In It to Win It (Wynn Hockey)

by Kelly Jamieson

  I’m still a tad annoyed about the dirty, flirty stuff, but I can see that Taylor’s not even a little interested, and even Dutch is just kidding around. It’s actually cool that she likes my friends, idiots that they are.

  Chapter 14

  JP

  My body hurts everywhere as I lean against the elevator wall riding up to my condo. I tug at the knot of my tie, still dressed in my game-day suit, then roll my shoulders back to ease some stiffness. When the elevator opens, I limp off, my foot and my hip protesting.

  I’m okay. Got checked out after the game. Just took some hard hits, one into the boards that fucking should have been a penalty—I hope DoPS reviews it and that asshole Marzetti gets suspended. There also was the hit at center ice—I laid it on Brown, and it was clean, but we both felt it. And the puck I took in the foot standing in front of Mac, our goalie, when their D-man took a slap shot. It dropped me, but I managed to walk it off in the tunnel and get back in the game.

  I open my door. Lights are on. I leave the foyer light on so Byron has a little light, but the living room lights are on too. I prowl in to check out what’s going on.

  Taylor. Asleep on my couch.

  I don’t move. Don’t make a sound. I just want to study her. Her gorgeous hair is spread all around her, her mouth full and soft, long lashes fanned on her soft cheeks. She’s on her side, wearing a pair of cropped leggings that leave her calves and feet bare, and one smooth shoulder is revealed by a pink tank top.

  Byron’s on the floor next to her and he comes padding toward me, looking like he’s smiling, tail waving. I smile and crouch down to greet him, rubbing his ears. “Hey boy,” I whisper. “You happy to see me?”

  I’m getting used to being greeted when I get home. No wonder people love dogs—he’s always happy I’m here, and it’s kinda nice.

  I straighten and survey the big coffee table, and my forehead tightens as I take in the assorted pieces of paper cut into shapes, along with markers and glue. There’s also a half-full bottle of water and an empty package of what looks like cashews.

  The TV’s still on, but the volume is down. Jill Atkins at SportsCenter is talking. That’s the channel our games are on. I smile as I realize Taylor must have been watching the game.

  It’s been a couple of weeks since she moved into her apartment and Byron came to live here, and most of the time she comes over I don’t see her. I almost always know she’s been here, though. Sometimes I can smell her scent…the warm, fresh scent of flowers and vanilla that takes me back to the hotel suite and her in my bed there. And it makes my dick stir. Even if I don’t smell her, she’s usually done something—washed Byron’s dishes along with some of my own, tidied up his toys, or brushed him.

  Pretty sure she’s avoiding me.

  I fucking hate that.

  On the other hand, it’s probably better, if we’re just going to be friends. I’m trying to be a good boy, on the ice and off. She has a boyfriend, and I’m not completely confident in my ability to resist the temptation that Taylor unwittingly presents.

  But here she is, curled up on my couch, all sleepy and sexy and fuck yeah, tempting as sin.

  Guess I have to wake her up.

  I let myself indulge a few more minutes, imagining the ways I could wake her…kissing her…sliding my hands under her shirt…easing her onto her back and slipping my hand inside her stretchy leggings…then moving over her and pressing her into the couch cushions and…

  Heat builds beneath the collar of my dress shirt.

  Fuuuuuck.

  I clench my jaw, step around Byron, and move to the couch. I crouch down next to it and touch her arm. “Hey, sleeping beauty.”

  Her eyes flutter, then pop open wide. She stares at me and her lips part.

  Jesus. I want to kiss that lush mouth so fucking bad. I can’t help but stare at it, more heat accumulating around my neck, sliding down my body, my groin tightening.

  “JP.” She scrambles to push up to a sitting position and shoves her hands into her hair. “What are you…Oh my God, I fell asleep. I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize. It’s fine.” I want to touch her so fucking bad I can’t stand it.

  This is me, practicing self-control.

  She’s studying me, her gaze moving over my suit and tie. Then she gives her head a shake as if to clear fog away. “I’d better go home.”

  It’s a weeknight and she has to work in the morning. I wish she didn’t. I wish I could ask her to stay. In my bed…

  She has a boyfriend. My gut burns.

  She sits up and leans over to tidy up all the stuff on the table.

  “What were you doing?” I ask. “Arts and crafts?”

  Her lips twitch. “No. I made a vocabulary game. For my kids.”

  Her kids. That’s so cute. “Cool.” I want to know more about what she does. She fascinates me. “What do you do with it?”

  She shows me the folder where she’s glued pictures of different things…an apple, a car, a ghost, an umbrella. “I can do a lot of different things with this. Simple things like asking the child to point to the apple…” She touches her finger to the apple. “Or more complex instructions, like point to the apple, then the banana. Or I can ask them, ‘What do you do with an umbrella?’ to get them talking about it. Or, ‘Categorize all the things you eat…apple, banana, sandwich.’ ”

  “That’s how you improve their speech?”

  “Right. Depending on what the child’s needs are.” She puts the folder into a leather messenger bag and begins shoving in the other things she used as well. Then she grabs her water bottle and the empty cashew bag and carries it all to the kitchen.

  I follow at a safe distance.

  “Come here, Byron!” She pats her thigh.

  Byron jumps up and trots over to her. She bends down to kiss him right between the eyes and rub his back. “ ’Bye, buddy. I’ll see you soon.”

  She straightens and meets my eyes. “He seems to be doing fine.”

  We’ve communicated through texts about him. “I told you he’s fine.” Then I pause. “But I know he misses you.” I don’t want her to think Byron’s forgotten her.

  She smiles. “I miss him too. Sorry for not getting out of here sooner.” She grimaces. “Good game, by the way.” Her eyebrows pull down. “Are you okay after taking that shot?”

  She did watch the game. “I’m fine.” I shrug. “A little sore here and there.” That’s putting it mildly. “I’m gonna jump in the tub and let the hot water soothe all my bruises and bumps and sore muscles.” The jetted tub was the first thing I had installed after I bought this place and I love it.

  She bites her lip. “Sounds like you’re hurting.”

  “I’ll be okay. Nothing broken.”

  “So you’re off to Canada tomorrow?”

  “Montréal and Toronto. Then Chicago. Back late Wednesday night. Or early Thursday. Which is Thanksgiving.”

  “Right.” She nods. “I’ll come see Byron every day.”

  “You can stay here if you want.” This is the first long road trip we’ve had since Byron moved in. “There’s a guest bedroom. Help yourself to anything you need.”

  Her eyes widen and her expression turns thoughtful. “Oh. Okay. I might do that.”

  “I was going to text you and suggest it, but since you’re here…”

  “You’re sure you don’t mind a stranger living in your place?”

  “You’re hardly a stranger.” Jesus.

  Her cheeks get pink. We’re both remembering that we’ve been pretty damn intimate, for strangers. She doesn’t feel like a stranger.

  “We’re friends,” I add. “Right?”

  “Right.” She gives a firm nod. “Okay, I’m out. Good luck on your road trip.”

 
; “Thanks. But I’ll walk you to your car.”

  “You don’t have to do that. It’s safe here. I think.”

  “Of course it is, but still…it’s late.”

  “I’ve walked myself to my car every other time I’ve been here.”

  “Just let me do this.” I swallow a sigh.

  Her lips tighten, then relax. “Fine.”

  I ride down the elevator with her, trying not to limp, and accompany her across the lobby and out to the visitor parking area. It’s a cool November evening, the strong breezes whipping the fronds of the palm trees around.

  “You’re limping,” she says in an accusatory tone.

  “Yeah. A bit. It’s nothing, really.”

  “Killer.” One corner of her mouth lifts and she climbs into her car.

  Smiling, I lift my hand.

  She waves too, and backs out of her spot.

  I glumly return to my condo. But at least I’m not alone. Byron’s there waiting for me, his tongue hanging out of his mouth, looking for all the world like he’s grinning. He’s a great companion. I rub his head before trudging down the hall to the master suite, pulling my suit jacket off as I walk.

  * * *

  —

  When I get back from Chicago, Byron’s super excited to see me, bouncing on his front paws and giving sharp little barks. I rub his head, grinning. “Hey, dude, I missed you too.” It’s two o’clock in the morning, but I grab his leash. We make a quick trip outside into the cool, quiet night. He waters a shrub and we return to the condo.

  Taylor’s not here, but I can tell she has been. There’s a big plant on the floor in front of the window. I discover she did my laundry, finding folded T-shirts and boxers on my dresser. And my kitchen fridge has been cleaned out and organized.

  I shake my head as I dump the contents of my duffel bag on the bed. She doesn’t have to do this shit for me. But I have to admit, I kind of like it.

  I’m sore and tired, and I want to hit the sack right away. I can sleep as long as I want in the morning, since it’s a day off for us. Grandpa and Chelsea are hosting the family for Thanksgiving dinner later, which should be tons of fun. Not.

  But before I go to sleep, I send Taylor a text.

  Thanks for the stuff you did. Is the plant for Byron?

  I don’t wait for her to reply since it’s the middle of the night. I’m out in seconds.

  In the morning, I find her reply, with a smiling emoji. Yes, for Byron. He likes some greenery in his space.

  He better not pee on it.

  Another smile emoji. Pretty sure he won’t do that.

  I should stop texting her, but I don’t want to. I sit on my bed. Are you having Thanksgiving dinner with family today?

  Or is she having Thanksgiving dinner with Anthony? And maybe his family? Ugh.

  It’s a minute before her reply arrives: Yes. With my mom and Shirley. :(

  Clearly she’s not happy about this. I get it. This is the first Thanksgiving with her family split apart. I gnaw on my bottom lip, wishing I could do something to make it better for her. It’s a sucky feeling, being helpless to fix things. That’ll be nice. Lame. I’ll be trying to stay out of trouble with the Wynn family.

  You can do it.

  I grin. Thanks. You’re probably the only one who thinks so.

  Say hi to Theo and Lacey. And Everly.

  Will do.

  I lower my phone and stare across the bedroom, my chest tightening.

  I have to get over this stupid crush.

  Taylor

  Shirley’s little cottage-style house is cute and homey. She’s a nice lady. She and Mom have only been friends a few years, though, and I was away at school much of that time, so I don’t know her all that well. It’s good that Mom has a friend she could move in with, I guess, at least until she can find her own place.

  The place smells like roasting turkey when Mom opens the door to let me in. “Hi, sweetie!” She greets me with a big hug, then I hand over the bottle of wine and the flowers I brought—my favorite sunflowers mixed with orange and gold chrysanthemums and autumn leaves.

  “I’ll put these in water,” she says, smiling. “Thank you.”

  “Those are lovely,” Shirley adds. “Welcome, Taylor.”

  “Thanks for inviting me.” There’s a brief pregnant silence as we all recognize how weird this Thanksgiving is for us.

  It makes me sad that we’ll never have another family Thanksgiving like we used to—with Mom and Dad, Amy and her husband and the kids, and maybe someday the man I’ll bring into the family. Whoever that is will never know what it was like for us to all be together, the fun we all had.

  But I can’t dwell on that. This is a time of year to give thanks, and I’ve been really focusing on that, being positive, recognizing all the things I have to be grateful for. I have a great job and a good boss. I may spend a little too much of my own time writing reports and preparing for clients, but I want to do well and I love helping people. I still have my mom and dad and sister. I have great friends, including all those hockey dudes who came and helped me move and then entertained me with their trash talk. I have Byron, and I’m grateful that I have JP to take him in and look after him. I have a home, which is more than some people have.

  I lift my chin and accept a glass of wine and take a seat in the living room, ready to get to know Shirley better. Mom fusses around in the kitchen—apparently she’s doing the cooking—but it’s open to the living room, so she can still participate in the conversation. Shirley asks about my job with sincere interest, and then tells me about her work as a physician assistant, so we have our medical professions in common.

  We watch some football, which I’m only mildly interested in. “I’d rather watch hockey,” I confess to Mom and Shirley. “But it’s a day off for hockey.”

  “How’s Byron doing?” Mom asks. “That hockey player…JP? He’s looking after him okay?”

  I nod. “He’s doing great. I go over quite a bit, since JP travels.”

  “That’s so nice of him to do that,” Shirley comments, eyeing me shrewdly. “He must like you.”

  My face heats. “Actually, we don’t really like each other much.” This isn’t a lie; I’m wildly attracted to him, but he annoys me. Well…okay, there are some things I like about him. “But I’m grateful to him for taking Byron.”

  We eat a delicious meal with way too much food, the turkey and dressing and veggies familiar to me because they’re Mom’s recipes.

  “I’m not much of a cook,” Shirley offers at one point. “Thankfully your mom’s a great chef.”

  Mom smiles at Shirley and they share a look that catches my attention and…puzzles me.

  “I made dessert, though,” Shirley says with a laugh. “Okay, I bought it, but I’m sure it’s good…apple pumpkin pecan pie.”

  I laugh. “Wow. It’s got everything in one.”

  “That’s right.”

  It’s delicious too.

  When we’re done, Mom and Shirley wave me out of the kitchen while they put away leftovers and clean up. I sit in the living room for a bit, then get up to use the bathroom. I stroll down the hall and peer into the first room I come to—a bedroom, pretty much empty. I keep going, peek into what is clearly the master bedroom, much more lived in, then find the bathroom behind the only other door.

  I frown as I use the facilities, then wash my hands. It’s a two-bedroom house and only one bedroom is being used.

  My stomach twists up and my body stiffens. I stare at my own image in the mirror over the sink as thoughts whirl through my mind. I feel like the world just shifted.

  Absently I keep drying my hands on the small towel, trying to breathe. What am I supposed to do? Ignore what I suspect? Ask my mom outright? Do I ask in f
ront of Shirley or wait until we’re alone? Drop some hints? I don’t know. I don’t know.

  It can’t be what I think it is. Mom and Dad have been married for over thirty years.

  I close my eyes, a little dizzy. Wow. This is…wow.

  I hang up the towel and hesitate again before opening the door. I suck in a long breath and blow it out.

  Sucking my bottom lip, I make my way back to the living room. I walk over to the couch, but I can’t sit down. I pace, then turn and find my mom there. Our eyes meet.

  I stare at her. “Mom…”

  “Sit down,” she says gently. “I was going to tell you.”

  I swallow, my heart lodged in my throat. I slowly lower myself to sit on the edge of the couch, clasping my hands. Mom sits near me.

  “You and Shirley…” I flick a glance to the kitchen. She’s there and she’s listening, a compassionate expression on her face as she dries a saucepan. “You’re not just…friends. Are you?”

  “No,” Mom says quietly. “We’re in love.”

  Chapter 15

  Taylor

  It’s exactly what I suspected, but hearing Mom say it…my heart contracts and my breath quivers as I inhale sharply. I gaze at her. I don’t know what to say. A million questions pile up in my brain, but I can’t put them into words.

  She reaches out and takes my hand. “I know this is a shock.” She looks at me searchingly. “All of this has been hard for you. Probably more so than for your sister because you were still living at home with us.”

  “Did you cheat on Dad?” I close my eyes. I can’t believe that’s the first question that bursts from my lips.

  “No,” she answers immediately, firmly. “I developed feelings for someone else and I told him.”

  “It’s true,” Shirley adds softly.

  I can’t look at Shirley. I don’t know if I can believe her.

  Dad…oh my God. Poor Dad. A jagged knife rotates in my heart, thinking of how he must feel.