They walked hand in hand back to her car, with Will on the street side of the sidewalk, guiding her around puddles of hard slush from the last time it snowed. He was such a gentleman, and the small, subtle ways he looked out for her made up for his lack of passenger skills.
“Back to your hotel or are you coming home with me?” she asked when she’d started the car.
“I’ll come home with you. That baklava looked good, so I think you owe me some dessert.”
“Try not to leave fingernail marks in my door panel on the way home,” she teased, pulling out into traffic.
Three hours later, a very naked Will cupped her breast and held her close to him. “Are the fingernail marks in my back payback for your door?”
She hadn’t quite recovered enough from her third orgasm of the night to come up with a witty response, so she chuckled and made a sound that was probably an agreement.
“Better than baklava,” he murmured against her hair.
She was sleepy, her muscles languid from sex and the heat of his body, so she might have nodded off until Will kissed the back of her neck. It was always the last thing he did before he got up and summoned an Uber, getting dressed while he waited.
Grabbing his wrist, she stopped him from rolling away from her. “Don’t go.”
His body tensed against hers for a few seconds, and then his arm relaxed as he kissed her neck again. “Are you sure?”
Was she sure it was a good idea? No. She’d never had a man spend the night in this apartment because it was a relationship line she’d never wanted to cross before. But was she sure she didn’t want him to leave? Absolutely. “My alarm goes off early, but I’ll make you breakfast.”
He settled against her, his breath tickling her hair. “Or I’ll make you breakfast while you get ready for work.”
This man’s a keeper was the last coherent thought she had before she fell asleep.
8
A few days later, Kristen let herself into her father’s house, or—as she thought of it, sometimes with humor but quite often not—the Erik Burke Shrine. She was fairly certain if she looked hard enough, she might find a picture of her somewhere, but she’d bet good money it would be a picture taken with Erik before or after a big hockey game.
Most of the time, she was okay with it. She’d long ago come to terms with the fact Lamont Burke was living vicariously through his son’s success—that being Erik Burke’s dad was the most important aspect of his identity—but accidentally having the best sex of her life with a hockey player already had her on edge.
She’d also had a pretty brutal workday that she might resent less if she had the title and the pay that went with the amount and kind of work she did. Being summoned to the shrine by a terse text message hadn’t done much to improve her mood.
Of course her father was in what she called “the situation room,” which was furnished with two recliners, a table between them, and three televisions. A dry-erase board with a diagram of the ice permanently printed on it hung on the wall, and that was it. This room was for watching game tapes and strategizing.
“Kristen!” He looked surprised when he finally looked up from the legal pad he was reading. She knew from experience it was a list of all the mistakes he perceived Erik had made during the last game so they could review them.
“You demanded I stop by,” she reminded him. “I’m here.”
“I wanted to talk to you,” he said, tossing the legal pad on the side table as he pushed himself out of the chair.
She turned and walked back to the kitchen, knowing he’d follow rather than invite her to sit in the other recliner. She’d never crossed the threshold of the situation room, and she saw no reason to start now. After grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge, she leaned against the counter and looked at him expectantly.
“We’re getting ready to leave for St. Louis,” he said.
“Did you really have me come all the way here after work so you could tell me that? I know you’re getting ready for the All-Star weekend because I talked to Erik a few hours ago.” She talked to her brother almost every day, a fact her father never seemed to consider.
“I want to know where the situation with you and Cross Lecroix stands before I leave town.”
“It still stands in the my personal business, so don’t worry about it column.”
Temper flared in his eyes, and it might have intimidated a lot of people into submission, but Kristen had given up on pleasing Lamont Burke a very long time ago. She put up with him because he was her father and because totally cutting him out of her life would make things harder for Eric, but she wasn’t emotionally invested in his opinion of her anymore.
“It’s going to be a big weekend for your brother, and he’ll be in the spotlight. I don’t want you two back here trying to distract attention from him.”
She snorted and rolled her eyes. “Are we doing that again? I’m not jealous of the attention Erik gets, and I’m not trying to sabotage his game.”
“You don’t think bringing Cross Lecroix into our lives sabotages his game?”
“He’s in my life, not ours. And no, it’s not sabotaging Erik.” She held up her hand before he could speak again. “And if you think I would do or say anything to hurt Erik, you don’t know me at all. If you keep barking up that tree, I will walk out of here, and it will be the last time you ever see me. And you can explain why to Erik.”
“You’ve always been difficult.”
“Thanks for noticing.” When he just stared at her, silently fuming, she smiled. “So, is that it? I have plans with Cross tonight.”
She used the name just to annoy her dad, and it worked. His skin flushed, and she watched him struggle to hold back the angry words she knew he wanted to fling at her. But she wasn’t joking about walking out, and he knew it. And he also knew that Erik wouldn’t stand for it.
“Dad. Come on,” she said in a much softer tone because suddenly she was really tired of all this and wanted to go home. “I love Erik. And if I thought for a second Will’s interest in me came from him wanting to piss Erik off, I’d dump his ass in a heartbeat. None of us wanted that story to come out, and all three of us are doing our best to not be a story again. Go enjoy your weekend in St. Louis and don’t worry about this.”
“I guess I’ll have to trust your judgment on this one,” he muttered, also backing down. “Are you going to watch the events? At least the game?”
“I never do, Dad.” She glanced at her watch and then put the cap back on her water so she could take it with her. “I really do have to go, though. Have fun.”
Her building was far enough away from her dad’s house so she could use a little speed and a lot of loud music to take the edge off the post-Lamont mood, but she was still a little edgy when she got home. And she only had about forty minutes left before Will showed up to take her out to dinner.
After pinning up her hair and taking one of the fastest showers ever, she put on a pair of black leggings and a blue tunic top the same color as her eyes. How Will was dressed would determine which accessories she paired with it. If he showed up in jeans, she’d throw on comfy boots and a coat. If he dressed up, some dress boots, jewelry and a scarf would fancy her up enough to match.
Will was a few minutes early, and she was glad she hadn’t put on a little black dress, because he was not only in jeans but wearing a Baltimore Harriers hoodie. She didn’t say anything about it, but it struck her as odd because he preferred to blend in and not draw attention to who he was, especially in a city that hated him.
He paused to kiss her on his way through the door, and she noticed how tired he looked. Not just physically tired, either, but a weariness that showed in his eyes. It could be his shoulder, she thought as he hung up his coat and set his boots on the mat.
“You smell delicious,” he said, pulling out a kitchen chair to sit in.
“I took a quick shower to wash the workday off. How did your day go? You look beat tonight.”
&nbs
p; He gave a little shrug that did nothing to dispel the impression he was exhausted. “One of those days, I guess. Sometimes it’s incredibly rewarding but really hard at the same time.”
“Did you get in a fight today? Maybe punch a guy in the face and knock him out?”
He gave her a long look she couldn’t quite decipher. “Something like that. You know how hockey is. Just a bunch of guys slamming each other into the boards.”
It was hurt she heard in his voice. Not pain from his shoulder or offense at her dismissal of his sport. There was more to it than that.
She sat sideways on his lap and draped her arm around his shoulders. “Tell me what actually happened today.”
“I thought you already made up your mind about that.”
“I was being a bitch because I had to go see my dad today, which always makes me feel shitty about hockey all over again, and I’m sorry.” She ran her fingers up into his hair and scratched his scalp with her fingernails. “Tell me what happened today. Is it your shoulder?”
“No.” He closed his eyes for a moment, breathing deeply. “I went to the children’s hospital to visit a little girl.”
She stopped scratching, dropping her hand to rub the back of his neck. “What is she there for?”
“Leukemia. Her family moved here two years ago from Baltimore, and she’s still a diehard Harriers fan. When the hospital found out I was in town, they contacted the Skimmers’ office.”
“She must have been beside herself when you walked in.”
He picked up his cell phone and pulled up a photo of him with his arm around a little girl sitting on a hospital bed. She was pale and a Harriers knit cap covered her head, but her smile practically lit up the picture. And that explained why he was wearing a Harriers hoodie around Boston.
“She looks like she’s having one of the happiest moments of her life.” She tilted her head so she could see his face. “Thanks to you.”
“I don’t even do anything.” His jaw clenched and then relaxed as she stroked his neck. “I love visiting the kids. Their lives are so hard right now, and if I can cheer them up, I’m in. It’s awesome to see them smile. But it’s also…tough.”
“It must be nice for their parents to see them light up like that, too.”
“Yeah. She’s a fierce girl, this one. One hell of a fighter.” His gaze was on the phone screen, and she knew he’d be keeping tabs on the kid.
“My brother doesn’t do very many hospital visits.”
“Not everybody does. Or can. The machines and tubes and shit freak some guys out, and some people just aren’t comfortable around children. Kids are super intuitive, and they know when you’re forcing it.”
“It was hard for Erik when my mom was sick, too. She was sick for a long time.”
He pulled her against his chest, wrapping his arms around her. “His foundation raises a lot of money and awareness for pediatric cancer support, though.”
She smiled. “Did you just defend my brother?”
“I’ll use double the mouthwash later.”
They laughed together, and since she was pressed against his body, she could feel him relaxing. She wanted him to keep relaxing. “How do you feel about pizza deliveries and movies?”
He made a sound similar to a sound he made during sex. “I approve of both in a general sense, but I’m very much in favor of them right now.”
“What are the chances we agree on toppings?” She pulled back so she could see his face, which already looked a little more relaxed.
“I’m pretty boring, I guess. A classic pepperoni and cheese is my favorite.”
“Sex and pizza compatibility,” she said, getting up off his lap so she could get her phone and place the order. “Next up, seeing if our movie compatibility is as strong as we think it is.”
Two hours later, there was an empty pizza box on the coffee table, the apartment smelled like fresh popcorn, and they were both in a far better mood. Will had that effect on her, she thought. She enjoyed having him around, and not just in the bedroom.
As she watched a limo racing to escape a crumbling fictional city on the screen, she felt a pang of anxiety that had nothing to do with the characters in the limo.
Kristen couldn’t quite put her finger on the exact moment her relationship with Will had changed, but she couldn’t deny that somewhere along the way, it had.
They were fake dating behind closed doors now. They were acting like a couple when nobody was watching—when it wasn’t necessary to keep up the pretense. They’d been together every night since the first night, going out for dinner in a variety of places before going back to her place, where they’d fall into bed. He’d leave early in the morning so they could both get ready for the day’s work, and then they’d do it all again.
Now here they were, cuddled up on her couch with a movie on. His arm was draped on the back of the couch, and his hand was resting on her shoulder. A bowl of popcorn was balanced on his thigh and when they reached for some at the same time and their hands touched, it wasn’t even awkward.
They were dating. Actually dating. And she had no idea how or when it had happened.
But there was no reason for them to be together right now, laughing at how awful the disaster movie was that they’d chosen to watch. No reason for her to be sitting against his body instead of at the other end of the couch.
No reason at all, except that she looked forward to spending time with him. She liked it. She liked him.
Shit.
That wasn’t part of the deal. Making her life look “respectable” for her superconservative boss was the objective. Great sex and numerous orgasms were a sweet bonus. She enjoyed the hell out of his company in bed and had seen no reason to deprive herself of him as long as he was in town. She just hadn’t expected to enjoy his company out of bed.
“Everything okay?” he asked, turning the TV’s volume down.
“Yeah. Why?”
“Well, you got tense all of a sudden. And you just randomly said ‘shit,’ which is usually a dead giveaway something’s wrong.”
She hadn’t realized she’d said it out loud, and her brain flailed for a lie—anything but the truth because she wasn’t ready for that kind of confession. “Sorry. I just remembered a thing I need to do at work.”
The answer must have satisfied him because he turned the volume back up.
Kristen concentrated on relaxing since he could feel the tension in her body, but it wasn’t easy because she couldn’t stop thinking about her realization that she liked dating him. Or fake dating him. Pretending to fake date. She didn’t even know anymore.
“That was a great movie,” Will said when the end credits started rolling.
“You’re being sarcastic, right?”
“No. You didn’t like it?” Judging by her expression, she not only didn’t like it, but was judging him pretty harshly. “You have to admit, it was entertaining.”
“The wrong kind of entertaining, though.”
He shrugged. “I don’t know if there are wrong kinds of entertainment. If I was entertained, it’s all good.”
“I spent most of the second half thinking about the ice cream I have in the freezer, but I was too comfortable to get up and get it.”
He groaned. “I ate too much pizza, but now that you’ve said the words ice cream, I could go for some maple walnut right now.”
“Ew.” Her expression made it clear she wasn’t a fan. “No, I have mint chocolate chip, and you have terrible taste in ice cream. Is it because you’re Canadian?”
He laughed. “They have maple walnut ice cream in the US, you know.”
“But it’s probably Canada’s fault. Don’t even get me started on your potato chip flavors.”
“You’re quite the food snob for a woman who eats frozen Brussel sprouts.” He grunted when she elbowed him in the ribs. “And speaking of Canada, don’t be surprised if you come home one day to find two Canadian women who look kind of like me camped out in your building lob
by, waiting for you.”
“I think I would be surprised, even with a heads-up. Should I run and hide?”
He laughed. “From my mother and sister? No.”
“Okay, but why will they be camped out, waiting for me?”
“Because my mother is beside herself that I’m dating a woman she’s never met, and when you throw in the fact you’re a Burke, she’s losing a little sleep over it. And if she loses sleep, everybody in the family loses sleep. And Cassie would come with her instead of my dad because they think he’s too much of a pushover.” He frowned. “But nobody’s coming out of it with a bruised jaw, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Wouldn’t it be easier if you just told your family the truth? I’m not really comfortable with you lying to your mom. I mean, none of your family, really. But especially your mother.”
“I love my mom, but if ever there was a woman who can’t keep a secret, it’s Paulette Lecroix. Between Facebook and how excited she gets when somebody asks her about me, we’d end up in an even bigger scandal than we started with.”
“How often does anybody try to interview her anymore, though?”
“Ouch.” That hurt a little.
“I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. It’s just that the media’s been telling your story for years, and they might think she doesn’t have anything new to add?”
“Except for how my family feels about me dating the sister of my biggest professional rival—the guy I’ve been swapping punches and hard checks with for years. Hockey might not register on the tabloid media’s radar, but this is the kind of story that can get sports sites some clicks, you know?”
“It’s ridiculous.”
“It’s ridiculous and it’s part of the job, but at least it doesn’t physically hurt.” He was trying to be funny, but she didn’t laugh.
“Why did you choose to play hockey? And it’s a genuine question, not a snarky one.”
“Because I’m good at it.” He tried to come up with something profound, but it was just that simple. “That’s it. I’m good at it, I love it, and they pay me to do it. It also paid for college.”
Here We Go Page 8