“I—” She stopped, her teeth nibbling on her lower lip as she stared at her hands. Another deep breath, another long sigh. “I’m an idiot. I’m sorry.”
What was that supposed to mean? Dillon had no idea. But he could feel her emotions, clear across the table. Thick and heavy, full of regret. And remorse. And confusion.
Or maybe he was just reading into things.
“I still don’t understand what I did. I thought we were having fun.”
“It’s not—you didn’t do anything. And we were.” Maggie still wouldn’t look at him but at least she was talking. Was that a good sign?
“Then what happened?”
“Nothing. I just…” Her voice trailed off and she reached for the tea, taking a small sip. She put the glass down but didn’t say anything else.
“You just—what?”
“Nothing, I just—” Again the pause, like she was stuck on those three words.
Dillon sighed and ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “Just what, Maggie? Can you at least tell me that much?”
“I just figured I’d beat you to it, that’s all.”
“Beat me to what?” But Dillon didn’t need to ask, not really. Anger swept through him, fast and searing. He leaned forward and forced the words through his clenched jaw. “You thought I was going to dump you? Why? Why would you think that?”
“I just…I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?” Dillon repeated the words then sat back, shaking his head. “You don’t know. Great. That’s just fucking great. What the hell did I do to even make you think that? Tell me. What?”
“Nothing. Okay?” Maggie’s head shot up, emotion finally showing in her eyes. Not anger, like he had expected. What he saw was regret, self-crimination, sorrow.
And something else, something that made the breath leave him in a rush. She blinked but didn’t look away, didn’t hide anything. “You didn’t do anything. It was me. I overreacted and got scared and…and…I’m sorry.”
The anger left him as swiftly as it had appeared. He searched his mind for something to say, his heart racing at the memory of what he saw in her eyes. Was he reading into it? Seeing things that weren’t really there?
“If you were scared, why didn’t you say something?”
“Because I didn’t know how to. What was I supposed to do? Come out and ask if you were ready to call things quits?”
“If you were that worried about it then yeah, you should have.”
Maggie laughed, the sound short and full of sorrow. “And have you laugh at me and tell me yeah, you were only using me? No thanks, I’ve had that happen before.”
And suddenly it made sense. An awful, gut-wrenching sense that left him feeling cold inside. Cold, and even a little angry. Angry at the past. Angry at whatever asshole had been ignorant enough to do that to her. And even a little angry at her, for letting the past color her judgement of him.
He leaned forward and almost reached for her hand. Almost. But not yet. “Maggie, I’m not that stupid kid from your past.”
“I know that.”
“Do you? I don’t think you do. If you did, you wouldn’t have jumped to a conclusion that was so far from the fucking truth that it might as well be on Pluto.”
“I know that! I mean, my brain does. Mostly. But everything else…” She glanced up at him, then back down to her fidgeting hands.
“I thought you trusted me.”
“I do. I did.”
“Which is it?”
“Huh?”
“Which is it? Do, present tense? Or did, past tense?”
“Do.” Maggie nodded, her brows pulled low over her eyes, like she could drive home the point if she looked serious enough. Then she sighed and looked away. “Although I guess it doesn’t matter now, does it?”
“Why doesn’t it matter?”
“Because I totally messed things up. I know that. Cindy said for someone who’s such a brainiac, I’m pretty pathetic when it comes to people. She’s right.”
Dillon bit the inside of his cheek to keep the smile from spreading across his face. He cleared his throat and tried to look serious. “You’re not expecting me to argue with that, are you?”
“I—” Maggie’s mouth snapped shut, an array of emotions crossing her face. She sighed and looked away, her shoulders slumping. “No.”
Dillon hid his laugh with a harsh cough then slid off the bench. He didn’t miss the disappointment that crossed Maggie’s face when he stood. She thought he was leaving, he could see that as clearly as he saw everything else on her face. But he still wasn’t sure if he was really seeing it, or if he was only hoping he was seeing it.
Her eyes widened as he stepped around the booth and slid in next to her. She scooted across, her shoulder hitting the wall. Dillon didn’t stop, just kept sliding next to her until their hips were wedged tightly together. He shifted sideways and draped his arm around her shoulders, leaning in so close their noses almost touched. Maggie blinked and looked away, another blush staining her cheeks.
“Maggie. Look at me.”
“No, I’m good.”
“Look at me.”
“I don’t think—”
“I don’t want you to think. I want you to feel.” He reached for her trembling hand and placed it on his chest. He held it there, just over his heart. “Now look at me.”
She hesitated, chewing on her lower lip again for a few long seconds. Then, slowly, almost as if she was afraid, she raised her eyes and met his own gaze.
There were so many emotions flashing through the wide brown eyes looking back at him. Hesitation. Fright. Confusion. Bewilderment. Hope.
But it was the last one, the one he thought he saw, that mattered most. Dillon swallowed back his own fear and hesitation and pressed a quick kiss against her mouth. “Don’t tell me what you think. Don’t tell me what you think I think. Tell me what you feel. What you want.”
“I—” She closed her mouth, glanced away, swallowed. Looked back. “I wish I could go back and do things over.”
“Do things over?”
She nodded, swallowed again as color rose on her cheeks. “Yeah. To…to not be a pathetic, stupid, idiot.”
Dillon couldn’t stop the quick grin from passing across his lips. “Does that mean you still want to see me?”
Maggie looked away, nodding.
“You’re cheating. Look at me.”
“But—”
“Look at me.”
Maggie turned her head, something flashing in her eyes that made Dillon chuckle. He wouldn’t be surprised if she actually rolled her eyes at him. Good, that meant his Maggie was finally coming back to life.
“Does that mean you still want to see me?”
“Yes. Yes, it does.” She nodded, reiterating the words. But he could still see some of the hesitation in her eyes, almost as if she was afraid he would say no. Or change his mind.
“Good.” He leaned forward and captured her mouth with his, the kiss soft and warm and over much too soon. He pulled away and reached for money Ethan had tossed back at him a few minutes earlier. He tucked it under one of the glasses then stood up, her hand still in his.
“Where are we going?”
“Back to your place. To make a phone call.”
Her steps faltered as confusion flashed in her eyes. “You need to make a phone call?”
“Yeah. We both do.”
“I don’t understand.”
Dillon pulled her outside, pausing in the warm afternoon sun that beat down on them. “You owe me a raincheck.”
“A rain—” Her eyes widened as understanding dawned. She looked around then leaned closer. “From my apartment? Together? But we’ll be, you know, together.”
“Not if I lock myself in the bathroom. Come on, let’s go.”
Maggie leaned into him, laughing. “That’s totally insane.”
“I know, isn’t it? But I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it so that’s what I want to do r
ight now.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously. Unless you don’t want to—”
“No! No, I do.”
“Perfect. Now let’s find those two so we can get a ride back to your place.”
And if a raincheck was the only thing Maggie was expecting, she was going to be even more surprised. Collecting on the raincheck was just the beginning of everything he had planned for her. And if things went well…
Yeah, if things went well, she’d never doubt him—or herself—again.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Maggie sat on the edge of the chair, her hands clasped in front of her, and looked around. She was in an empty locker room in the lower level of the arena with more than twenty other people. The hockey game—Dillon’s last home game of the season—was playing out upstairs. She had no idea what was going on, no real idea why she was down here with all these other people when she should be upstairs watching the end of the game with Cindy.
All she knew was that the people around her were excited for some reason. Cindy had been excited too, when a trio of girls—and really, she had no idea hockey teams had cheerleaders, although Cindy had called them a dance team—approached her during the second half-time.
No, not half-time. Intermission. That’s right, it was called an intermission.
Whatever it was called, the girls had approached her, waving sparkly blue pom-poms and smiling and laughing. They gave her an envelope and everyone around them started clapping and cheering. Maggie had looked around, wondering what was going on, then tried to open the envelope.
Cindy—and a handful of other people around them—yelled at her. No, she couldn’t open the envelope yet. She had to wait. And then the cheerleaders—dance team—led her away.
Apparently, she had won something, like everyone else down here waiting. Somebody had said something about “shirts off their backs” but Maggie wasn’t quite sure what that meant. All she knew was that this was supposed to be a really cool thing to win.
She’d rather be upstairs, watching the game. She had just figured out how to keep her eyes on the puck when it was being batted back and forth, and now she was missing it.
A muffled horn echoed somewhere above them, followed by a loud din. People cheering? She thought so. Did Dillon’s team score again? What if it was Dillon, and she missed it?
Two ladies entered the room, clipboards held in their hands. Large smiles spread across their faces as they waved for everyone’s attention.
“The Banners just won!”
People around Maggie applauded. She put the envelope on her lap and clapped, too, still feeling like she was missing something.
“Okay everyone, we need you to line up in order. There should be a small number in the top corner of your envelopes. If everyone could look at that then line up over here, we can get you upstairs for the fun.”
Were these two women part of the cheer-dance-whatever-team? Maggie didn’t think so since they were dressed in casual business attire, but they were certainly cheerful enough that they could be.
Maggie got to her feet and looked down at the envelope as everyone moved past her. Six. She was number six. Did that mean anything? She almost asked then decided against it as she took her place in line. She didn’t want to look any more foolish than she felt.
It took the women a few minutes to get everyone lined up. Maggie was between a young boy who kept jumping up and down and an older man in an expensive suit. She looked around, really noticing for the first time how everyone was dressed. Most of the group had on jeans and a jersey emblazoned with a large eagle. At least she didn’t feel too out of place, with her plain black leggings and Dillon’s frayed sweatshirt, the same one he had been wearing the first time they met. It was too big on her, hanging to mid-thigh, but she didn’t care. The front said “Property of Baltimore Banners” and Dillon had asked her to wear it tonight, a glint of heat and masculine possession shining in his hazel eyes. Maybe it wasn’t a very modern reaction to have but a little thrill of excitement had seared her veins at the look he had given her when he asked.
“Okay everyone. We’re going to walk down the hallway to your right and out through the tunnel to the visiting team’s bench and then out to the ice. Please stay on the red carpet that’s been put down for you. We’ll motion to you one at a time. When Erin gives you the signal, open your envelope so we can see whose jersey you got. That player will skate over and give you their jersey and sign it for you. Once they’re done, walk back to Erin then continue through to the penalty box. Any questions?”
Maggie almost raised her hand. Questions? Cripes, she had plenty of questions. But nobody else seemed to so she wasn’t going to ask. At least she wasn’t first in line. She could just watch everyone else and follow their lead.
And now she had a better idea of what was going on. Maybe. A little. She had won a jersey. She wondered who. Not that it mattered, since she didn’t know any of the players except for Dillon. And Ethan. Maybe she’d get Ethan’s jersey. She’d give it to Cindy if she did. Cindy swore there was nothing going on between them but Maggie didn’t quite believe her.
They were going through a tunnel now, the light getting brighter as they exited. Maggie blinked then almost stumbled, her mouth dropping open in surprise.
Ohmygod. Cripes. They were really on the ice. Like, the real ice, where the players skated. She blinked and looked around, taking everything in as quickly as possible because the line kept moving and she didn’t want to hold anyone up.
Now she was really grateful she wasn’t first, because she was almost too stunned to move. Cheers and clapping filled the arena, echoing around her. It wasn’t as crowded as it had been during the game but there were still enough people to give her a slight case of stage fright. What must it be like to be out here every night, skating and playing as thousands of people looked on? Cheering, booing. It was surreal, so surreal she couldn’t even imagine it.
Someone nudged her from behind. She mumbled an apology and moved forward, her eyes still scanning all around her. And cripes, all the players were here, too. Well duh, of course they’d be. How else would they give away jerseys if they weren’t here? She squinted behind her glasses, her eyes searching. The players were all near the bench off to her right. Some standing, some leaning, a few of them talking. Where was Dillon? Oh, there he was, leaning against the half-wall, talking to someone. Did he know she was here?
Well, that was a stupid thing to wonder. Of course he didn’t know. How could he, when he’d been playing? Should she wave? No, that would be silly. Just the idea sent a rush of heat to her face.
The boy in front of her stepped forward, his fingers fumbling with the envelope as he tried to open it. One of the cheer-dance-whatever girls—she must be Erin—leaned down to help him. The boy pulled out a sheet of paper with a large number on it then jumped up and down.
Erin read the number and a player with huge bulky pads covering his legs skated over, pulling his jersey over his head as he did.
Oh wow. It really was the shirts off their backs. Like, literally. Maggie tried not to grimace at the thought of how sweaty the jersey must be. But the boy didn’t seem to care. He waited for the player to sign it then jumped up and down, even leaning in when the guy draped his arm around the boy’s shoulder for a picture.
Did they have to do a picture? Yeah, probably. Maybe her player wouldn’t be quite so sweaty. Or maybe she just wouldn’t get that close. She didn’t have to get too close, did she?
And then it was her turn.
Maggie took a deep breath and moved forward, her fingers shaking as she opened the envelope. And gah, now the paper was stuck. She pulled on it one more time, finally freeing it. She tried to smile as she held it up, knowing that everyone was watching her.
Erin leaned in close, a bright smile on her face. “And what’s your number?”
Maggie looked down and almost groaned. She had been holding it backward so nobody could see it. She flipped it around, ho
ping she didn’t look like an idiot. Surely Dillon had noticed her by now. Cripes, everyone here had probably noticed her by now.
“Uh, forty-three.”
“Forty-three!” Erin repeated the number into her microphone then motioned for Maggie to step out onto the other rug. She nodded, her eyes lowered, watching each careful step she was taking. She didn’t want to trip and fall, that would be too embarrassing.
She reached the end of the carpet, let out a sigh of relief, then looked up.
And almost shrieked.
Dillon was right in front of her, a large grin on his face. And cripes, he was huge! Big and broad and towering over her by more than a foot. At least, that’s what it felt like, looking up at him.
“You didn’t even realize it was my number, did you?”
“I—” She slammed her mouth shut and shook her head, heat filling her face. He winked then pulled the jersey over his head, moving closer to her.
“You can get a little closer, you know.”
She nodded and stepped closer, right to the edge of the carpet. But Dillon wasn’t looking at her, he was bent over the jersey, signing. Surely it didn’t take him that long to sign his name, did it? Maybe his pen wasn’t working, especially if the jersey was wet. Maggie was pretty sure it had to be. The t-shirt he had on under his pads was soaked, steam drifting up from it. Steam. She blinked and looked again, making sure she wasn’t seeing things. Suddenly the idea of getting close for a picture didn’t seem too bad. In fact, she wanted to get a lot closer—and not just for a picture.
“Maggie.”
“Hm?”
“You should probably take this.”
She nodded and took the jersey, her gaze still focused on his broad chest and the way the wet shirt clung to it. Dillon chuckled and she finally pulled her gaze away, blushing at his wink. He leaned down, not quite close enough to kiss her.
“Read it.”
“Read what?”
“The jersey.”
“Why? I just saw you sign it.”
One-Timer (The Baltimore Banners Book 9) Page 18
