by Casey Winter
“Are you a fricking idiot?” Hannah hisses, standing in front of me now, knowing I’d never barge her out of the way. “Just shut your mouth. Dios.”
“So cute.” Jock leers. “Little Hannah and Lukey, it’s breaking my heart.”
“You’re a brave bastard, Jock,” I growl sarcastically. “Insulting me with a police officer and a lady between us. Let’s just hope I don’t catch you alone, eh? We’ll see how brave you are then.”
“That’s fine by me,” Jock snaps. “I live in those nice modern apartments they built a few years ago. Number twenty five. You’re welcome any time.”
“Enough,” Coach snarls.
Hannah tugs me inch by inch toward the rear of the rink and, finally, to the seating area on the other side of the bar. Coach takes Jock by the arm and leads him toward the lobby.
“Jock,” I snap, pacing up and down, fists clenched.
“I know, Luke,” Hannah whispers. “He’s an asshole. You won’t get any arguments from me. But you can’t let him get to you like this. It’s what he wants. And … I know you don’t want to hear this, but he’s way, way too tall to be the man I saw earlier. Even if I’m misremembering slightly, it wouldn’t be that much of a difference.”
“He could’ve hired someone,” I grunt. “This is too much of a damn coincidence.”
“It doesn’t look good,” Hannah agrees. “Do you want a beer, something to take the edge off?”
I shake my head. “A coffee would good, though.”
“But you’ve got to promise not to go charging out there when I go and get it. Kay?” I find myself grinning, my anger draining at the look in her face. She pouts at me. “Why so smiley all of a sudden?”
“Just you,” I say, looping my arms around her waist. I pull her toward me, kissing her on the cheek, and then find her lips. We sink into a deep kiss, both of us gasping for breath in between the passion, our hands all over each other. “It’s cute, twinkle toes, how much you care about me.”
She leans back in the embrace, trusting me not to let her fall. “Yeah, believe it or not, I don’t want to see you go to jail, dumbass.”
“I’m sorry,” I tell her. “Sometimes, my anger gets the better of me. Morgan’s always saying I need to be more like him. I usually tell him to go screw himself. But sometimes, I think he might be right.”
“Is Morgan like a super-calm monk or something?” she teases.
I brush her hair from her forehead. I love the way she shivers slightly at my touch. “You’re not far off,” I tell her. “He’s as cold as ice. I’ve never seen him ruffled, not once. It’d take a goddamn army to get him angry.” I shake my head. “But this isn’t about me, Hannah. I’m proud of you. Some people, they would’ve frozen when they saw that fire. You acted.”
She flushes slightly. “It’s Family Roller,” she says. “Do you know how many happy memories I have here? Not just from before, when Evelyn used to run it. But recently, too …” She looks at me questioningly, as if asking if I feel the same.
“Me too,” I tell her. “I’m fine now.”
“Phew,” she giggles. “Because I thought you were really going to take his head off.”
I grin ruefully. “Yeah, so did I. I’m just glad you and Coach were there.”
“But you wouldn’t have hurt him, really, would you?”
“No,” I tell her as we walk over to the bar together, hands linked. “I’m too well-trained for that. But we would’ve fought. And let me tell you something. I never go into a fight expecting to lose. I would’ve bloodied him up a little, maybe busted his nose.”
She swallows. “I guess that’s just another reason …”
She trails off, striding past me to the coffee machine. With a nod, I sit at the bar as she brews it. It’s so easy to imagine her behind the bar with a Family Roller T-shirt on, entertaining all the customers, becoming an important, loved figure in this town.
“Another reason for what?” I prompt, when she doesn’t continue.
“Nothing,” she says, back turned, steam rising as she heats the milk.
“Hannah?” I ask over the whine of the machine.
She turns, frowning. “Another reason for us not to graduate from—from whatever this has been to something real, right? I mean, Mom would tell me not to get involved with a man who gets into fights.”
I wonder if this is a test, the sort of thing women say to see if men really want to be with them. I’m not used to mind games like that. Maybe it’s unfair of me to think that Hannah’s playing them. But, even so, I find myself protesting. “I don’t get into fights, Hannah. Not usually. And I never hurt people, not unless I’m working and I need to, and they deserve it, anyway. I just lost my temper.”
“So you’re saying …” She smiles shyly.
Goddamn, could this woman be any more attractive, inside and out? She’s shy but confident, nervous and yet determined, tenacious and still sometimes unsure. Most of all, she’s human.
No, most of all, she’s Hannah.
“What, twinkle toes?” I smile.
“You’re saying that maybe we could—”
“Be together?” I finish.
She nods, placing her hand on mine. I flip my palm, squeezing onto her fingers. She’s warm, clammy, and I adore it. I slide my fingers through hers, holding onto her tightly.
“Like I said before, it’s not easy, but it’s not impossible, either. And if you still want to spend time with me after seeing the worst of me … My night terrors, as you call them. My temper. Then yeah, Hannah, maybe we could.”
She blinks rapidly. I think she’s trying to force tears away. She really has been through a lot these past couple of days. “Good,” she says. “Because I feel the same. And, Luke, if that’s the worst you have to show me, I consider myself pretty fricking lucky.”
I lean down and kiss the back of her hand, tasting her. “Then we agree,” I say. “But right now, I think there’s something more important that needs your attention.”
“Don’t worry. Mom is with Alejandra and I’ve told her to call me if—”
“Not that,” I say, grinning. “But that’s good. No, your milk is about to overflow.”
“What?” She spins, laughing. “Why didn’t you tell me, asshole?”
She leaps forward, just about grabbing the handle—plastic, so thankfully she doesn’t burn herself—before the milk froths over the rim like an erupting volcano.
“Maybe I just like seeing you in action, twinkle toes,” I tease. “You’re so sexy when you’re flustered.”
“Jerk,” she giggles, shooting me evil eyes. “You know you’re gonna pay for that, right?”
I walk around the bar, pulling her into a tight embrace, endlessly fascinated by how natural this feels. But, unlike all the other times, I don’t feel that stabbing guilt. I don’t hear any voices telling me to run away as fast as I can. Instead, insanely, I hear a different voice. And this one is telling me I’m right where I belong.
“How the hell has this happened?” I whisper, running my hands through her soft hair.
“I don’t know,” Hannah murmurs, just as quietly. “But I know I don’t want it to end, Luke. Not now and maybe not …”
“Maybe not ever?” I offer.
She nods, sighing breathily. This time, when we kiss, it’s like some invisible force has taken hold of us. We can’t fight the passion, the closeness.
We melt into each other.
Chapter Eighteen
Hannah
A hectic, love-struck week later, I’m sitting in front of my mirror getting ready for dinner at Penny’s place … with Luke.
I’m having dinner with Luke and Penny.
Like, what the frick?
It’s crazy, really, how good this last week has gone. It’s been like a major stepping stone in our relationship. Nah, screw that. It’s been a fricking pole jump. As I carefully apply my eyeliner—which, it turns out, Luke finds really, really hot—I think about the hotel suite in Lorham that h
as become like our second home.
Ever since the fire, Luke hasn’t wanted us hanging out at Family Roller after hours, just in case the would-be arsonist returns again. Luke still thinks it’s the Hanlons, but Coach said they were seen on the security footage at the hardware store that night, and even Luke had to admit the person caught on tape at the rink is too small to be either Will or Jock.
“They hired someone, then,” he snapped one night, as we were lying naked in bed together.
The suite is pretty damn awesome: three separate rooms, a boss en-suite bathroom, a big couch to cuddle up on. The water pressure in the en-suite is probably one of the best features. A lady never tells, fine … but let’s just say Luke Nelson knows how to get creative with the showerhead.
Mom is recovering, too, which is great, and one night Alejandra even stayed over, meaning Luke and I could sleep in the same room for once. He was stiff all that evening, even before we had sex. I mean, when we were having sex, he was regular Luke, absorbed and passionate and sinful in the best way. But, after, when we were lying side by side, I could sense the tension in him.
“What’re you scared of?” I asked, tracing a scar down his chest with my forefinger.
He smiled slightly at the tingling motion. “That I’ll freak out in the middle of the night and throw you off the bed,” he told me. “Or that I’ll start crying. Or that I’ll punch the wall in my sleep.”
“Has that happened before?” I asked.
“Two out of three has,” he said.
“Wait, what … so you’ve thrown a woman out of bed before?”
I guess I have no right to be jealous, since it’s not exactly like we were on the best of terms before all this craziness started. But I still felt a cold pang of jealousy at the thought.
“No,” he said, a confused look on his face. He’d let his stubble grow a little, making him manlier and rugged. “I’ve never fallen asleep with a woman before, not since the SEALs. In high school, sure …” He shrugged. “But I did wake up crying like a bitch, once. And I’ve punched more walls than I care to think about.”
“Don’t do that, frogman,” I whispered, kissing his sweaty chest. “You didn’t cry like a bitch. You just cried. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
“I think you’d feel different if you saw it,” he teased. “It was only once, but it was probably the most disgusting thing you can imagine. Snot going everywhere. Blubbering like a goddamn baby.”
“Ew.” I giggle. “What do you mean, snot going everywhere?”
“Let’s just say my pillows were glued together.”
“You are so, so, so disgusting.”
“Nah, it was just a couple of tears.” He grinned, green eyes looking into the past. “But it still made me feel like one hell of a coward, I’ll tell you that.”
“Luke, um, has anybody ever told you that you have serious psychological problems?” I teased. “Like, you’re seriously the most messed up person I’ve ever met.”
He laughed loudly, the way he always does when I poke fun at it. I think he likes how it defuses it, turns it from this huge looming thing to something manageable. And here I go again, Miss Armchair Psychologist.
“Those sound like fighting words,” he said. “You sure you wanna go down this road?”
I leapt up, mounting him, and grabbed his wrists. He let me pin them above his head. “Now what?” I goaded. “Huh? I’ve got you right where I want you.”
“Oh, yeah,” he said easily. “I’m trapped. What ever shall I do?”
“What ever shall I do?” I mocked. “Alright, Mr. Darcy.”
“M’lady,” he said, chuckling. “You wound me. But, on a separate note, who is Mr. Darcy?”
“A character from a Jane Austen book,” I told him. “Penny’s reading it at the moment. But I can’t remember the title.”
“Well, try,” he offered.
“Okay, let me think …”
Oh, snap.
He was only asking me to distract me. And it worked. I’d let my hand slip from his wrist.
“You cunning little prick.”
He tickled me under the armpit, sending me in sprawling giggles to the other end of the bed. He chased me as I playfully kicked at him, and then wrestled me so now he was on top, my arms pinned, which is, honestly, the way I prefer it.
“Cunning little prick?” he echoed, eyes narrowing in mock hurt. “Hannah, I don’t think I can let you get away with that. That’s seriously insulting.”
“Yeah, right.”
We fell into each other again, greedy, hungry. Our sex has been like that lately, now that we’ve learned each other’s rhythms. We leap at each other in an attack of pleasure, pushing each other further and further until we’re both speechless and breathless with the release.
Then the night got dark and it was just so fricking nice to be in his strong arms, I fell asleep. I woke, once, groggy when Luke jolted awake. “It’s okay,” I murmured, hardly awake myself. “It’s okay.”
“Come here,” he growled. “Let me hold you.”
I crawled deeper into his embrace, and then we both slept the night through. Luke was so cutely shocked the next morning. He sat up and glanced at the clock, twice, as if he thought that the seven AM readout was a lie. “Jesus,” he said. “What time did we go to sleep?”
“I dunno,” I yawned. “Eleven?”
“I haven’t slept like that in years,” he said, sounding so relieved I almost thought I was going to cry. “That’s crazy.”
“That’s because you never had me before,” I teased, kissing him.
He grabbed me, kissing me firmer. “It’s not a joke, Hannah,” he said. “That’s the truth right there. You don’t know how grateful I am. I feel like a new man. I feel awake, actually awake, for the first time in …” He shook his head, smiling. “You’re a goddamn witch, twinkle toes.”
“A witch?” I cried. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”
“A magical person, then.” He fisted my hair, guided me to his lips again. I went willingly, finding pleasure in how he forced our lips together. He was in control, and I loved it. “Is that better?”
“The kiss or the description?”
“Both?”
I laughed. “Sure, but I think I preferred the kiss.”
—
Now, I finish my eyeliner and stand up to get a look at my outfit, wondering if I’ve overdressed since we’re just going to be staying in Penny’s apartment. But I like dressing up for Luke. That’s the truth. I know some people say that makes me shallow, like, I shouldn’t want to just dress up to please a man or whatever.
But, like, screw them.
Because I know, looking at the form-hugging black dress that matches my hair, along with the dark eyeliner, Luke’s going to just die when he lays those glinting emerald eyes on me.
And I’m not wrong. He’s waiting for me at his Chevy, parked down the street like I asked. That’s still a sore point between us, since Luke doesn’t like all the sneaking around. But he’s agreed, for Mom. Well, for me, but I’m doing it for Mom, so it’s like two degrees of compassion.
Luke’s mouth actually drops open when he sees me.
“Jesus, Hannah,” he says, voice all gravelly with desire. “I don’t think you’ve ever looked sexier and more beautiful, and that’s saying a damn lot.”
I can’t help but flush. I look at him in his light green shirt, the one I bought for him because it matches his eyes, tucked into his smart trousers and his black shoes. He looks strong, his clothes draped over his muscular form, each whisper of fabric hinting at the power beneath. “So do you,” I say.
“Sexy and beautiful?” he banters. “Holy cow, Hannah, you’ll make me blush.”
“Holy cow.” I giggle as he holds the door open for me. “Please, please, please don’t start saying that.”
“Holy cow, holy cow, holy cow,” he grins, climbing into the driver’s seat. Starting the engine, he asks, “Is Teresa with her friend, Alejandra?�
�
“Yep, all night,” I say. “I’ve got my phone on loud, just in case Alejandra needs to call. But, honestly, Mom’s doing great.”
“Good,” Luke says, backing the Chevy out. He starts the short drive toward the modern apartments. “I can’t say I like this teenager stuff, though. Sneaking around.”
I sigh. “I know, frogman. I know. Neither do I. But what am I supposed to do? You saw how crazy she went in the hospital.”
He nods. “Yeah, that was messed up. I feel bad for her.”
Despite Mom’s attitude toward him, Luke has been nothing but supportive. The few times I’ve had to rearrange seeing him to be with her, he’s never made a big deal out of it. Actually, he asks after her, even running a couple of errands for her here and there … not that she knows who ran those particular errands.
But his kind streak doesn’t stop him placing his hand on my leg, in that way that sets all my nerves buzzing like the Fourth of fricking July. “You seriously are an evil bastard,” I moan, as his sizzling touch inches higher. “I hope you know that.”
“Oh, I do,” he growls, squeezing and palming my responsive thigh. “Hell, Hannah. You’re lucky this is a short drive. Any longer and I think I’d crash. I can’t stop looking at you.”
He slides his hand up and pushes my dress aside, grazing his finger against my underwear. My sex aches from the touch, even if I’m still sore from our previous searing contact. He strokes casually as he drives, eyes fixated on the road. But his jaws tremble with tension, and I can tell he wants me just as badly as I want him.
“Luke,” I moan, grabbing his wrist. “If you keep doing that, I won’t make it until dinner. Come on, bad boy.”
He smirks. “Alright, I’ll be good … for a little while.”
“Well, I’m starting to learn that for a little while is the most I can expect from you, anyway.”
I mean it about how insatiable his desire for our sex is, but for a second the conversation pauses awkwardly. I realize that for a moment he thinks I’m talking about us: our relationship, whatever that is, since we haven’t labelled it yet. Maybe he thinks I’m accusing him of just picking me up only to put me down when it’s convenient for him.