by Avery Flynn
Dylan walked over, waving his hand in Rod's face. "I said, drop 'em. Time to stretch out and cool down. Where's your brain today?"
"Trying to figure out which teams might still need a goalie."
Dylan tossed him a towel and then grabbed another and rubbed it over his face. "Sorry, bud. I know something good will come up. You had a winning record this season—"
"Yeah, all of the twenty-two games I started in."
"And," Dylan continued without batting an eye, "you're part of the Cup team. You're definitely a contender, so don't worry."
"You don't think I should stay put in New Orleans, do you?" He studied Dylan's face. His brother was two years older, but had been in the league a lot longer, and would tell him the truth.
"With the way you're wording it, and that expression on your face? No way. I know you love your teammates, but you're not happy as a back-up so you won't be happy if you stay. I think testing the waters is smart. You're good enough to be a starter. You'll get an opportunity."
"I hope so." His agent had thought so, too. But Dylan's words left him feeling more settled. When he'd joined the Rage after bouncing around the minors for a few years, they were the league's newest expansion team, and as such, weren't expected to do much. Fast forward three seasons and they'd captured the championship. Defying the odds. Luck had smiled on him once, surely it could happen again—right?
"Better go shower. Mom sent a text. Brunch is at eleven-thirty."
Less than half an hour later, they stood in their parents' living room. His dad came in, holding a mug of coffee. "Right on time. Your mother's been in the kitchen all morning and is insisting we use the fancy plates. I'm recruiting you both to help me with dish duty after we eat."
His mom called out a hello, then rushed into the room, wiping her hands on a tea towel. Rod hugged his dad first, then bent and folded her into a hug.
Coming home had been smart. No need to constantly keep on that media-ready smile, or keep that perennially happy persona of the lovable goalie who was satisfied with only playing a quarter of the season's games. He didn't have to be anything other than himself here.
Mom pulled back and then ruffled his hair. "I made blueberry pancakes, bacon, sweet potato quiche, fruit salad, and Grandma's famous biscuits."
All of that, from a woman who liked sleeping in as late as possible on weekends. "Whoa, cool. And here I would've been fine with just coffee."
Dylan clapped him on the shoulder. "For you, she spends hours in the kitchen and sets the table with the good china. When I stop by, I get cereal or a box of donuts and the everyday dishes."
Rod shrugged. "Are you still showing up and raiding their fridge on a regular basis? That might have something to do with it."
Dylan winked at him and then turned to their mother. "Hey, Mom. You don't drop everything and run over to hug me when I walk in the door."
"Hush. I haven't seen my boy in months." She hugged Rod again, then herded them into the dining room rather than the kitchen. The table was set with the gold-edged plates reserved mainly for holidays. Mom was doing everything short of rolling out an actual red carpet. They were a kitchen table kind of family about three hundred and sixty days of the year.
His family knew him well—the coffee carafe was set in front of his plate. Rod reached for it. "Where's Kelsey?"
"She's on her way, and said to start eating without her." Mom pushed a small bottle across the table. "Rod, I bought that brand of pancake syrup you like."
"Favorite child." Dylan covered the words with a cough, blue eyes twinkling with laughter. He settled into the seat next to Rod and helped himself to the coffee.
Mom ruffled Dylan's dark hair as she walked by. "I love all my children the same."
"That true?" Rod looked at his dad. The toughest hockey player of his era, he was a giant softie where it came to his kids, especially Kelsey. His baby sister had their dad wrapped around her little finger.
His dad grunted and shrugged. "Every parent's favorite child is the one who is sick or the one who is away."
Dylan stabbed his fork through a pancake. "So you're telling me that I need to get traded or injured before I'll get special, made-from-scratch feasts?"
"No need to go that far. You could just come down with a cold." Rod offered the suggestion as he loaded up his plate.
Dylan coughed twice, then added the worst fake sneeze Rod had ever heard.
His mother arched an eyebrow at Dylan. "You're fine. Pass the biscuits."
Rod cracked up and snatched a biscuit as the plate passed by.
It felt good to be home.
The front door opened, followed by footsteps and female voices. He straightened in his chair. Not just Kelsey, but Arielle too. Now the extra place setting made sense.
Kelsey and Arielle came in, carrying white pastry boxes. His sister set hers on the table, then eyed the spread. "Geez, is it some holiday that I don't know about? If I'd known you were making all this, I wouldn't have stopped at the bakery." She rounded the table, bending to hug her parents along the way.
Arielle met his gaze and color rose high in her cheeks. A form-fitting t-shirt the color of coffee and denim shorts faded at the seams made his hands itch to uncover the curves on her petite frame. Was she thinking about that kiss? He sure was. Her mouth looked as soft as he remembered.
Rod nudged the box Arielle had set down. "What did you bring?"
"Chocolate chip biscotti and anisette toast from that Italian bakery on Front Street. An art supply store opened next to it. I needed to pick up some new supplies to finish the mural on the side of the coffee shop."
"I can't wait to see it." He stood and filled a mug with coffee for her, lingering for a second while their fingers brushed, and she murmured her thanks.
"Since you're now playing server, give me a refill." Dylan's voice reminded him they weren't alone.
He passed the pot to his brother, then took his seat across from Arielle and tried to concentrate on eating. Talk turned to the Bedlam, as it always did when his family got together. Dylan played center on the first line for the team, their dad was still involved with the team in various roles—had been ever since his playing days, their mom worked year-round for the team charities, and Kelsey worked in the player services department. He was the odd man out. Playing for the hometown team—his dad's team, his brother's team—had always been a dream, but they had a hot-shot rookie All-Star goalie, so no way was that dream coming true.
"Rod, are you ready for your day with the Cup?" His dad's voice broke into his thoughts. "The things the guys and I did with it back when we won…" Laughing, he shook his head. His father's team had won the Cup when Rod was a toddler. He'd heard the stories countless times over the years, and never grew tired of them.
"It's still a week away, but yeah, I'm excited." While some guys went a little crazy with their day, he was planning on keeping his simple.
Dylan grinned. "Remember the time you went bungee-jumping? Think you'll try that again with the trophy?"
"I think the league would freak out if there was a chance I'd somehow drop the Cup, let alone get myself killed, so no."
"How about the summer you spent racing cars at the track? You'd get some great pictures doing that with the three-foot-tall silver trophy riding shot-gun." Dad's suggestion made him smile.
"I think I'll keep it low-key."
Arielle set her mug down. "Every member of your team gets a day with the Cup?"
"Yeah. Edwin Motz, the Keeper of the Cup who travels with it everywhere, is supposed to show up around eight in the morning next Sunday. I'm planning on taking it to Ben's coffee shop, then here, then later in the day there's a ceremony at the high school where they're going to retire my number. The principal said he invited all the members of the back-to-back state champs, but I don't know which guys are coming, aside from Ben and Dylan." He had no idea if Matt would show up or how Arielle would react if he did.
She met his gaze and sipped her coffee but di
dn't comment.
"Anyway, it's mine until midnight." And hopefully, he would be able to hide his frustration at not being allowed a single minute of ice time during the entire playoff run, or how he felt isolated from the win.
"I know Ben will love it if you stop by the shop. So will Jacob."
"Ari, how's Jacob doing?" His mother sent her a warm smile. Everyone loved Jacob. His parents had pretty much adopted him as an honorary grandchild.
"Since his regular babysitter is spending the summer in Florida, I've been helping Ben out with watching him during the day. The kids on the block have been playing street hockey every day. They've let him play a few times, and now Jacob wants to start ice hockey too. My brother signed him up for a team and is looking for secondhand equipment for him."
His dad nodded. "Best to do that and see if he likes it before shelling out the cash for new gear. Hockey is an expensive sport."
Rod dunked a piece of the anisette toast into his coffee. "What position does he want to play?"
"Goalie. Like you."
He grinned, flattered. "Smart kid. The best position."
"For crazy people." Dylan nudged him, laughing. "Give me five minutes with the kid, and I'll convince him that forwards are better."
"Better? Dude, eat something else, you're obviously delusional from hunger." Rod tossed a biscuit at Dylan's head, and his brother caught it with a quick snap of his wrist. "Ari, come over to the house with me after brunch. I kept a lot of my old equipment. Jacob can have it."
"Oh, that's okay, I don't want to bother—"
"You said yourself that Ben wants secondhand. I have the stuff. Jacob might as well use it." He willed her to agree. As soon as he got her alone, they were going to talk about that kiss, and see if she'd had enough time to think about it. He didn't want to rush her, but his line of thinking was, "let's do it again."
Arielle nodded and treated him to another smile. "Thanks."
Rod grinned and grabbed a refill on his coffee. Helping out his best friend was a given. Ben was like a brother to him. And if it gave him more time to spend with Arielle, well, then he'd take any opportunity he could to let her see that she could trust him and he wouldn't hurt her.
3
Arielle followed Rod into the sprawling brick house he shared with his brother. She was still dazed by his admission from the night before, and by that kiss that had scorched her senses. Could he really have had a thing for her for as long as he'd claimed? Even with the number of women he probably had interested in him? A number that was undoubtedly higher than the amount who'd hung around Matt in the minors.
She shoved her hands into her back pockets and fought that revulsion twisting her stomach. Matt—the lying, cheating bastard—was history now.
Focusing on the house gave her a moment to clear her thoughts. She'd been there before, tagging along with Kelsey or Ben, but never on her own. The colors were a blend of grays and blues, the furniture sparse but comfortable, and decorations non-existent, except for a few pieces of hockey memorabilia.
Rod turned to her and grinned, and her breath caught in her throat at the way his blue eyes sparked and how his cheeks creased with that sexy smile.
He gestured toward the kitchen. "Coffee?"
No matter that he'd consumed three cups with their brunch. Some things never changed. His love affair with the caffeinated brew was well-known among the hockey community and fans, thanks to the coffee cup decal on his goalie mask, and in any photograph or interview, he always had a cup in hand. He'd also been the first investor in her brother's coffee shop. Thinking about Ben led to thinking about Jacob, and then to the goalie equipment. "You don't have to bother. I can't stay long anyway."
Not that she had plans for afterward, but spending too much time with Rod probably wasn't smart. It made her want things she wasn't sure she was ready for.
"Drinking a cup of coffee doesn't take that much time. I have iced coffee in the fridge. Have some." He grabbed two glasses from the cabinet, then poured black coffee from a pitcher. "You take cream and sugar, right?"
"Extra sweet." She joined him at the counter, hyper-aware of the play of muscles in his arms and the way his gray shirt hugged his torso. He was tall and strong and looked capable of conquering anything. Including her resolve.
He turned, and his smile winged up at the corner. "You tasted pretty sweet to me last night."
Heat flushed into her cheeks, and she fought the urge to drop her gaze. "Rod."
Rod set the cream and sugar down and shifted closer. "Thinking about last night as much as I am?"
"No." Liar. She backed up until her back pressed against the pantry door.
"No? Then why do you have goosebumps on your skin?"
She rubbed her arms. "It's cold in here."
"Try again. Cold wouldn't make your breath catch."
Cold wouldn't, but awareness would. And boy, was she aware. So aware it wasn't funny. "The front steps were steep?"
His lips twitched. "All four of them? One more chance."
Her gaze landed on the coffees. "Too much caffeine?"
"No such thing." He moved toward her again, eyes gleaming, but she raised her hand, and he stopped in his tracks.
Arielle took one step in his direction. At twenty-six years old, she should know what she wanted, should be able to articulate it as easily as she spoke when discussing art, but she couldn't, not yet. "I am thinking about last night. A lot. But I'm still not sure what to do about it."
He held her gaze for a moment, and she shivered again under that cool scrutiny. Eventually, he nodded and tucked his hands into his front pockets, then pulled them out again and smiled. "Doctor up your coffee, and then I'll show you the stuff for Jacob."
Iced coffees in hand, he led her down the hall and into a large room filled with old hockey equipment, art supplies and a drafting table, a guitar and a large amp, skis, a snowboard, rock climbing gear, and countless other objects. For as long as she'd known him, he'd always gone full throttle into any new idea or hobby, buying the best equipment or supplies right off, and then casting them aside when interest waned. And his interest ranged from a one-time occurrence to three weeks or three months, tops. Except for hockey, his passion.
His words from the previous evening made her want more, but what if he cast her aside, too?
As far as she knew, he'd never dated anyone for long.
Her ex had promised forever but never delivered, stringing her along in case a better option opened up. Rod, for all his declarations and soul-stirring kisses, didn't know where he'd end up playing in another month's time. She'd learned the hard way that she had to protect herself first. No matter how much she wanted him, giving in wouldn't be smart.
She threaded her way through the storage room of interests-past, sipping the cold coffee in hopes it would fill the hollowness in her gut.
"I don't have old skates. Jacob should have a new pair anyway." Rod picked up some child-sized goalie pads. "These are pretty beat up, and so is that old hockey stick. I'll get him something better."
"They're fine."
"No. Not for him." He rubbed his hand through his hair. "The more that I look at this old equipment, the more battered and worn it is. Nostalgia clearly worked as camouflage. But look at the scratches and worn spots and ripped seams. Come on, we'll take a ride and pick up some new equipment."
"Rod…really, this stuff is fine. We don't even know if he's going to like playing."
"He's Ben's son. He'll like playing." He carefully stacked the equipment in the corner, then turned to her with the light of battle in his gaze. "Look, Ben's busting his ass providing for Jacob. If I want to buy my godson some hockey equipment, I can."
She couldn't argue with that, especially considering that she pulled the godmother card with Ben whenever she wanted to give something to Jacob. "All right."
A victorious smile flashed across his face, then he bent and kissed her. A firm, quick brush of his lips that seemed to surprise him as much as it su
rprised her. But then he eased away and picked up his coffee. "Good. Let's finish these and then go."
They spent over an hour in the sporting goods store while he examined equipment and made selections. Several people recognized Rod and wanted pictures or autographs. Arielle hung back while he fielded questions ranging from winning the Cup to what type of hockey program he'd recommend for kids to what brand of equipment he preferred. She'd never been comfortable in the spotlight and envied Rod's ease at being the center of attention. He handled himself well, confident and cracking jokes, but the way he spoke to each person—the caring and attention—pulled her in.
Then, he literally pulled her in—clasping her hand and drawing her to his side. His other hand hefted the bags bulging with goalie pads, pants, skates, stick, and a mask. "There are a few other stores we can hit. I want to pick up a new jersey for him."
"He already has jerseys. A Cajun Rage one with your name and number and a Bedlam one with Dylan's name and number."
"Well, now he'll get one that has his own name on the back." He gently tugged her hand when she didn't move. "Come on, we're supposed to spoil him."
Beneath his generosity, something quiet and unsteady lurked in his gaze, needing to be soothed. She couldn't turn away. "Why not? Maybe I'll get him some new art supplies too."
She needed to watch her pennies, but something small for Jacob could factor into her budget. Her student loans had left her with a mountain of debt, the car loan she'd needed to take out hadn't helped, and the fact that she was still crashing at Ben's because she couldn't afford her own place, added stress on top of stress. The job at the high school had to come through. She wasn't sure what she'd do otherwise. She'd been on other interviews for various positions but no one wanted to give her a chance.
"Now you're talking." Rod's voice broke into her thoughts. His smile and presence instantly lifted her mood. He pulled her into the next shop. Then another. Then two more.
Arielle had to admit that shopping with Rod was fun. Was that all this would be—a whirlwind of sexy fun until he headed back to New Orleans or to some other corner of the States or Canada?
