Benched: Gold Hockey Book 4

by Elise Faber

  Angie’s jaw dropped open. “Uh . . . nope. None of those.”

  Kelsey pfted. “Damn. I was hoping for a good fiction trope.” She clapped her hands together. “So, dish. What was it?”

  “A story for another time, how about that?”

  “Tease.” Kelsey rolled her eyes, but her mouth was curved into a smile. “Does this story need a side dish of alcohol?”

  “Definitely,” Angie said. “Anyway.” She waved her hand. “Tell me about—”

  Their server came over, and they spent the next few minutes ordering drinks and food. After he’d gone, Kelsey started talking about an employee she’d dealt with at her previous employer, a company that had held several government contracts. But the employee made Bailey look like Santa Claus or the Tooth Fairy—meaning slightly creepy but with good intentions . . . and who may bring a present or a dollar as a byproduct.

  Then Kelsey had Angie in stitches as she recited a few great blackmail stories from Sebastian’s childhood, and finally near tears—of humor—when she described going to her first college party as a sixteen-year-old high school graduate and puking up her first taste of beer all over the cutest guy in the room.

  “My ability to hold in my alcohol has improved since then,” Kelsey said. “And despite giving it the good college try, I still can’t stand the taste of Bud Light.”

  “But you’re still a lightweight.”

  Kels smiled. “Cheap date. I prefer to think of it like that.”

  “Good point.”

  They finished eating, split the bill, and paused just outside the restaurant. “Thanks for inviting me out,” Kelsey said. “I needed real food.”

  “That may have been the best omelet of my life, so thanks for the suggestion.” A moment of awkward quiet. “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow.” She waved, started to turn for her car, but Kelsey stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.

  “I think you’re really brave. For pushing through the fear.” A squeeze. “It’s impressive, and I hope you know that.”

  Angie shook her head. “I’m such a mess. There are so many things I’m still scared of, things that I’m avoiding.”

  “We all avoid things. We’re all scared.” She lifted a hand. “I’m sorry, that sounded douchey and minimizing, I just meant that we’re all a mess, and I think it’s amazing you’re trying to push through.”

  Angie tilted her chin up to the clouds, watched the fog move in misty tendrils as it turned the sky gray. “What if I can’t push through? What if I’m always going to be like this?”

  “You do what everyone else does. You struggle up one step at a time, until finally, eventually, painfully, you’re at the top of the stairs.”

  Angie met Kelsey’s gaze, saw earnestness in its depths. God, Angie really liked her. “Then what? You choose to go left or right?”

  “Exactly. Or maybe you find yourself crawling up another staircase,” she said. “And that’s fucking fine, too. Because you’re moving toward something rather than being stuck in stasis.”

  Angie’s heart was pounding. “Life’s too fucking short to be stuck in stasis.”

  “Exactly.” Kelsey hugged her again and this time, Angie didn’t have to force herself to do anything. She just hugged her friend back.

  “You’re pretty smart,” she said. “I hope you know that.”

  “Occasionally, I get lucky,” Kels told her with a grin. “Okay, we’re both going to pick the thing that terrifies us the most and we’re going to do it. Deal?”

  Angie blinked at the sharp left the conversation took. “Uh . . .”

  “Don’t wimp out on me now,” Kelsey said. “I’m going to go home, call my ex, and apologize for choosing a job over our relationship. What are you most afraid of?”

  She shook her head. “I can’t—”

  Kelsey pulled out her cell and dialed a number. “Tanner? Hey, it’s Kelsey. I was a total bitch and completely horrible to you. I’ve regretted how I handled things with you for years. I’m so, so sorry.” She paused and listened. “I know. It doesn’t change anything, but I did want to let you know that it’s one of my biggest regrets, and I was wrong to—” She broke off, listened for a few more beats. “No, I’m not drunk. Just slightly more mature and human.”

  Angie listened to the one-sided conversation with wide eyes.

  “Yes, exactly.” A laugh. “I know we were young.” Another pause. “The mistakes were more on my end than yours, let’s face it.” She laughed again. “Thanks, Tanner. If you’re ever in San Francisco, we should grab a coffee. Mmm-hmm. Okay, bye!”

  She hung up, and Angie just stared at her. “What is wrong with you?”

  “I’m annoyingly impulsive and have a big mouth,” Kelsey replied without missing a beat.

  They looked at each for a heartbeat before exploding into laughter.

  When they’d recovered enough to talk, Kelsey laced her arm through Angie’s. “Okay, girlfriend. You’re up. What are you most afraid of?”

  Angie sucked in a breath, released it, and finally just told the truth.

  “Email.”

  One email in particular, from a man who made her heart race.

  Kelsey raised a brow. “What about email? Reading it? Replying to it? Being inundated with spam?”

  She snorted. “Not spam,” Angie said. “I just—I don’t know what to say to him.”

  “Ah.” Clarity danced across Kelsey’s face. “My advice is to open the email and just start typing. And when you run out of things to say . . .”

  “What?”

  “Just hit send.”

  Eleven

  Max

  He’d just finished checking in on Brayden when his phone buzzed.

  Carefully, he closed the door then walked down the hall to his bedroom, half expecting to find a message from one of his teammates ribbing him for some reason or another. Instead, he found an email in his inbox.

  One he hadn’t been expecting.

  Max,

  I hope your dog is doing better. Sorry you and Brayden (and pooch) are going through that. Pets are sometimes more family than our actual family.

  * * *

  Thank you for letting me know about Mandy. I’m going to reach out to her.

  * * *

  Sincerely,

  Angelica Shallows

  He frowned at the strangely formal email, reread it a half-dozen times then spent way too long crafting a response.

  Angel,

  Sparky (I’m not to blame for the pup’s terrible name) is doing much better. It turns out he has IBS, which is treatable with very expensive food and daily medication. However, I consider the expense worth it because Sparky is, as you said, now part of our family. Plus, he makes Brayden smile and I’d do almost anything to see my son smile. He’s been through too much upheaval in his young life.

  * * *

  I do hope you’ll reach out to Mandy. She would very much like to get to know her sister. Especially now.

  * * *

  -Max

  P.S. Your cat is adorable and now Brayden wants one. I blame you. :)

  P.P.S. I suck at emails so feel free to text me any time 415-555-1234

  Max pressed send and then held his breath for several long moments, wanting an immediate response, wanting her to email back, to text him right then. He knew it was ridiculous. She was a busy woman and had her own life. Plus, she’d already taken time out to check up on Sparky; that was progress and showed . . . what?

  That she was a nice person?

  He knew that already. She hadn’t wanted to ruin Mandy’s moment months before, had left instead of creating a scene.

  If she’d been anything like Suzanne, Angie would have made a scene.

  Stolen the moment for herself, diverted all focus to her.

  Angelica hadn’t done that. She’d left Mandy to her celebration.

  Which also meant she was running scared.

  After the talking to her at the vet’s, he understood her actions better. She’d bee
n hurt, violated, assaulted. She’d had baggage for days—baggage that wasn’t her fault, but baggage that still complicated everything anyway.

  Because he had Brayden. Because he had baggage of his own.

  And his son had asked for a new mom.

  Which couldn’t happen for a multitude of reasons: Suzanne, Max’s career, a need to protect his son from a parade of women. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t do that. It would be just Brayden and him until his son was older.

  They had Anna; they had a good life.

  That was enough.

  So, why didn’t it feel like enough?

  His phone buzzed again, this time with a text from an unknown number.

  Max’s heart leaped, pulse pounding in the base of his throat. He opened the message.

  I’m glad Sparky’s okay. Also, Sparky is not such a bad name for a dog.

  His lips curved.

  It’s a horrible name and terribly unfitting given today’s events. He should be called Puke-Monster or Barfy.

  He searched for and sent a GIF of a gagging little girl before he realized that Angie might not be into that particular brand of humor.

  “Shit,” he muttered, toeing off his shoes and flopping back onto his mattress.

  Max really sucked at this flirting thing.

  Talk of puking and juvenile GIFs? Ridiculous. Except . . . he was realizing that he was at the point in his life where he was comfortable in his own skin. He was juvenile sometimes, silly GIFs made him laugh, and he found that he didn’t want to apologize for being who he was any longer. Finally, he was comfortable in his own skin, so screw anyone who decided that wasn’t good enough.

  Even if she was an amber-haired beauty with a body that made his dick feel like it was alive for the first time in several years.

  Max slipped off his pants and tossed his shirt aside, all while waiting for his phone to buzz with a response and yet pretending not to.

  “Slick,” he said, pushing up from the bed and heading to the bathroom to brush and floss his teeth. “Super, super slick, Max.” He was still holding his cell, still half-hoping for a response that wasn’t coming. “Whatever,” he finally grumbled and set his phone on the charger.

  Then saw there were two unread texts on his screen.

  “Idiot.” It was after midnight, so his phone was on Do Not Disturb.

  Fingers fumbling, he opened the messages.

  Talk about terrible names! Barfy is just mean. I like to think that Sparky is short for Spartacus and I think you should too.

  Two minutes later, she’d sent another message, this one rivaling the formality of her earlier email.

  I‘m sorry if I woke you. I know you must be tired after your game this evening. I’ll let you head off to bed.

  Shit. He sank back onto the bed. Is this what dating was like nowadays? Technology dominating and sometimes hindering—the Do Not Disturb function on his cell all but cockblocking him? This was pathetic. It was so . . . he didn’t know. Just not what he wanted.

  Well, you want a woman you’ve nicknamed Angel and that alone speaks to a problem inside your brain, you fucking numbskull.

  And that particular thought wasn’t helpful now, was it?

  Ignoring it, he sent another message.

  You still up?

  Thirty seconds passed before he saw her begin to type out a reply.

  Yes.

  Max called her before he could talk himself out of it. Just ignored the pounding of his heart, the way his palms went sweaty like a teenaged boy and hit the call button.

  The phone rang and rang.

  And rang.

  Twelve

  Angie

  She’d spent the last fifteen minutes pacing a circle in her apartment. First, the email.

  Then she’d texted him!

  For once in her life, she felt like she had big ol’ lady balls.

  Giant ones.

  Brass ones.

  Buzz. Buzz.

  Angie glanced down at her hand, at the cell resting on her palm. “He’s calling me,” she whispered.

  Buzz. Buzz.

  “Oh, fuck nuggets.” He was calling her. Oh God. What was she going to say? She couldn’t answer it. Except, he’d just asked if she was up.

  Buzz. Buzz.

  She was going to pretend that she’d fallen asleep. That was all she could do.

  “Yeah, you fell asleep in all of five seconds, you nitwit?” she muttered. Fuck. She had to pick up. She had to.

  Okay, no biggie. This was just like email or texting, except with actual vocalizations. Totally doable. She swiped a finger across the screen. No problem at all. This was—

  She dropped the phone.

  “Fuck,” she muttered, dropping to her knees and hurrying to scoop it up. “Shit. Fucking fumbling fucking fingers.” She put her cell up to her ear. “Hel-hello?”

  “You’ve got a dirty mouth.”

  All of her breath left her. Just whooshed right out of her lungs, her mouth.

  Heat flooded into its place.

  “Angel?”

  She struggled to regain her ability to speak. “Yes.”

  Not exactly an articulate statement, but it was a word and one that fit the circumstance.

  “You okay?”

  “Uh-huh,” she squeaked before sucking in another breath.

  “I wasn’t criticizing you,” he said softly. “It’s sexy hearing a woman who can use the many forms of the word fuck.”

  She snorted, and suddenly her lungs were working again. “Why do I feel like that’s a line?”

  “It’s not.”

  His voice was like liquid honey, running over her nape, dripping with sticky sweetness down her spine.

  “Why did you call me, Max?” she asked, and if her voice was slightly breathless, then so what? She wasn’t going to tell anyone.

  “I wanted to hear your voice.”

  “Now that definitely is a line.” She could sense his smile. “You’re grinning. I know it, so I’m right,” she said, triumphantly.

  “Maybe I am, but you’ll never know.”

  If they FaceTimed, she’d know. But, Angie glanced down at herself, taking in the hole-filled sweats, the wine-stained T-shirt. Yes, she said wine-stained, because even though she’d sent the email—and the text—it had taken half a bottle of red wine for her to work up the courage.

  “I can hear your smile through the airwaves,” she said. “Your voice changes.”

  “Like a boy going through puberty?” he asked.

  Now he was frowning.

  “No.” Angie held her cell between her ear and shoulder as she gathered up her bottle and wine glass. She needed to keep moving, to not focus on the fact that she was talking to Max.

  Max.

  “Then what?”

  She sank into the armchair in her room, covering her lap with a blanket. The bed was tempting her, its cozy white duvet and flannel sheets would be much appreciated on the cold evening, but it felt too . . . intimate to be lying there, chatting with Max when he made all the nerves in her body feel as though they were on fire with just a simple conversation.

  “Angel?” he prompted, making her realize that she’d been quiet for too long.

  “It gets warmer,” she blurted. “I noticed when you talked with Brayden. Your lips tip up at the edges.”

  “Hmm,” he said.

  “I’m not crazy,” she snapped.

  Now Max’s voice was genuinely concerned. “I didn’t say you were, sweetheart.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah,” he murmured. “Oh.” Not snarky or condescending, just a quiet oh.

  Angie sighed and let her head flop back onto the chair. “I suck at people.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “It is,” she moaned. “I was an only child growing up, I was homeschooled, and I’m an engineer. Not that there’s anything wrong with any of those, just that with my parents and my upbringing and my weird awkward personality—” She broke off with a groan />
  “You suck at people?”

  “Exactly.” Huffing, she pushed to her feet and crossed over to her bed, tugging the covers over herself.

  If she was going to be like this—read, strange—then she might as well be comfortable.

  “I don’t think you suck. I think you’re nice and sweet and beautiful.”

  Angie froze.

  “And that’s not a line.”

  Her laugh was a little brittle, but it softened, rounding at the edges as Max joined in with her.

  “There you are.”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “Great,” he said. “So, now you can tell me what your favorite movie is.”

  “Empire Strikes Back.” Not one iota of hesitation; she loved that movie so much.

  “Are you serious right now?”

  “Um, yes?”

  “Because that’s my favorite movie.”

  Angie felt his grin, and her heart skipped a beat, but somehow, she was able to . . . what? Shore up her courage? Feel comfortable enough to be herself? To crack a joke? Whatever it was, she was relaxed enough to say, “No way. It’s mine. You can’t have it.”

  In all her life, she’d never really teased anyone.

  She hadn’t had that type of relationship with her mom and she certainly hadn’t been secure enough in herself to tease her father.

  Work held a certain distance she’d always found comforting and safe. The people there were either her employees or her boss, so she needed to preserve a certain amount of professionalism.

  But Max was different.

  She thought that maybe things could be different with him.

  “Pish,” he told her. “I’m older. I saw it first, and thus, I own it.”

  “No way,” she said. “I’ve seen it at least several hundred times. I can quote every line, even the Wookie sounds.”