She lifted her hand and wiggled her fingers at him with a small smile. "Nope. It's all good."
"Good. You'll call if there's any change, right? Or go see someone if there's any sign of infection or—"
"It's fine, Travis. Dr. Kincaid already checked it."
"Okay." He didn't know what else to say, not about that. He still couldn't believe she'd been bit, couldn't believe how casual she had been about it when she told him what happened. But he could definitely see her facing down a bully who was kicking a defenseless animal. Cara wasn't exactly the shy, quiet girl he'd first thought. Watching her eyes light up with indignation, seeing her face come alive as she retold the story—it had been like watching a different woman. Someone completely different from the quiet woman who let her former roommate talk down to her.
That wasn't the only time he had seen a different side to her. That night in the bar, when she'd come over to him and started flirting with him. Shy at first, not quite sure of herself. But later had been a different story, after they had come back here and talked, just for a little bit, before heading upstairs.
No, they hadn't even waited until they got upstairs. He had kissed her, right here on this sofa. Had felt her body melt against his. Heard her soft gasps and whispered pleas and—
He pushed the memories away. He shouldn't be thinking about them right now. Not here, when Cara was only a few inches away from him. Not when it would be so easy to reach over and pull her into his arms and—
"Travis, I was thinking."
He jerked back, just the tiniest bit, and wondered if she could see what he was thinking etched on his face. No, that wasn't possible. She wasn't even looking at him, she was staring at the hands twisted together in her lap.
He took a deep breath, mentally brushing off the last twinges of guilt before he spoke. "Thinking about what?"
"The next few nights. I don't think I should stay here. It—it doesn't feel right, being here while you're away."
"But you're living here. Why wouldn't it feel right?"
"It just doesn't. I was thinking of going to Sandy's. She's the receptionist at the vet's and—"
"Don't you like it here?"
She frowned, making Travis wonder if his question had come out as a pout. It wouldn't surprise him if it had, because that's what he felt like doing right now: pouting.
"No, I like it. It's just—this is your house. And you're not going to be here. I don't think—"
"But you're living here, too."
"I'm staying here. Not living here. And it's only temporary. Only until I find somewhere else."
"It doesn't have to be."
Her head shot up, her eyes widening in a flash of surprise. "Doesn't have to be what?"
"Temporary. I told you that on Sunday. There's lots of room. And we can turn the spare bedroom into a nursery and—"
"But I don't want to intrude."
"Intrude on what?"
"You. Your life. Your friends. Any, uh, any people you might invite over."
"The only people I invite over are the guys from the team and you've already met them. And it's not like they come over that often anyway."
He sensed her unspoken words, her silent disbelief, as soon as he finished talking. The only people I invite over are the guys. But that wasn't the case, not as far as she was concerned. She had been here before. For that one night they shared together. Why would she think she was the only one?
He shifted closer and reached for her hand. Hesitated then finally closed his fingers around hers. "Cara, I know you don't believe this. You have no reason to. But I've never brought another woman here."
"Never?"
"No. Well, just one." He shifted, his face heating as he looked away. "But that was almost two years ago. We were dating and she came for a visit. She, uh, she lived—lives—back home. But nobody else."
"How long were you dating?"
Travis ran his free hand through his hair, wondering how to answer. He didn't want to talk about Amy, couldn't believe he had even mentioned her. Why now, of all times?
"We, uh, we dated off and on since high school."
Cara's fingers tightened around his for a brief second before she pulled her hand free. "Did you recently break up?"
"What? No. If you're thinking I had, uh, rebound sex with you, don't. It's not like that. We broke up early last year, when I went back home."
"Oh. So it's been awhile then."
"Yeah." Mostly. He didn't want to tell her about the one night this past summer when Amy had shown up at his parents' house and invited him out. He didn't want to tell her how foolish he'd been by accepting, thinking that they'd pick right back up where they had left off. That hadn't been the case at all. Amy had simply been looking for a good time, had wanted a night out. It was his fault for being stupid enough to think she wanted more.
No way could he tell Cara that, not when he was trying to convince her to stay here. Even he wasn't naive enough to expect a woman to stay with a man who might be harboring feelings for an old flame. He wasn't—not even close. Things were over between Amy and him, had been over for a long time.
But he still wasn't going to tell Cara that.
He reached for her hand again, breathed a silent sigh of relief when she let him take it. "You don't have to leave, Cara. I want you to be comfortable here, even when I'm gone."
"I don't want to feel like I'm intruding."
"You're not. Not even close." He reached up with his free hand to brush the hair from her face. The silky strands curled around his finger, bringing back memories from their one night together.
The way he'd curled his hands in her hair.
The way her hands had clung to him, holding him as rocked into her sweet warmth.
The little sounds she made, those breathy whimpers that drove him to the edge as her body melded with his.
He caught her gaze with his, held his breath as the memories washed over him. Did she know what he was thinking? Could she tell, simply by looking at him? Was she remembering, too? How he'd held her in his arms, right here on this very couch, as they kissed? Deep, heated kisses that seared his blood and left him wanting more? Needing more?
He wasn't sure who moved first. Him. Cara. It didn't matter. Not when their mouths met. Hesitant at first, lips brushing against lips. Then deeper, mouths opening, tongues swirling.
Travis wrapped his arms around her, pulled until she was draped across his lap. He cupped her face with one hand and deepened the kiss, swallowed a groan when her hands teased the hair at the back of his neck.
This. This is what he wanted. Cara, soft and warm in his arms. Feeling her body come to life against his. Hearing her soft little whimpers of need as he deepened the kiss even more, losing himself until there was only them.
He dragged his hand along her arm, across her shoulder. Each touch light. Hesitant. Down, his fingers tracing the line of her collarbone beneath the thin sweater. Down further, cupping the weight of her firm breast. She sighed, her back arching as he gently squeezed. The tight peak of her nipple hardened, grazing his palm through the sweater.
Her fingers tightened against his shoulders, her bottom squirming against the rock-hard length of his erection. He swallowed another groan, dipped his hand under the hem of her sweater, dragged his fingers along the heated flesh of her stomach. Still flat, still smooth. He pressed his palm against her stomach, marveling for just a second at the life contained within, then dragged his hand up. Higher, to the edge of her bra. He slipped his fingers under the material, slid the bra up and cupped her bare breast in his hand.
Cara moaned again, pressed herself more fully into his hand. A sharp sigh escaped her when he flicked the tight peak with the nail of his thumb. Once. Twice. A sharp sigh escaped her each time, urging him on—
Until the ringing of the door bell split the air around them. Fast three times, then one longer buzz, like someone was holding the button in. The ringing stopped, replaced by the sound of someone pounding on the
door.
Cara jumped back, scurrying from his lap as she pulled her sweater back down. Travis closed his eyes and swallowed back a groan of frustration—along with some muttered swearing.
Why now, of all times? Why couldn't his teammates be running late, like they usually did? Why did they have to pick now to show up?
He eased off the couch, swallowing back another groan of discomfort as he adjusted his pants. Cara was sitting in the corner, her legs curled under her, her long hair hiding her face.
"Cara—" The doorbell rang again, two quick annoying buzzes. Travis looked toward the door, frowning. Then he sucked in a deep breath and yelled loud enough that they'd be able to hear him through the closed door. "Shut up! I'm coming!"
He realized what he had just said a second later. He glanced down at Cara, saw her looking up at him with wide eyes. The corner of her mouth twitched. Once. Twice. Then she started laughing, tried to cover the sound with her hand but it was no good.
Travis laughed as well, the sound an odd mix of humor and frustration. "Well, not really. Unfortunately."
Cara's shoulders shook as she laughed even harder. She wiped her eyes, opened her mouth to say something, but the only sound that came out was another bubble of laughter. Travis leaned down and caught her chin in his hand, tipping her head back.
"I'm glad you think this is funny."
"I don't. Not really."
"Yeah. Uh-huh. That's why you're laughing." He pressed a quick kiss to her mouth. "I, uh, I need to get going."
"I know."
"Everything's okay now? You're fine with staying here?"
Cara nodded but he didn't miss the hint of uncertainty in her eyes. He leaned down, kissed her again, longer this time. Until that uncertainty left her gaze. Until the damn doorbell rang again.
He pulled away with a soft groan, stepped away before he could lean down for another kiss. "I'll call you tonight. Is that okay?"
"I'd like that."
"Good." He nodded then backed away, nearly tripped over the coffee table and swore under his breath. "Good. Tonight. I'll call you."
He nodded once more, a smile spreading across his face in answer to Cara's own smile. Then he turned and rushed to the door, grabbed his overnight bag and tossed it over his shoulder before looking back at Cara once more.
"Tonight. Right?"
"Right."
He gave her a quick wave then yanked open the door, scowling at Zach and Tyler. They were both smiling, as if they knew they had interrupted something.
Travis pushed past them, knocking both of them in the shoulder as he made his way down the steps to Tyler's SUV.
"Both of you are assholes."
Chapter Eighteen
A shoulder slammed into his side, the hit coming out of nowhere. Travis swallowed a grunt, tightened his hold on the stick, and pushed the guy away with his free hand. He needed a clear shot, just a small one so he could pass the puck to Kyle Middleton.
Tonight's game against Charlotte was physical, had been from the very first puck drop. Now that they were in last half of the third period with Charlotte leading by one, the taunts and hits were coming more frequently. And every single one was taking its toll—not just on the Bombers, but on the players from Charlotte as well.
Travis's legs burned, a deep searing in his thighs and calves. Sweat soaked his jersey, his pads—even his moisture-wicking undershirt. His entire body was soaked from lost fluids. How many more minutes before their line change?
Too many. They had to clear the puck first, get it out of their zone before rushing over to the bench for relief. That wasn't going to happen if Travis couldn't make a clean pass.
Impatience surged through him, giving him a burst of adrenaline he hadn't expected. He lowered his shoulder and slammed sideways into Charlotte's defenseman, buying him some much-needed space. Travis didn't waste time, just spun around, his gaze glancing off every player until he found what he was looking for.
There—Ben, over by the boards, all by himself. Travis pulled back on his stick and sent the puck flying, held his breath until Ben caught it on his tape and took off.
He headed toward the bench, his eyes never leaving the play as it moved down the ice. Nathan Shaw jumped the boards, officially relieving him. Travis raised one leg, caught his ankle on the top edge of the board, then essentially rolled into the box. It wasn't a graceful move but it worked.
He dropped to the bench, already squirting water into his mouth from the bottle someone tossed his way. Rinse. Spit. Rinse. Drink. Greedy gulps that moistened his dry mouth and quenched his thirst.
One last gulp then he tossed the empty bottle over his shoulder, heard it bounce on the rubber mat somewhere behind him. He didn't care about the bottle, didn't even care about getting more to drink. What he cared about was the action taking place in front of Charlotte's net.
He glanced up at the clock then swallowed a groan. Eight minutes left in the game. Eight minutes was a lifetime in hockey. Either team could score—more than once. It was the Bombers who needed it the most. Two goals to win the game. That was it. They could do it. They'd done it before, come from behind like this to win, plenty of times.
Were they going to do it again tonight?
Travis bit back a curse when Harland's shot glanced off the post with a loud ring. Kyle moved in for the rebound, only to have Charlotte's goalie block it and send it back out.
Now Charlotte had possession, two of their players speeding down the ice, heading toward Tyler in the net.
Travis leaned forward, one hand on his stick, the other clenching the edge of the boards. Everyone was leaning forward, shouting for their defense to move, but it was already too late. Travis held his breath, watching as the two Charlotte players passed the puck, back and forth, fast. Faster still, until one of them finally took the shot.
Tyler had anticipated wrong, struggled to get back into position. He lunged sideways, his glove hand reaching for the puck, but it was no good. The puck slammed into the back of the net and the red light came on, taunting them. The horn blared to life, accompanied by thousands of cheers and screams as the fans in the arena jumped to their feet.
"Fucking shit. Dammit. Fuck." Jason slammed his stick against the boards then sat back, his shoulders slumping in defeat. He wasn't the only one who was pissed off—they all were. Especially Coach Torresi, who simply stood at the end of the bench, a muscle jumping in his jaw as he clenched his ever-present roll of papers in a white-knuckled grip.
Travis dropped his gaze, staring at the laces of his skates instead of watching the replay. They were down by two now. Not insurmountable, not with almost seven minutes left in the game. But it wasn't the time that mattered, it was the attitude—and the attitude on the bench had just changed with that last goal.
The attitude grew worse with each passing second, finally hitting rock bottom when Charlotte scored yet another goal. Travis glanced up at the final score before heading back to the locker room with everyone else.
Four-to-one.
Not exactly the best way to start off back-to-back games.
"I swear to fuck, the first fucking person who even thinks of saying we'll fucking get it back tomorrow fucking night will get my fucking foot up their fucking ass." Dustin Rios threw his stick toward the bench. It hit with a solid thud then bounced off, falling harmlessly to the ground. "Fuck."
"Move your shit, asshole. You're in my way." Ben nudged past Dustin, already peeling off his gear. Travis veered around both men, wanting to avoid the inevitable explosion as he started removing his own gear.
"Shut the fuck up, Leach. If you hadn't whiffed that pass, we might have had a chance."
Ben spun around, fire flashing in his eyes. "Me? You're going to fucking blame me? What about you letting them get past you twice to score? Or did you fucking forget what defense meant?"
"Everyone. Shut the fuck up. Now." Coach Torresi's booming voice bounced off the concrete walls. Silence followed—tense, oppressive. Suffocating.
Travis exchanged a quick look with Tyler then dropped his gaze as Coach started his rampage. Not one single player was left unscathed. They were too slow. They were reading the plays wrong. They weren't reacting. They weren't paying attention. On and on, until the tension in the room drew so tight, Travis expected everyone to snap at the same time.
Then Torresi's rant stopped, his last words fading into the heavy silence. He sucked in a deep breath, looked at each and every player, then gave a curt nod.
"We'll get it back tomorrow night."
Travis bit his tongue, nearly strangled on the laughter he was holding back. He wasn't the only one—he could hear small grunts and wheezes all around the room as everyone turned to face Dustin.
Who at least had the good sense to stay quiet until Torresi and the rest of the coaching staff left.
"Fuck! Shit. Dammit. Fuck. I so did not want to hear that. Dammit."
Ben clipped him on the shoulder. "Would you just shut the fuck up already?"
"Kiss my ass."
"Not unless you shave it first."
The bantering slowly faded as both men headed to the showers, pushing and shoving each other on the way. Travis shook his head then grabbed his own shower kit, only to be stopped when Tyler and Zach flanked him.
"Hey Banky. Feel like grabbing a few drinks when we get to the hotel?"
Travis looked from one man to the other then narrowed his eyes. "No. I'm calling Cara when we get to the hotel."
"Fine. You can join us when you're done talking to her."
"Why?"
"Why?" Zach repeated the question then exchanged a quick glance with Tyler. "Because we need to continue our conversation from the other day."
"No, we don't."
"Yeah, we do."
Travis pushed away from both men. "And I said no, we don't. Cara and I are working things out."
"So we did interrupt something this morning when we showed up."
Travis ducked his head, hoping to hide his blush, but the laughter coming from both men let him know he wasn't successful. Zach clapped him on the back then grabbed him by the shoulder, leading him into the shower room.
Playing For Love (The York Bombers, #6) Page 13
