“I didn’t want to go home. Dani’s with Dean tonight.”
An empty house and all night ahead of them. His body reacted to the thought, and he shifted slightly away from her, afraid she’d slap him for the effect she was causing in his jeans.
She’s drunk, his voice of reason reminded him.
Damn, he wished he’d arrived four drinks ago.
“I’m sure it’s a normal parenting thing to be worried, but you know she’s fine.” His friend may in fact be the womanizer, cheater, and heartbreaker the media had splashed all over their front pages, but he’d shown up that evening for his daughter. Or at least that was part of the reason. His jaw clenched again thinking about what Dean had said about wanting Abby back. He’d have to pry her from his cold, dead arms.
“I’m not worried about her—she’s fine. It’s me I’m concerned about,” she said, burying her face into his chest. “And what are you wearing that smells so good?”
“Soap,” he said. “Look, why don’t we get out of here? I’ll drive you home.”
She pulled away and wagged a finger at him. “Oh no. Just because I’m stupid drunk and crazy vulnerable right now doesn’t mean I’m going to sleep with you again,” she said, just a little too loud.
“Shhhh,” he said, taking her hand and leading her away from the couples who were dancing far too close to them.
“What? Don’t tell me you’re afraid of small-town gossip?”
“No. You should be. I’m not the one who just got divorced. Besides, remember who your husband was.”
She nodded. “Exactly. Thank you for reminding me. I’m pissed at you, and I’m not going anywhere with you. I’ll call a cab.”
“Let me drive you home and you can tell me what I did wrong. I promise I won’t come inside.” He held up a scouts’ honor sign, hoping she didn’t remember he’d never actually been a Boy Scout.
“Fine,” she mumbled.
Two minutes later, he waited for her to climb into his truck, trying to keep his eyes off of her ass and failing miserably. What was he thinking promising to behave himself? Looking this good, she was asking to be kissed even more senseless.
He sighed. But he had promised, and while talking to her when she was drunk may not be the most productive, they needed to talk.
He climbed into the driver’s seat and started the truck. “Okay. Now, do you want to tell me why you’re mad at me?”
She folded her arms across her chest and stared out the window. “It doesn’t matter.”
He sighed. “It does to me.” Reaching across, he touched her shoulder, and she turned to look at him. “Look, if it’s still because of Dani seeing the kiss, I’m sorry.”
She shook her head. “That’s not it.”
“Well, what is it?”
She rested her head against the seat. “I just wish you’d told me before, how you felt.”
“Before when?” She’d been in love with his best friend since high school. When was he supposed to have told her?
“Before I fell for Dean…before I married him and had my heart broken…This is all your fault,” she mumbled, her eyes drifting closed.
He touched her cheek softly before turning his attention to the road. “Maybe it was all my fault.” He just hoped going forward he could make things better.
Pulling into her driveway minutes later, he cut the engine, then going to the passenger side, he opened the door.
She was out cold. Great.
He climbed up into the truck and unbuckled her seatbelt, carefully lifting her out. At the door, he rummaged around in her purse for the keys, his arms aching as she grew heavier the longer he held her.
Finally, he unlocked the door, went inside, and carried her straight to her bedroom. He placed her on top of the covers and reached for the quilt draped over a chair in her room. But as he went to cover her up, her eyes opened.
“You’re awake.”
She grinned. “I just wanted you to carry me in,” she said.
“Well, you’re home safe and sound, so I’m going to go.” He headed toward the door, and she followed him out into the hallway.
“Will you stay for a while?”
No. Definitely not a good idea. He sighed. “Sure.”
She smiled. “I’ll get changed. I’ll be out in a minute.”
Going into the living room, he sat on the edge of her couch. He really should go. He could tell himself he could stay and nothing would happen between them, but he knew that was a lie.
He ran a hand through his hair, the conflicting emotions inside of him making him crazy. He wanted Abby. He knew he could make her happy. He stood. He had to figure things out with sober Abby before this thing between them went any further, got even more complicated. “Abby, I’m going to go,” he called down the hall.
“No! Wait…”
“We’ll talk tomorrow, okay?”
“No, wait, please, I need your help,” she said through the bedroom door that was slightly ajar. “The zipper…on…this…stupid dress—aghhh.”
Jackson closed his eyes. No way. There was no way he could help her out of that dress and still stick to the man-code rules of not taking advantage of a drunk woman.
He hesitated, listening to her swear under her breath as she continued to struggle, hoping she’d solve her own zipper problem without his help.
“Oh, great, now I’m really stuck,” she said a moment later, her voice muffled.
Shit. “What is the deal with the dress?” he asked, moving closer but still standing outside the door.
“It fit a few months ago, now just barely, and I tried pulling it off without unzipping it…” Her voice trailed. “You’re going to have to help.”
Damn it. He should leave her stuck. Maybe she’d learn a lesson about wearing such tight fabrics that clung in all the right places, making it impossible for a man who was desperately trying to do the right thing by suppressing his feelings—once again—a little easier.
Pushing open the door, he almost laughed at the embarrassed, pathetic expression of hopelessness on her face.
“I’m stuck,” she said.
“Yes, you are.” The dress was pulled up around her waist, barely covering the thin white seamless underwear she wore underneath, and the majority of the fabric gathered around her shoulders and neck. Her arms were poking through the top of the dress, her head sandwiched between them in an uncomfortable tangled mess.
Well, as tempting as it was, he couldn’t leave her like that. “Let’s try pulling it back down,” he said, walking toward her.
“Okay,” she mumbled. “Be careful, this dress cost a small fortune.”
“Do you want to get out of it or not?”
“Yes,” she said with a sigh.
“Fine. Stay still.” He reached for the edge of the dress that was plastered against her upper thighs, and as his fingers brushed against the soft, satiny smooth texture of her skin, his mouth went dry. Stuck in a heap of fabric, Abby still had an intoxicating effect on him.
Trying to focus on the task at hand, he tugged on the fabric. It slid part of the way back down, then stopped. He frowned. “What happened?” He tugged harder.
“You’ve reached the part of the dress that cinches in at the waist. Trying to get it down over my ribs will be the hard part.”
“How were you able to get it up over your ribs?” he asked.
She huffed. “Just tug really hard.”
“I’m warning you, it might rip.” Oh God, his fantasies about tearing her clothes off had never started like this, ever. Ironically enough, this was still turning him on.
“I don’t care anymore,” she said through a yawn. “I just want this off so I can go to sleep. I’ve had enough of this day.”
“Okay, ready?”
“Jackson!”
He tugged as hard as he could and the dress moved. One more tug and it fell back into place.
“Oh thank God,” she said, sliding her arms back into the holes. “Okay, let’s try
the zipper.”
“You really are a pain in the ass when you’re drunk. You know that, right?” he grumbled.
She turned and lifted her long hair. “Please.”
He’d given up his dream home to the woman, he’d given up his heart—what was one more favor, he thought. Reaching for the zipper, he fumbled with the persistent metal for a few seconds, before it gave way. He quickly zipped it halfway down her back, just until the top of her bra clasp appeared, then let go and stepped away. “There. Do you think you can manage from here?” He had to get out of the room.
She nodded. “Yes, thank you.”
“Sure. Okay, then. Sleep tight.”
“I thought you were going to stay,” she said, a look of disappointment in her eyes.
She was going to be the death of him. “I can’t.”
“I have an idea.”
“No.”
“You haven’t heard it yet.”
He sighed. “What’s the idea,” he asked, terrified he wouldn’t be able to say no to any request.
“Stay and let’s order pizza.”
He smiled, as he shook his head. She was impossible.
“See, good idea, right?”
He was hungry, but not for pizza. But it wouldn’t be the first time he’d settled. “Yes, it’s a good idea.”
* * *
“I uh…wanted to thank you for what you’re doing for Becky,” Jackson said a little while later. The fireplace flames served as the only source of light as well as providing a warm, comfortable feel as they sat on the floor around the coffee table, eating pizza.
The crust was thankfully soaking up the alcohol in her body, and Abigail was at least able to speak without having to focus really hard on her words. She still hadn’t reached the sober point where she was feeling embarrassed by the drunken state he’d seen her in or the dress mishap, but she knew she would get there…for sure by morning.
For now, she felt…good. Having him there with her made her feel much better about Dani being with Dean. “I’m not doing anything. All I did was place a call. Her designs sell themselves,” she said through a mouthful of cheese and pepperoni.
“It’s funny. I remember telling her years ago she should do something like this, but she just laughed.”
“You’re too close. Sometimes it takes someone on the outside to tell you the same thing you’ve heard from family for it to really sink in.”
He nodded, tossing his crust onto his plate. “Well, thank you. She’s been really excited about the opportunity.”
Abigail stared at his collection of crust. “What’s going on there?”
He shrugged. “I don’t eat the crust.”
“It’s the best part!”
“No way. There’s no sauce on it, or cheese, or meat. I’m not wasting space in my stomach for just dough.”
“I will,” she said, reaching for one. Again, probably not something she would have done if she were just a little bit more sober.
He looked surprised, but then laughed. “You haven’t changed at all, you know.”
“What are you talking about? Sure, I have.” She felt as though she’d aged a lot more in the last ten years than she actually had. The last year in particular had been a lot of growing, changing, and maturing.
“Not at your core. You are still smart and ambitious…”
She swallowed the pizza. “I just got my first real job two months ago.”
“But you were active in charities and stuff in L.A.”
That was true.
“And you’re still funny.”
“No, I’m not. I can’t tell a joke to save my life.” She’d always envied people who were naturally funny. The ones who could entertain a room full of people without even trying.
“Give it a shot,” he said, popping the last of his pizza into his mouth and sitting up onto the couch.
She hesitated, chewing slowly. She had to have one good joke she could deliver. She nodded, swallowing the dough and sitting next to him, folding one leg beneath her. She turned to face him. “Okay, I got one.”
He smiled. “Hit me.”
“What does a walrus and Tupperware have in common?” she asked.
“What?”
“They both like a tight penguin,” she said with a grin. “No, wait…Seal—they both like a tight seal!” Damn it. So close.
He stared at her, an amused look on his face, but not laughing.
“Well?”
“You’re right. You’re not funny.”
She picked up a throw cushion from the couch and hit him with it.
He grabbed it, tossed it aside, and holding her hands together, he tickled her. “I wonder if you’re also still as ticklish as I remember.”
She laughed so hard she couldn’t speak as she wiggled and fought to escape his hold. “Stop…please…” Putting her feet against his chest, she was finally able to kick free. She tried to scurry away, but his arms were around her in a flash. “What are you doing?”
He pulled her onto his lap, and gently moved her long hair away from her neck. He placed a soft kiss at the edge of her collarbone and suddenly the heat from the fireplace was too much. She was suffocating.
“Now that you aren’t fall-on-your-face drunk anymore, I’m giving in to the urge I’ve been fighting all night,” he murmured against her skin. His hands traveled the length of her thighs, gently massaging.
“Jackson…”
“Abby, I’ve never gone after the things I want because there was always an excuse—someone else was in the way or the timing wasn’t right. But for the first time, I don’t care that you were married to my best friend or that you might need some time after the divorce. I’m done making excuses that let me sleep at night, okay with my own inability to go after what I want.” He turned her face to look at him.
She gulped. What he wanted was clearly written on his face, and she couldn’t find her voice to argue. She didn’t want to argue. And she couldn’t blame it on the alcohol. The look in his eyes, his words, and his touch had an amazing sobering effect.
They also made her hot as hell.
They really should move away from the fireplace, she thought, as his lips moved toward hers.
Her cell phone rang on the coffee table, hidden beneath the lid of the pizza box, and she jumped up, startled. “That’s Dani’s ringtone,” she said, all traces of their exchange seconds before melting away to panic. It was after midnight.
Handing the cell to her, Jackson ran a hand through his hair and started to clean up their plates and napkins.
“Hello? Dani?” she answered.
“Mom…” Her daughter’s voice was quiet, but she was clearly crying.
Abigail’s heart raced faster than it had sitting on Jackson’s lap. “What’s wrong?”
“I…I woke up…and I don’t know…Dad’s not in the room.”
Anger was the only emotion coursing through her as her left fist clenched at her side. That asshole. “How long has he been gone, sweetheart?” She’d give him the benefit of a doubt—a tiny one. He might just be at the soda machine.
“I’m not sure. I’ve been awake now for about ten minutes waiting. There’s a lot of noise coming from the rooms next door…”
The hockey team was staying in the hotel that evening. Dean couldn’t even have gotten a room away from them and their partying?
“I’m scared…I want to come home,” Dani said.
She was already in the hallway, reaching for her coat, when Jackson appeared from the kitchen.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
She ignored the question, instead saying into the phone, “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’m on my way. I’ll be there as soon as I can. We can keep talking, okay?” She checked her battery life. Full charge. She’d put the call on speaker as she drove.
“Abby, where are you going? What’s wrong?” Jackson asked, taking her keys from her.
“Is that Coach Westmore?” Dani asked, hearing him in the background.
Shit. “Yes, sweetheart.” She covered the mouthpiece. “Give me the keys, I have to go get her,” she hissed at Jackson.
He shook his head. “You’ve been drinking. I’ll drive. Let’s go,” he said, out the door without stopping for his jacket.
Abigail felt a small sense of relief to not have to drive the hour to Denver alone. She hadn’t even stopped to consider the fact she shouldn’t drive. Gratitude for Jackson helped to numb some of the anger she felt for Dean and worry over Dani, but just a little bit. “We will be there really soon, just stay on the phone with me,” she said, closing the door, and jogging toward the truck, where Jackson was already behind the wheel.
* * *
They made it to Denver in less than fifty minutes.
“She’s in room 406,” Abby said, disconnecting the call with her daughter as they rushed into the hotel lobby.
“Okay, you go get her, and I’ll go find Dean.” It wouldn’t be hard. The noise coming from the hotel’s lounge made it a safe bet. He clenched his teeth and willed himself to stay calm. His irritation with Dean at the dance paled in comparison to the anger he felt now. Dani was a child. In a strange city. In a hotel full of drunk, partying hockey players. Dean should have known better than to leave her alone.
“Thank you,” Abby said, shooting him a look of gratitude as she took off down the tiled hallway toward the elevators.
He headed toward the lounge.
Damn it. So many familiar faces—players he’d once played with, others he’d idolized, all laughing and having a good time. The hotel lounge, which was normally quiet and laid-back, was full of women falling over the hockey stars.
He shook his head. This right here was his brother Ben’s idea of a perk of the job. He knew Asher tended to avoid the partying and drinking and late-night womanizing, but Ben enjoyed every minute of it.
So did Dean, by the look of things.
His buddy was sitting in a far corner booth with another right wing from the team and three women. The table was covered in empty glasses, and Dean had an arm draped casually over the shoulders of the blonde sitting next to him.
His friend obviously still had a type.
Unfortunately he was too stupid to realize he’d had the most fantastic one on the planet and he’d messed it up, thrown it all away, and for what? A different body in his bed every night?
Maybe This Time Page 21