Playing His Part: A York Bombers Hockey Romance (The York Bombers Book 7)

by Lisa B. Kamps

  Apparently, seeing Natalie curled on the sofa, sound asleep, wasn't enough to ease it, either.

  He clenched his jaw as another flash of irritation washed over him. He reached behind him and locked the door then readjusted his grip on the duffel bag and headed toward his room. There was no reason to wake Natalie, not when she was sound asleep. It was too late to talk tonight anyway, even if he had told her otherwise when he left Saturday morning. They could talk later tomorrow—today—when he got home from practice.

  When he wasn't so fucking exhausted.

  When he wasn't wrapped up in such an odd mood.

  He slowed his steps as he moved past the sofa, his gaze drifting over her sleeping form before he realized what he was actually doing. Strands of her thick hair fell across her face and he had the sudden urge to walk over and brush them away. To trace the fullness of her slightly parted mouth and see if her lips were as soft as he remembered.

  Irritation rushed through him once more. He clenched his hand around the duffel bag and silently berated himself. It was late. He needed to get his sorry ass to bed and get some sleep.

  But he couldn't make himself move. Couldn't make himself look away.

  She looked so peaceful. Almost content. Ben knew it was an illusion—she was sleeping, of course she'd look content. Didn't everyone look that way when they were asleep?

  Maybe.

  Maybe not.

  He moved a little closer, surprised at the unexpected protectiveness unfurling in the pit of his stomach. He didn't remember a lot about her from all those years ago—very little, actually. She was just another one of his sister's friends. If they'd met more than a handful of times, he'd be surprised. He'd been too busy with hockey, barely spent time any time at all at home, definitely not enough time to concern himself with his sister's friends. But what he did remember—or thought he did, anyway—was that Natalie had been different. She wasn't as annoyingly loud or outgoing like Donna's other friends. Not shy, just...reserved.

  No, that was the wrong word. She hadn't been reserved, she'd been cautious. Wary.

  Or maybe he was just imagining the whole damn thing. Maybe it wasn't Natalie he was remembering at all.

  And maybe he should just stop watching her sleep and drag his sorry ass to bed.

  He turned, stopped, looked down at Natalie once more. One hand was resting under her cheek, the other curled around the edge of the throw blanket and cradled against her chest. The wedding band he'd placed on her finger five days ago was still there, glinting in the dim light that blanketed the room.

  His wife.

  And fuck, he still couldn't believe it. Couldn't believe he'd asked her to marry him. Couldn't believe she said yes.

  Couldn't believe they'd gone through with it.

  Irritation seized him once more and he started to turn away. Natalie's soft sigh caught his attention and he looked down as she rolled over. The throw blanket slipped from her shoulder, exposing the shirt she was wearing to sleep in.

  His shirt. The same one he had worn Friday night. The same one she'd been wearing when she walked into the kitchen yesterday morning. It had taken every ounce of his self-control not to back her against the counter and peel that shirt off her when he saw her in it. Not because it didn't look good on her—

  Because it did.

  Possessiveness washed over him, pushing the irritation away. And how fucking stupid was that? To feel so damn possessive because she was sleeping in his fucking shirt? It made no sense.

  Ben dropped the duffel bag to the floor then moved toward the sofa. He didn't stop to think about what he was doing—if he did, he'd have to admit to being an even bigger fool than he really was. He leaned down and gently scooped Natalie into his arms, cradled her against his chest and straightened.

  She briefly stiffened in his arms then murmured something unintelligible. A second later, her lids fluttered open and sleepy moss green eyes met his. She reached up with her left hand and brushed the hair from her face. Ben ignored the small frown creasing her face, focusing instead on the sight of the wedding band circling her finger. Another wave of possessiveness washed over him, so strong that he nearly staggered under the weight of it.

  "You're home."

  Home. That small word, muttered in Natalie's sleepy voice, sent another wave of possessiveness crashing into him. He ruthlessly pushed it away, blaming it on the exhaustion tugging at him.

  Home.

  Like they were actually living here. Together. Like they were a real couple. Like she'd fallen asleep waiting for him to return, the way he was sure some of the other wives and girlfriends did when the guys were on the road. Was this why they were always in such a rush to get home? This odd feeling of warmth that started in the pit of his stomach and worked its way out, wrapping around him with gentle heat? This strange feeling of contentment, of knowing that someone waited for them? Of knowing that someone cared?

  "Yeah. I'm home." The words were gruff, maybe a little impatient. He was a fucking fool for allowing those strange thoughts any headspace. They weren't together. They weren't a couple.

  Natalie had agreed to marry him because she was in trouble, because she'd turned her ex in and was worried he'd come after her because of it. He was nothing more than a way out, a wall of safety between her and the asshole who'd tried to drag her down with him.

  His own reasons for marrying her were a bit more selfish: he needed to prove that he was worthy of someone caring about him. Needed to prove to everyone that he wasn't the miserable fucking bastard they thought he was.

  "Yeah. I'm home." He repeated the words then tightened his hold around Natalie and carried her down the hall. She wrapped one arm around his neck and curled the other against the lapel of his suit jacket. Her head fell back, causing her long hair to cascade over his arm.

  "You don't have to carry me, I can walk."

  "I know." He hit the light switch with his elbow, heard her small gasp of surprise when soft light filled the hallway. The touch of her hand, so soft and warm and gentle against his cheek, made him stumble.

  "What happened to your face?"

  Her concern shouldn't mean anything to him—but it did. "Nothing. Just a fight."

  "Why were you in a fight?"

  "It was part of the game."

  "That happened during the game?"

  "Yeah. Last night."

  "That—that's horrible!" She traced the small cut under his eye with the tip of one slender finger. "Does it hurt?"

  He paused, surprised at the warmth filling him at her gentle touch. Surprised at the concern dancing in her sleepy eyes. Ben cleared his throat, shook his head and offered her a small smile.

  "No, it doesn't hurt."

  She dropped her hand and curled it against her chest. "I still don't understand why you were in a fight."

  "I was protecting our goalie. It's just part of the game."

  "That makes no sense to me."

  Ben stopped, glanced down at her with a small frown. "Don't you watch hockey?"

  "No. The game the other night was the first one I've ever seen."

  "We'll have to do something about your serious lack of education." He halted in front of the door to the spare bedroom—her room. Natalie glanced at the closed door then lifted her gaze to his. There was shyness in the depths of her eyes, as well as uncertainty and a flash of interest.

  Need slammed into him, hot and almost desperate. It would be so fucking easy to carry her into the room, to lay her down and cover her body with his own. To plunge into her wet heat and lose himself.

  But he couldn't. He refused to use her that way again.

  He clenched his jaw and pushed open the door, carried her over to the bed and gently lowered her to the mattress. Then he straightened and stepped away, desperate to put distance between them before he did something they'd both regret. He didn't miss the way her brows lowered in a confused frown when she pushed up on her elbows and stared at him.

  "Didn't you want to talk? You
said—"

  "No." He knew exactly what he'd said the other morning but now wasn't the time. "We can talk tomorrow."

  Ben turned and hurried from the room, afraid of the invitation he glimpsed in her eyes. Afraid of what he might do if he stayed. He closed the door behind him and continued to his own room, quickly stripped and climbed into bed.

  It was a long time before he fell asleep.

  Chapter Fifteen

  "You could have taken the money and gone shopping. That's what it was for."

  "I know."

  Ben slid a glance at Natalie then reached for a bag of apples and added them to the cart. They were at the grocery store, a domestic chore that he usually hated—which is why there was hardly any food left in his house. Unfortunately, he hadn't discovered that until this morning, when he went to fix a quick breakfast before practice. He'd thought Natalie would have taken care of it. Thought, hell—he'd hoped she'd take care of it.

  He still didn't understand why she hadn't. And then he wondered what the hell she'd eaten all weekend while he was gone.

  Her glance slid to the bananas but instead of reaching for a bunch, she pushed the cart away from them. Ben frowned, wondering if he had missed the interest on her face. The cart was almost full but every single item in it was stuff he had picked out: steaks, chicken, a few bags of frozen vegetables, a pan of lasagna because every once in a while he had a strong craving for it. Garlic bread. Pasta and the makings for homemade spaghetti sauce because he was in the mood for the real shit. Frozen pizza and ice cream because why the hell not? Coffee and half-and-half and cottage cheese. Eggs. Bacon. Butter. Rolls. Lunch meat. A few cans of soup because it was February and sometimes he wanted soup. Toilet paper. Deodorant.

  All things he had tossed into the cart. Not one single item had been added by Natalie. In fact, she hadn't even commented on anything he'd thrown in. And now that he'd noticed the faint look of interest she had given the bananas, he realized it wasn't the first time she'd sent a wistful glance at a few of the shelves they'd walked past.

  He reached around her and grabbed the handle of the cart, stopping her. "Did you want some of those bananas?"

  "No, I'm good."

  "Natalie, if you want the bananas, grab them."

  "I don't need them." She glanced at the bunches of fruit then lowered her gaze. "Besides, they cost too much."

  Ben stood there, staring at her, not sure what to say. What the fuck? Was she really worried about how much it cost? He glanced at the price and frowned. Is that what she considered expensive? Shit. Maybe it was, he didn't know. He never paid any fucking attention to what groceries cost—mostly because he did kamikaze shopping, throwing shit into the cart and getting out because he hated shopping. But also because it didn't matter to him and he'd never had to worry about how much it cost. The cashier gave him a total, he handed over his card, and that was it.

  He moved toward the bananas and reached for a bundle then paused, his hand hovering between one bunch that was already ripe and one bunch that still had some green on them. He knew what he preferred but these weren't for him, they were for Natalie.

  "Which ones look better to you?"

  She shot him a look that told him she knew exactly what he was doing. "Whichever ones you like better."

  "That wasn't what I asked."

  "It doesn't matter. Pick whatever you want."

  Well shit. She was absolutely no help. And why the hell was she being so damn stubborn? They were bananas, for crying out loud.

  Ben watched her from the corner of his eye then reached for the ripe ones. Her lips curled in distaste, so briefly that he figured she didn't even realize she'd done it.

  Ben grabbed the bunch that was mostly green and added them to the cart.

  "I thought you wanted the ripe ones."

  "Nah. I hate brown bananas. They're too mushy. And too sweet."

  She curled her hands around the cart handle and moved forward. "Then why did you ask me which ones were better?"

  "Because I wanted to know which ones you liked."

  "It doesn't matter because I'm not going to be the one eating them."

  He reached out to stop the cart again and whirled on her. "Why the hell not?"

  "Because they're you're bananas."

  What. The. Hell.

  "Natalie, we're not shopping just for me, we're shopping for us. This food is yours, too."

  "But you're the one paying for it."

  "Yeah. So?"

  She looked away but not before he saw the shadows in her eyes. "I can't pay you back. Not until I get a job."

  "I don't expect you to pay me back. For shit's sake, Natalie, we're married. What's mine is yours and what's yours is mine."

  A burst of laughter escaped her parted lips. The sound was short, brittle, filled with the same disbelief that lit her eyes. "Then one of us definitely got screwed over in the deal. Besides, the marriage isn't real. You know that."

  Anger shot through him and he quickly squashed it. "We've had this conversation before, Natalie. At the airport in Vegas. And like I told you then, that piece of paper is very real. Don't forget it."

  Their gazes locked for a long minute, right there in the middle of the produce aisle. What he saw in her eyes made his gut clench. It wasn't just the shadows of misery in those green depths, it was the sadness and disbelief and hesitation, like she was afraid to trust him. Like she was afraid of being used and hurt and tossed to the side. Hell, could he blame her?

  No, he couldn't, not when damn near everyone else he knew would expect him to do exactly that. He had a reputation for being a selfish ass, for thinking of nobody but himself. Whether that reputation was deserved or not didn't matter, not when he'd carefully cultivated it over the last few years. Not when he'd stepped back from everyone he knew and started becoming the miserable bastard everyone believed him to be.

  Natalie's gaze finally slipped from his own. Her chest rose and fell on a deep breath, the sigh falling from her parted lips. She took another deep breath then glanced at him again, her eyes now filled with a curiosity he didn't understand.

  "Why?"

  The question hung between them, soft and full of bewilderment. It was Ben's turn to look away.

  "Why, what?"

  "Why are you doing this? Why did you ask me to marry you? Why did you even go through with it?" She closed her hand around his, stopping him when he started to push the cart forward. "I didn't think you were serious, you know. I never expected to see you again. Didn't think anything of it until you had that dress delivered to my room. And I never thought you'd actually go through with it, not until we were standing in that chapel and it was all over and the minister said we were married. Even then, I wasn't sure it was real."

  "It's real."

  Natalie glanced down at their hands and he knew without asking that she was studying the matching wedding bands on their fingers. She looked back at him, confusion creating a tiny crease between her brows. "But why? Why did you do it?"

  Why?

  He watched her for a long time, wondering if he should answer. Wondering how to answer. She deserved at least that much, didn't she? Yes, she did—

  But not now. And definitely not here, in the middle of the grocery store.

  "I have my reasons."

  She hesitated then walked along beside him as he pushed the cart to the end of the aisle. "Are you going to tell me?"

  "This isn't the right place for that conversation."

  "When we get home, then?"

  "Yeah, sure." Maybe. Probably not. Ben wasn't certain he wanted to share that much of himself with her. Hell, he didn't want to share that much of himself with anyone, not when it made him look weak and pitiful. Did Natalie realize the words were meant as nothing more than a way to appease her, that he had no intention of answering her? Maybe. But to his surprise, she let the conversation drop and quietly followed him to the dairy section.

  "Did anyone ever tell you that shop backwards?"

 
He pulled the cart to a stop then slanted her an amused look. "There's a right way to shop?"

  "Yeah. Most people usually start in the produce section then work their way around and through the aisles. That way they don't forget anything."

  "I didn't forget anything."

  She pointed to the cottage cheese and half-and-half in the cart. "But we were already here."

  "And now we're back. Grab some yogurt."

  "What kind?"

  "I don't know. Whatever kind you like. I personally hate the stuff and have to force myself to eat it."

  "Then why are you getting it?"

  "Because I thought you might want some."

  "I don't need it—"

  "Do you like yogurt or not?"

  "Yeah, but—"

  "Then grab some."

  She opened her mouth—no doubt to argue—then quickly snapped it shut and grabbed a single container of yogurt and added it to the cart. Ben stared at the small plastic tub then looked at her.

  "Just one?"

  "I don't want you to spend your money on—"

  "It's food Natalie. Christ. Did you think I was going to let you starve?" He reached for the shelf and grabbed several more containers, all different flavors, and added them to the cart. "Is that why you didn't go shopping while I was gone? Because you were afraid to spend my money?"

  She glanced away and shrugged, which he took as a yes. He bit back a small oath then shook his head and almost laughed.

  "Shit. I wish some of my old girlfriends were more like you."

  Her head snapped up. "What's that supposed to mean?"

  "It means that most of them never had a problem spending my money. Hell, I had one girlfriend who blew more than a thousand dollars just on clothes—in one week."

  The surprise in her eyes quickly disappeared, replaced by something that looked suspiciously like irritation. "I'm not sure I want to hear about any of your girlfriends."

  Was she jealous? For some reason, the idea amused him—but he was smart enough not to say anything about it. "I said old girlfriends. And the point I was making was don't be afraid to spend my money, especially not grocery shopping. I hate shopping so you'll be doing me a favor by taking it over."