by Elise Faber
“It seems like we were both lucky.”
One half of his mouth turned up. “Yes.”
She took another bite, chewed, and swallowed, then deliberately turned their conversation to something much lighter. “So, Hayes, now is the time for the most important question of our date. The make or break moment, as you will. Or maybe, more your speed”—she winked—“the clutch goal in overtime moment.”
He tilted his head, eyes dancing. “Tell me, wise one. What is this critical question?”
“Die Hard,” she said. “Is it a Christmas movie?”
His laughter was warm and boisterous, and Rebecca found that somehow that lovely, heartfelt laughter had managed to fill up a hole she’d never even realized was empty.
And when his answer was “Hell, yes, it’s a Christmas movie,” she found that the hole had overflowed, that the warmth was at risk of seeping into other holes and cracks.
Dangerous man.
Lovely man.
Generous man.
Especially when he pushed the tiramisu in her direction, along with a fork, and refused to accept a single bite until she’d had her fill.
Coffee and chocolate.
How could she resist?
How could she possibly hope to resist Kevin?
Yet, she knew she had to.
But maybe . . . maybe for that one night, she could pretend she didn’t have to.
She picked up the fork and tucked every feeling, every laugh and smile close, secured them safely into that steel chest in her heart. Then she ate the tiramisu.
Every single bite.
Eight
Kevin
He held the door for Rebecca, biting back a smile when she rubbed her stomach with a groan.
“You delivered,” she said. “You definitely delivered with that tiramisu.”
“Well, Robbie delivered. But I know what you mean.” He slipped his arm through hers, took advantage of her food coma to tug her a little closer. “However, I will take full credit for having found the place.”
“As you should.”
The evening air was brisk, cutting through the thin fabric of his slacks and making Rebecca shiver. Which was a convenient excuse for him to sidle closer. His mother had ingrained in him to be a gentleman, so the least he could do was his level best to keep this woman warm.
Plus, it had the added benefit of pressing all those luscious curves of hers against his side.
Fucking glorious.
Unfortunately, they arrived at his car and he had to release her to open the door. She wavered on her heels as she began to sit, three glasses of wine apparently making navigating those four inches much more precarious.
He reached over her, buckled her seat belt, cock twitching when her breath caught. If he turned his head slightly, the barest shift of his neck, he could taste that luscious mouth.
But it was too soon.
Kevin was playing the long game, and the last thing he needed to do was to make a move too quickly and—
A dart of wet heat against his throat.
He jumped, nearly clocked his head against the roof of his car.
“Mmm,” she murmured, nuzzling close. “Why do you always smell so damned good?”
The twitch in his pants was rapidly becoming a problem.
He pulled back slightly, met her eyes. She had the sexiest curve to her mouth, the slightest hint of pink on her cheeks, and mischievousness in her gaze. So fucking sexy. That mouth, those eyes, that sinful body. But he could also see something else in her expression, had confirmed it when she’d wavered on her heels, long game or not.
She was buzzed.
Which was the reason he didn’t close the distance between their lips, didn’t give in to the bone-deep urge to taste her.
Instead, he cupped her cheek, pressed a kiss to her forehead, and backed out of the car. He closed the door, not missing the confused expression on her face as he rounded the hood and got into his own seat.
Silence as he buckled in, as he started up the car, when he handed her the cord so she could plug in her phone.
He chuckled when she lifted a brow. “I did promise you playlist privileges.”
She studied him for a long moment before plugging the cord into her cell and staring down at the screen. But she didn’t protest and within a few moments, the soft strains of some boy band ballad began playing through the speakers.
Kevin hid a wince but didn’t protest.
He’d promised, and he always kept his promises.
“I don’t get you,” she murmured, barely audible.
After waiting a few moments for further explanation and not getting one, he asked. “What don’t you get?”
She just shook her head in response and though he wanted to press for an explanation, though he didn’t understand where exactly her mind was at, Kevin swallowed the additional questions flowing through his mind. He’d promised patience and time and on her own terms.
Guarantees he’d keep.
Even if he was damned confused as to the state of her mind.
They hadn’t gotten off to a great start, he knew that. But they’d settled in and the food, the restaurant, her relaxing enough to chat with Vivian and Robbie, then banter with him . . . that had been fantastic. And their chemistry, or at least his attraction to her, was off the charts. But she’d been so reserved with him, careful to keep her distance, even when he encroached in her space that he’d been beginning to wonder if she was attracted to him at all.
Then the nuzzling.
So at the very least, she liked the way he smelled.
That was something.
He pulled out of the stall, turned out onto the road. In the opposite direction of the rink because if she was too inebriated to navigate her heels, he sure as fuck wouldn’t let her drive. Luckily, he knew which neighborhood she lived in, so he had a couple of minutes before she’d realize that he wasn’t taking her back to the practice facility.
Save the argument until they were close enough that it didn’t make sense to go back.
Though . . . he’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy sparring with her.
So much so that he was tempted to just drop the bomb that he was driving her home, that he wouldn’t take no for an answer, dammit, and that she could just sit there and enjoy the ride.
Just picturing what her reaction might be to that level of proclamation almost had him bursting into laughter.
Almost though, because then Rebecca spoke.
And it wasn’t a barb or banter or a demand to return her to the rink.
Instead, it was her address.
He braked, the car sliding to a halt at a red light, and glanced over at her. She lifted a brow. “I know the city well, Hayes. I also know I was going to Lyft from the facility to my apartment because I enjoyed the Cab Vivian picked out a little too much. If you’re going to drive me, might as well not be doing it aimlessly.”
“I—” Kevin shook his head. “Why do I always feel like you’re a step ahead of me?”
“Ten years, bucko. Ten glorious years of experience.”
“That’s bullshit,” he said.
The light turned green, and he started forward, eyes on the road so that he missed what was no doubt another raised brow.
“Yes, you’re older than me,” he said. “No, that doesn’t mean you get to discount my life experience, all of the shit I’ve gone through, all of the growing I’ve done. I’ve been on my own since I was fourteen and my dad died.”
She was quiet for a long time. “Your mom is living with you,” she pointed, not unkindly. “I don’t think that’s on your own.”
“My mom fell apart when my dad died. I picked the casket, the plot where he’s buried. I claimed the life insurance, paid the bills, bought groceries.” He sighed. “Even when I went away for juniors, I still came home to shovel the walk in the winter, to put out the trash cans, to mow the lawn in the summer, and to make sure the air conditioning was working.”
Another extended m
oment of silence. “That’s a lot for someone so young.”
He shrugged through a right turn. “I promised my dad I’d take care of her.”
“Hmm.”
“Not to say I wasn’t resentful,” he said softly. “For a long time, I was furious that for all intents and purposes, she’d left me just as effectively as my dad had.”
A beat then, “I get that.”
“I think that’s why she swung so far the other direction,” he admitted.
Rebecca pointed. “My building is just up on the left, so anywhere here is good.” Then she added, “What do you mean that she swung the other direction?”
He slid into a spot. “She pulled back. Started therapy, realized what she was doing, and then refused to let me come home. Took back the checkbook, hired a man to take care of the snow.”
“She was depressed?”
Kevin nodded, regret for not having recognized exactly what his mother had been going through, not understanding that she had been more than grief-stricken. She’d needed clinical help, and he hadn’t gotten it for her.
He’d kept almost every promise in his life, and certainly nearly all the important ones, but he hadn’t managed to abide by the most critical one he’d made to his father.
His mother had suffered. For years. Because of him. “Yes.”
“Tough.”
“Yeah.” He turned off the ignition. “I should have realized it sooner. Should have gotten her help.”
Rebecca studied him. “Sounds like she got help on her own.”
“Yup.” And that had been the problem.
She’d done it on her own, no thanks to him.
“Kev—”
He popped the door, hustling around to her side of the car, and helping her out. She paused once she was on the sidewalk, pressed her palm to his chest, to the spot just above his heart.
Which skipped a beat.
“It sounds like she’s good now.”
A nod. “She is. Sold the house, bought her dream apartment here in the city.”
Rebecca smiled. “That’s great.”
And yet another thing she’d done without his help, without him keeping his promise and—
“Ah,” Rebecca said. “I get it now.”
He frowned. “Get what?”
She shook her head. “Another time, Hayes. Just know, I’m glad she’s better. For both of your sakes.”
Clench.
As in his heart clenched.
And that damned organ was doing all sorts of leaps and lurches and rolls that evening.
“It’s cold.” She tugged his arm. “Walk me to my door?”
Kevin blinked. “Shit, sorry.” Then he shrugged out of his coat, slung it over her shoulders, and began bustling her forward.
“Slow down, cowboy,” she teased. “I may be cold, but I’m still in heels, and I work in an ice rink. I can handle a little chill.”
He glared down at her but slowed. “You shouldn’t be uncomfortable.”
She held up a foot. “Look at these shoes. I’m used to being uncomfortable.”
Another glare.
She smiled. “What now?”
“Those shoes might be sexy as fuck, but if they hurt, you shouldn’t be wearing them.” Laughter bubbled up in her chest, slipped from between her lips, and he had to admit that it might have been even sexier than those strappy little sandals.
“Oh Kevin, if you think for a second that women’s fashion is the least bit comfortable, then you’ve confused ninety-five percent of our clothes with black leggings and slouchy sweaters.”
Considering he didn’t know what exactly a slouchy sweater was, he decided that the best course of action was to just nod in agreement.
And of course, she knew he was just agreeing with her.
“The truth is,” she said, tugging him to a stop just inside the door to her building, “that despite their discomfort, I love my high heels. I love my lipstick. I love dressing up.” Her mouth twitched. “The only difference is that I love my leggings just as much.”
“I’ve never seen you in anything that isn’t”—he paused, swapped out fucking hot for—“beautiful.”
More laughter that drifted over his skin, slid into his gut.
“Nice try,” she teased. “But I can recognize a self-censoring from five miles away.”
He tugged a strand of her hair. “I’ve been taught by the best.”
“Glad to know something stuck.” She rose on tiptoe, pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you for dinner.” Click went her heels back down to the tile, and she started to turn away. “See you around—”
“Hey.”
She stopped, chocolate eyes drifting up to meet his.
“You missed.”
A frown tugged her brows together for a heartbeat. Then he tapped his lips, and amusement drifted across her face.
“I walked right into that one, didn’t I?”
He shrugged.
The amusement left her expression. “Not sure this is a great idea, Hayes.”
Kevin brushed his knuckles over her cheek. “Not sure I care.”
“We work together.”
“Pierre would never hold it against you.”
Pierre was the Gold’s owner, and also Stefan, their captain’s father, and his presence alone, along with Stefan and Brit’s marriage, made for the lines between work, family, and love lives getting seriously blurred.
“I’m not worried about my job,” she said. “I’ve had job offers coming out of my ears the last few years.”
He shrugged, considered the consequences of sharing the next bit of information then decided to dish anyway. “I got Pierre to write a clause in my contract when I re-signed. My position isn’t at risk.”
“Y-you got—” She shook her head. “In your contract?”
Another shrug. “I like to plan ahead.”
“Y-you—” A pop on his chest. “You fucking idiot! How could you jeopardize something so important as your contract with something like that?”
He captured her hand when she would have smacked him again. “I know what I want, Rebecca.”
She stilled.
“I knew what I wanted when I first saw you. But I knew I wasn’t in a position to go after what I wanted. I knew I needed to wait.” Her breath caught when he kissed her palm. “Now, I’ve decided that I’m done waiting.”
“You—”
“I want you, baby.” Unable to stop himself, he brushed his mouth across hers, but only for the briefest moment of contact. Because any longer, and he might take more and press too hard, too soon.
This was the most open she’d been with him ever.
He didn’t want to fuck it up.
“I-I don’t know why you’d want me.”
“Because you’re beautiful and kind and funny as shit.” He rested his forehead to hers. “And because every night over the last three years, I’ve dreamed of you when I close my eyes.”
“You—”
“So, yes. I want you, sweetheart.” Just one more brush of his lips across hers. Just. One. More. “And I’m hoping that I can convince you to want me, too.”
His cock was hard and aching. His mouth desperate for more.
But he pulled away, pressed the handle of her bag into her hands.
Then he pushed out of the apartment building and strode to his car, unlocking it, yanking open the door, and buckling himself in before he could convince himself to forget every notion of taking things slow and going back to finish what he’d started.
“Long game, Hayes,” he reminded himself. “It’s the long game.”
He drove home, relieved that his mom had already gone to bed so he didn’t have to come up with an explanation for why he was late or worse, why he looked like some lovestruck puppy. After brushing his teeth and hanging up his suit, he slipped beneath the comforter and turned on some boring documentary on Netflix in order to coax himself into sleep. But he couldn’t help reliving the night, remembering Rebecca’
s smile as she’d teased him over pasta, how her tears had shattered his heart, how good she’d smelled, and how soft her lips had felt against his.
How he wanted her so damned much.
Unsurprisingly, it took him a ridiculously long time to let sleep drag him under.
And just like every other night, he dreamt of Rebecca when he finally slipped off into oblivion.
Nine
Rebecca
“You know the guys are going to give us no end of shit for this,” she said.
The other Rebecca, or as the guys on the team liked to call her, Nutritionist Rebecca, sighed. “Why do I feel like a joke about how many Rebeccas it takes to screw in a lightbulb is coming?”
She grinned. “That. Except for sorting fliers?”
Nutritionist Rebecca shrugged.
“One,” she told her friend. “Two is just gravy.”
And avoidance. Avoiding going into the rink and potentially running into Kevin. It had been pure kismet to see her friend setting up for a community event that focused on getting kids to eat healthy and be active that morning. Seeing the other woman struggling to keep the papers in their proper spots when the SF wind was motivated to mess everything up, had given her the perfect excuse to stay outside long enough for the team to get on the ice.
Nutritionist Rebecca snorted. “I’d say you’re hilarious. Except, you know I don’t eat gravy.”
“I know, I know. And no soy, no dairy, no meat, no—”
Fingers over PR Rebecca’s lips. “Not today, Bex. Please, just don’t give me shit about the diet today.”
Bex froze, studied Rebecca’s face. They’d done rock-paper-scissors upon first meeting and she had lost, which meant that Nutritionist had gained Rebecca privileges and she, who never ever let anyone shorten her name, had become Bec . . . or rather Bex since she had joked about requiring any nickname of hers to contain an “x” and Rebecca, not knowing her well, had taken her at face value. The Bec with an x had stuck, and she’d vowed to never lead with rock again. Distinguishing between them made sense, even if it had taken a long time for her to get used to it. Two Rebeccas in the same conversation were two too many, pun intended.
“I won’t give you any shit. It’s just—” She hesitated, not wanting to push. Rebecca wasn’t normally rainbows and sunshine, but she also didn’t tend to have slightly reddened eyes and an air of fragility. “Are you okay?”
