The texting was obviously him being nice. Just like his going through with the date after she’d revealed she was pregnant. Now that he’d eased his own conscience about ripping her clothes off the night before, she’d probably never hear from him again.
Her gut twisted in a tight knot.
Why had she allowed herself to fall for Ben Westmore? Last night she’d opened herself up to him in a way she never had with anyone before. His support and acceptance of her pregnancy had made her feel like she wasn’t completely alone in it…for a few hours at least. He hadn’t actually meant it when he said she could call on him for baby furniture shopping, but in the moment, just the thought had been nice.
A knock on her office door made her jump and she straightened. “Come in,” she called to Madison, visible through the open blinds.
“Hi, Ms. Davis. This just came for you,” she said, handing her an envelope.
“Thanks,” she said, noticing the Colorado Avalanche logo in the corner as she took it. Her hand immediately shook and she swallowed nerves rising in the back of her throat.
“Is it tickets to tonight’s game?” Madison asked, eyes wide.
“I don’t know. I haven’t opened it yet.” The excitement bubbling up in her chest made it almost impossible to hide a smile.
Madison waited.
“Phone,” Olivia said, hearing it ring at her assistant’s desk.
Madison sighed. “God forbid we let it go to voicemail just once,” she mumbled as she left to answer it.
Alone, Olivia tore open the envelope and pulled out a ticket. A player’s complimentary seat right behind the home box. Her heart echoed in her ears Ben was inviting her to tonight’s game. Did that mean he wanted to see her, too? She flicked the ticket against the palm of her other hand, weighing her options. She could go and in doing so admit that she too wanted to see him, giving him the upper hand in whatever this was between them, or she could say she was busy, leading him to believe she’d never even entertained the idea of seeing him that night…or ever again.
Jeez, she had to pull it together. She shouldn’t even be thinking of going.
Before her heart and mind could battle it out further, her phone chimed again. The sound echoed loudly in the drawer and she contemplated ignoring it, but knowing she’d get zero emails answered and nothing done that day anyway, she reached for it.
So will you come?
She grinned at his word choice and without thinking replied, I guess that depends on how skilled you are. She bit her lip. Sending flirty, slightly sexy messages at 8:09 a.m. would make for a long freaking day of anticipation if he continued to make her wait.
Another long moment of silence followed, then:
I promise you won’t be disappointed in my performance this evening—on and off the ice.
She believed him, and all of a sudden, there was no doubt that she’d be attending the first game in the Stanley Cup finals. She didn’t care that she had no idea where things could go between them; she just wanted to see him. But she wasn’t about to let him know that just yet.
I’m not a fan of hockey, remember?
I bet I can change that.
She suspected he could. In fact, given a chance, she suspected Ben Westmore could change a lot of things.
* * *
Olivia climbed into the passenger side of Ben’s Hummer after three exhilarating hours of hockey. Her voice was hoarse from cheering on the home team in the nail-biting game. Colorado was off to a strong start, but the next game was two days away in Boston. From what she’d learned from the hockey wives, girlfriends, and family members sitting around her in the reserved seats, the Bruins would now be more determined than ever to try to catch up on their home ice.
She’d also learned that she was the first woman Ben had ever invited to watch him play. That tidbit of information had warmed her in the chilly stadium.
Watching him play was a lot hotter than she could have imagined. The way she’d admired his grace and skill during her private lesson had been nothing to the way he’d impressed her that evening. It didn’t surprise her that the team and the fans put so much pressure on him to bring home the cup.
As she reached for her seatbelt, her nose wrinkled and her eyes nearly watered. “Oh my God—what died in the backseat?”
Ben hit the button to lower all four windows. “Sorry. I always take my hockey gear home during home games and it doesn’t smell pretty after ninety minutes on ice sweating in it.”
“That smell is your gear?” How the hell could he stand it? She stuck her head through the window, not caring that it had started to rain. She needed to escape the rancid scent killing her sense of smell.
“Yeah. Guess after twenty years, I kinda got used to it. But it actually explains a lot about why I had trouble picking up girls after games in high school.”
She shot him a look, her hand covering her nose and mouth. “You had trouble picking up girls? I’m not buying it.” The guy could have SERIAL KILLER on his license plate and women would still get in his car. She knew how dangerous it was to be sitting in it, and yet, there she was.
He laughed. “You’re right. I never had any trouble. I used to send my gear home with my baby brother, Ash.”
“That’s mean.”
“Why? He wasn’t interested in picking up girls.” He started the Hummer and peeled out of the stadium’s now empty parking lot. “He’s almost thirty, and I’m not sure if he is even now. Hockey is his life.”
Kicking her feet free of her heels, she tucked her legs beneath her on the seat, pulling her skirt around her knees. She’d felt slightly out of place in her work clothes among the jerseys and jeans, but Ben’s once-over and look of appreciation when he’d met her in the stadium entrance after the game made her glad she hadn’t gone home to change. “I thought hockey was your life, too.”
“It is, but I enjoy the perks that come along with it as well.” He glanced at her with a grin.
Talking about his sex life wasn’t a conversation she was anxious to have. She knew his reputation, and she was already struggling to figure out how she fit his profile. A woman he shouldn’t want? The thrill of the taboo, maybe? She banished the thoughts, not wanting to turn the evening into a session of analyzing what was happening between them. “What’s the deal with your other brother—Jackson?” she asked.
He shot her a look. “Your girl Abby—that’s the deal.”
“He gave up hockey for her?”
Ben nodded.
“I take it you think that was a bad choice?”
“My brother tried for years to play in the NHL. He gets his shot, and he turns it down.” He shrugged. “His life, I guess.”
“But it bothers you.” That much was obvious.
“More than it bothers him.”
“Doesn’t he coach?”
“Junior league in Glenwood Falls.”
“Did you just shudder? What’s wrong? Not a fan of children?” She felt a tug at her ovaries…or at least she imagined she did. Ben Westmore would make beautiful children and the way he was with the kid the night before, signing his bike, his trading cards, and his jersey, had made her heart swell. But just because he was good with kids didn’t mean he enjoyed them. Just because he was dating her, knowing she was pregnant, didn’t mean he planned on stepping into any father figure role.
Not that she was expecting. Or asking. Or hoping.
But he surprised her. “I love kids.”
Her mouth fell.
“Other people’s children,” he clarified.
Right.
“My nieces are awesome, and Abby’s kid, Dani, is one of the best Junior league players I’ve ever seen on the ice—her father plays for the L.A. Kings.”
And slept with every NHL cheerleader of legal age. “Yes, I know all about him.” Too much, in fact. She was happy Abby and Dani were starting over with a new life and seemed to be doing well. “So, you don’t want kids of your own?” She wished she could shut up and let the s
ubject drop.
Ben shook his head. “Some people are not meant to be parents. My career would make it challenging to be a father, leaving my wi…” He nearly choked on the word.
“Wife?” she assisted.
“Yeah…that. I just think it’s unfair to the other person left holding down the fort.”
She eyed him.
“Fine. The entire concept of marriage and kids makes me gag.”
She rolled her window down even further. “The smell in here is making me gag.” She needed to change the subject. The man had practically just said he wasn’t the marriage and father type—confirming what she already knew. Yet, she wasn’t asking him to pull over and let her out. She must be insane. Or more far gone than she realized. “How much longer to your place?” Funny. She hadn’t asked where they were heading when they left the stadium and he hadn’t said, but somehow she’d sensed he wasn’t in any rush to let the night end. And neither was she, despite the previous conversation.
“We’re here,” he said, turning into a cul-de-sac in a high-end neighborhood. The homes in that area cost over a million dollars, and his was the biggest on the block. She tried to conceal her look of surprise as he pulled into the circular stonework driveway and turned off the Hummer, but the house was beyond impressive. She should have known to expect extravagant based on his NHL-star salary and the type of vehicle he drove. Ben was a go-big-or-go-home sort of guy, and his home was certainly big.
“Home sweet home,” he said.
“It’s a little small, don’t you think?”
He laughed, looking slightly embarrassed. “I may have gone a little crazy with the place. I’m actually thinking of selling it and moving into the lake house in Glenwood Falls.”
“Another shack,” she teased, opening the door and climbing down as he met her on her side.
“I know that’s where I’ll be spending most of my time once I retire, so there’s not much point keeping both properties.”
“When will that be—your retirement?” She knew it was a sensitive topic for most athletes. They often longed to play well beyond the point that their bodies could deliver the performances needed to keep them on top. She wondered if Ben would be one of those athletes who kept playing beyond his prime. He was in his thirties already; getting out while he was still one of the best probably meant he was looking at retiring in less than ten years.
“Six years…maybe five, if I re-sign next year with Colorado for the deal my agent is trying to negotiate.”
She knew from reviewing his financial statements that his last contract had been thirty-eight million for five years. He could retire tomorrow and be fine, if money was his only motivator.
He unlocked the front door and she followed him into the house. The lights came on automatically, obviously operating on sensors, and her mouth dropped. Outside was magnificent. Inside was overwhelming.
Her entire two-thousand-foot condo could probably fit in the expansive foyer. The spiral staircase leading to the second floor had large, oversized stairs in a dark mahogany wood and embellished railing with wooden pillars. Overhead was the most unique chandelier she’d ever seen—large, teardrop shaped, with frosted glass hangings, each at a different height and getting smaller the closer they were to the ceiling. A waterfall cascaded down a brick and stonework wall, trickling into a bed of large beach pebbles in a dark marble base.
She’d taken two steps inside the house and already it was an architect’s dream.
His cell phone rang, revealing a call from Asher. “My brother—he calls after every game.”
“Go ahead,” she said, feeling slightly out of place all of a sudden. This was a glimpse into a completely different world—a level of fame and fortune she’d only glimpsed as the pieces fell apart in court.
“I’ll tell him I’m busy. Feel free to take a tour,” he said.
“I’m afraid they’d find my body three months from now in a sixteenth and forgotten bedroom,” she said.
He laughed. “Oh come on, there’re only nine bedrooms. Kitchen is straight ahead. I’ll be right there.”
“I see a fridge,” she said as he disappeared into a space that looked like a den.
She’d barely had time to drool over the white marble finish of the countertops and the stainless steel double oven when he rejoined her, his hockey bag in hand.
“How’s your brother?” she asked, noticing a frown on his face.
“Injured. He thinks he might have torn his ACL.”
“Shit—that sucks. I thought he was done playing for the season?”
“He was, but he was invited to play in this year’s World Championships once the Devils were eliminated from the playoffs.” He shook his head. “I’m sure he’ll be fine by next season,” he said, but the concern she detected in his voice was endearing. “Drink?” Going to the fridge, he took out a bottle of wine and grabbed two wine glasses from where they hung over the island in the center of the kitchen.
“Oh, none for me,” she said as she climbed onto a breakfast nook stool.
Turning the bottle, he presented the label. “Alcohol-free.”
She smiled at his thoughtfulness. “In that case, sure.” She held the glasses as he poured. Then he held his in a toast, the teasing gleam back in his breathtakingly blue eyes. “To…gaining a new fan?”
He was definitely gaining a fan. On and off the ice. “Getting there,” she said, taking a sip.
His blue eyes peered straight into her soul, and she knew there was no hiding her growing feelings. “I’ll take it.” He sipped his own and winced. “Wow, that’s awful. You don’t have to drink that.”
“I like it.” What she liked was that he’d once again thought of her and had the foresight to do something like this.
“Okay…Just give me a second to get this stuff into the washing machine before the smell brings down the property value in the neighborhood.”
Her mouth gaped. “You do your own laundry?”
He grinned. “You met my mother. Do you think she comes over to do it?”
Olivia laughed. She suspected Ben and his siblings had learned to do their own laundry a long time ago. It just surprised her that he didn’t pay someone to do it. “Don’t you have a housekeeper?” The house was at least six thousand square feet. She’d hire someone to clean her two thousand square feet if she was ever in it long enough for it to get messy. Once the baby came along…
He was shaking his head. “I’m too particular. And I’m not a fan of having a stranger in my house. My sister was doing it for a while, but she gave it up once the baby arrived, and now she has her own business.”
Right. The clothing store holding the baby girl dress. She wondered if Becky had kept her secret. Ben didn’t mention it, so she just sipped her wine.
“So, you do all the cleaning?” The place was spotless. She was certain she could eat off of the heated marble-tiled flooring.
“Yes. Impressed?”
“More so by this information than anything else you’ve tried.” What woman didn’t appreciate a man who could clean and who took care of himself?
“Good to know. Maybe I’ll create a custom bumper sticker for the back of the Hummer that says ‘Cooks, cleans, and not too bad on the eyes.’” He winked. “Be back in a sec. Make yourself at home.”
Carrying her glass into the living room, she scanned the cozy, inviting space. The décor was admittedly the last thing she would have expected for a bachelor athlete. Leather furniture and glass-top tables seemed to be the trend in the men she’d dated. But instead Ben had cream and tan plush sofas, dark wood end tables and lamps. The fireplace mantel was dark marble, and the hardwood floor was stained a red cherry oak color. Warm and welcoming. And perhaps the first room in the house that felt truly homey and comfortable.
She approached the fireplace and surveyed the family photos. She recognized his mother and sister and Jackson. The older man must be his father, and the younger duplicate version of Ben must be his brother Asher. F
antastic-looking family. The photo of them, all wearing jeans and black sweaters under a large maple tree, could be an ad for Beautiful Family Magazine.
The last family photo she had with her parents had been taken on the beach in Maui, the year before they died. The vow renewal ceremony for their tenth anniversary was like something out of her fairy tale books. Her mother had worn a simple yet elegant ivory satin dress, her hair swept up in a loose bun, tendrils of hair escaping and dancing around her shoulders in the island breeze as the sun started to set over the ocean. Her father had dressed in a pair of tan shorts and a white short-sleeved dress shirt open at the neck, revealing his lobster-colored skin from too much sun that week, and she’d felt like a princess in a pale pink sundress and sandals with the tiniest heel, her hair done in loose curls down her back.
She’d sat on the sand, watching her parents reaffirm their love and commitment for one another as the sun disappeared beneath the water, the beach lit up with countless tiki torches, and the sounds of the island vibe filled the air.
They’d been so in love.
The same glow of happiness existed on the faces of Ben’s parents in every photo of them. The look of admiration and respect in the shared glances, the pride in their family so evident even through time and these still images.
She took a sip of her wine and sighed. Would she ever be able to give her own child such a loving family?
* * *
Leaving the laundry room, Ben stopped in the kitchen to grab his glass of the nonalcoholic wine. What he really wanted was a beer to celebrate the team’s first win, but he’d show support in solidarity. He’d turned down an evening out with his teammates faster than his final slapshot had sent the puck sailing into the Bruins net. He’d been relieved that she’d come to the game that evening, and she was the only person he wanted to celebrate with.
Entering the living room, Olivia’s back was turned and she was looking at the photos on his mantel. Just as it had seeing her look so relaxed and comfortable in his lake house, his chest tightened now, too. She looked good in his home.
Maybe This Love Page 17
