitchen.”
“There isn’t any reception in here.”
“What?”
“It’s a dead zone.” Ethan cringes at his choice of words. “Take another breath. We can watch the cameras and use the intercom when she gets here.”
“What if she’s late?”
“Don’t worry—I’m good at distracting you.”
“You’re not kissing me again.”
He gives me one of his smirky grins. “That wasn’t what I was referring to, but it’s interesting that’s where your head went.”
I give him a look, but I’m still sitting on the floor with my knees pulled to my chest, so I’m unsure how effective it is.
“Why don’t we check this place out while we wait?” He holds out a hand and I accept it, as much to help me to my feet as an excuse to maintain the physical connection.
I’m still a little unsteady, so I grab his shirt with one hand and his forearm with the other to keep upright. I loathe this weakness in me. I try not to think about our current confinement. Instead I focus on Ethan’s palm making slow circles on my back, thumb brushing my skin when he passes under my hair to the V-cut back of my dress. His head drops, and I feel the warmth of his breath on my cheek and the soft brush of his nose in my hair.
“Just keep breathing.”
“You’re making it difficult.” I put my hands on his chest to
push away, but his palm is still on my back, keeping me close.
“I’m just trying to keep you calm.”
“By kissing me.”
“Can you honestly tell me you don’t feel this?” He runs gentle fingers up the length of my arm.
My body betrays me, goose bumps rising on my skin. I step out of his reach. “It doesn’t matter what I feel. You left me.”
“I know and I’m sorry. We were kids, Lilah.”
“I spent my whole life loving you and I got nothing for eight years. Now you want what? To see if things are still the same? They’re not.”
“Some things are.” He moves in close again and brushes his thumb over my bottom lip.
I twist my head away. “You can’t do this. You can’t force me into this discussion when I’m already trapped.”
“You keep dodging this, Lilah. How can I explain when you won’t even give me the chance?”
“An apology won’t make the past disappear.” I pace the perimeter of the room, looking for something that will get me out of here, away from this attraction and all the conflicting emotions that come with being near this man. I hit the button on the wall, the one that closed the door initially. A keypad lights up, so obviously it requires a passcode, which we don’t have.
“Who the fuck made up a stupid system that locks you in a goddamn room?” The panic is starting to set in again.
“Someone paranoid. Lilah—” He reaches out, but when I hold up a hand, he stops, arm dropping to his side. “Just give me a chance to explain why.”
I spin around, anger finally overriding the panic, frustrated at his insistence that we talk about this now, that I’m stuck in here with him, that he’s kissed me, and that despite the adrenaline and the fear, I liked it and want it to happen again.
“What part do you want to explain? Why you broke up with me like a coward over the phone and I never saw you again until you were forced to move back here? Why you stopped talking to me? Why all of a sudden you seem so interested in being my friend again, or whatever you want to call this?” I gesture wildly between us.
The Good Luck Charm Page 7
