Checked

by Elise Faber

  God, he was such an asshole.

  Because he’d judged, he’d put her in the same category as Maggie, and perhaps worst—though probably not unexpected—considering that Mandy regularly told him he walked through life with blinders on, he’d taken the shield Rebecca presented to the world as if that was all she was.

  And he’d missed out on the layers underneath.

  He’d missed the sparkling crystal.

  He’d missed that the hint of spice marked something truly special.

  So, asshole.

  “Crap,” she gasped, causing him to jerk his gaze away from a floral couch that was really cool and somehow not girly, from the pretty tapestry of reds and purples that was draped over a window, from the complete and utter lack of clutter anywhere.

  She set a bowl on the counter with a clank and hurried to the sink, turning on the water and shoving her hand underneath the stream.

  He moved, closing the space between them and reaching down to grip her fingers in his. “Burn?”

  A nod. “I-it’s fine.”

  Gabe’s eyes traced over the injured digit, identifying the reddened patch of skin that, while it probably stung, was as she said, fine. But he didn’t want to let go of her hand just yet.

  “What happened?”

  She shook her head, that tiny little jerk of her head that was quintessentially Rebecca. “Nothing. Just splattered myself. It’s stupid.”

  He shut off the water and carefully dried her hand, bringing it up to his mouth to press an unthinking kiss to the red mark. “I’m sorry you hurt yourself.”

  Her breath shuddered. “I’m fine.”

  His lips twitched as he gently lowered her hand and leaned around her to survey the countertop. She had the lid off the Crock-Pot, a ladle abandoned inside it, two bowls and spoons placed next to it. Nudging her over a few inches, he filled both bowls, snagged the spoons, and brought them to the table.

  Then he picked up Rebecca’s unhurt hand and tugged her out of the kitchen. “Sit. What do you want to drink?”

  “Wine.”

  “You drink wine?”

  “It’s organic.”

  Gabe smirked. “Of course, it is.”

  She glared.

  He laughed. “I’m teasing.”

  “You’re not,” she muttered. “But if you’re not a jerk about it, I’ll let you have a glass.”

  Hands rising in surrender, he said, “I’ll be on my best behavior.”

  “Sure, you will,” she grumbled but told him where the glasses and bottle, along with the opener, were. A few moments later, he was sitting down next to her at the worn oak table. It was different than the rest of her furniture, but it somehow fit. Probably because there was a collection of doilies—yes, fucking doilies—at the center, along with an incense holder. He touched a finger to the small pile of ash on the wood, brought it to his nose.

  So that was what the cinnamon was from.

  Rebecca studied him for a moment before glancing back down at her bowl and spooning up a bite.

  He rubbed the ash between his finger and thumb, watching the gray coat his skin as the cinnamon scent burrowed into his pores.

  “Thanks for the ride,” she said softly. “I didn’t mention that before. I should have, but I was—” She broke off, shoveled in another mouthful.

  He picked up his spoon. “Tired?”

  A shrug.

  “Well,” he said. “I guess I got my revenge by making you invite me in for dinner.”

  She smiled up at him. “You haven’t tried it yet.”

  Obediently, he scooped up a bite and shoved it into his mouth. Flavors exploded on his tongue, garlic and heat and sour all mixed together with a dash of sweetness. It was delicious.

  And he told her so.

  Her mouth tipped up further. “And welcome to day one of the meal plan.”

  He froze, spoon with another bite still in his mouth.

  “Yes,” she teased. “I, in fact, do know what I’m doing.”

  Gabe extracted the utensil, set it carefully into his bowl. “Despite my actions, I never thought you didn’t.”

  “You just thought you knew better.”

  Since he couldn’t deny that, he just nodded and went back to eating. “What’s in this recipe anyway?”

  She began rattling off ingredients, but it was the tofu that got him.

  “Where?” He searched the bowl for the large slimy chunks.

  “I used a soft tofu,” she said. “As it cooks, it melts over the pilaf, making it creamy and delicious without any dairy. Plus, it adds protein.”

  “Well, it’s probably the best thing I’ve ever eaten,” he said, meaning it as he picked up his spoon again and did his best to get to the bottom of his bowl.

  She huffed out a laugh. “You don’t have to butter me up.”

  “Okay, so maybe it’s not the best thing I’ve ever eaten,” he admitted, “but it’s definitely the best thing I’ve ever eaten with tofu in it.”

  “That I’ll take.”

  He set down the spoon. “And also, I was a jerk about the food plan.”

  “We’ve established that already.”

  She wasn’t going to make this easy on him. Good. “I’m hoping I can show you that I’m not normally a jerk.”

  “Evidence would prove otherwise,” she grumbled, picking up her wineglass.

  He laughed, full and deep, and when he turned to look at her, she was laughing, too, though it was softer, gentler, as though she were unused to doing it. “If I promise to not be a jerk in the future,” he said, “can we be friends?”

  The laughter in her expression faded. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

  He wasn’t either, but there was also part of him that wouldn’t let go of the idea of having some part of this woman in his life. He’d misjudged her badly, been a dick, and tried to ignore the pull he felt toward her for years now . . . and it had gotten him exactly nowhere. Now, he wanted to lean into it. And that began with proving to her he wasn’t always a total asshole.

  So, friends.

  “Can we just try?”

  She nibbled the corner of her mouth, eyes meeting his for a long moment. Then she nodded. “Okay.”

  Relief poured through him, and he topped off her wine before picking up both empty bowls and carrying them over to the sink. “What were you going to do before I invaded your dinner?”

  Rebecca traced the top of her glass. “This. Eat. Drink some wine. Though,” she said, “I was going to do it in my pajamas and with some bad reality television on in the background.”

  He turned on the water. “Go do it.”

  Her eyes flashed to his.

  “Go, get comfortable,” he said. “It’s late, so I’ll do the aforementioned dishes then get out of your hair.”

  “You don’t have to—”

  “I promised.”

  More eye contact, a longer lingering look of those gorgeous green eyes of hers.

  “Go ahead,” he encouraged. “Get changed. ”

  Eventually, she nodded and slid her chair back, bending over to light the incense on the table in an almost absent-minded moment, as though she’d done it a hundred, a thousand times before. Then she stood, shot a hesitant gaze in his direction, and crossed to a closed door, disappearing behind it.

  Which was the moment he realized exactly how critical of an error he’d made.

  She was taking off her clothes.

  With only a flimsy wooden panel between them.

  “Fuck,” he muttered, washing the dishes as quickly as possible. His plan was friendship. That was the smart thing, the only thing, considering they worked together. But then his mind conjured up Brit and Stefan, Mandy and Blane, Kevin and the other Rebecca. They all worked together in one form or another, and their relationships were rock solid. Maybe—

  Hell, who was he kidding?

  Rebecca deserved better than him, better than a man who’d spent years not seeing the gem she was underneath her shyness.


  Which was why he hurried to finish the dishes then made his way to the door.

  Her deserving better was the only reason he didn’t wait for her to come out, to try and catch a glimpse of her in what would no doubt be adorable—because she was in them—pajamas.

  Yup. That was the sole reason he left.

  And not because he was terrified that in seeing the gem underneath, he might have discovered someone he couldn’t live without.

  Six

  Rebecca

  She stood inside her bedroom for an obscenely long time, working up the courage to walk back out.

  But she’d put on her pajamas, a baggy T-shirt and her rattiest, but also coziest sweats, and now Gabe was out there, and he’d see—

  What?

  At worst, a woman he couldn’t stand and at best, one he’d friend-zoned.

  Either way, that meant it shouldn’t matter what she was wearing.

  And yet, it did matter.

  Still, Rebecca wasn’t letting herself process that at the moment. In fact, she didn’t really have the mental energy to process it, what with her trying to shore up her courage to face Gabe again.

  She sucked in a breath, turned the knob, and yanked open the door to find . . .

  Her apartment empty.

  The first thing she noticed after realizing Gabe had gone were the two bowls resting upside down on a towel beside the sink. The next, that the Crock-Pot insert had been cleaned out as well, and was sitting next to them.

  The last was . . . that she was disappointed.

  She sighed, focused on the inane in order to forget all about that disappointment. There were several pictures slightly askew. She straightened them. Too much ash had accumulated in the incense tray. She’d need to remember to empty it. Gabe—

  The man was thorough. That was a good thing. Of course, he’d also gone. That was less nice.

  Inhaling deeply, she walked over to the couch, reaching for the blanket she always kept draped over its back, but then freezing just as her fingers grazed the organic, cruelty-free wool.

  Her glass.

  He’d brought it over to the coffee table for her. Further that, he had even set it on a coaster. She started to sit down, but a note tucked under the glass had her stopping.

  Don’t forget to lock up.

  Rebecca’s heart skipped a beat.

  Tiny ways of caring.

  Kryptonite. Hers.

  She bit the inside of her mouth and walked to the door, throwing on the chain and engaging the dead bolt before making her way back to her blanket and her wine. But as she cued up her favorite reality show to play in the background, her mind was less on the bickering happening on screen and more focused on Gabe and his personality change.

  From archnemesis—yes, the title was dramatic—to friend.

  She just didn’t know if it was possible. For him to be nice to her for an extended period of time, to truly mean his apology and change his behavior. For her to get past the walls in her mind and become friends with someone like him.

  Her eyes drifted back down to the note, to the cramped handwriting and command to be careful and lock up. She thought about the neatly stacked bowls, the clean Crock-Pot, the glass on the coaster.

  Then wondered if maybe Gabe had been hiding as much of himself as she was of herself.

  Those meandering musings brought her around in several circles, the fear of finding out the answer mixing with the urge to burrow in and discover the truth for certain. But in the end, she forced the thoughts from her mind and focused on the wine, on the TV, and her favorite show.

  Dr. Gabe Carter was an anomaly and she had the feeling she could spend a lifetime musing about the man without discovering the truth deep inside.

  All signs pointed to him being about as prepared to lay his inner works bare to observers as she was.

  Which meant, of course, not at all.

  It was safer that way.

  The next morning she held a mason jar of oats in one hand and her purse in the other.

  That wasn’t the problem.

  Nope. The actual issue that caused her to pause at the top of the stairs leading down to the parking lot was having forgotten she didn’t have her car.

  Cool.

  Sighing, she tucked the jar under her arm, shoved the spoon in her pocket, and wrestled her phone out of her purse. She was opening the Lyft app when she heard the whistle.

  “Yo!”

  Rebecca jumped, nearly dropping everything in her hands, and whipped around to see that Gabe had parked in her spot again. He waved when her gaze made it to him.

  “Need a ride?”

  Her heart double-timed. Well, it was already double-timing from nearly being scared out of her wits, so really it quadruple-timed. “I-I—” She shook her head, animatronic bobble-head that she was, trying to find her words. But Gabe didn’t press her for an answer. He waited as she sucked in a breath, shook her head again, and then eventually answered, “Sure.”

  That surprised her.

  But then again, maybe it didn’t.

  Gabe was—

  “Get in.”

  Just like last night, he didn’t open the door for her, didn’t help her with her bags, instead, getting in his own side and starting up the engine. Yet . . . that wasn’t a bad thing. First, she could carry her own things. Second, if he’d tried to help her, she probably would have gotten all flustered and awkward and would have ended up with a jar of oats all over her favorite pair of retro jeans.

  And they were awesome jeans, pale blue flowers embroidered at the seams of the pockets, so she really didn’t want to have to scrub overnight oats out of them.

  She opened the door, reaching in to carefully set the jar into the cup holder, then busied herself with getting her coat, purse, and backpack all stowed at her feet. But she wasn’t so busy as to miss the look that Gabe gave her oats.

  “Not a word,” she snapped, settling herself into her seat and buckling in.

  “I didn’t say anything,” he said, shifting the car into reverse.

  “You were eyeing my oats,” she said. “Don’t worry, I promise not to mess up the sanctity of your car and eat within it.”

  He paused, checked traffic, then pulled out of the spot and onto the street. “Contrary to some people, I don’t consider my car my personal sanctuary. I have even been known—gasp—to eat the occasional fast food meal within it.”

  “So, unlike Cooper.”

  She watched the corner of his mouth twitch. “Yes, unlike Cooper.”

  Their newest player was known for his obsession with keeping his cars pristine, and the rules about riding in them were apparently endless. Or they might be relatively minimal—no eating or drinking—to nonexistent—an offhand comment mentioned once. Regardless, it was the thing the rest of the team had decided to tease him about and so it had taken on a whole life of its own.

  They hit the on-ramp for the freeway and then made their way through the typical morning stop and go. Traffic in the Bay Area was some of the worst in the nation, and lucky her, she got to experience it most mornings.

  But she couldn’t complain too much. She lived in California. The weather was amazing, the food options, especially for a vegan, varied and delicious, and she had easy access to beaches and mountains.

  When she worked up the courage to vary her routine and go see them that was.

  And she did.

  Work up the courage and went to visit them.

  Just not when it was snowing.

  Driving through the white fluffy stuff, she had not yet conquered.

  Or rain. Or not being a nervous wreck when she was in a car with—

  “Did you enjoy your pajamas last night?”

  She blinked, realized she’d been daydreaming about snow and rain and beaches and mountains for several minutes. Biting her lip, she risked a look at Gabe. His eyes flicked to hers then back to the road. He didn’t seem upset that she’d drifted off to her own mental world.

&nbs
p; “Yes,” she murmured. “What’d you do after you left last night?”

  “Went home,” he said and shrugged. “Had a beer. Crashed.”

  “Where’s home?”

  “Not far from you, actually,” he said and told her an address that was on the waterfront just a few minutes away from hers. “So, what do you think the chances are of the guys adhering to your plan?”

  Rebecca glanced at him, wondering if he was going to start in on her about the diet. Instead, he kept talking.

  “Because if there is any doubt, I’d think all you had to do was feed them what you fed me last night.”

  Oh.

  Oh.

  “You really liked it?”

  “My practically licking the bowl didn’t give that away?”

  She smiled.

  “I think it’s wise you plan on meeting with all of the players to personalize it. Means they’re more likely to be on board.”

  She nodded. “Yes. I’m sure there will be some who won’t, but I can’t tie them down and force them to only eat what I want them to.”

  “As much as you’d prefer to do that,” he said with a laugh.

  Since she couldn’t exactly deny that, Rebecca didn’t bother. Instead, she changed the subject. “How did you end up with the Gold?”

  He maneuvered over a lane. “That’s a boring story,” he said, voice completely devoid of emotion.

  That answer was enough for her to know the story was far from boring.

  “I thought we were going to try and be friends.”

  Gabe took the exit that led to the rink. “We are friends.”

  “Well,” she said. “Friends don’t let friends get away with vague answers. Especially vague answers that are deliberately vague about important things.”

  “I thought you were supposed to be shy.”

  At one time, or with another person that might have made her shut down, to get quiet and nervous, but she wasn’t like that with Gabe. With him, all the extra noise in her brain, the insecurities and the what ifs and fears, were gone.

  It was just her and him.