Virgin Territory

by Lia Riley

  “For a session?”

  She didn’t blush outright, but the skin at her throat turned a delicate pink. “Yeah.”

  He heard the rest of her sentence in his brain. Session. If that’s what we’re calling it these days.

  “We through here, Coach?” he asked.

  Tor glanced over. “I’m going to keep the rest of the guys another hour. But you go. Like I said earlier. I want you to trust your gut. Be instinctive. I’d rather you go off and work on that than stand here fielding slap shots.”

  “On it.” And there it was, the little gnaw of guilt, a familiar feeling because after all, he was a Catholic boy. He’d focus on his game. That’s what he was meant to be doing with Margot. And if he wanted something more, well, he’d waited twenty-five years. He could set that aside while he focused on showing his team his commitment.

  Because there was a date on his calendar coming up at the end of next week. Settlement negotiations. His lawyer said it was great they were moving fast. The statute of limitations could be years on such a case.

  Soon he was going to face the music and maybe it wouldn’t matter what he was doing, what leaf he was trying to turn over, because his name would be mud if he agreed to settle. But what hope did he have in getting Guy to drop his case? Patch knew it wasn’t all about the money.

  He’d hurt Guy Footscray right in the pride and that’s where he’d strike back.

  Margot’s smile lit up her whole face. A lump lodged in his throat. She looked so pure. So perfect. And she deserved someone the same. Not someone who would drag her down in his shit.

  “I guess you’ll want to hit the showers,” she said. “How about I wait down by the locker room?”

  “Yeah. Sure. See you in a sec.” And he skated away. Once they were alone, he’d tell her that all he could focus on was hockey, getting his head on straight. That what had happened between them, what he’d done to her, had been a mistake.

  “Holy shit. Donnelly’s got a lady out there,” Petrov announced a few minutes later, sauntering into the locker room. “Cute one too. I asked if she was lost and she said she was waiting for him.”

  “No shit?” Munro glanced in his direction and waggling his brows. “You holding out on us?”

  “I bet you’re right,” Nicholson added. “She is lost. Lost . . . in your eyes.” He crooned into an invisible microphone.

  “You guys are idiots.” Patch slid on his long-sleeved grey T-shirt and tightened his belt. “It’s not like that.”

  “She’s got legs for days,” Petrov continued.

  “Aw, damn,” Nate Reed piped up. “This I gotta see.”

  “No.” Patch stepped forward. “Not if you like living.”

  “That a fact?” The second-string goalie, Nate Reed had a smart mouth and was chomping at the bit to replace his ass. “Or what? You going to break my arm too? How’s that working out for ya?”

  The room fell silent. Patch’s fingers twitched reflexively and he balled them into a fist.

  Then he heard Margot’s voice in his head, as clear as if she was whispering into his ear.

  Breathe. Just breathe.

  He did and shit, she was right. It was too shallow. He tried again. From his diaphragm. Counted to ten and did it again.

  The rage faded. His pulse returned to normal.

  Not today, Satan.

  He smirked at Nate. “Hey man, have yourself a good afternoon. I know I will.”

  And then he walked away, whistling for good measure.

  And as he opened the locker-room door, his grin stretched from ear to ear. He’d gotten it back, the power. His rage was put in its place and he’d done it.

  And the person who helped him get to that place was leaning against the wall.

  “I came to thank you in person for the flowers.” Margot said. “My house looks like a summer garden.”

  “I’m the one that should be thanking you,” he said, deflecting. “I tried that breathing shit you talked about. It worked.”

  She bit her lower lip, trying and failing to hold back a smile. “I’m so glad ‘that breathing shit’ is working out. But I’m serious, what you did last night, with the flowers, I haven’t had a guy be good like that to me before. It meant a lot.”

  “I can’t decide if that’s a damn shame or working in my favor,” he rumbled. This was flirting. Nothing big. Not dangerous. But not strictly professional.

  The problem was when he stood in front of her, face-to-face, he didn’t feel professional. Or like the Hellions fuckup goalie. Or the kid from Southie with another sad story. He felt like Patrick, the man he’d always wanted to be.

  “I wanted to return the favor,” she said.

  “You sending me flowers to the locker room? Because I’ll tell you right now, that happens and the guys will never let me live it down.”

  “No,” she laughed. “This is just a nice gesture. A . . . token of my affection.”

  She held out a hand. “You in?”

  “Yeah.” He closed his fingers around hers. “All in.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “For real? You’re not telling me where we’re going?” Patch said, amusement threading his tone. Outside the window, the University of Colorado campus flew by the window. “I never come up to Boulder.”

  “Good things come to those who wait,” Margot replied enigmatically as she turned on the off ramp. They rode in comfortable silence for another two minutes, until she parked her car outside of a funky brick warehouse between a craft brewery and an acupuncture clinic.

  “See that over there?” She pointed at the building across the street with a For Sale sign, the one that housed Stefan’s MMA gym and two empty shops. It had foot traffic and amazing natural light.

  “Yeah.”

  “It just came on the market. It’s my dream to own that space and start a business.” She explained the concept of Sanctuary as they walked into the Nirvana Yoga Studio.

  “That all sounds great,” he said, even as he hesitated outside the front door.

  “You okay?”

  “You’re taking me to yoga class? No offense, but–”

  “Do you trust me?”

  He nodded.

  “Good. Because I’m going to have to trust you an awful lot for the next hour.”

  Couples were already pairing off on mats around the studio. From the front, Dusk, her fellow instructor, waved.

  “Hey, glad you made it,” she called. “I’ve been trying to get you into Acrobatic Yoga for forever.”

  “Acro-what?” Patch murmured in Margot’s ear.

  She shivered as his hot breath skimmed her skin. “Acro-Yoga. It’s like if acrobatics and yoga had a baby. And it’s going to be fun.”

  He snorted. “This is a real thing?”

  “It is indeed. And before you go rolling those baby blues, hear me out. Acro is for fun. No one can take themselves all that seriously while doing it. So I think it’s going to be good for you. But it’s not all ridiculousness. You’re going to be the base. I’m the flyer.”

  “Base? Flyer?”

  “All right everybody,” Dusk called in a strong but calm voice. “First move of the night is going to be a warm-up, get you connected to your partner, and your hearts activated. Plank on Plank.”

  Patch stared around as couples—men and woman, women and women, and men and men—dropped to the mats. The bigger partners got down into plank pose, arms shoulder-width apart.

  “The key here is keeping your core engaged,” Margot said. “So that you are strong and stable. Then, I get on you.”

  “I don’t know about this.”

  “You promised.” She took his hand and gave it a soft squeeze. “Trust me to let you have some fun.”

  “Fine.” He got down into plank.

  “Nice form,” she said.

  “If you wanted an excuse to check out my butt, there are easier ways.”

  She laughed. “Okay, I have to get on top while you do a plank. I’ll face your feet and pla
ce my hands on your ankles. My toes will balance at your shoulders while I do a plank in reverse. That’s why it’s Plank on Plank, get it?”

  “Got it.”

  “Good.” She got into position then and felt his muscles hard beneath her. “Are you okay?” she asked.

  “Could do it all day,” he fired back. “Want to challenge the other teams? I think we got ’em all beat.”

  “Yoga isn’t a competitive sport,” she teased.

  They went on from there. Next was the Base Test pose, almost like doing the famous Dirty Dancing lift while he was on the ground. She reached back and grabbed her ankles to finish the pose.

  “Remember to lock eyes,” Dusk called. “This is a great way to build trust between the base and the flyer. Remember that fear is just trapped joy. Soft gazes, soft breath.”

  Margot looked down and Patch was staring back, his face expressionless.

  Self-doubt rose within her. Maybe this was a terrible idea. It had felt right on paper, when she was in bed tossing and turning last night. A way to continue establishing a working relationship, but still let her touch him. And for him to touch her.

  But maybe this was all a little too airy-fairy and touchy-feely for him. Just because this was her thing didn’t mean it would be his.

  “What’s going through your head?” he murmured.

  “Wondering what’s going through yours,” she admitted.

  “Not much.”

  “You hate this.”

  “No. I mean . . .” He looked around at the other couples, currently engaged in silent nonverbal communication, the atmosphere intense.

  “It’s not what I’m used to,” he whispered. “But I can think of a million things I hate more than watching you above me.”

  A bubble of hope floated through her belly. “So you are having fun.”

  He screwed up his face. “You know what? I think I am.”

  She burst out laughing and he joined her, his legs wobbling. She went lopsided. “Oh no!”

  But before she could tumble from her perch, he caught her with a firm grip, lowering her down to his lap.

  “That was close.”

  “Not even. I’ll never let you fall.”

  “And you’re a man of your word?”

  His face got serious. “I am.”

  As they finished class, Dusk came up to give her a hug. She glanced at Patch. “Do I know you from somewhere?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Oh!” Her eyes brightened. “You work at that new vegan pizzeria. I love the pesto with artichoke hearts and pine nuts. Keep up the good work. Namaste.”

  Margot held it in until she got back into her little Honda; then she let it out.

  “You finished?” Patch said wryly as she paused to gasp a breath.

  “Your f-f-face. When Dusk said namaste.”

  That set her off all over again.

  He watched her, bemused. “The vegan part is what got me. Vegan pizza. How is that a thing?”

  “I know what you mean, but that pizza place is legit.”

  “Let me get this straight, you eat vegan pizza. What about the cheese?”

  “It’s actually quite delicious. I’ll take you there sometime.”

  “Please don’t.” He buckled his seat belt. “Actually, sure. What the hell? Vegan pizza. Can’t be all bad.”

  “Well I don’t know about you, but I’m absolutely starving after getting flown around for an hour. Dinner date?”

  “When I’m with you I’m doing stuff I never thought about in a million years.”

  “You say that like it’s a good thing, Mr. Donnelly.”

  He grinned. “That’s because it is.”

  The restaurant, Flatiron Pizza, wasn’t far or too busy. No surprise given that it was a Tuesday night. They were seated quickly and Patch deferred to Margot for ordering.

  “As long as it doesn’t have any of those acai berries on it, I’ll eat it.”

  She ordered them an Indian-style pizza and two iced teas.

  “Indian-style?” He quizzed after the waitress walked away.

  “It’s the best one they do. There is this coconut curry sauce, and the sausage is—”

  “Sausage?” he brightened. “Vegans eat sausage?”

  “Sorry,” she chuckled. “It’s more like tofu chorizo. Did you just go pale?”

  “I might pass out. I’m eating a pizza with curry and tofu? If anyone in Boston saw me right now, let’s just say it would not be a good situation.”

  “You’re so brave.”

  It didn’t take long for the pizza to arrive. Margot pushed it to the center of the table. “Do you want to say grace?”

  He gave her a sharp look. “Why do you say that?”

  She hesitated a second. “Look. I did some more reading about you. I knew you were Catholic, but I didn’t realize you were quite so enrolled–in-a-seminary-for-a-few-months Catholic.”

  “Can you see me being a priest?”

  She took him in—his size, the restless brutal energy that marked his face, the beard, the magnetic eyes. “Organized religion’s not my thing, but if you led mass, I’d be in your front pew every Sunday, rain or shine.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Do you want me to spell it out for you? You are H-O-T.” She ducked her head, suddenly embarrassed, “And speaking of hot, here, let’s serve you some hot pizza because trust me you don’t want this cold.” She undercut her awkward joke with an equally awkward forced chuckle.

  “I enrolled in seminary after Ma died,” he said suddenly. “And even though we weren’t close, she was still my Ma. And the way she went . . .” His throat worked hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “It wasn’t good.”

  “Did she get sick?”

  “Yeah, the disease was called heroin.” His smile was bitter. “As you can imagine, she ran around with some pretty shady characters. One of ’em must have killed her. No one knows who. An old lady found her body dumped in a parking garage in Rhode Island. Ma was on the concrete. Gunshot to the head.”

  “That’s terrible.” Margot’s stomach heaved.

  “Police never got a lead, never found who did it. I’d majored in theology at Boston College. Growing up, there was this guy, Father Kevin, and he saw me through a lot. He was a parent for me when no one else was. When my pal Sully decided to enter the priesthood, I decided why not. ‘Relieve the troubles of my heart and free me from my anguish.’ Psalms Twenty-Five, Sixteen, Seventeen.”

  Margot felt trapped in a confusing confluence. On one side, there was her honest admiration of a man who’d faced extraordinarily difficult circumstances and tried to find an outlet for healing. On the other side was the fact she was turned on close to a ten out of ten. What was it about hearing this big lug of a man quoting Scripture that got her motor running?

  She didn’t know, but she was willing to find out.

  As the thought hit her, it was like a record scratched.

  Bad motor! Turn off. Go back in the garage and think about what you’ve done.

  She glanced at the kitchen and pointed, grateful for a distraction. “Look. I think that must be the doppelgänger that Dusk mentioned.”

  Behind a food counter a tall, bearded, ginger-haired guy was tossing a pizza.

  “Is he wearing hemp necklaces?” Patch said in a strangled tone.

  “At least four or five. And that looks like a genuine vintage Grateful Dead T-shirt.”

  “I got mistaken for that guy?”

  “Hey, he’s pretty handsome.”

  Patch turned around and cocked a brow. “Your type.”

  She shrugged. “I’m what you call an omnivore. Geeky. Bad boy. Mountain man. Sporty.”

  “Sporty, eh?”

  “I mean, my last boyfriend owned an MMA studio.”

  “That asshole who was at your house.”

  “An apt description.”

  “I don’t like him.”

  “Something we have in common. But I don’t want to talk about Stef
an. I want to hear your verdict on the pizza. Go on, you haven’t taken a bite. Don’t think that I haven’t noticed.”

  He glanced down with a sigh.

  “Don’t be a baby. You face down slap shots travelling a hundred miles an hour. Enjoy the cheez.”

  “That’s the problem,” he said glumly. “There is no cheese here.”

  “C-h-e-e-z,” she spelled out.

  “Fuck.” He shoved a piece in his mouth and chewed. His features remained inscrutable as ever, even as a vein rose on his neck.

  “Don’t keep me in suspense, what’s the verdict.”

  He took a deep swallow of his iced tea. “My taste buds are never going to forgive me.”

  “Not your thing.”

  “Not even a little.”

  His unexpected grin revealed slight imperfections in his white teeth, the two top incisors were crooked. Little lines grooved the skin on either side of his eyes. The humor transformed him, and the muscles between her legs clenched painfully tight. “Well, you know what? It doesn’t have to be. But I’m proud of you for trying. Just like I’m proud of you for giving Acrobatic Yoga a chance.”

  “Now that was fun.”

  “Really? You enjoyed it?”

  “Hell yeah. Tofu sausage can suck a nut. But watching you above me? I could do that all day.”

  “Could you now?” she said softly.

  He wiped his mouth. “Tell you what. We’ve been on your terms today. How about you come be on mine?”

  “What do you have in mind?”

  He pushed away his plate. “For starters, something that doesn’t involve curry on pizza.”

  They were out in a flash. But in the parking lot her front wheel was flat.

  “Oh crap,” she groaned.

  Patch crouched, pulling out his keychain. There was a penlight on the end. “Someone slashed it.”

  “Are you serious?” She glanced around as if she’d see a villain lurking in the shadows of the closest streetlight.

  “Probably just some random punk hating on people who eat vegan pizza.” But while his tone was joking, the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “You got a spare? I can change this in no time, and you can get a new one tomorrow.”

  “Yeah, in the trunk.” She gave a distracted hand wave to the back of her car. It was a bad feeling to be targeted, even at random. The night had felt warm, happy. And now a cold wind blew through it.