by Lynda Aicher
“We’re going to finish our snack,” Jack said, snagging his brother’s arm as he backed away. His eyes darted to their mother, who gave a nod. That was all they needed to tear back to the kitchen.
Scott straightened, a quick wince pulling his face before he flexed his knee. “I wasn’t expecting you, Nat.” He crossed the room to give her a hug that lasted past the obligatory length.
Dang it. He got along with his family too. The bond between the siblings looked much like the one she had with Rock. Yet another thing they both valued and had in common. It drew her to him even more while springing more doubts about his single status. Was pro hockey that demanding it’d allowed no time for him to build his own family?
“We were in St. Paul,” Natalie said when she broke away. “The announcement’s all over the radio stations. I couldn’t go home without checking on you.” She stared at her brother, concern lining her brow. “What’s going on? Is everything okay?”
Scott’s smile was forced, his reassurance brittle. “I’ll be fine.” He motioned to Rachel. “I take it you’ve met Rachel?”
“Yes,” they said in unison.
Rachel laughed, if only to break the tension that circled the room. “How about I grab some drinks and I’ll meet you guys outside.” Her sense of being an intruder was growing in large leaps. “I’ll give Rock a call and have him come pick me up,” she added as she passed Scott.
He grabbed her arm, halting her departure. “Why?” His confusion etched across his face. “I can take you back if you need to leave.”
She laid her hand on his arm, using the contact to communicate her sincerity. “I don’t want to be in your way.”
“You’re not.” The earnest demand in his tone and gaze had her unease settling.
“We can’t stay long,” Natalie inserted. “The boys have hockey practice this afternoon. That’s why we’re in town,” she added, looking to Scott. “Jack needed new skates and pads, and your equipment discount is worth the hour drive.” She shot an honest smile at Rachel, then headed toward the kitchen. “I’m going to check on the boys. They’ve been quiet for too long.”
Scott skimmed his hand up Rachel’s arm to cup her cheek once his sister disappeared into the kitchen. It was impossible not to press into it. “Sorry I zoned out there for a bit. I—”
“It’s all right,” she rushed in to reassure him. “I can’t image the pressure you’re dealing with.”
He shrugged. “It comes with the territory.”
“Still sucks.”
His chuckle was wry. “That it does.” He tugged her into a hug, arms wrapped tight around her.
She snuggled into his warmth and tried to return the comfort. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
He lifted her chin to press a kiss to her lips. “You being here is help.” The perfect line for the moment. But was it just that, a line?
She hid her doubt behind the sarcastic laughter she tried to hold in. “That has got to be one of the cheesiest lines a sober man has ever said to me.”
A light stain of red crept over his cheeks before he ducked his head. His lips were next to her ear when he murmured, “Behave.”
“Or what?” The clean scent of his soap brought up tantalizing thoughts of getting naked with him in the shower, something she’d woken too late to do this morning.
“You don’t want to find out,” he warned. A sharp swat to her bottom had her gaping. He swooped in to capture her retort in a probing kiss that erased all memory of the light sting on her butt.
She hummed her approval. If he considered this a type of punishment, then she was completely on board.
“Stay,” he said after the kiss ended. She was pleased to note he was as breathless as her, and the worry that’d clouded his eyes was gone. “Please.”
“Okay.” There was no other answer she could give. She would set aside her own insecurities and fears for now. “But you owe me ice cream after this.”
He barked out a laugh, one full of honest humor. Dang. She loved that she could give that to him.
“How do you figure?” he asked.
She tipped her head toward the kitchen. “I survived the sibling interrogation dressed in your T-shirt.” She lifted her brows, not needing to say more.
He cringed and nodded. “Ice cream it is.”
“Woot.” She did a little victory jig on the way to the kitchen, his chuckle urging her on. “They’d better have pistachio too.”
“Pistachio, huh?”
“Yup.”
“Is this part of my tour?”
She pretended to think for a moment, finger pressed to her chin. “Consider it another side excursion.”
“If it’s anything like our last side trip, I’m already a fan.” He tapped her bottom when he snuck past her to reach the kitchen first. “Hey! You found the chocolate milk.” He pointed to his nephews, jaw dropped in exaggerated shock.
Her heart did a silly little flip as she watched him joke with the boys. Kids, like marriage, were something she’d always assumed she’d have, but she’d never intentionally take on the task by herself. Her longing for a family of her own rushed up so fast she almost choked on the suppressed desire.
For just a moment, a second really, she let Scott into that vision. The picture hitched her breath and clenched her heart. It was too perfect, considering how long she’d known him. She was being foolish, dreaming when she knew better.
It still didn’t stop her from grinning like the fool she was when she stepped into the fray to grab a cheese curl out of the pile spilled across his bar. Life was too short to worry about the maybes and what-ifs. Things would go as they were meant to, and she’d learned it was better to simply enjoy the moment than to worry about the future.
It’d get here soon enough.
Chapter Twelve
Water evaporated from Rachel’s skin in a refreshing chill as she quickly dried herself off. Her fantasy of showering with Scott still hadn’t manifested two days later. Turned out he was an extremely early riser, and she’d thought her 6:00 a.m. internal alarm clock was obnoxious. Apparently, his was even worse, given he’d been long gone from bed when she’d awoken the last three mornings.
A smile snuck over her lips, which she refused to let guilt squash. She’d spent most of her time with Scott since their first date, instead of Rock and Carter. But the two men were both working, and she was having fun with Scott. A lot of fun.
And sex—lots of amazing sex with more orgasms than she could count.
He was definitely the most attentive lover she’d ever had. And giving. Selfish was not in his vocabulary when it came to sex. His obsession with her piercing was a win for both of them.
Her body still hummed from the three—no, four—orgasms he’d given her last night. The only odd thing was his refusal to let her reciprocate or lead in any way. Apparently that was one of his quirks, and she probably wouldn’t be around long enough to unravel it.
And there went some of her happy buzz.
She wrapped the towel around her, eyes squeezing closed against the dreams that continued to build. It didn’t matter how many times she told herself to keep it light and fun, her heart wasn’t listening.
Stupid heart.
Because better than the sex was just being with him. Laughing and sharing his life. From making dinner to reading curled up together on his couch, he made it too dang easy to picture a future with him. One with two-point-five kids and a dog and the white picket fence in front of a house in the burbs.
And all the dreams wouldn’t get her anywhere but back in Atlanta with a broken heart. She could ask, “Why him? Why now?” After all the years of looking, why did she have to find “The Guy” when there was little chance of anything becoming of their relationship?
Not when he lived over a thousand miles away from her and she didn’t believe in long-distance relationships.
And that wasn’t the here and now. She refused to let the pending end ruin the present. Flat-out would
not let it happen. This was too good—he was too good—to walk away from.
Not until she had to.
The air conditioning cooled her further when she stepped into his bedroom. A glance at her blouse lying forgotten in a pile on the floor had her cringing. She really should bring a change of clothes, but that seemed presumptuous, given how short they’d known each other. Even if it did feel like they’d been together for months, not days.
She swiped her clothes off the floor and shook out her shorts, eyeing them up. They’d pass until Scott took her back to Rock’s. At least she’d been smart enough to stash clean underwear in her purse—which was still downstairs.
She cracked the bedroom door open, debated on if she should go get them or wait until later. Music floated up from below, a mellow rock song from a few years back. The distinct scent of coffee and bacon had her inhaling deeper. Her stomach growled, making her decision for her.
Underwear could wait.
The dresser drawer slid out easily, the second from the top. She’d found it the first day and had borrowed a T-shirt from it every morning since. She chuckled at herself. Like she’d really had to debate that option. Having his scent around her was both comforting and personal. Intimate. She liked that too much as well.
The top four T-shirts were all white, and those wouldn’t work so well without a bra. Well... No.
She dug down, pushed a few aside to reach the gray one beneath. She tugged it out, ready to get to breakfast. To kiss him good morning and discuss their day, which would hopefully involve spending most of it with him.
The drawer was half-closed when she caught sight of the sealed baggie peeking out between the two stacks of shirts. It was just a corner of a clear bag. A small amount of white pills visible. It could be anything. Vitamins. Allergy meds. Something herbal. And he’d hide those among his T-shirts for what reason?
Her breath caught, hand freezing. The other clutched the acquired shirt to her chest, pulse taking off as curiosity morphed to understanding.
Was this his flaw? What’d she’d missed or had refused to see?
She backed away, eyes glued to the half-opened drawer, mind spinning. Did she look further? Pretend she hadn’t seen them? Ignore what was becoming too clear?
Her legs gave out when she hit the bed and she plopped down on it. Slow breaths. It wasn’t that big of a deal. Only a few pills.
Of what?
Hidden in a drawer.
Bits and pieces of inconsequential actions merged together to form a picture she didn’t want to see. Him rubbing his knee, limping and cringing when he thought she wasn’t watching. The constricted pupils she’d brushed off to lighting. The mint tin he always carried but she’d never seen him use.
She forced herself to swallow. Slow down her crazy thoughts and be logical. He was a professional athlete. They had drug testing.
And it was his off-season.
Did they test now? What exactly did they test for? Steroids and performance-enhancing drugs were a given. Illegal drugs were also obvious.
But what was in his drawer?
She glanced at the door, still half opened. That quickly, her guilt rushed up to damn her. She’d immediately assumed the worst after finding one bag of...something. The pills could be anything. Was it even her business?
She blew out a long breath, took another to calm herself and shut down her rampant thoughts. Students had surprising access to just about everything now, and she had yearly training on spotting and dealing with drug use and abuse.
This she could handle.
He’d never acted drugged up. Erratic or emotional. There wasn’t any jittering or jumpy movements or unaccounted lethargy—all classic tells of drug use. But that depended on the drug of choice, person and quantity consumed.
She slipped the T-shirt on that was still clutched in her hand, pausing a moment to inhale his scent. It calmed her more. Reminded her of his good qualities and how incredible he made her feel. Only then did she take the four steps back to the dresser.
Her heart pounded a beat of warning she ignored. The drawer eased out, casters rolling to reveal the damning bag.
Her stomach rolled before she forced her nerves back. She had to know. Right or wrong, good or bad, she had to know or she’d stew on it until it drove her crazy with doubts and ruined the rest of their time together.
She edged the shirts aside to expose the entire baggie. Sandwich-sized, there was about a half inch of white, oblong pills in the bottom. She leaned down to study them, afraid for some stupid reason to touch the bag. There was only a number on one side of the pills. No name or anything else to identify them. Still, it was enough information for her to do a quick internet search later and identify exactly what they were.
She blew out another breath, memorized the number then rearranged the T-shirts over the bag with shaking hands. Yes, she could take them down and demand to know what they were. And what would that accomplish? Prove that she’d been snooping in his stuff? That she didn’t trust him?
That she was pushing herself into his life when they’d never agreed to more than a short stint of fun? An escape from hockey—that was it. Even if she was sprinting down the path of forgotten dreams and letting her hopes get away from her, she had no right to barge in and demand anything of him.
She slid the drawer closed and let it go.
Or tried to.
She hung up her damp towel, borrowed his hair gel and did what she could with her hair until her mind spun back to the pills. A harsh puff of sarcastic air rushed from her lungs. That’d lasted a whole three minutes, maybe four. Could she do it? Ignore what she knew and still have fun with him?
At least she knew what his flaw was. He definitely wasn’t perfect if he did have a drug problem. If—that was the big question.
She was jumping to conclusions based on a few pills hidden in a drawer. One bag. Were there more?
Almost against her will, she pulled open every drawer under the bathroom counter, one after another, heart racing again. None of them revealed a glaring bag of guilt. Her raw chuckle echoed in the tile bath. A little too manic for her liking. And what had she expected? A gallon-sized bag of narcotics sitting out for her to find?
Suspicion still had her shoving the hand towels aside and digging through the washcloths. Her heart did a quick leap when she found another baggie. A small number of the same white oblong pills showed through the clear plastic to damn him further.
She slammed the drawer shut, hand shaking again.
She sank onto the closed lid of the toilet, a numbness sweeping over her as her mind spun.
It still didn’t mean anything. He didn’t act like a druggie. He wasn’t violent or mean. In fact, he was exactly the opposite. Gentle and sweet. Caring and attentive.
Her debate raged on in an infinite loop of pros and cons, doubts and insistence. She had no idea how long she sat there, mind reeling then backtracking.
“Hey.”
She jerked up at Scott’s voice. Guilt raced up to kick-start her pulse as she stared wide-eyed at the man she’d thought she’d known.
In what? Three days? Maybe four if she counted Saturday night.
His brows drew down. “Are you okay?” He stepped into the bathroom, concern gentling his approach.
Was she? Did she say something? Ask him about the pills? Tell him to take her back to Rock’s?
He kneeled in front of her, his good knee taking his weight. Good knee. He had a bad knee. One that required a brace after years of physical abuse in the name of his profession.
He cupped her face to peer into her eyes. His were clear, the light blue unhindered by haze, the pupils normal. Was she jumping to conclusions that weren’t there?
“What’s going on?”
She wet her lips, debate spiraling until she opened her mouth. “Nothing.” She forced a smile and leaned in to kiss him. His lips were warm on hers, so familiar now. Everything about him was familiar. Welcomed and too much like home.
H
e leaned back, eyes narrowed. “Are you sure? You looked lost when I came in.”
So lost she hadn’t heard him approach. “Just feeling guilty about blowing off Rock and Carter,” she bluffed, grabbing the first excuse that came to her.
“I thought they were both working.”
“They are.” She shrugged, nodding. “But how do you feel about having dinner with them tonight?” Were they even available? Now that it was out, she hoped so. Rock and Carter would give her their honest opinions on Scott. Validate her new fears or reinforce the good things she already knew about him.
“Sure.” He stood, taking her hand and leading her from the bathroom. “I’m fine with that.”
“We don’t have to.”
He turned back to her. “I wouldn’t agree if I didn’t want to.” He kissed her this time, a slow appeasement that flowed into her blood to chase away a large dose of her worries. “I can share you.”
Her bark of laughter was low. “I thought I was the one who’d have to share you,” she joked, because despite him being a famous athlete with a career in limbo, there had been no one besides his sister knocking on his door to check on him. Not even reporters. Was that normal, or was he hiding and dodging really well?
“Right.” He rolled his eyes and continued out of the bedroom. She shot one last glance at the dresser, doubt kicking her again before she shoved it aside.
No, she wasn’t being naive or blind. Nor was she going to jump on him for some made-up infraction. For all she knew, those pills were old and he’d forgotten about them.
Or it was a really big secret he hid from everyone.
Either way, they had three days left, and she wasn’t going to ruin them by throwing out unfounded accusations. This was her bubble—their bubble—and she was too happy to pop it before it was necessary. The end was coming too fast as it was.
Yet another thing she consciously chose to ignore while savoring the now.
And her adamant insistence to let it go would likely work about as well as her refusal to let her heart get involved with their little fling.
