by Marina Adair
Hawk was always cordial with Bridget, but that didn’t mean that seeing her didn’t hurt. In fact, it always managed to reopen healing wounds. Which was why, Ali was certain, Hawk did his best to steer clear of his ex. “I came because I knew she was in town and I didn’t want her to take over your night.” He pushed off the railing and stepped into her, his voice warm and masculine when he spoke. “There was also the dress.”
Her heart skipped three whole beats, then those annoying butterflies took flight in her stomach. She had to work hard to sip in air. “I changed. It clashed with the boots.”
He smiled. “I like the shirt, although after your night I bet you’ll wish you’d worn the PETITE AND PACKING shirt you got for your birthday.”
Ali laughed. She couldn’t believe it. Bridget and her five-carat comet were two seconds from impact, and Gail was probably sweet-talking Marty into a disastrous walk down memory lane, and Ali was laughing.
Although it came out sounding horrifyingly close to a sob.
“That bad?”
“Bridget only eats food that once had a soul, Gail is single and apparently looking for her next adventure…with my dad, who is on his second beer of the hour, my shoes say Ball Buster, and I’m still sober.”
“I can fix that.” Hawk toed the case of hard cider that he’d set on the porch. “Or you can say fuck it, hop on the back of my bike, and we drive into town and break into the thirty-year-old bottle of Scotch I have hidden in the bar.”
“Why would you do that?” she asked, hating how squishy he made her feel.
“Because even though you drive me crazy, you’re still my friend, and I’d like to be yours if you’ll let me,” he said quietly. “And I’ve been saving that bottle since winning the Stanley Cup, and today seems like a pretty good reason to crack it open.”
The game he’d finished on a blown-out knee. Hawk delivered the final goal that brought the trophy home and the crowd to its feet. His team had been celebrating what had been called The Comeback Win, as Hawk had been on his way to the hospital, learning that his career was over.
Alone.
Well, he’d learn about the end of this dream, too, but he wouldn’t have to deal with it alone. Because he was right, while their relationship as of late might be as warm and fuzzy as sparring porcupines, there was a time, before Bridget, where they’d vowed to always have each other’s back.
“Fine.” Feeling suddenly protective, another annoying emotion that Hawk seemed to bring out in her, Ali headed toward his bike. “But I get to drive.”
“The closest you’ll get to the handlebars is sitting on them.” Hawk grabbed her arm. “And since when do you run from a fight?”
“I’m not running.” Liar. “I’m merely leaving it for another day.”
Hawk studied her long and hard, and Ali resisted the urge to look away. “You’re running. What gives?”
The door opened and she could see Bridget’s perfect nose peek out. Followed by her long legs and blond Barbie locks. Her big green eyes widened when she took in Hawk’s back, and then she gave an uncertain smile.
The same smile she got when she ordered strawberry and Ali ordered sherbet.
“Do you still love her?”
Hawk did a double take, then lowered his voice. “Do I still love Bridget? We were married for five years. What do you think, that she left and, poof, I stopped caring? Love doesn’t work that way.”
In Ali’s world love did. But the way he said it, unashamed and so full of conviction, Ali found herself wanting to believe, too.
“Are you still in love with her?”
“Pffft…No.”
“Oh God, you hesitated!”
“I didn’t hesitate.” But he hesitated again. “It’s just that no one has ever asked me that question.”
“Well, they should have.” Ali heard the distinct sound of a Tesla pull into the drive, and the pressure grew heavy enough to constrict her breathing.
Then her sister was calling out, in that same alluring come-hither tone that had been passed on from Marshal mother to the older Marshal daughter, “Hawk? Oh my God. Hawk! I can’t believe you’re here.”
Hawk went to turn his head and say hey to his ex, who he claimed he wasn’t still hooked on, but hesitated in doing so, and Ali reached up and grabbed his face. A hard task when he had more than a foot of height on her.
“Focus on me,” Ali said, looking him in the eye. “Are we friends?”
“Yes.”
No hesitation, good. “Do you trust me?”
“You stole my kegs less than ten hours ago.”
“Right.” A car stopped a few feet behind her. Close enough that she could feel the heat from the grille push through her clothes. “But you trusted me enough to do right by the kegs and not call the cops.”
He smiled. “I didn’t call the cops because I trusted the kegs would be unrecognizable by the time they arrived. No sense in wasting good taxpayers’ money.”
“Ali, what are you doing?” Bridget whined, and stomped down the steps. “Stop accosting Hawk and get out of the driveway. You’re blocking Jamie from parking.”
She was also stopping Hawk from getting his heart run over. “Remember how you looked at me in that dress earlier.”
His gaze tracked her body, leisurely but with purpose, until that grin became a full-on smirk—a bit wicked and full of something she’d never seen directed her way. Sexual curiosity. “Yeah, I remember.”
Talk about potent. The man took flirting to an Olympic level.
“Good. Channel whatever that was,” she whispered, fisting her hands in the front of his shirt and dragging him up against her. Because she wasn’t so sure how “over” Bridget Hawk really was. But she knew, with a certainty, Bridget would use her engagement to test him—to torture him with how over him she was. And more than anything, Ali didn’t want him to fail.
She also didn’t want to examine too closely why it mattered to her, because she wasn’t sure she’d like the conclusion she’d come to. Or why her pulse quickened at the mere thought of what she was about to do.
“And follow my lead.”
Then Ali did the only thing she could think of to fix the situation. She went up on wobbly toes.
Chapter 3
Hawk never knew what to expect when it came to Ali. Today was no exception. Which was why, when she pulled him close, within fighting distance, he’d braced himself—for the knee to the nuts, a direct hit to his masculinity. But no amount of bracing could have prepared him for just how big a punch that mouth of hers could pack.
When smart and brassy, it was a force to be admired. When warm and soft, and shyly pressed against his—it was damn lethal. So lethal it nearly short-circuited every wire in his brain.
But then he remembered that this wasn’t some puck bunny who had strolled into his bar looking for a good time. This was Ali—and her idea of a good time was being a never-ending pain in his ass.
So even though the feeling of her mouth on his was even more fan-fucking-tastic than he’d fantasized, he reminded himself that when it came to Ali, nothing was ever what it seemed.
Which was the only excuse he had for what he did next. Well, that and the fact that Hawk considered himself a damn fine player—on and off the ice. It was his ability to commit himself fully that made him such a formidable opponent. And the second those thick lashes fluttered shut, and Ali’s lips touched his—he was fully committed to whatever crazy challenge she was throwing his way this time.
Committed and determined to be the victorious one.
So when he felt her start to pull back, Hawk changed tactics, going from defensive to a fully offensive position. His hands slid around her back and held her to him, so tight that all of those soft girly parts she kept hidden under her tough girl attire were pressed firm against all of his hard manly ones. Then he held that kiss until he felt her start to squirm.
Nothing overtly outrageous, keeping it clean enough that to an outsider looking on it would ap
pear to be two old friends sharing a chaste kiss.
Hawk was more than aware that his ex was standing a few yards away on the front porch where he’d first met her, courted her, got down on one knee, and offered her everything he had to give. The same front porch they’d shared their first kiss—and their last.
She was probably wearing one of her slinky dresses and complicated up-dos that drove him crazy, looking as gorgeous and out of his league as ever. Even when they’d been married, he’d always felt as if he was just a visitor in her world. Not an uncommon place for him to be, since Hawk didn’t belong in his own family, but a position he was determined to overcome.
Which was why he’d come home to Destiny Bay, and paid a fortune to ensure it remained Bridget-free. Because moving forward with a new life was impossible when the life he’d lost was teasing him at every turn.
Bridget loved Seattle and Hawk still loved Bridget, so when she asked for a divorce, he knew he’d need space that didn’t smell of failure and lost dreams. She’d get the cars, the house, the 401K, and an epic settlement.
He’d get Destiny Bay.
Only now she was back and he had his ex-sister-in-law in his arms. And that friendly peck she’d planted on him was inspiring a whole other kind of problem.
“What are you doing?” Ali whispered against his lips.
“What you told me to do.” He slowly opened his eyes—to find hers shooting daggers.
“I said follow my lead, not grab my ass,” she hissed, with a smile that was big and bold and so manufactured he wanted to laugh.
“Sunshine, my hands aren’t anywhere near your ass,” he said, noticing that maybe they’d slid a wee bit farther south than planned—but still within the realm of appropriate. “And since following your lead usually winds up with you kneeing me in the nuts, or a Sunday drive in the back of the sheriff’s car, I decided your lead, while always fun, is a little too unpredictable for my preference today.”
“I didn’t ask you what your preference was,” she said quietly, smacking his chest—moving him back a whole inch. “And I didn’t ask you to show up unannounced with a pie. But you’re here and so is she, and—”
A horn honked and Ali jumped.
“Shoot. Now Jamie’s here and is going to toot his horn all night. So here’s to you being over Bridget, because if not, shit is about to get real.” Ali looked over her shoulder at a pearl white Tesla and blew out a tight breath. “And the stench is going to be epic.”
Before he could ask how much more real things could possibly get, the asshat in the princess mobile spun his wheels before jamming it in Park—stopping inches from Ali’s legs.
“Watch out,” he said, taking her hands and easing her to the side. Then when the polo shirt with the loafers climbed out of the car, Hawk approached him, chin up, chest out.
“What the hell was that, Asshat?” he asked the prick whose name probably wasn’t Asshole, because based on the car and big-city shoes it was more likely Pierce or Kenneth, but Hawk didn’t give a shit. “One more inch and you would have hit her.”
“Sorry about that,” Asshat said, resting his arms on the hood of his car. “I wasn’t sure you knew I was there and I didn’t want to be late.” He shrugged. “I did honk.”
“You’re not late,” he heard Bridget say from the porch, moments before a soft scent of jasmine and vanilla blew past him and right into Asshat’s arms. “In fact, your timing couldn’t be any more perfect than if we planned it this way.”
“Besides missing the boating trip with my dad, you’re right on time,” Ali deadpanned, then crossed her arms in greeting.
Hawk wanted to smile at how fiercely she protected those she loved, but he was too busy trying to hold it together. Waiting for the sucker punch that always came with seeing his ex.
“That’s my sister, Aliana.” Bridget turned to face them. “And this is Bradley. Guys, this is my Jamie.”
The added emphasis on ownership was a hard word to swallow, because Hawk had once been hers. And even though he knew it was over, it still burned. Just like he knew the polite thing to do would be to stick his hand out in welcome but he couldn’t seem to move.
Slinky, sophisticated, and heart-stoppingly gorgeous didn’t even cover it. Even the small smile she gave him brought on a tsunami of emotions that were as complicated as ever. Some were familiar, others were painful, and some just created a dull throbbing beneath his ribs.
The irritation at her appearance, that was new, but combined, they all made for a painful knot that twisted in his gut.
Divorced or not, Bridget was still the girl he fell for, the woman he’d vowed to love for eternity, and the partner he’d dreamed of sharing a family with. And she’d left him for another man. Oddly, not the man whose hand she was clinging to as if he was her soulmate.
Hawk wanted to tell the smug fucker not to get too comfortable, because she’d clung to him that way once. And all it took was one tiny imperfection to send her running. And guys like Jamie might look polished and shiny on the outside, but inside was a slew of imperfections waiting to be discovered. And Bridget would find them—and eventually move on. It was what she’d done her entire life.
A part of Hawk, the really stupid part that was desperate to believe love wasn’t a fleeting emotion, needed her to find someone who made her so happy she’d stop running. And although Hawk had come to terms with not being that guy for her, the betrayed lover in him hoped she’d find that special someone, perhaps, in Europe.
Not that Asshat was the someone for Bridget, but he was obviously special enough to bring home to meet Marty. And if Marty had been telling the truth, Hawk had been the only boyfriend of Bridget’s he’d ever met. One of the few memories he didn’t have to share with another man.
Until tonight.
Hawk never considered himself a jealous man—hell, Bridget had been sleeping with another man before Hawk had even known she wanted a divorce—but the idea of sharing this house, Marty and Ali, and Friday night barbeques with another man didn’t settle right.
Hawk felt a strong, unwavering hand slip into his and give a squeeze. One of those I’ve got you, bro signals he’d come to count on when it came to Ali. But instead of taking out Jamie at the knees with her steel toes, Ali did the most un-Ali-like thing he’d ever witnessed. And that was a lot to say coming on the heels of her kissing him.
She linked both of her hands with his, then snuggled into his side, and in a tone that was all sunshine and sorority girl said, “It’s nice to meet you, Jamie. You can call me Ali. And this here is Hawk.” There went those lashes again, fluttering up at him in a way that could only mean trouble. “My boyfriend.”
“Did you just say he’s your boyfriend?” Bridget laughed.
“Did I stutter?” Ali leaned in toward her sister. “Boy. Friend.”
“You’re saying boyfriend with a pause, as in a friend who is a boy.”
“Maybe this will clear things up. Hawk is my boyfriend and this is a date.” She said it so serious, it dried up all of Bridget’s laughter. In fact, it sucked all of the oxygen out of the immediate area and Hawk damn near choked on his own breath.
“A date?” Hawk said at the same time as Bridget snapped, “Boyfriend? As in one word?”
“Yup.” Ali just stood there, fluttering her lashes and swaying as if she’d just spoken the gospel.
Asshat, completely unaware that Ali’s prank was bringing Bridget deathly close to DEFCON 1, smiled and said, “Congrats.”
“Thanks,” Ali said, not even a splinter in her façade. She was so convincing, if it weren’t for the fact that he was the boyfriend in question, Hawk would have believed her.
“Don’t mind my sister,” Bridget said, those cat-shaped eyes of hers slitting dangerously. “She thinks she’s being funny, when really she’s being awkward. Ali has a talent for making things awkward. On everyone.”
Ali, bless her keg-stealing, lying little heart, only smiled bigger and held on tighter. “I’m actually just t
rying to make tonight easy on everyone. What do you say, can we all leave smelling of rainbows and unicorn farts?”
Bridget shrugged. “As long as it includes champagne toasts, jubilation, and you dropping whatever prank you think you have going.”
“No prank,” Ali said smoothly, a challenging air circulating between the sisters.
Hawk was skilled in female nonverbal communication. He’d seen enough of it pass between the two sisters over the years to be considered fluent in lady-speak. But he had not a clue as to what was going on between them tonight.
“I know it might feel weird, us just springing this on you without giving you time to prepare, but this is kind of new, so we haven’t really told anyone yet. You know how that goes, right, Bridge?”
“Drop the act. Hawk’s not yours, he’s mine,” Bridget stated in that possessive tone that used to turn Hawk on—until he realized she was only possessive over what was hers when somebody else wanted a piece. “Now stop trying to ruin my special night.”
The words settled over the group like a bathtub full of cement, and Hawk stood in disbelieving shock of his ex-wife. No one had the power to silence a room quite like Bridget when she was ticked. But this went beyond anything he’d ever seen from her.
She wasn’t even ten minutes into her visit and already Soulmate 3.0 was starting to question his sustainability. Ali looked ready to throw up, but was doing a hell of a job keeping herself rooted in the moment when he knew on the inside she wanted to bolt.
“Man, how I love these Friday night dinners. Always leaves me wondering why I don’t try harder to get you here every week,” Ali said and, with a one-fingered salute, turned to Hawk. “Thanks for dropping off the pie, I owe you.”
All that bravado tucked into such a tiny package was impressive, but Hawk saw the apology in her eyes mixed with a shit-ton of uncertainty. Knew that she was terrified of going back inside the party alone.
“For the record, I’m your ex,” Hawk said, holding up his naked finger and giving it a wiggle. He considered wiggling another finger Jamie’s way, but was more concerned with the way Ali’s lips were slightly trembling—and the strange fury growing inside him. “And this isn’t your night, it’s Ali’s. Which is why I came. Now, if you’ll excuse us for a moment.”
