by G. K. Brady
What was the matter with him anyway?
“Take it Easy” sang through the speakers, and he paid attention, slowing the furious pace of his pounding heart. He got back on his route, got himself back on track, letting the thoughts come as he drove home, hoping to sort them out.
Clarity struck moments later, and he realized exactly what the matter was with him.
Today he’d loved arriving with Lily. Showing her off. Listening to the guys go on about how he’d scored. Even Mark’s crude comments had brought his dormant caveman self to life. It was nice to have someone to introduce to his friends and teammates. To fetch a drink for. To share a conversation with inside a cluster of people. To stand close to. It didn’t suck to be there because he wasn’t holding up a wall by himself, dodging everyone’s concerns, counting the minutes before he could make a polite escape. He’d wanted to be there, and it had all been because of her.
He’d believed—scratch that—he’d fooled himself, even if for only a short while, that they might be a couple. He’d gotten way ahead of himself, imagining bringing her to team events, having her wait for him after a game, just like Natalie waited for T.J. After all, Lily had fit in so well with Natalie and the other women. It had felt so natural. Hell, he’d even let the illusion grow legs and go a little crazy, picturing himself following her into her cute little house and getting his fingers tangled in those silky Goldilocks curls. About getting her naked again. Running his hands and lips over that soft skin. Spending the night and waking up with his body curled around hers.
Jackass!
The laugh that escaped his chest wasn’t a funny one. More of a frustrated release at his own absurdity. What an idiot he’d been to let his mind wander down a primrose path. The shock of seeing Derek marching out of her house had done a thorough job of erasing Gage’s mirage. Hell, it had blown it to smithereens.
After parking his car in the garage, he walked into the kitchen and flooded it with light. It was a gorgeous kitchen—dark wood, rich granite, lots of space for a cook to spread messes while whipping up something tasty to share. But it was an empty kitchen. A space he rarely used. Though the world beyond the huge window over the sink was dark, he pictured himself standing there, the backdrop of woods beyond, and someone’s arms wrapped around his waist while he hurried through the dishes so he could pick her up and carry her to the bedroom upstairs. Her legs would be flailing, and they’d both be laughing.
Right now the kitchen was dead. Quiet. Soulless. Sound echoed through the room, and it wasn’t kids giggling or a woman calling his name.
No, it was a meow.
He stepped into the family room just off the kitchen, flipped on an outside deck light, and peered through the sliding glass door at an orange tabby.
He opened the slider and let the stray waltz in, its tail held high. Hobbes meowed a greeting in response, looking for all the world like the king of the castle—until Gage walked toward the pantry and rustled a bag of cat food. The cat shot in like a dart, mewling and rubbing himself against his legs until Gage set a bowl down and filled it. He ruffled the cat’s scruffy neck while the thing chowed down.
He had no idea where Hobbes had come from. He’d just shown up one day and become a frequent visitor. Though Gage had asked around and even posted a few flyers, no one had claimed the cat.
“Jesus, Hobbes,” he said softly. “Maybe it’s just you and me against the world.” For the first time, Gage wondered if the cat had been checked by a vet lately. “You got a home, buddy? Or am I it for you? If so, that really sucks because I’m not around much, and my only family is a crazy, toothpaste-wielding Grandma, a mom whose sole mission in life is to marry me off to someone I’m not in love with, and a sister who lives too far away to have my back.”
Huh. Maybe he and the cat could help each other out.
Gage turned on the gas fireplace, picked up his acoustic guitar, plopped down on his cushy leather couch, and started strumming “Take it Easy.” He wasn’t ready to head to his dark bedroom yet.
He had no idea how much time had passed when he startled awake to loud purring coming from a hot spot on his chest. He was stretched half-on and half-off the couch, Hobbes staring at his face as if it were something to eat.
His phone also seemed to be purring on the coffee table, and he put the cat aside to pick it up. A text from Lily glowed. Make it home okay, Professor? I wanted to thank you again for today. It was a lot of fun.
Apparently, the message had come in over an hour ago. He hesitated a moment—was she sleeping with her daughter? What if he woke them up by texting back? He’d take the chance.
Got home fine. Just hanging with Hobbes. I had a lot of fun too.
To his great delight, her reply came instantly.
Glad you have company.
He couldn’t stop himself. What about you? You have company too?
Just me and D, who’s sound asleep beside me. Did you know little girls snore?
“D” had to be Daisy and not Derek, right? Right. An image flitted through his brain of two sets of blond curls, one belonging to someone small and the other to someone smaller, snuggled together under a fluffy comforter. The image curved a corner of his mouth.
Gage: Had no idea. Learn something new every day. You still up for coming to the game Tues?
Lily: I’d love to. OK to bring Ivy?
What he wanted to say, but refrained from typing, was, You can bring anyone as long as it isn’t Derek. He tried to block out Derek cozied up in Lily’s house, waiting for Lily to get home. Instead, he typed, Of course. Meet me tomorrow at the arena at 11? I’ll hand over 2 tix and fan mail so you can start earning that paycheck and make me look good.
Lily: You already look good, Professor. See you tomorrow.
“Whoa, do you see that, Hobbes?” He waved his phone in front the cat’s face. Hobbes tracked it for a few seconds before striking a bored pose and licking his paw. “What do you think she means when she says I already look good? You think she wants to jump my bones? Or is she talking ‘good’ in a PR kinda way?” The cat looked up from his licking and blinked. “Yeah, you’re probably right. Strictly PR, but hope shines eternal, or some bullshit like that.”
Gage couldn’t bring himself to put Hobbes back out in the cold and did something he’d never done before. He piled a few towels on the mudroom floor and closed the cat up with full bowls of food and water.
Tomorrow, he’d look into whatever the hell a cat needed—they used litter boxes, didn’t they?—and he’d text Natalie about a vet. Gage didn’t view his efforts as “adopting” Hobbes, though. He was simply providing temporary shelter from the cold and the coyotes. And why not? He had a big house, and the cat wasn’t annoying or destructive.
A thought streaked in out of the blue. What about a kid? Who’s not mine? Would I want to take care of it … her? That kind of shelter would be a helluva lot more permanent.
Stepparents did it all the time, right? Gage had never been afforded a front-row seat to stepparenting. His mom hadn’t remarried, and he had little experience with his stepmom since his dad had distanced himself. But still. Millions of people made it work every single day, so it couldn’t be all that daunting. You only heard about the horror stories, not the boring ones where everybody acted like a family. A team.
He trudged upstairs, getting ready for bed while his mind continued winding along its merry, unlikely way. Did he want to be a dad someday? He’d always assumed he would be, though it wasn’t exactly burning a hole in the bucket holding his topmost desires—in fact, it wasn’t even in the bucket. Right now that bucket was filled to the rim with one thing: winning the Stanley Cup.
Lily, he realized suddenly, could worm her way into that bucket—which meant her kid, by default, would wind up in the bucket too. A child he didn’t know, who wasn’t his.
Tired of his whirlpooling thoughts, he stripped and slid between the sheets. Tonight the bed seemed bigger, colder. Sleeping by himself was getting old. He could change
that if he wanted to; he didn’t have to sleep alone.
His brain skimmed over women he’d dated and women he hadn’t dated who’d shown interest when they’d slipped him cards or notes with inviting smiles on their faces—as recently as yesterday.
He sat up, clicked on the lamp, and riffled through the pile in his nightstand drawer. They wound up there simply because he emptied his pockets in his bedroom when he undressed, and he’d invariably come across one tucked away in his clothing. That card got tossed into the drawer with the others with the thought that maybe he’d follow up, only to be forgotten until he found one the next time and absentmindedly added it to the others.
As he shuffled through the impressive stack, he was struck by the fact that none of the names or faces stood out. Was he that obtuse, or were they that underwhelming? Maybe he was too picky. Maybe he should just take one of these women out and not wind up alone for a change. But the thought of digging for a spark, of searching for common ground over a meal, deflated him. It was exhausting. And having a body next to him for the sake of having a body next to him? Nah. Didn’t appeal.
With a sigh, he tossed them all back in the drawer and slammed it shut. One of these days he needed to clean them out. But not tonight.
As he laced his hands across his chest, Lily’s melodious laugh floated into his brain. Followed by her beautiful smile. Her bright blue eyes. Her glossy blond curls. Her skin that reminded him of cream. Her fragrance—like oranges and the star jasmine outside his mom’s house. He’d inhaled it all through the party and on her doorstep when he’d walked her to her door.
Every detail about Lily Everett was branded in his brain. Nothing about her was fuzzy, unlike the women in the drawer. And if he dared try to blur her out, his body was having none of it, rousing to her electrifying effect on him. Despite the fact that she didn’t want him.
With a sigh, he climbed out of bed and headed for the shower.
Chapter 10
Game Time
“Yes! Go, go! Yes!” Ivy shrieked behind Lily as they climbed over legs to reach their seats. Several heads turned their way.
“Ivy,” Lily ground out, “they’re just warming up. Save your voice for the actual game, okay?”
“Just getting my vocal chords ready.”
Lily rolled her eyes. Maybe bringing Ivy hadn’t been such a great idea after all. At least they weren’t sitting among the players’ families—those seats were gone, so Gage had gotten them club seats. Lily wasn’t complaining. She didn’t need the pressure, and on a swank factor, these rated just below box seats, and they were right at center ice. Perfect for watching the action at her first live NHL game.
She’d been scouring the ice since they’d entered and had a bead on the jersey with a huge six positioned below “Nelson.” Her heart executed a few discreet flips at the sight of him speeding fluidly around the Blizzard’s side of the rink, his dark blond hair ruffling as he went. Long, graceful strides made her breath stutter. A quick spin, and he was skating backward just as elegantly, stick dangling from his hand.
Hot!
Hands full of popcorn and beer, eyes glued on Assistant Captain Hotness, Lily goosed herself when she accidentally landed on the armrest. She recovered quickly and plopped into her seat, never taking her eyes from Gage. Beside her, Ivy began pointing out different players she found in her program, reciting their stats. Lily couldn’t have cared less … until Ivy started enthusing about “Star Center Gage Nelson.”
“Oh yeah,” the fan seated in front of them said as he turned in his seat, a difficult maneuver with his portly body, “Nelson is awwwwesome! Fast as lightning and slippery as an eel. Thank God he’s ours. Other teams really have a hard time handling him.”
Ivy gouged Lily’s ribs with a sharp elbow. “Maybe you could handle him, Lil. He’s a very fine specimen of hot hockey hunkiness! Hubba-hubba!”
“Ivy, hush!” Lily hissed.
“Why? Just because I’m married doesn’t mean I can’t feast my eyes on a mouthwatering piece of man-candy. Woo hoo! You go, Number Six!” She waved a foam finger above her head.
The fan’s shoulders shuddered with laughter in front of them while Lily fought the urge to bury her face in her hands.
Meanwhile, the players lined up for drills. On the opposite side of the rink, Gage was casually bouncing a puck on his stick blade.
Whoa! How does he do that? Gotta be superior hand-to-eye coordination, and, uh, athletic prowess.
It should’ve been cold in the arena, but Lily suddenly felt warm. She fanned herself with Ivy’s program. Gage dropped the puck, passed it to a teammate, and looked right at her, a huge grin plastered on his face. Okay. He knew we were here the whole time. Showoff. She returned the smile—couldn’t stop herself—her blood effervescing like soda inside a shaken-up bottle.
The players finished their pregame warm-ups and began drifting off the ice until only two Blizzard players remained. One was Number Six. On one last loop, he skated by their section, slowing, balancing on a single skate with his other leg drawn up as he got closer. He thumped his heart with his fist and pointed at her before gunning for the exit chute. People in the stands turned toward her. Her blazing face must have given her away because one enthusiastic fan hollered, “Nelson? Nice!”
“I just do his PR,” she squawked to no one in particular.
From somewhere behind her came, “Sure that’s all you do for him, Blondie?” followed by, “I’d be doing a lot more than his PR if I were you, honey. That man’s a hottie!”
When Lily swiveled her head toward her sister, Ivy’s eyes and mouth were round O’s, her chin practically scraping her chest. “Is that … Is he …?”
Lily shushed her, but it didn’t prevent Ivy leaning to her ear and whisper-shouting over the booming music, “He’s your July guy, isn’t he? Oh my fucking God, Lil! Way to go, Baby Sis!” She punched Lily’s arm and gave her two thumbs-up before throwing her arms around her and squeezing tight. Lily doubted a red brighter than the color staining her face existed in the universe.
Gage was on fire tonight, playing stupid-out-of-mind. Everything he touched, everything he did worked! He was golden. Passing, skating, stealing the puck, protecting it. The damn thing seemed to find him and bend to his will. He flew up and down the ice, setting up plays, dekeing, putting on skating clinics. No one could touch him.
Late in the third period, with the score tied, he roofed the puck with a wicked wrist shot, popping the goalie’s water bottle. He’d found the back of the net for his second goal of the game. That one’ll show up on the highlight reels!
“Beauty goal, Admiral!” T.J shouted from across the ice.
Gage glided on one skate, pumping his arms, puffing his chest like a damn rooster before he threw himself at the glass and roared. On the other side, fans pounded their palms against the glass, making it bow and flex as they screamed their heads off. And he was right there with them.
God, what a rush! Nothing like it! Better than sex!
As his teammates skated over to mob him for the celly, his eyes lifted to Lily. Gorgeous smile on her gorgeous face, she clapped and jumped in place. For him. Her beautiful curls bounced on her slight shoulders. Other parts of her bounced too.
Okay. Not better than sex, but damn close.
He was engulfed by his teammates, hugging, slapping, telling him what a fucking awesome goal it was. He slapped them back. “Okay, boys. We got this. Let’s finish these fuckers off. We’re gonna win this one!”
And they did.
The locker room exploded when they came off the ice, guys celebrating, smacking each other with towels, clothes, gear. With playoffs right around the corner, every game counted, and they’d just gained two points on conference-leader Arizona in the standings. Soon he might be able to say, “Eat that, Beckett Miller!”
Gage snatched his phone from his locker and texted Lily before the press found him and held him up. Natalie’s on her way to find you. Go with her and wait for me?
/> Stripping off his gear, he turned and faced the reporters and questions coming at him. He never believed the gushing crap they wrote about him—he knew only too well how imperfect he was—but tonight he might just buy in for a little while and enjoy himself.
“What happened on the ice tonight, Gage? You were unstoppable!”
He grinned. Blond hair and blue eyes happened. He couldn’t wait to get out of there—he just hoped Lily would wait.
Another thirty minutes passed before he disentangled himself from the boisterous locker room crowd, showered, and made his way into the corridor alongside his captain, Dave “The Grim Reaper” Grimson. Grims heaped more praise on him as they walked.
“You were un-fucking-believable tonight, Admiral Nelson. I’m pretty sure you could’ve been out there all by yourself and still won the game for us.”
“Hardly. Just one of those lucky nights.”
“Lucky, my ass!”
Embarrassed, Gage dismissed the compliment, eager to steer the conversation in a different direction. “Hey, Grims, your girlfriend, Nicole. She’s got a kid, right?”
Grims peered at him as if he’d sprouted a horn—or two. “Yeaaaaah. And?”
“And how does that work? I mean, when the kid’s around? Can you tell her what to do? Does she think of you as a stepdad? How do you deal with it?”
Grims came to a dead stop. “First off, she’s a he, and second, I just deal because Nicky’s little boy is part of her. I knew they were a package deal. In fact, Nicky tried to talk me out of it,” he chuckled. “But whatcha gonna do? You fall for the mom, you end up falling for the kid. The only part I’d change is her asshole ex—shit, would I love Nicky to be free of that fucktard. I’ve offered to get rid of him for her.” Grims, who was a mountain of a man, smiled wide, showing off the gap where his front teeth should’ve been. If it were possible, dude was scarier with the smile than without.