Steamy, hot, intense sex. The man had stamina—a lot of stamina. And he knew exactly what he was doing, even if he had been almost shy at first. No, not shy. Reserved, maybe. Or maybe even a little old-fashioned, like when he had stammered and blushed during their condom conversation last night, when she told him she was on birth control and was clean and asked him the same.
A small smile curled her lips at the memory, at the way he'd blurted out his admission. Definitely a little old-fashioned when it came to discussing those kinds of details.
But not with anything else. Even now, she could feel the tenderness in her muscles, a gentle ache between her legs that reminded her of the night before.
Her face heated and she turned back to the window, hoping nobody noticed her blush or the way she shifted in the leather seat.
Ninety minutes later, after driving around looking for a parking garage and walking an untold number of blocks, they finally reached the National Mall—at the wrong end. Brooke grumbled and muttered when Isabelle insisted on having their picture taken in front of the Washington Monument, then complained when Aaron told her they had to walk to the other end to reach the Air and Space Museum. For once, Savannah found herself agreeing with the girl.
At least it was a nice day out, the sky a bright blue, the air warm for early October but without the humidity. Isabelle and Brooke ran ahead, weaving around the joggers on the path before doubling back and telling them to hurry then running ahead again. Savannah shrugged out of her windbreaker and tied it around her waist, trying to match her shorter stride to Aaron's longer one.
He paused, turning to wait for her, his hand pressed against his side. She frowned and he immediately dropped his hand then resumed walking, slower this time.
"Does it hurt?"
"What?"
"Nice try. I might be tired but I'm not blind. Does your side hurt?"
"Not much. Just a twinge here and there."
"Liar."
A smile curved his lips. "I may have overexerted myself last night."
Heat filled her face at the memory and she forced herself to keep her gaze focused forward. "Is that a complaint?"
"Hell no. Not even close."
There was something in his voice, something low and needy, that made her stop and turn toward him. Her pulse soared, heat unfurling low in her belly as need coursed through her. How? How could he do that to her with just a look? And God, she wanted to lean up on her toes and kiss him, to thread her fingers through his and walk along the mall, hand-in-hand, like the dozens of other couples strolling past them enjoying the beautiful day.
Dangerous. So dangerous. She couldn't do that, shouldn't want it. They weren't a couple, not in that sense. Not in any sense.
Were they?
No, they weren't. They couldn't be. Aaron had given her that message in the dark hours of the morning. And that wasn't what she wanted, anyway.
Was it?
"Daddy! Miss Savannah! Come on, hurry up."
Isabelle's clear voice called out, shattering whatever spell had been weaving around them. Aaron jerked away from her, shoving his hands into his pockets as he started walking again.
Savannah took a deep breath and followed behind, her steps a little slower now as she tried to calm the thoughts racing through her mind. She wasn't paying attention and lost track of time, but only minutes. It was enough. She looked up, only to see that Aaron and Isabelle were further ahead, the younger girl tugging on her father's hand, pulling him along.
But Brooke was right in front of her, walking backward, her blue-green eyes focused on Savannah.
"He doesn't love you, you know."
Savannah paused, trying to hide the shock she felt at the words. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me. He doesn't love you."
"Brooke, really, this isn't a conversation I'm having with you."
"I know he was at your house last night. I know you were having sex."
Savannah couldn't stop the heat filling her face, any more than she could stop her mouth from dropping open in surprise. Did Brooke know, or was she just guessing? And how in the hell was she even supposed to comment on that?
Simple: by not commenting at all.
"We need to catch up to your father." Savannah lengthened her stride, hoping the girl would turn around and leave, run ahead of her and leave her in peace to sort out her shock over the unexpected words. But she simply matched Savannah's pace, still walking backward.
"Why don't you like me?"
Savannah stumbled, almost stopped. Changed her mind and kept walking. "What makes you think I don't like you?"
"Because you don't talk to me like you talk to Isabelle. You don't talk to me at all."
Savannah heard the confusion in the teenager's voice, the pain hidden behind the tough words. Her heart squeezed, sympathy welling inside her. Brooke was right: she didn't talk to her the way she talked to Isabelle. She stopped, her gaze softening as she looked at Brooke.
"You're right, I don't. I'm sorry. But sometimes you don't make it very easy to talk to, not when you're always running away."
"I don't run away."
"Sometimes you do."
Brooke's gaze darted away, but not before she saw the doubt flash in the girl's blue-green eyes. Savannah reached out to put a comforting hand on the girl's shoulder. "Maybe we can change that. Maybe we can become friends."
Brooke jerked back, her jaw clenching in anger as she shook her head. "I don't want to talk to you. And we'll never be friends. That's stupid. And my father will never love you so you might as well just stay away."
The girl turned and hurried away, racing to catch up to Aaron and Isabelle. Savannah slowed her pace, finally stopped, needing to put more distance between them for a few minutes.
Needing those few minutes to sort through the sharp pain slicing through her as she tried to decide which of Brooke's hateful words hurt the most.
Chapter Fourteen
"Malone! Phone call!"
Aaron slid to a stop, his head swiveling in surprise. Phone call? What the fuck? He didn't get phone calls. And he especially didn't get phone calls when they were on the road, during game-day skate. Nobody got phone calls.
Immediately following that thought came another, this one curdling his stomach as fear squeezed his lungs.
Nobody got phone calls…unless it was an emergency.
He sprinted toward the bench, damn near tripping as he jumped the boards and shook off his gloves. Coach Torresi was standing there, holding the cell phone out to Aaron, an inscrutable look on his face.
"Make it quick."
Aaron nodded, trying to swallow past the lump in his throat as he pushed the helmet off his head. He moved into the tunnel, steadying himself with one hand braced against the concrete block wall, and brought the phone to his ear.
"Yeah?"
"Aaron, it's Mom. Nothing's wrong. Nothing you need to worry about."
Fear released its stranglehold on his lungs. He drew in a deep breath as relief flooded him. Two seconds later, the fear was back. His mother wouldn't be calling if there wasn't anything wrong.
"What happened?"
"There's just been a little situation at the middle school. Brooke is fine. Nobody's hurt. But I need to go down there and I won't be able to get to your place in time to meet Isabelle's bus."
Aaron closed his eyes, his mind trying to make sense of the words. The only thing he could focus on right now was the fact that nobody was hurt. He reached up, pinched the bridge of his nose, and inhaled.
Situation. There was a situation at the school.
With Brooke.
Anger threatened to overtake him. Damn her. What the hell had she done now? And why? Things had seemed to be improving these last two weeks, ever since their trip to the Air and Space Museum. What the hell had happened to change that?
Then his mother's words about Isabelle's bus sunk in. The elementary school had early dismissal today, letting out three hours before the middle and hi
gh schools. He glanced around, searching the bare walls for a clock before lowering the phone and looking at the time at the top of the screen.
Isabelle would be home in thirty minutes.
And nobody would be there to meet her.
"Fuck!"
He heard what sounded like a low laugh, realized he had sworn out loud—right into the phone. And straight into his mother's ear. "I'm sorry—"
"Like I haven't said worse myself."
"I have no idea what to do. I can't get down there—"
"Well of course not. You're in Rochester. I just called to get Savannah's number, to see if she could meet with Isabelle and stay with her until I got there."
"I can't ask her to do that."
"You won't be asking her if you give me her number. And I'm sure she won't mind. Now, what's her number?"
"I, uh, I don't know what it is."
Silence greeted his admission, followed a long sigh. "Aaron, I'm disappointed. You're sleeping with the woman and you don't even have her number?"
Holy fucking shit, he did not just hear that. His mother did not just say that. No fucking way. He glanced around, hoping like hell that nobody was nearby to witness the heat of humiliation spreading across his face.
Or worse, close enough to hear his mother's voice through the phone.
No such luck, because Torresi was standing at the end of the tunnel, his arms folded in front of him. He didn't give Aaron any indication that he'd heard—which meant absolutely nothing.
Aaron turned, shifting so his back was toward the coach, and lowered his voice.
"I didn't say I didn't have it. I said I didn't know it. It's in my phone."
"Then can you call her? I need to get down to the school and this will save me time."
"I—" He stopped, glanced over his shoulder at Coach Torresi, then turned back around. "Yeah. I'll call her."
"Perfect. I know you're at practice so I'll let you go now."
"Call me later to let me know what's going on?" He waited for an answer but didn't hear anything. He pulled the phone away from his ear and looked at the screen. She had ended the call already.
Of course, she had.
"Everything okay?"
"Uh, yeah." He handed the phone back to Coach Torresi then looked in the direction of the locker room. Fuck. This was going to go over well. "I have a, uh, a childcare issue. I need to make a phone call. Just a quick one."
Was it his imagination, or did the coach's mouth twitch, like he was trying not to smile? No, it had to be his imagination.
"Go. You've got two minutes, then I want your ass back on the ice."
"Yes, Coach." Aaron hurried down the hallway, the blades of his skates making an odd squeaking-squishing noise against the rubber mat. Fuck. What would he do if Savannah wasn't home? What would he do if she couldn't get Isabelle from the bus and watch her? He didn't want to put her in an awkward position, even though he was almost positive she'd say yes.
Maybe.
But fuck, it wasn't like he had much choice. And he didn't even want to think about what he'd do if she weren't home.
Call Courtney? Maybe.
He just hoped like hell that Savannah was home, and that she wouldn't mind.
He hadn't had a chance to see her much the last couple of weeks, not with practices and games and taking care of the girls. And when he had seen her, she'd been a little preoccupied. Maybe even a little distant. He'd been too busy to give it much thought, hadn't taken the time to ask.
Because he was a fucking idiot.
He pushed through the locker room door and headed straight to his assigned cubby, pulling his bag from the shelf and digging through it. He grabbed his phone, powered it up, surprised to see there weren't any waiting voicemails. Had the school called his mother first?
Probably.
What the hell had Brooke done?
Part of him was afraid to find out.
He pushed all the worst-case scenarios from his mind as he scrolled through his contacts, tapping Savannah's number then holding the phone to his ear. It rang once. Twice. Three times. Fuck. She was busy. Or she wasn't home. Or she was in a meeting and couldn't answer the phone or—
"This is Savannah. May I help you?"
He closed his eyes, breathing a sigh of relief. "Hey. It's me. Aaron. Um, are you busy?"
"No, just working on another presentation. What's up? I thought you were on the road today?"
"Yeah, I am. Listen, there's been a problem at Brooke's school. My mom's on the way there now, which means she won't be at my place to get Isabelle off the bus. The elementary school gets out early today."
"Is everything okay with Brooke? Did something happen to her?"
"I don't know, Mom didn't say. Sounds like she got into trouble. I hate to ask but—is there any way you can get Isabelle off the bus and wait with her until my mom gets there?"
"Um…"
He held his breath, waiting, wondering at the hesitation he heard in her voice.
"Yeah. I can do that."
"You sure? If there's something else you need to do, let me know. I can try to call Courtney and—"
"No, it's good. I don't have plans until later tonight."
Aaron frowned, ready to ask her what plans. He stopped himself at the last minute, telling himself it wasn't his business.
Yeah. That's why his back teeth were grinding together.
He sucked in a deep breath, forced his jaw to unclench. "Great. Thanks. I owe you."
"Not a problem. That's what friends are for."
His jaw clenched again and he had to concentrate even harder to relax it this time. "Yeah. Sure. There's a key to the patio door in one of those small magnet boxes tucked under the grill. On the right-hand side."
"Okay. What time does her bus get here?"
"Um—" He pulled the phone away from his ear and checked the time, then softly swore. "In about fifteen minutes."
"Okay, I'll start heading over. Do you need me to do anything else? Does she need lunch or anything?"
"If my mom's not there in the next hour, maybe. But other than that, no."
"Sounds good. I'll head over now—"
"Actually, there is one thing you can do for me."
"Yeah?" Had her voice changed? Become a little more excited maybe? No, she was probably just walking, already heading to his place.
"Make sure my mom calls me and tells me what's going on? She didn't know. Or wouldn't say, I'm not sure which. I'm going to be thinking the worst until I hear."
There was a short pause, then he heard what sounded like a door opening and closing. Her voice sounded a little distant, maybe a little preoccupied. "Sure. No problem. I'll have her call you."
"Thanks, Savannah. I owe you one." He heard her mumble something then the call disconnected. He frowned at the screen, wondering what the fuck he had just missed.
And wondering what kind of plans Savannah had later.
Chapter Fifteen
"Number 15. Two minutes, tripping."
Aaron shook his head, ready to argue. One look from Zach convinced him otherwise. But dammit, this was a bullshit call. He hadn't tripped anyone. The dumb fuck had come from behind and tripped himself—over his own two damn feet, not Aaron's stick. The SOB should be getting two minutes for embellishment. But the refs weren't calling shit against Rochester, hadn't been since the middle of the second period. In the meantime, the Bombers were getting slammed, with everything from bullshit offsides and icing calls to goalie interference.
Now Aaron was heading to the sin bin for his fourth penalty of the game for another bullshit call. So far, their penalty kill had been able to keep Rochester from capitalizing on the man-advantage each time. Too damn bad they hadn't been able to get anything on the board themselves, because they were still down by one point.
Aaron dropped to the bench, his hand wrapped around his stick as he propped it between his legs. His gaze followed the play as it moved from center ice down to the Bomber's net. Fu
ck. Tyler was struggling, he could see it from here. Why the hell hadn't Torresi put Ryan Gardel in the net tonight? Tyler was holding his own, yeah, but he was also coming down with something, probably the fucking flu. The guy should be on the bench, hydrating and tossing back vitamin C tablets. He'd already blocked twenty-six shots tonight. From the way the play was unfolding, it didn't look like he'd make it twenty-seven.
And fuck.
Aaron jumped to his feet, leaning against the glass as he watched the Bombers' play break down in front of their own net. Jason reached with his stick, lost his balance, stumbled to one knee then quickly regained his feet. It was too late. One of the guys from Rochester darted around him, fast and low, and took the shot while Jason blocked Tyler's view. The light flashed red behind the net as the horn blasted through the arena's chilly air.
Shit. Dammit.
Aaron left the box, pausing before heading back to the bench. Jason and Tyler were standing too fucking close to each other, damn near chest-to-chest. Aaron could tell heated words were being exchanged. He couldn't hear them, not from center ice, but he didn't need to.
And wouldn't that just be the perfect fucking ending to an already shitty night? To have two guys from the same team going after each other on the ice. Yeah, that would be just fucking perfect.
Aaron took off down the ice, Travis right behind him.
Stupid fucking idiots. He was half-tempted to knock both their heads together. The mood he was in, it would be easy.
And too damn tempting.
He slid to a stop between the two men, placed one hand in the middle of Jason's chest to stop him from moving toward Tyler. No, Jason wasn't going anywhere—Travis was behind him, a hand wrapped around his arm, pulling him back toward the bench, giving him hell in that soft-spoken voice of his.
Aaron turned to Tyler, not bothering to hide his scowl. "What the fuck do you think you're doing? Are you out of your fucking mind?"
"I'm tired of his shit, Aaron. And I don't need him running his fucking mouth about the way I tend net."
Playing It Safe Page 10
