Neither moved for a long time, but the little smile on Savannah’s face told him all he needed to know.
Chapter Eighteen
Savannah woke to see the sun bright behind the curtains in Garrick’s room.
Shit. She panicked, sitting up and pulling away from the large warm body curled around her back. Then she remembered there was no game today. And while she should be at work, it wasn’t as though she’d be particularly missed this morning. That was, if she still had a job.
Sighing, she snuggled back into Garrick’s chest and tried to figure out what she was going to do.
She had enough pride and dignity left to go back to the arena and hold her head high. Not that she looked forward to being fired, but at least she would do it like a grownup with some ethics.
She cringed. Ethics? Duct taping the johnson of one of your players probably failed to meet the guidelines set out in the Athletic Trainers Code of Conduct.
“I can hear you thinking from here,” Garrick said softly behind her. His hand stroked across her belly.
She sighed. It was past time for her to confess. She rolled to face him. He kept his arms around her.
“I’m probably going to get fired today.”
He lifted a distinctly skeptical eyebrow. “You are?”
“Yeah. I am.”
His skepticism was lost by the time she finished telling him about her incident with Bobby and the ensuing tape job. Now he looked positively murderous.
She didn’t tell him that of all the possible fallout from her inevitable termination, what stung the most was she would have to leave Moncton and say goodbye to Garrick.
He lay beside her quietly, digesting her story, presumably unaware of how hard he was gripping her hip and shoulder. She’d have fresh bruises to match the ones from last night.
She smiled. Remembered. Craved more. Good lord, she was sex-addled.
Oblivious to her rising arousal, he pursed his lips. “You really are god’s gift to tape.”
She laughed. “Yeah, that’s my special talent.”
“Not your only one,” he said with a growly voice that made her want to pounce on him.
“Too bad duct taping dicks isn’t a job qualification for a good sports trainer. There’s no way Mark can ignore this.”
“He sure as fuck can’t. Bobby assaulted you last night!”
“Garrick, the only person who knows that for certain is me. It’s he-said-she-said. And he’s a player, with a contract, whose father is going to buy the team. I’m fucked.”
“Don’t say that.”
“Mark has to fire me. Hell, I don’t blame him. I’d fire me. And so would you.”
“You might be surprised. Why don’t you call Mark and ask?”
“Because I’m not a chicken.”
“What?”
“Because I’m not a chicken. I’m not calling. I’m going to the arena and I’m going to face it head on.”
He nodded and rolled out of bed. “Let’s go, then.”
He stalked into the bathroom, naked and perfect and not one bit shy about it. As mornings went, the view was unsurpassed. Too bad the rest of her day was bound to be a downhill experience.
Garrick followed Savannah into the arena parking lot, intentionally putting his truck a few aisles over from where she parked. They’d already gone to her apartment for her to change out of his t-shirt and sweats. The burnable clothes Bobby had touched were piled in his laundry room, waiting for his kitchen woodstove, while the fleece was in the trash.
She marched into the arena, her head high, as if it were just another day at the office. He could only imagine what she was facing—the stares, the results of the gossip overnight, her possible termination. It made him mental to be stuck in his truck.
She had to face it alone. No back up. No generating new rumors about their relationship by walking in together. He understood the reasons, even if he hated the outcome.
After fifteen minutes, he got out of his truck, thankful no one had seen him sitting there. His phone was in hand, at the ready to pretend to be stuck on a call as a possible excuse for loitering in his car. He was about to shove it into his coat pocket when it started to buzz.
He didn’t recognize the number.
“Garrick LeBlanc,” he answered, using his best this better be good or I’m hanging up voice.
“G.”
Jack had called him that since they were kids. Garrick knew Jack’s cell number. This wasn’t it.
“Where are you?” he asked.
“Pay phone. Not important.”
Tension knotted in his belly. “Please tell me you’re being careful.”
“The Sugar Shack,” Jack said impatiently.
“What?”
“The Sugar Shack. On Robinson.”
“What about it?”
“I don’t know, I just thought you’d like it there. Have a drink. Enjoy the atmosphere.” Sarcasm dripped from every word.
“Okay, thanks for the tip. I’ll check it out.”
“Now you be careful. Good luck. I’m done.”
Jack meant he was done helping. It was nothing but a relief to Garrick.
“Thanks,” Garrick said, not sure Jack heard him before he hung up.
Garrick stood in the cold wind of the parking lot and mentally kicked himself again for asking Jack about the Kramers. If Jack got into trouble, lost his job, it would be Garrick’s fault, and the son of a bitch was way too proud to let Garrick help him. Garrick had tried before.
Sighing, he shoved his phone into his coat pocket and went into the arena. He forced himself to walk slowly around the long outer corridor. Eventually he found Rhian, Mike and Alexei standing outside the trainer’s office.
Garrick smiled and wondered if she even knew they were there. Ready to do battle, from the looks on their faces.
Savannah’s army.
He stopped to say hello and pretended shock and awe as Mike related the events of the previous evening. The look on Rhian’s face over Mike’s shoulder was comical—he knew Garrick was full of shit since Garrick had called him and asked him to keep an eye on Savannah while he was stuck in the parking lot.
He didn’t have to fake his surprise when Mike got to the part where he and Alexei had seen and heard enough to back up Savannah’s story. It wasn’t just he-said-she-said after all.
Thank god.
The door opened and they turned to watch Mark stalk from Savannah’s office, shaking his head at them loitering outside the door. He didn’t say a word, just marched down the hall toward his office.
Savannah was the next to come out, stopping short when she saw them.
“Vell?” Alexei’s question—without the thick Russian accent—was on the tip of everyone’s tongue. Garrick didn’t think he was the only one holding his breath.
“Aren’t you guys supposed to be in the gym?” Savannah asked with a smile. “As your trainer, I expect you to stick with our agreed-to fitness plans.”
Mike smiled. “Still the trainer, huh?”
Savannah’s smile faded into a grimace. “For now, anyway.”
Rhian broke protocol and hugged Savannah. Garrick almost laughed at her alarm as she stared at him over Rhian’s shoulder.
Setting her back on her feet, Rhian beamed down at her while Mike and Alexei patted her back and arm hard enough to almost knock her off her feet.
“Oh, well, thanks. I, uh…”
Garrick grinned at her complete loss of words. The guys laughed and turned for the locker room and the gym beyond, leaving them alone.
She stared at their backs as they disappeared around the bend. “They stood up for me.”
“I don’t know why you sound so surprised.”
She shrugged. “I thought you were my only friend.”
Garrick grinned. “I’m not your only friend, I’m your best friend.”
Savannah rolled her eyes. “And not too cocky or anything.”
He tried not to read too much into the fac
t that she didn’t deny it, but his heart leaped in his chest. Jesus, he was like a teenager with his first crush.
Then he pictured them in his bed, hardly able to move because of the butt plugs lodged in their asses, about to fuck until they lost consciousness.
Okay, no teenagers here. So maybe he was like a grown up with his first…
Shit, the first word that popped into his mind wasn’t crush. It was a hell of a lot scarier than that.
Savannah cocked her head. “You okay?”
“What? Oh, yeah. Sorry. Just remembered something.”
Her cell phone saved him from further explanation. The ringtone caught his attention. Who in her life warranted the Olympic Anthem? A stab of jealousy almost made him ask, but his brain caught up with his caveman instincts in time to save the day.
“I better get that,” she said as she backed through her door.
“Will I see you later?”
She paused. The call went to voicemail. “After your workout? Do you want me to look at your hip?”
He checked the corridor, relieved it was empty. So much for his brain outdistancing his baser urges. “No. I mean, yes. If you would help me with my stretches and check out my hip, I’d appreciate it.”
“Okay, see you then.”
He checked again. Still clear. “What are you doing tonight?”
She hovered in her door, biting her lower lip.
Shit. Please don’t let me be back to square one on convincing her we can be more than friends.
“Nothing.” She moved into her office and tilted her head, indicating he should follow. “I usually spend no-game nights at home catching up on sleep.”
Certainly a goal that wouldn’t be met if he got his way. He waited, though, hearing the unspoken “but” in her sentence.
“I guess…” She looked up at him. “I don’t feel safe at home. Alone.”
Amazing how the urge to punch Bobby in the face could spring up at any time. “Come stay with me.”
“I don’t know. My reputation is already in tatters.”
“I live in the middle of nowhere. No one will know.” He understood her need for discretion, but they could do this. He was sure. “Park behind the house. I’ll cook you dinner.”
With her nod, hope—and a few other things—sprang to life in Garrick.
Savannah sat at her desk three days later and stared at her phone in shock.
She was a good interviewee. She was comfortable having conversations with people she didn’t know, she was passionate about her sport, and she knew her shit.
But never in her life had she had a phone interview like this. In the course of an hour she’d spoken with three people, all of whom should have been intimidating as hell, but had proven to be kind, easy to talk to, and—if she wasn’t delusional—impressed with her knowledge and experience.
The results of which meant she was going to Boston for an in-person interview with the Bruins.
If she hadn’t been sitting in her office, she would have leaped from her chair and whooped like a loon. This was it. The dream. The brass ring. The NHL.
Gathering the papers scattered on her desk, she tried to compose herself and focus on more immediate tasks. They had a game tonight and her players would be arriving shortly.
With a sigh, she checked her schedule, knowing whose name would be first.
Bobby Kramer.
And Mark, or whoever was assigned to play chaperone tonight.
For a moment she hoped it would be Garrick. Just as quickly, she forced that hope aside.
The last three nights in his house, in his bed, had been mind-boggling. The sex was incredible. By all reasonable standards, she should be sated. Replete with vigorous and gymnastic loving. But she wanted more.
And then there was the time out of bed. The quiet meals expertly prepared, the heated debates between two news junkies, the quiet cuddles on the couch while they zoned out to their common addiction—cop dramas.
She remembered her first impressions of Garrick. God, she’d been dead wrong. Even more galling, she had pigeonholed him. A hockey player who’d had the unfortunate impulse to ask her out, and she’d socked him into the role of jock, philanderer, and jerk. With the exception of his athleticism, he was none of those things.
Though, he had quite thoroughly lived up to his reputation as a titan in bed. And then some. Indeed, he was forcing her to revise some beliefs she’d always held about love, lovers, and sex.
In her experience, there had been only two kinds of lovers—selfish and generous. Now there were three—selfish, generous, and Garrick.
There was something wholly unique about him. Selfish lovers focused on doing what they needed to get some relief. Generous lovers focused on what she needed to get some relief.
Garrick was certainly generous. She smiled at the zing tickling up her spine from the ache in her bottom. Very generous. But it was more than finding relief. Or release. Or anything as simple as meeting some goal—hell, imperative—that sprung to life every time she was near him.
At times he’d stopped their headlong rush into the abyss to do the most unexpected things. Like rub his soft nose, just the tip, smooth like velvet, down her rib cage, twisting from her shoulder blade, tucking under her arm to the sensitive flesh over her ribs, and dipping into her waist and over the bump of one hip. The trip was slow. His touch firm. Just the memory of his smile made her shiver. Eyes closed, lips curled. It was so soothing and erotic. But it was not for her benefit. At least, not hers alone.
She’d felt…cherished. Stupid word, like he might write her an ode, which would be completely mortifying if it weren’t somewhere between extremely unlikely and impossible.
But he was sweet. And he did something like that every time they were together. He wasn’t courting her. What would be the point when she was already sprawled naked beneath him in his bed? She was writhing, begging with word and deed for him to do as he pleased. And what seemed to please him were these simple acts of…affection.
She’d cared for lovers before. Heck, she’d been in love with Doug in college. He’d been a good lover, often generous, sometimes selfish. She’d been selfish sometimes, too. But Doug had touched her just for the pleasure of the connection, to simply enjoy the touch. Hadn’t he?
Sitting there, staring at her corkboard, she couldn’t remember a time Doug had touched her like that. Nor a time she’d touched him with nothing more than the need to express her feelings, how she cared for him. They’d been young. Driving toward release, maybe even thinking about the next one after that.
Garrick was different.
Which royally sucked since she had to leave town. Soon. She’d already arranged to go to Boston next week after they got back from their three-day road trip.
Some distance would help clear her head. She had to stop her growing addiction to Garrick before it really took hold. Three days on the road would help, being in the hotel and not his house. Living with the team and not just each other. Then Boston. Three days on her own, with no Garrick, no mind-numbing sex, just her career and future to hold her focus.
Because Bruins or no Bruins, she was leaving Moncton and the Ice Cats.
And Garrick.
Chapter Nineteen
Garrick snapped awake at seven a.m., as was his habit, and smiled. Savannah lay curled against him, warm and naked in his bed, her head ducked beneath his chin, her breath a tickle on his chest. She’d slept burrowed under the covers, snuggled into him, every night for a week.
He was quickly getting used to it. Aw hell, he was used to it.
He’d be a fool to get any more attached. The thought of Savannah moving away already caused a tug of panic in his chest, and she was leaving for an interview in Boston in just a few hours. He’d have to learn how to live without her again.
Not that she was with him now. As far as anyone knew, she slept at her apartment and he in his house. Friends. Work colleagues. Not lovers.
It was how it had to be but it still
rankled. He wanted to take her to dinner, see a movie, hell, go grocery shopping with her. He wanted to be normal.
He huffed out a silent laugh. That was never going to happen. Even if he did manage to yank the team from the Kramers’ clutches, there would be another owner, another manager, another team full of men who might be fooled into believing the worst of her. And then there were the Bruins. Perversely, he wanted her to land her dream job, even if it meant she’d be gone for good.
Sighing, he looked down into her face, rubbing his hand along her smooth back. He wanted to haul her up against him and not let go.
Good god, he was becoming the caveman she’d accused him of being.
Savannah murmured in her sleep and arched into his touch as his palm skimmed over her ass. He stopped to rub one cheek, her silky skin warm, the crease at the top of her thigh too great a temptation for his roaming fingers.
She blinked up at him. “Good morning.”
Her voice was rough, and he recalled how she’d shrieked for more as he’d fucked her against the shower wall last night, quick and hard. How they’d taken that shower to clean up from the long, slow, shattering sex they’d had in the kitchen after their three-day road trip. He’d only meant to kiss her, but the next thing they knew she was on the table. Then they both had ended up there, enjoying a second course of dessert directly from each other’s bodies.
The sight of whipped cream and chocolate sauce would likely give him an erection for the rest of his life. He anticipated awkward trips to Dairy Queen with glee.
She smiled at him, and he couldn’t resist her sweet lips. Their kiss was slow, an awakening of body and mind. Arousal built, swirling around them as they lay facing one another. The scent of her swelling body reached him from the warm cocoon of covers and tangled limbs. The blood surging into his cock felt thick and hot, his heartbeat ponderous in his ears.
The perfect way to wake up.
He urged her thigh up over his hip and she hooked it high against his ribs, opening herself to him.
He drew a finger through her slit, gathering sweet cream on his finger and delicate moans from her lips. He traced her clit, once, twice. Her languid movements became jerky, and her hand fisted in his hair.
Fair Play (Hat Trick, Book 1) Page 16
