“Did you just spank me?” She looks shocked that I would do such a thing.
I grin and step off the ice. “I believe that’s exactly what I did.”
She shakes her head. “I want to say I can’t believe you’d do that, but this is you we’re talking about, so of course you would.”
I hand her the skate guard for her blades and put mine on before taking off my skates. We walk back to return our skates and change into our regular shoes.
“Where do you want to go from here?” I ask her. “Back home?”
She shakes her head and bites her lip nervously, which tells me I’m more than likely not going to like what she has to say. “I was wondering if we could go by my dad’s shop. I’d like you to see it.”
I suppress my urge to groan. We’ve been staying with her parents for over a week, and even though things have moved past the awkward stage, they’re still not great. I get along fine with her mom, but I still catch her dad giving me dirty looks. And I mean, I get it. What he knows of me isn’t exactly the best. There are too many photos of me drinking and with various women. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what my lifestyle was, so I honestly can’t blame him for being wary of me, but I also know I’ve been nothing but respectful of him while I’ve been here and kept my mouth shut in regard to the stupid stuff—usually perverted—that I usually say.
“Please?” Grace begs when I’m quiet for too long. “It’s not that far from here.”
What am I going to say? No. Not happening. It’s not like I’m afraid of her dad, but I want him to like me.
“Sure.” I nod, shoving my hand into the pocket of my pants to pull out my keys. “Just tell me how to get there.”
Grace gives me directions to her dad’s car shop and then sits on her phone. After a few minutes, she makes a choking sound.
My head whips in her direction and I nearly drive off the damn road. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“There’s a picture of us online from the coffee shop,” she says, her face going beet red.
“What’s so bad about that?”
“Bennett,” she says my name like I’m the stupidest fucking person she’s ever encountered. “The. Coffee. Shop.”
“Oh, fuck,” I hiss between my teeth. “What does it say? It’s not us in the bathroom, right?”
“No, of course not, it’s just us sitting at the table laughing about something. Let me read the article. Give me a minute.”
I clench my teeth and continue to drive, when what I really want to do is pull over and snatch the phone from her hand so I can read it myself. I’ll be beyond pissed if somehow word got out about us having sex in the bathroom. I mean, I’ve done plenty of crazy shit before but I’ve never been concerned about it coming back on someone I care about—me, I can handle it, but Grace shouldn’t have to.
After the longest minute of my life, she breathes out a sigh of relief. “The article is just talking about you coming home for the holidays and they speculate about when you’re going to return to the team. It sounds like they think you and Coach Matthews have been planning some big return, like a publicity stunt or something.”
I snort. “Yeah,” I begin, “because everyone thinks he’s a fucking god and not a complete dickwad.”
Grace reaches over and rubs my arm, trying to offer me a small amount of comfort. I hate to tell her, but when it comes to Matthews nothing makes me feel better.
Grace puts her phone in her purse and says, “I’m just glad to know that no one knows about the bathroom.”
“No one but us,” I remind her with a wink.
She blushes and looks out the window. I love that a part of Grace is so shy, but she still has a wild side.
“Is this it?” I ask, pointing ahead of us.
“Yeah, that’s the shop.” She smiles.
As we draw closer, I can see Wentworth Wheels spelled out across the front.
“This is the shop,” she says. “Dean lives in the apartment upstairs.”
Dean doesn’t say much to me. Whenever he’s around, he looks at me with a shrewd eye like he’s waiting for me to mess up. I guess I can’t blame the guy. I mean, I’m protective of Sabrina, but it still sucks. Lincoln, on the other hand, has warmed to me. Even though he’s younger than me, I like the kid. He’s a good athlete and has a wicked sense of humor.
I park the car and follow Grace to the entrance.
“Dad’s probably in his office,” she says.
“Do you think we should’ve brought him lunch or something?” I ask.
Grace shakes her head. “Trust me, he’s probably already eating.”
There are several mechanics working beneath the hoods of various cars, and when they hear us they look up.
“Hey, Grace,” one says with a lop-sided smile.
“Hey, Levi.” She waves at him.
“Who’s that?” I hiss. I’m not jealous. Nope. I’m not.
She laughs and swats my stomach. “Are you seriously jealous because I waved at a guy? Mr. Stick-My-Dick-In-Anything-That-Walks.”
I snort. “Clever, and no, I’m not jealous.” She eyes me. “Okay, maybe a little bit, but … I’m new at this whole love thing. It’s going to take me some time.” I touch my fingers to her cheek.
I can tell my words please her, even though she tries to act like they don’t. “Anyway,” she says, stepping away from my touch, “that’s Levi. He’s the son of my mom and dad’s best friends.”
“Wait.” I grin. “Your mom and dad got married and so did their best friends?”
She nods. “Yep. Luca and Avery. They don’t really go together if you ask me—Luca doesn’t say much and Avery is always talking. But hey.” She shrugs in a whatcha-gonna-do way. “Dad’s office is this way.”
She leads me farther into the back of the shop and stops in front of a wooden door. She knocks two times and a gruff, “What?” greets us.
“It’s me, Dad. I came to see you. We came to see you,” she amends, looking up at me.
The door opens and her dad looks at her with a huge smile. “Well, isn’t this a nice surprise. Come in.” Then he looks at me and spits out, “Oh, and you.”
I expect him to slam the door in my face but he surprisingly lets me in without a problem. The office is small and cluttered with papers, tools, and car parts. Her dad’s arms are covered in tattoos and grease. The plaid shirt he wears hangs open over a t-shirt and he sits down in his office chair. I suppress a laugh when he picks up a cup full of fries and slathers them in ketchup. A burger also sits on the table. Grace was right, we didn’t need to bring him something to eat.
“So what are y’all doing at the shop?” he asks, shoving some fries in his mouth.
“I wanted Bennett to see the shop.” Grace shrugs and picks up a long, slender, metal tool and spins it between her fingers. “We just came from ice-skating.”
Trace snorts and looks to me with a genuine smile. “I bet she fell on her butt as soon as she stepped on the ice.”
“Dad,” Grace whines.
“I’m right, aren’t I?” Trace chortles.
“Yes.” I chuckle. “But I picked her right up.”
“Good man.” He tips his head at me.
Even though the conversation is good, I don’t even let myself think for a second that he might actually like me. I think he’s just moving into the zone where he knows he has to tolerate me and it’s better to be semi-pleasant. But I still wouldn’t be surprised if he slammed the door behind me on the way out.
“Do you mind if I show Bennett around?” she asks.
“Not at all.” He eats some more fries. “There’s not much to see, though.” He shrugs.
Grace laughs. “That’s probably true. But this was practically my second home growing up so I wanted Bennett to see it.”
Trace waves his fingers to the door. “Just say goodbye before you leave.”
“Will do.” She bends and kisses his cheek before grabbing my hand and pulling me out the doo
r. I don’t miss the flash of sadness in Trace’s eyes when he sees my hand joined with Grace’s. I’m sure it’s hard seeing your kid growing up.
Grace leads me through the shop. It’s a nice size, but not large, but I’m sure in a small town it’s not necessary to have a big car shop. The tour consists of seeing the cars the guys are working on and tools, lots of tools.
At the end of her tour, Grace hops up on a work table. I place my hands on either side of her hips and lean in.
“What do you think?” she asks.
“I think it’s pretty adorable how excited you get showing me pieces of your life.”
She smiles and kisses me quickly, afraid someone’s going to see us. “You know, I’m glad you came here with me.” She wraps her arms around my neck.
I chuckle. “Me too, Princess.”
At first, the thought of spending the holidays with Grace’s family sounded like torture—I mean, we weren’t even really dating at the time—but they’re not so bad, and to have things work out with Grace the way they have … Well, that’s pretty damn awesome.
I’ve never been one to believe in fate—in fact, I think it’s pretty fucking stupid—but maybe everything really does happen for a reason.
“We better go,” Grace says, pushing me away so she can climb off the table. “I promised my mom I’d go Christmas shopping with her.”
I snort. “You mean you haven’t done that already? I would’ve expected you to have your shopping done three months ago, Little Miss Perfect.”
Grace sticks her tongue out at me. “I have a few more things I need to get, and knowing my mom, she needs to get everything. She’s a notorious last-minute shopper. Thankfully, my dad is not when it comes to Christmas. He used to go all out when we were kids. He’d leave glitter on the floor and say that it was magic dust left behind by Santa.” She smiles wistfully at the memories. “You can wait in the car. I’m going to say bye to my dad.”
“Okay.” I nod. “Where’s Dean?” I ask, realizing we haven’t seen him.
“Probably upstairs with Willow. They’ve been pretty much living together, so I’m not going up there to see them. I’m scared I’ll walk in on something.”
I laugh as she walks away. I know I shouldn’t but I can’t help but look at her ass as she leaves. It’s small and firm and perfect like everything else about her.
When she disappears into the office, I finally tear my gaze away and go start the car.
Time seems to be passing at light speed. Before we know it, the holidays will be over and we’ll be back at the school. I can’t believe it’s almost January and I’m still not back with my team. After we get back I’m going to have to make a trip to Boston and confront Matthews again. Demand my spot back on the team.
Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m going to do. I’ll soon be back on the ice in front of an arena full of people and all will be right in my world again.
“Is it really necessary to still make cookies?” Lincoln whines. “We know Santa’s not real.”
My dad swats him on the back of the head. “Of course it’s necessary. It’s Christmas Eve and it’s Wentworth family tradition to make cookies.”
Lincoln groans. “Heath is having a party,” he refers to his best friend. “I wanted to go.”
“You know we make cookies every year,” my dad tells him, slipping on an apron. “So that’s your problem to deal with, not mine.” Linc mutters something under his breath and my dad narrows his eyes. “Don’t push my buttons.”
“Sorry.” Lincoln picks up a spatula and looks at it like it’s personally offended him.
My dad points at me. “You and Bennett are in charge of sugar cookies. Dean and Willow, you two will make peanut butter cookies. Lincoln, Mom, and I will make chocolate chip.”
Lincoln whines, “Why do I have to work with you guys?”
“For starters, because you keep complaining. Secondly, because you’re the youngest. Third, because there’s no one else here to work with you so you’re stuck with your lovely mom and dad.”
Lincoln rests his arms on the island counter top. “Am I being punished for not having a girlfriend?”
“If you choose to look at it that way, then yes.” My dad nods.
My mom stands off to the side, fighting laughter.
Bennett hisses under his breath to me, “Your dad takes his cookies very seriously, doesn’t he?”
Before I can respond, my dad pivots around to face us. “I heard that, and yes, I do take my cookies very seriously. Cookies are important. Cookies are happiness.”
Bennett presses his lips together, trying to contain his laughter. I can’t blame him. When my dad goes on one of his tangents, it’s pretty funny.
Dad claps his hands together. “Let’s get to work.”
The kitchen is large enough that each of our three groups has a separate work station. Mom, Dad, and Lincoln have the island, Dean and Willow have the area by the sink, and Bennett and I have the kitchen table.
“I hope you’re good at making cookies,” Bennett says, “because I haven’t got a fucking clue what I’m doing.” He looks around at the table. “Fuck, and there aren’t even any directions.”
I tap my head. “Right here, bud.”
He makes a face. “Of course they are.”
“Here,” I begin, grabbing a glass bowl. “You cream together the butter and sugar and I’ll handle the dry ingredients.”
“How do I mix them?” he asks.
I give him an incredulous look. “With the beaters.” I point. “It’s already plugged in, all you have to do is turn it on, but do not put it on the high setting,” I warn him.
“I think I can handle that.”
“You better be able to,” I mutter under my breath.
He chuckles and dumps the butter into the bowl and sugar. My dad and I had already gone around to each ‘station’ before we started and measured out the ingredients so there couldn’t be any errors there.
I dump the dry ingredients in a bowl and stir them together with a rubber spatula. I set it aside and grab Bennett’s wrist.
“Careful,” I warn. “You’ll over mix it.”
“Over mix it? Is that seriously a thing?”
I nod. “Yep. Now we add in the egg and vanilla.” I do that since I’m terrified that it’ll wind up with hunks of eggshell in the dough if he does it. “And then the dry ingredients.” I stir those in with the rubber spatula.
When it’s all mixed together, Bennett grins widely. “Hey, it looks like actual cookie dough.”
I resist the temptation to roll my eyes. “Of course it does.”
He shrugs sheepishly. “Sorry, I’m used to the stuff straight from the grocery store.”
My dad hears this and gasps from across the room. “You’ve never made homemade cookies?” He sounds scandalized.
Bennett shrugs. “It was just easier for my mom, I guess.”
My dad frowns at this but doesn’t comment.
I bump Bennett’s arm with mine. “It’s time to start rolling out the dough to go in the oven. Like this.” I grab a small amount and roll it into a ball between my hands before placing it on the waiting tray.
“Easy enough,” he says, grabbing a gob of dough.
“Whoa.” I grab his wrist to stop him. “You have way too much. You need like half that amount.” I take some of the dough from him and make my own.
“I’m not very good at this,” he says sheepishly.
I laugh and flick a piece of hair from my eyes that has fallen loose from my ponytail. “You’ll get the hang of it.”
He looks unsure, but by the time we’ve emptied the bowl of dough, he’s making nicer looking cookies than I am. I set the tray on the island so my dad can put it in the oven. He always takes over for that part, saying there’s some super-secret way to cook them so they stay gooey.
“All right, kids.” My dad claps his hands together. “Go to bed so Santa can come.”
“Dad,” Lincoln groans. “We know
Santa isn’t real.”
My dad narrows his eyes on Lincoln. “Of course he’s real.”
Even though all of us are old enough to not believe in Santa, my dad has never, not once, broken character when it comes to believing in him. In fact, we still get presents from ‘Santa’. It’s silly, but it makes my dad happy so who am I to ruin his fun? Plus, more presents, so yay me.
Bennett and I wash our hands before heading upstairs. I can still hear Lincoln groaning in his room. Even though I’m only in my first year of college, those years of teenage angst seem so long ago.
No one is in the hall so I pull Bennett into my room and close the door behind us.
I wrap my arms around his neck and he picks me up, my legs automatically winding around his waist.
He grins cockily. “Am I about to get my Christmas present?”
I kiss him teasingly and pull back all too soon. “No, I’m going to get mine.”
His smile widens. “I like the sound of that even better.”
These moments with Bennett are few and far between while we’re here. We’ve only had sex the two times and the bathroom was hardly sufficient, not getting to feel him skin to skin. I feel ready to burst with the need to be with him.
“We have to be quiet,” I warn him.
He chuckles and crosses my room to lay me flat on my bed, caging me in with his arms. “Of course,” he murmurs, his eyes flashing with desire. The fact that I create that look in his eyes makes my body ache with yearning. I need to touch him. To feel him. To love him.
He kisses my neck, his lips warm and smooth. I rock against him, all too eager to get to the good part, but he grabs my hips to still me. I whimper and he chuckles.
“Patience,” he murmurs. “Good things come to those who wait.” He nips my chin and then moves to my lips, kissing me deeply and so passionately that for a moment I can’t even feel the bed beneath me, it’s like I’m floating on a cloud.
I want to beg, but I keep my mouth shut because I know Bennett would only find it amusing and it wouldn’t work in my favor. Instead, I murmur, “I love you.” Neither of us have said it since that day at the rink. I’ve wanted to, but when it’s something so new to you there’s a part of you that’s still scared of the other person denying it.
The Game That Breaks Us Page 22
