Natalie’s looking me over, her brows pinched with concern as she studies my face, my hands.
Her breath shudders out, and that stiff posture eases a bit. “He doesn’t know.”
Ahh. Giving in to a humorless laugh, I hold up my knuckles for her examination.
“Nah, babe. He doesn’t know.”
Her visible relief pisses me off, because as much as this is about who her brother is, it’s not about her fucking brother. It’s about her and me, and a night that ended too soon. It’s about why she didn’t say who she was and what she was thinking when she gave me that half-shy and half-determined look that got me harder than I’ve ever been in my life. Why she kissed me, pushing up to her toes and apologizing a second before those cherry ChapStick lips met mine in the softest, sweetest, hottest damn kiss of my life.
I shouldn’t have a single fuck to give about this girl or her brother. I don’t want to. But here I am practically twitching with the need to know. To understand.
It makes me nuts to think I could have been so wrong about her. About what was happening between us. Almost as nuts as it makes me to know fucking Baxter’s got a claim on something else I thought was mine.
I’ve got my own history with the guy. We didn’t go to the same high school or play on the same team, but even back then, the gloves came off often enough that the first interview I ever scored started with a question about the rivalry between us.
Fucker.
He got called up to the draft straight out of high school, while I was a year behind and played D-I at Notre Dame before making the NHL. And now with one year left on my contract, I get traded to the Slayers. To play second string to him.
Natalie stands in front of me, hands clenched together as she worries that plump bottom lip between her teeth. Even now she looks so real, so authentic, I can’t completely believe this is happening.
“I know you’re mad—”
“Yeah, I’m fucking mad.” She steps aside, and I walk into her place. It’s a neat little townhouse in the Ranch Triangle neighborhood, on the small side for what her asshole brother ought to have her in. And not even close to enough security based on the fact that I just moseyed up to her front door.
“One—” I hold up my finger, ready to count off the reasons, “—I’m mad because the way you left was bullshit. Two, you lied to me. Three, you’re fucking Baxter’s sister. His little sister. Four, I’m mad because I can’t even throw this shit in his face.”
It would be epic. I can see him melting down in the locker room. Kicking his jersey like a total dipshit, eyes getting a little red and watery.
My kingdom for a single tear out of that douche.
Natalie’s breath catches, and she takes a tentative step in my direction. So different from that first night in the bar when it seemed like she couldn’t keep from stepping into my space again and again. Touching me when she talked, then realizing she was doing it and turning that sexy shade of pink before pulling her hand back and apologizing… only to do the very same thing again thirty seconds later.
She seemed so real.
Like there wasn’t a contrived thing about her.
I don’t get shit like that wrong. Except, maybe I did.
Those light blue eyes search mine. “You’re not going to tell him?”
Shoving my hands in my pockets, I blow out a frustrated breath. “No. I’m not going to tell him.”
“Why not?” she asks softly.
Because it would be giving him something I’d rather keep for myself. “Because I can’t afford to start something with him.”
Besides, as much of an asshole as I might be, I don’t use women. Even women who used me.
Truth is, the biggest reason I’m pissed is because I thought what happened with us was about us. And now I’ve got to wonder if it was ever about me at all. Or if it was just about Baxter’s little sister wanting to stick it to him by letting the guy he hates most in the league into her pants.
I don’t want to think about that. Especially when I’m looking right at her and she looks like the same girl she was eight months ago with that crazy hot mix of bold and shy, sharp and soft, sweet and sexy. Christ.
His sister.
This explains why she neglected to give me her last name or her number. She knew going in she wasn’t going to see me again. Would have been nice to get that memo before I spent half the night thinking maybe I’d found something different. Special.
My eyes narrow on her. Why would she do that?
Something else occurs to me. “Why haven’t I seen you at any of the games? Anywhere?”
From the way O’Brian tells it, she’s got surrogate-sister status with half the team, and that doesn’t happen without being around a hell of a lot.
A wince. “I didn’t want to risk crossing paths, just in case you happened to be… good with faces.”
Good with faces. Like she was just some kind of filler for the night. Interchangeable with the usual bunnies. She’s so far off base, it’s not even funny. “Right.”
I take another step into her place. Look around. The space is clean and neat. Blond wood floors with creamy walls. Simple sturdy-looking furniture that’s a little big for the space but probably suits her fucking brother and friends. But it’s the TV that suddenly snares my attention, because that’s my face blown up to sixty-five inches.
Allie was watching me.
Brows inching up with the grin I don’t bother to hide, I turn back to her. “Was I interrupting something?”
She follows the jut of my chin to the TV, and her cheeks flame red as she starts to sputter. “I was watching the game from last night—rewatching. The game. Not you.” I wouldn’t think it was possible, but her cheeks burn even brighter. “Okay. I watched you score a couple of times, but it’s not like it was on some kind of loop to repeat. It was just a really nice play and and and—”
“And you’re a fan,” I supply, feeling a fuck-ton better about showing up over here after all.
Natalie nods, her breath whooshing out. “I’m a fan.”
I wait a beat…
Her brows pinch, and her eyes flick from my mug on the big screen back to my knowing grin. “Of the game,” she adds a little breathlessly. “I’m a fan of the game.”
My grin spreads wider, because this is the girl from Vancouver.
“Yep. Got it.” She’s not just a fan of the game.
“Vaughn!” Oh yeah, there it is, the exasperated laugh she kept giving me that first night.
“Vaughn,” I mimic, taking a step closer, because fuck if I can stop myself when her smile lights up like that.
“I was watching the game. I rewatch all the highlights.” Her arms cross and her hip juts out. “So whatever you’re hoping was going on here… forget it.”
Wiping the smile from my face, I shrug. Wait a beat. And lean closer to her ear. “So you weren’t watching my face, thinking about what it was like having it between—?”
Eyes scrunching shut, she clamps a hand over my mouth.
I’m pretty sure she doesn’t mean to encourage me with all that shocked indignation. But even with just one night behind us… she ought to know better.
I’m standing close now. And when she meets my eyes, her head tips back and she’s Allie. She blinks, pulling her hand away.
This is the girl whose laugh and smile and soft, needy moans I can’t stop thinking about. I went nuts when she took off like she did. No number. No idea how to get in touch with her.
But now here she is, those bright blue eyes locked with mine, her breath shallowing out as the seconds pass. As my fingers itch with the need to touch her.
She’s right here.
I could do it. Reach out and slide my hand beneath those soft curls. Pull her in so her perfect little tits press into my chest. Take her mouth.
Slip into all that sweet and wet and—
But now I know who she is. And who she is, is why she left. Even before I was playing on her brother’s team, we
would have been looking at a total shitstorm if anyone found out she’d let me touch her. One I wouldn’t have minded so much then, but with everything I’ve got at stake now, Natalie Baxter is a risk I can’t afford to take.
I step back, crossing my arms over my chest. It doesn’t feel like enough distance, but until I get past this initial shock, I’m not sure anything would be.
Maybe it’s enough for Natalie though, because she smiles and shoves her hands into her pockets, shrugging her shoulders into a hunch.
She bites her lip and looks away. “So what do we do from here? I mean, now that you know?”
Now that I know her last name is Baxter and one wrong move means my career is fucked? And I thought she threw me off balance in Vancouver.
“For starters, you’re going to start showing up for games and all the social shit you’ve been dodging to avoid me. You won’t see me at most of it anyway, and even if you do, so what? I’m just another guy on the team and you’re just another family member.”
That pink bottom lip pulls free from the clasp of her teeth. It’s soft and full, and I probably shouldn’t be wondering if it tastes like the cherry ChapStick I’m betting she still keeps in her jeans pocket.
“Should we pretend we don’t know each other? Maybe pretend we’re meeting for the first time?”
Wiping a hand over my mouth, I laugh. “No way.”
Natalie did a pretty bang-up job of omitting a few pertinent facts when we first met, but something tells me she’s not quite the actress she’d need to be to fake never having met me before. Not after what we did.
“Nah. People will figure we’ve met somewhere along the line. No one is going to question it or be watching too closely.”
“Makes sense.”
I’m not sure what I thought I’d accomplish coming over here. It doesn’t really feel like I got it, but it’s time to go anyway. I walk to the door and when Natalie stops next to me, I turn to her. Let out a slow breath as I look her over. She’s fucking Baxter’s little sister and I’ve got a career about to go to the next level. Nothing is going to happen between us.
Still, that mouth. I can’t help thinking about what it was like making it mine.
Natalie blinks up at me, nervous, sweet. “What?”
I don’t have to answer. I could shake my head and walk out the door. But instead, I brush my thumb across the silky skin of her cheek. “You could have told me you were leaving.”
“And then?” she asks, her voice unsteady.
“And then I would have kissed you goodbye just like this.”
With my finger caught in the soft spot beneath her chin, I tip her face to mine and duck my head to press one last kiss to her mouth. Soft and slow, I hold that contact for a beat. Long enough to feel her quake beneath my kiss, for her hands to rest feather light against my chest… and to know without a doubt I shouldn’t have let myself have another taste.
“See you around, Allie.”
Chapter 3
Natalie
“Hello? Earth to Natalie,” Helene Bomer sings, setting the roll of resistance bands she’s carrying on the end of the counter where I’ve been updating the chart for my last physical therapy patient.
Glancing back at her, I make a face. “Sorry! What were you saying?”
“I was asking why you’ve been running your fingers over your mouth all day.” Her arms come up and cross over her ample chest as she cocks her head and narrows her eyes. “But now I’m asking if you’ve been holding out on me, because there is definitely something going on here.”
Sure enough, my fingers are tracing a path across my lips… and I’ve totally been holding out on her. It’s been two days since my encounter with Vaughn, two days since the kiss I can’t stop obsessing over, and two days since I’ve been able to look one of my oldest friends in the eyes.
But I can’t keep this up. I need to talk to someone. I’ve just been too much of a chicken to do it.
Letting out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding, I slump back and whisper, “It happened.”
Soft brown eyes bug at me, and then she’s got my hand towing me through the clinic to her favorite storage closet for gossip. I know better than to resist, and not just because she’s a heck of a lot stronger than her five-foot-three stature suggests. I’ve known Helene since we played together in college. And now, just like then, this girl doesn’t stop.
Pulling the closet door closed, she whirls around. “Does George know?”
She’s talking about Georgia Bowen, goalie from our Wisconsin days and the only other person who knows what happened in Vancouver.
Scanning the shelves, I fiddle with a box of Kinesio Tape. “Not yet.”
A couple swipes of her thumb and she props her phone against an orthopedic walking boot so we’re both visible on one side and on the other we’ve got George with a wall of bikes behind her. She shoves a fall of red curls from her pixie cut out of her face.
Helene leans closer to the phone. “It happened.”
Something heavy and metallic sounding clatters against the ground from George’s end, and she swipes the phone up so the background spins. When it stops, I can see she’s in the back stairwell behind the shop. “You saw him? He knows?”
“He showed up at my door.”
Helene gasps. “Does Greg know?”
“Vaughn says he won’t say anything.”
George huffs. “This is the guy who punched your brother in the face after one week of practicing together. I’m not seeing a lot of restraint there.”
I shake my head. “Maybe not, but from what Rux says, Greg wasn’t exactly a victim either. He just happens to have that whole hometown hero thing going for him, while Vaughn’s new to the team and brings a reputation that isn’t quite so polished.”
“Whatever.” George flips the straw on her water bottle and takes a drink. “I knew this guy was going to be a problem for you.”
So the thing about George is, for as much as she loves hockey—playing it, watching it—she’s not a fan of the pro players. Like, at all. I don’t totally get it, but she won’t get into the details.
And when I told her about Vancouver, I’ve never seen her look so worried. The only thing that put a smile on her face was when I admitted to not giving Vaughn my real name and then sneaking out while he was asleep. At which point, she jumped up on the couch with a whoop and grabbed my hand for a high-five I wasn’t totally into.
Basically it’s been eight months of her waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“I really don’t think he’ll talk. He’s got too much to lose if they sit him with his contract running out.” But also, for a reason I can’t totally explain, I just don’t think he would do it.
Both women start talking a mile a minute. Helene wants to know if the chemistry was still here. George wants to know who Vaughn thought he was showing up at my place like that. They both want more details about Vancouver and pretty soon I’m itching to escape.
Helene taps her lips. “I’m thinking we should meet at my house to discuss. I’ve got Doritos.”
George offers up ice cream, but before they have a full buffet planned, I hold up a staying hand. “Sorry, girls. Home game against the Avalanche tonight, and I’m going with Julia.”
And suddenly I’m thanking my lucky stars I’ll be spending the game with my sports-obsessed sister-in-law. Because the last thing I’ll have to worry about with her is getting grilled about my sex life.
“So what gives?” Julia asks, handing me a beer as she wiggles down in her seat, getting comfortable.
“Huh?” Pucks fire one after another, the guys lapping the sheet, stretching out, jostling each other with elbows and grins. Wagner Arena is unbelievable and Greg’s seats are killer. I can’t believe how long it’s been since I came to a live game.
She looks me over. “You’ve been suspiciously absent lately.”
It was bound to come up. “I know. Things have been nuts. I’m just glad it finally worked out t
oday.” Things have not been nuts and I’m turning out to be quite a little liar. It sours my stomach to think about all the people I’ve been telling fibs to, but this is one truth there is no way I can give up. Especially not to Julia, as I’m pretty sure spousal privilege ranks higher than sister-in-law secrets.
I take a long swallow and keep my eyes on the ice, waving to the guys who skate past, rapping the glass with their sticks when they see us. Watching the one man with the hard scowl who doesn’t even look our way.
“You sure about that?” Her camera-perfect smile stretches and suddenly she looks a little dangerous. “Because I was thinking it might have more to do with a certain guy you don’t want your brother to find out about.”
My heart skitters to a stop. She can’t know. She can’t. Except she kind of knows everything. She knows everyone. Like not just around the NHL circles either. This woman could call up pretty much any pro player in the country just to chew the fat. And if they had a juicy bit of gossip, like say, someone saw Greg’s little sister hooking up with his mortal enemy… it would take less than a nanosecond to get back to her.
Oh God, she totally knows.
“You can’t tell him,” I whisper, barely finding the air to push out the words.
“Ah-ha, I knew it!” she exclaims, springing up in her seat, sending her beer sloshing over the top of her arena cup. She takes a deep drink, bringing the level down, and beams at me. “Spill it, sister!”
Spill it? “Wait—what do you know?”
“Nothing, really,” she confides easily, pinching her beer between her knees to adjust her blond ponytail through the back of her cap. “Just a hunch. I mean, the only time I’ve seen you miss a game before was because the girls you coach had one of their own. So I started wondering why you wouldn’t be showing up.” How could I forget, this woman has made her career by getting professional athletes to open up to her. What did I get myself into tonight? “I mean, to the best of my knowledge there wasn’t a boyfriend. But what if there was? I know you’ve had some bad experiences with guys you date being kind of hung up on your brother, so it would make sense you wouldn’t immediately start bringing him to games. First, so you could make sure he wasn’t just in it for the tickets and, second, to make sure you didn’t have big brother checking the poor guy into the boards for looking at his little sister. At least not while things are so new. Right?”
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