by Cathryn Fox
A laugh crawls out of my throat. “You have a concussion, you’re not going after him.”
“Well, you were going to go after Burns when I told you he was the one responsible for my concussion. Actually, you wanted to meet him in a dark alleyway, and you’re all of one hundred pounds.” He grins and gives my chin a nudge. “What a pair we are.”
“Yeah, well, no need to go after him. I’m over it.”
“You sure about that?” I nod, and he says, “I’m an expert asshole, Nina, but I’d never do something like that to you. I hope you know that.”
I nod. He might have been a jerk growing up, but I guess deep down, I don’t think he’d do something so cruel. “I don’t share my pen name.” I narrow my eyes and look at him. “How did you figure it out?”
“Your bro. He’s proud as shit of you, girl.”
“Cason told you my name?” I shake my head. “I’m going to kill him.”
“Nah, he’s just super happy that you found something you love doing after your injury, that’s all.” He leans in and nudges me with his shoulder. “We both are.”
“God, I hope he hasn’t read any.”
“Me too,” he says, and makes a face like he’d just sucked a lemon.
“It’s not real,” I blurt out. “It’s not like I go out and do those things so I can write about them.”
“I know that, and I’d never ask you to do any of those things.”
My mind races to last night, and all the amazing thing he did with his hands and his tongue. My editor asked me to write hotter, and to be honest, there’s a part of every writer that draws on personal experiences. Too bad I’m lacking in the sex department, and I fear my more intimate scenes are all staring to sound the same. Insert object A into slot B and repeat.
“Then again…” I say.
“What?”
“While we’re working out our anger issues, maybe we can, you know, try some new things. You can teach me some new plays so I can add some spark to those scenes. Two birds with one stone and all.” My gaze droops to his lap. One very big stone, indeed.
Confusion comes over his face. “I thought you just said—”
I place my hand on his chest, and his muscles ripple beneath my palm as I stop his protest. “You’re not asking me to do things from my book behind my back. I’m a willing partner, fully aware of what’s going on.”
He thinks about it for a moment. “Do I get credit in the book? You know, like in the dedication?”
I whack his stomach and meet with a wall of muscle. The hit hurt me more than him. “Of course not. No one can know about us.”
His smile momentarily drops, but then it’s in place again so fast, I can’t help but think I’ve imagined it. “No, don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone about us.”
“So you’ll do it then? Teach me some hot new moves for the sex scenes?”
His grin turns wicked. “That’s what I was trying to do earlier when you stopped me.”
8
Cole
After going over my latest MRI with me, I sit on the examination table as the doc pokes and prods me. As he takes my vitals, I think about Nina. Jesus Christ, I wasn’t the only guy to do a number on her. No wonder she doesn’t believe she’s marriage material. But Christ, that girl is more marriage material than any woman I’ve ever met. She deserves the white picket fence, the kids, the minivan and whatever the hell else she might want.
When I’m fully recovered, I have every intention of finding the douche bag who humiliated her and giving him a good beating. I don’t give two shits if his brother is a cop, or if I end up with another concussion. No one treats Nina like that and gets away with it.
Dr. Sanders flicks the penlight over my eyes and pulls my focus back to the present. “So, what do you think brought on the nausea last night? Were you doing anything strenuous?”
“I…uh, well, I had a girl over.”
He tucks the flashlight into his pocket, folds his arms and stands back. He frowns at me, his bushy grey brows knitting together. “I thought you said you were going to take it easy. That hockey was more important than any woman.”
“Yeah, I know. It just kind of happened.” I’d sworn off women during recovery, but this is Nina we’re talking about. “Believe me, I learned my lesson.” Frenzied sex—years in the making—is not in the cards for me. But Nina asked me for bedroom lessons to help her writing. How can I possible say no to her?
Am I really going to let a girl come between me and my recovery?
But this isn’t just any girl. It’s Nina.
Careful, dude, she only wants sex and hockey lessons from The Playmaker. Nothing more, nothing less.
It’s not the real Cole she or anyone else wants. That guy’s unlikeable, and not worthy of a nice girl like her. Nope, that guy wasn’t even enough for his mother to stick around. It’s best to keep him under wraps.
“You’re well on your way to a full recover, and I don’t want to see anything keep you from your game.” His white coat makes a swishing sound as he turns from me and grabs my file from his cluttered desk. “From here on out, rest and relaxation.”
“No sex?”
He turns back to me, his eyes serious, but a small grin turns up his lips. “I’m not going to say that, if you’re finding abstinence too difficult. You have to have a life, but just take it easy, okay? You need to keep your brain rested and your blood pressure level.”
I climb down from the table. “When do you think I’ll be able to get back on the ice?”
“The headaches are back, right?”
“They were gone for a long time, and it was just last night I had a severe one. I was hoping I could do some easy skating with a friend. Nothing strenuous, just like walking, but on skates.”
“Let’s give it a week before I give the okay on that. Come back then and we’ll run some more tests, and then we’ll have a better idea where you are. In the meantime, relaxing activities that don’t take too much out of you.”
He makes some notes on his chart and I thank him as I leave his office. My heart beats a little faster when I find Nina sitting there waiting for me, checking something on her phone. Keeping my blood pressure down in her presence is going to take a hell of a lot of work.
As if sensing me standing there, she lifts her head and gives me a smile that fucks me over a little bit. She stands, and after I make another appointment for a week from now, we leave together.
“What did he say?” she asks when we reach the car.
“I’m on the road to recovery but I can’t do anything too strenuous.” I give her a wink, and she shakes her head, and it’s then I realize just how responsible she feels.
“I knew it. We shouldn’t have had sex.”
“Nina, none of this is your fault. I wanted you, and my team’s entire defense couldn’t have kept me away from you last night, concussion or not.” When she gives me a soft smile, I say, “We can have sex as long as I take it easy. I believe he said something about you doing all the work.”
She laughs. Hard. And I can’t help but laugh with her.
“Nice try, Cole.”
“I think he also said something about you cleaning the house for me, too.”
She rolls her eyes. “Did you get a prescription for that?”
“Well, no, but I believe it was implied, and—”
“Get in the car, Playmaker, before I make you walk all the way home.”
I climb in and she slides into the driver’s seat. The engine roars to life and she gingerly backs up. I appreciate her keeping the movements slow. The last thing I want is for my vertigo to return, and to end up back on the bathroom floor.
“Is there a game on tonight?” she asks.
“Nope.”
“So you don’t have any plans.”
“I thought we did.” I wiggle my brows playfully and from the look she’s casting my way, I know she gets the gist.
“Do you think about anything other than sex?”
&nbs
p; “Hockey.”
“Well, the Doc said you needed to do relaxing things, so I’m going to book us a Paint Nite. There’s one at Freeman’s Bar, not too far from your place. I was checking it out in the waiting room, and tonight they’re painting a daisy.”
“Paint Nite?”
“Yeah, it’s fun. You don’t have to have any skills for painting.” She rounds the corner slowly, and when the car behind us honks at her unhurried pace, and she flips him off in the rearview mirror, I laugh. She grins and goes on to explain, “There’s an instructor, and they go step by step, sort of like paint by numbers.”
She turns her head to find me staring at her. “Me, paint?”
“Sure, why not?”
“Ah, because I don’t paint daisies. I’m not a girl.”
“Oh, stop.” She whacks me, and I capture her hand. I bring it to my mouth for a kiss and her breathing changes slightly. “Lots of guys go. When I went with Jess, there were couples there on a date.”
“So this is a date?”
“Noooo,” she says, expanding that one word, to make sure I understand, I suppose. “This is about me finding ways to help you relax.”
“Like I said—”
“Cole,” she warns, and I laugh.
“I just like having sex with you, Nina. What’s so wrong with that?” Other than this is my best friend’s kid sister, and I like her, a lot. Too much. Which is fucked, because it’s not like we could have a future together. She’s as messed up as I am about such things.
She casts me a quick glance, and I don’t want to think too hard about the spike in my heart rate when she gives me a smile, like my words mean so much to her.
“I like having sex with you, too,” she says.
“Now we have to have slow sex. Like lovemaking.” Shit, why did I say that? I don’t know, but if I keep it up, I’m going to have to hand in my man card.
My stomach takes that moment to grumble, and I’m glad for the distraction.
“I need to feed you,” she says. “That sugary bowl of cereal hasn’t taken you very far.”
I feign disgust. “Cereal for breakfast. What am I paying you for again?”
“We ran out of time,” she shoots back. “And don’t pretend you didn’t like those Captain Crispies. I heard your moans.” Before I can come back with some smart comment about her moans, she says, “Besides, I don’t want your money. I told you that. We’re just both helping each other out.” She takes a left instead of a right.
“Where are we going?”
“If I’m going to stay at your place, I need to get clothes. I can’t live in your shirts.”
“I’m okay with that.”
“I’m not.” She casts me an almost apologetic look. “I know you’re starving, but do you think you can hold off on eating for a little bit longer?”
“We could always grab fast food at the drive-through.”
“No, when we get back, I’m making us a proper lunch.”
Us.
Damn, I like the sound of that.
“We could eat at your place.”
“No, I haven’t had a chance to go grocery shopping, since I was so busy with work and helping you and learning hockey.”
“You could at least hook me up with a granola bar. Who doesn’t have a box of granola bars stuffed in the cupboard, right?”
“I’m sure I can find you one.”
Ten minutes later, she parks on the street in front of her place. “Wait here, okay,” she says as I reach for the door handle. “I’ll bring you out a granola bar.”
“Nope.” I open the door, and she frantically jumps out from her side and plants her hands on her hips. “You might have to carry something heavy.”
“And you’re supposed to be taking it easy,” she shoots back, but from the near panicked look on her face, I get the sense there’s something else going on.
“I’m helping, Nina,” I say adamantly.
“Fine,” she says and huffs off. “Hurry up then.”
“Concussion, remember,” I say as I race to catch up.
“Yeah, only when it’s convenient,” she says with a sardonic smile.
“You weren’t complaining last night.”
“Shh, I don’t want my neighbors to hear that.”
Okay, okay I get it. She doesn’t want anyone to know about us. She fishes her key from her purse, and I follow her into her condo. “Nice place,” I say, glancing around.
“Wait here,” she says, and puts her hand to my chest to keep me in her front entranceway. “I don’t want you touching any of my stuff.”
“And here I let you touch all of my stuff,” I say, my voice holding all kinds of sexual innuendoes.
“You’re a funny guy, Cole,” she says, and disappears down a short hallway.
“I’m here all week,” I shoot back as she disappears into her bedroom. Unable to help myself, I step into her condo and glance around her living room. Nice, tidy, a buttery-yellow sofa with some throw pillows, a coffee table and small television. Across from the sofa there’s a bookshelf filled with romance novels. It’s all very Nina-like, and what I expected.
“Almost done,” she calls out.
I make my way to her kitchen, and a stack of envelopes on her table catches my eyes—the red overdue notices, to be precise.
What the hell? How could Nina be hurting for money? Cason set up that trust fund for her ages ago.
Even though it’s not in my nature to pry, I open one of her cupboards and find only a few boxes of crackers. Shit. Why didn’t she tell me she was broke?
I hear movement in the bedroom and hurry back to the front hall. I don’t want to embarrass her, but I have no idea why she has no food and bills piled up. Christ, her brother started a trust fund for her when he signed his first contract. Why isn’t she using the money when times are tight?
I glance around the place, my mind racing. She never liked me much, so the fact that she came to me for help must have been hard on her—must have been a last resort. She needs to write these books, of that much I’m sure, and dammit, I need to help her more than I ever realized.
She comes back down the hall, her steps slowing when she sees me.
“What?” I ask.
“You have a funny look on your face.”
“It’s called starvation.”
“Hang on.” She hurries to her kitchen and comes back with a granola bar for me. I rip into it and take a big bite, then hold it out to her. “Share?”
“No, I’m good. Still not feeling well from that bowl of Captain Crispies.”
“Hey, don’t be dissing the Captain.”
“Sometimes I swear you’re still seventeen, Cole.”
We step back out into the sunshine, and a few of her neighbors are admiring my car. “You remember a lot about me at seventeen?”
“Yeah, mostly how much of an ass you were.”
“Still am,” I remind her.
“Oh, I know,” she says, then plasters on a smile. “Good afternoon, Mr. Johnson.” She steps up to an elderly man with a cane. “Do you like it?” she asks as he examines the car. His eyes go wide when he sees me, and I instantly slip into Playmaker mode.
“You’re Cole Cannon,” he says.
I widen my arms. “The one and only.”
“Can I get my wife, she’s a huge fan too.”
“Sure thing.” I wink at Nina, who is watching me carefully—too carefully. I shift beneath her scrutiny, disliking that she might be the only person who can see through the veil. “I can’t go anywhere,” I say, cocky as ever. “Totally in demand.”
The truth is, I like greeting fans, like making them happy. I just wish I could be myself, but it’s Cocky Cannon they all want.
Mr. Johnson comes back with his wife, who is shrieking with joy, her hands on her cheeks, her mouth wide. I pose for a few pictures and give my autograph. Mrs. Johnson, all wide-eyed and excited, turns to Nina.
“Are you two a couple?” she asks, hope dancing on her
face.
“Oh, God, no,” Nina says quickly. “Cole is a friend of my brother’s, and he’s just helping me out with a few things.”
“Ah, too bad. You make such a nice couple.” Mrs. Johnson beams at Nina, then turns her focus to me.
“Nice meeting you,” I say, sensing that Nina is uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation. “But we’ve got to run.”
“Come around more often,” Mr. Johnson says.
I hop into the car and Nina climbs into the driver’s seat. “Thanks for that,” she says. “They’re big fans. That was nice of you, but I hope it didn’t take too much out of you. I know smiling and interacting with fans can be exhausting.”
“I’m okay,” I say, just as my phone pings. I fish it from my pocket and read the message. Guilt niggles inside my gut as I text Cason back.
“Everything okay?” Nina asks.
“It’s Cason. Checking to see how I’m doing.”
“Oh, tell him I said hi,” she says. “And that you’re giving me hockey lessons.”
I nod, and put the phone back in my pocket. No fucking way am I letting Cason know I’m with Nina.
“You didn’t tell him.”
“I will later, but you should tell him hi yourself. I’m sure he’d love to hear from you.”
She frowns. “I don’t know. He’s always so busy and I don’t want to bother him.”
I reach across the seat and put my hand on her legs. She jumps slightly as my skin warms at the touch. “Nina, I can guarantee he’d like to hear from you.”
She crinkles her nose and hesitates for a long moment. “You sure?”
“Yeah, give him a text and you’ll see.”
“Okay, maybe I will.”
“Do you think maybe you don’t like hockey because of Cason?”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“I don’t know. Just maybe you hate that he’s gone all the time.”
Instead of answering, she casts me a glance and changes the subject. “Do you hear from your sister much?”