by Gina Azzi
I rattle it off and the driver nods, turning up the song he’s listening to. But a moment later he swears.
“There’s an accident on Devonshire and Congress. Tremont and Blossom are at a standstill.” He gazes at us in the rearview mirror. “Up to a fifty-minute delay. What do you want to do?”
I freeze, my limbs locking down as I process this news. Are we going to sit in traffic? Is Noah going to offer me to come to his place? The idea excites me and I sit perfectly still, waiting for Noah to say something.
“We can wait it out if you want, Indy. But I vote that you come back to my place and we crash.” He glances at his watch. “It’s already after two.”
The thrill in my stomach flares up into my chest and down into my legs. I clear my throat. “That’s fine.”
Noah informs the driver of our decision. As he speaks, his hand closes over mine, holding on to my fingers, his thumb drawing lazy circles over my knuckles. He doesn’t let go until we pull up in front of a sweet brownstone in Beacon Hill.
“Wow.” I glance at him. “You live here?”
“Me and East.”
“I didn’t know you lived with your brother,” I say, sliding from the back seat and shivering from the breeze. While it’s not yet winter, it’s a hell of a lot colder than I’m used to. I moved to Boston in April from the heat and sun of Florida. My southern roots aren’t well-adjusted to the cold yet.
Noah wraps an arm around me, as if the bulk of his muscles could block the wind. Hell, they probably could. He exchanges a few words with the driver and then guides me up to the front entrance.
“East and I bought this place together years ago. He was living here solo for the past two years when Courtney and I bought a home.” He grimaces and I suddenly wish I didn’t say anything about him living with Easton. “But I sold it after…”
I nod, not needing him to elaborate on that sentence. “It’s beautiful.”
He shoots me a grateful look. “Thank you.” He punches in the code for the front door and pushes it open. I step inside and Noah enters quickly behind me, turning off and resetting the alarm.
He flips the lights on and my breath lodges in my throat. His home is more than beautiful. It’s like stepping into the spread of a design magazine.
The bones of the house, old and charming and historic, have been well-preserved and blended with contemporary materials and functional amenities. Exposed brick blends with industrial-style lighting. A real wood fireplace is bookended by built-in shelves with hockey awards and classic literature. An open floor plan is created from the history of over a hundred years of separated rooms, each with a specific function.
“This is amazing,” I say, spinning around in a circle.
Noah blushes and it’s the sweetest thing ever. “It was mostly East.”
I push at his chest playfully. “Stop being so modest.”
He chuckles, grabbing my hand and pulling me closer until I crash into his chest, my breasts pushing into his abdomen.
He glances down, his eyes sparking as they catch on my now pushed-up cleavage, before he drags his gaze up to mine. One of his hands settles on my waist. “I should get you some pajamas. And water.” He doesn’t make a move to do either and I don’t say anything to encourage him to remove his hand.
Because right now, I want nothing more than to feel his hands on me. To feel his fingers caress my skin, to know what it tastes like to have his tongue coax in between my lips and dance with mine.
A small sigh escapes my mouth and Noah’s jaw tightens, his gaze sharpening.
I reach up and my hand curls around his forearm, keeping his hand anchored to my hip.
We stare at each other, our elevated breathing mixing in the space between us.
“You don’t date hockey players,” he reminds me, his words a whisper but forcefully said, like he’s trying to remind himself too.
I lick my bottom lip and his eyelids drop to half-mast.
“You don’t really date at all,” I reply, my voice huskier than I’ve ever heard it.
He closes his eyes, dropping his forehead to mine. “I can’t do this with you, Indy. Not tonight.” He rolls his forehead gently and I shuffle even closer.
“Not tonight or not ever?” I ask, not caring how desperate I sound. I’m grateful for the liquid courage pumping through my blood. It’s been too long, maybe even my entire life, since I’ve felt desire like this. It’s thick in my veins, swimming like molasses. But my mind is made up, my head clear that Noah Scotch could make me feel like I’ve never felt before.
I know with certainty that his kiss would put all of Chris’s to shame, that his touch would erase any memory of Jace, that his body shadowing mine would be the greatest ecstasy I’ve ever had.
Right now, tipsy and needy, I want it more than oxygen.
I tip my chin up a fraction, lining up our lips until they nearly touch. Our breaths are like sweet caresses, our fingers still digging into each other, holding on to the thread of control that frays with each exhale.
“Fuck,” Noah swears right before he frames my face with his large hand and presses his lips to mine.
I kiss him back eagerly and I know I catch him off guard by the way he automatically slants my head in his hand and deepens our connection. He tastes like beer and peppermint; he smells like pinecones and winter.
I moan as his tongue dances with mine and feel his hand slide all the way around my waist, until I’m arching my body into his. My arms wrap around his shoulders, my hands clasping behind his neck.
He kisses me desperately, like he thinks he’ll never kiss me again.
Heat pools between my thighs and my nipples tingle, desperate to be touched. In fact, I feel like I’m vibrating with need, needy for Noah’s skilled fingers to provide a relief I haven’t experienced in too damn long.
I whimper and he swears, ending our connection as quickly as it started and taking a step back. He stares at me, his eyes wild, his chest heaving, his hands clenched into fists.
I raise my hand to my mouth, coming back to the moment, coming back to the reality where I desperately threw myself into the arms of hockey heartthrob, Noah Scotch.
Embarrassment washes through me and my gaze flickers to the front door behind Noah. For fuck’s sake, we didn’t even make it past the foyer. I make a move to start for the door but Noah growls, causing me to freeze.
“You’re staying here tonight,” he says the words decisively, no hesitation in his expression. “But we can’t go there, babe.” He gestures between us, shaking his head.
I bite the corner of my lip, my arms crossing in front of my chest, practically hugging myself. Shit, I messed up. I took advantage of Noah’s kindness. From his looks all night, I know he finds me attractive but that doesn’t mean he wants to sleep with me. I’m nothing like the women he’s usually pictured with, about as far from his ex-fiancée as one could be.
Noah’s gaze softens as he studies me. He strides forward, eating up the space between us and wraps his arms around me, holding me. “You’ll never understand how badly I want you right now. But you deserve more, Indiana. Much more than me, and a hell of a lot more than what I’m capable of giving. All I’ve got is tonight.”
I glance up at him, noting the way his Adam’s apple bobs. His voice is sincere and I can tell he means, truly believes, the words he’s saying.
The thing is, his words don’t bother me. They’re not the issue. Jace taught me better than to hitch my star to a hockey player. My star can blaze all on its own. But right now, I want Noah.
I want the wild, uninhibited, carefree, live-in-the-moment fun I’ve denied myself for far too long. I have a history with Noah, enough to know he’s a good man and one hell of a good time.
So I open my mouth and say, “What if tonight is all I want?”
He swears, his eyes blazing with heat I feel in my veins.
Grabbing the front of his shirt, I pull him closer and kiss him hard, until his lips mold to mine and he carrie
s me up the stairs, to his bedroom.
He tosses me in the center of his bed and I’m shimmying out of my dress as fast as he’s pulling his sweater over his head. He loses his pants next and I giggle. I giggle! Because this moment is fun and exciting and overflowing with sexy expectations and nothing else.
This is what I’ve been missing? I could slap myself for passing up on nights like these all throughout college.
Noah pounces on me, his expression playful. “You sure about this, Little Indy?”
I lie down and hook my heels around his back, pulling him closer. Between the liquid courage of tequila, the heady look in Noah’s eyes, and the sweet promise of living in the moment, I nod. “So ready, Scotch. Give me your best.”
He chuckles even as his eyes burn. “Promise, baby.”
Then he dips his head, kisses me hard, and lights me up like a firework finale on the Fourth of July.
6
Noah
My mouth feels like cotton and a dull throb aches behind my eyes when I wake up the following morning.
Shit. How much did I drink last night?
Slowly, memories of the evening thread together in my mind. Austin organizing a team night out. Firefly, dark lights and a pulsing beat. Shots with Torsten. And Indy.
Indy! I sit straight up in my bed and swing my legs to the side of the mattress.
Last night, I kissed Indiana Merrick and it was spectacular. Then, I fucked her seven ways ‘til Sunday in my goddamn bedroom.
I turn around, noting the empty side of the bed with an indent still on the pillow. Shit. Where’d she go?
For a guy who has been with too many women to count, none of them, not even Courtney, made quite an impression on me in such little time.
I pull on some sweats before I head downstairs and into the kitchen.
“Indy?” I call out but the house is silent. Did she ghost me?
I chuckle, shaking my head. Little Indy has definitely grown up. In fact, if any other girl ghosted me after a night out followed by hot sex, I’d be relieved. But with Indy, I’m both disappointed and impressed.
My fascination with her heightens when I notice that the Nespresso machine is open and a rinsed-out mug sits next to the sink. She didn’t even try to sneak out but had a leisurely morning on her way out the door. I shake my head and chuckle. Swiping a mug from the cabinet, I pop a Nespresso pod into the machine. As I wait for my coffee to brew, I spot the piece of paper tucked under a book on the kitchen island and pick it up, grinning at Indy’s impeccable handwriting.
Thanks for last night. I had a lot of fun. Have a great day, Indy
Platonic. Sweet. That’s what her note is. It’s a thoughtful message to place me firmly in the friend zone after I spent hours tasting her sweet skin and making her shatter apart with her eyes squeezed tight, her back arched, and her hands clutching my bedsheets.
Jesus. Indy is sexy as hell. All the more so because she’s sweet. And now, she’s friend-zoning me for the first time in my life. The realization makes me laugh and I pick up my phone to message Austin for Indy’s phone number.
No way am I letting her just slip away with the morning light after last night happened. Even though I’m not going to date her, even though there’s no future for us, we need to at least talk about what went down. Clear the air. Make sure things aren’t awkward at future Merrick family gatherings.
I tap out a text to Austin and send it just before my phone rings.
Slipping onto a barstool, I grip my coffee mug and answer.
“East?” Apprehension and hope swirl in my stomach. It’s the first time my brother’s contacted me since he entered rehab a week ago.
“Hey Noah,” my brother’s calm and measured voice comes through the line and I relax some just hearing it.
“How’re you doing?” I raise my coffee to my mouth and take a swig. The hot brew along with Easton’s voice dulls some of my headache.
“I’m okay,” East sighs. “Fuck man, last week was fucking brutal but I feel good. For real this time, I’ve got my head on straight.”
“That’s good, man. I’m glad to hear it. Just focus on your recovery.”
“That’s it. I’m locked in, taking things day by day. But when I get out of here, I’m ready to get back on the ice. It’s the only thing getting me through.”
I tamp down the flicker of hope that spurs in my chest at his words. I know better than to believe them. I’m not saying that East doesn’t mean them because right now, in this moment, he does. His voice is strong, his mind is clear, and a skate would do him good.
But when the temptations of the hockey world wave in front of his eyes, will he be able to choose hockey, choose our team, over a bottle of whiskey?
“You’ve got eleven weeks left,” I point out. “Just take it one day at a time.”
“But I feel great, Noah. Better than I’ve felt in a really long time.”
“That’s awesome, man. You’re doing really good and I’m proud of you for reaching out and getting help.”
He makes a weird sound, a cross between a snort and a chuckle. East and I are as close as brothers can be but we don’t do this shit. Talk about our feelings so openly. We were taught to keep our expressions blank and our mouths shut. Maybe that’s why our family is so dysfunctional?
“Eleven weeks is a long time. I was tossing around the idea of just thirty days,” he says after a moment. “Or sixty.”
Some of the hope in my chest sinks. “Nah, stick it out, man. Give yourself this time to work through things and—”
“There’s nothing to work through, Noah. This time, I swear it, I’m straight. I know all the reasons, all the mistakes, that landed me here and I’m not going to make them again.”
“Take the extra time,” I bite out. East and I have been down this road before, several times in fact. If he has any chance of sticking to his recovery, he needs to follow the process he committed to from the start.
I feel his frustration roll through the line but he doesn’t say anything and I don’t push it.
“What’d you do this weekend?” he asks, steering the conversation to calmer waters.
“Hung out with the team last night. We start training for the season opener on Monday.”
Easton sighs, “Fuck, now I’m jealous.”
“Don’t be. We need you when we’re closer to playing in the Finals.”
“Yeah. How are the guys doing?”
“Everyone’s good. Asking about you. Coach is going to fill them in this week.”
“But I’m still good, right? I’ll still be able to play.”
I close my eyes, not sure how much information to divulge to my brother when he’s already handling so much mentally. East and I have always played hockey together; we’ve always been viewed as a package deal. In many ways, my presence cushions his relationship with management and my performance on the ice softens his mistakes off of it. “Yeah, man. You’re still good. We need you back so go all in these next few months and keep your head up.” It’s the truth, management hasn’t said anything about replacing my brother. But how many chances will Easton get until his addiction is too much of a drain on a professional hockey team? The Hawks’ owner, Scott Relend, needs to know his players are committed to the game, to the team, and will put that commitment over everything.
Easton’s quiet on the line and I know his mind is processing, turning over my words, trying to read between the lines.
To distract him, I blurt out, “Indy’s here.”
“Indy?”
“Austin’s cousin.”
“Merrick?”
“That’s the one.”
“Oh yeah, she moved to Boston months ago. You didn’t know that?”
“I think I’m the only person who didn’t.”
Easton snickers. “Dude, you have been fucked up since Courtney. Drunker than me half the time. No offense.”
“None taken.”
“Austin threw a little thing for her when she first
got into town. Oh, I think it was the weekend you and Courtney sold your place. But anyway, it was a nice dinner with a lot of Vanny’s and Claire’s friends. It was a way to welcome her to the city.”
I wrack my mind to recall the dinner he’s talking about and something vague clicks. Shame fills my throat that I was so gutted and angry over Courtney that I literally tuned out everyone else’s lives. Maybe if I had been more aware of what was going on months ago, my little brother wouldn’t be in rehab now.
“How’s she doing?” East asks after a second.
“Yeah, she’s good. Really great. Loves the city, loves her work.”
“That’s right. She’s a professor, isn’t she?”
“She is.”
Silence stretches for a long beat before Easton’s laughter pulls me from my thoughts about Indy. “What’s so funny?” I ask.
“Holy shit, Noah. Tell me you’re not trying to get into Indiana Merrick’s pants?”
“What?” I clear my throat, yanking on the back of my neck. “Of course not. I’m—”
“Fuuuuuck,” Easton cuts me off. “You already did. Damn, man. Little Indy Merrick?” He fucking laughs. “This just made my fucking day. My week! Thank you.”
“East, it’s not like that.”
“Yeah? What’s it like?”
“Indy’s a great girl. A cool girl. She’s…”
“Gorgeous.” My brother fills in the blank.
I blow out an exhale, making a sound of agreement.
“Why are you acting so weird? Indy’s awesome. When did it go down?”
“Last night,” I blurt out, regretting telling Easton the moment I do. This isn’t the topic that should be discussed on Easton’s first call home. “I’m sorry. This isn’t important. We should be talking about—”
“This,” my brother interrupts. “Seriously, I’m relieved to call you and talk about something that isn’t alcohol- or recovery-related. Just connect with the world again and be part of a conversation that doesn’t delve into my hidden feelings or triggers.”
I let out a breath. “Okay.”
“So you fucked Indy?”
I wince. “We slept together.”