by Sarina Bowen
“I wish. They’d be easier to beat.” He sipped his drink, and she yawned again. “If you think you’re going to crash, help yourself to anything in the bathroom. I’ll make up the bed for you.”
“I really don’t want to put you out.” A new wave of embarrassment warmed her face.
“Naw,” he said, standing up. “Been a while since I’ve been to a pajama party. We can braid each other’s hair and tell ghost stories.”
Now that was a funny image. Smiling, she got up and crossed to her duffel bag, where her silk pajamas were. How handy to have a packed suitcase. It made fleeing her own home that much more convenient.
O’Doul’s bathroom was spotless. She washed her face and dried it on one of his pristine white towels. Then she changed into her PJs. When she emerged, he was just finishing up changing the sheets on the giant king-sized bed.
The sight of this muscle-bound man changing the sheets on his bed for her did odd things to her tummy. For a second there, her subconscious offered up an appealing idea—that they were about to strip each other naked and roll around together on those sheets.
Yowza. That was just the whiskey talking.
“Did you furnish this place yourself?” she asked, just to force herself to focus on the reality of the moment.
He turned around and gave her a crooked smile. “Not hardly. I bought the apartment from a married couple—David and Dexter—who were moving into an antique house in San Francisco. They had bought all this Scandinavian stuff and were fretting about how it wouldn’t match the new place.” He laughed out loud at the idea. “So I bought, like, all their stuff. Even the dishes. Didn’t have to set foot in a store. Best deal ever.”
“That was very pragmatic of you. David and Dexter have lovely taste.”
“I know, right? But I probably would have bought it even if everything was mint green. I hate shopping.”
“And you don’t entertain very much? Your place is nice.”
He tugged a pillow into its case. “It took me a long time to get my own place. I’m not used to sharing.”
Not for the first time she wondered about this man’s childhood. “What do you mean it took you a long time to get your own place?”
O’Doul shrugged, avoiding her eyes. “Didn’t get any help, that’s all.”
“From your parents?” she pressed.
“Don’t have any of those.” He chucked the pillow onto the bed. Then he grabbed a pair of flannel pants off the dresser and disappeared into the bathroom before she could ask another question.
She went over to his big couch and sat down. The TV was on now, tuned to a sports commentary show which was just ending. So she flipped channels with the remote on the sofa, choosing an action movie with Nicolas Cage. She tucked herself into the corner of the big piece of furniture and sipped her whiskey, and he joined her on the couch a few minutes later.
“Is this Face/Off?”
“Yeah.” He made himself comfortable in the other corner of the couch, and Ari couldn’t help but admire him. That broad chest looked like a fine place to rest her head. He looked over to catch her staring. Whoops. “Do you like this movie?”
“Of course. Nicolas Cage has the coolest money clip. A golden dragon head. Totally badass.” He gave her a more relaxed smile than she’d ever gotten from him, and it made him look almost boyish. And hot. Was she crazy, or did his gaze linger a little longer than necessary, too?
None of that, she chided herself. It wasn’t polite to perv on her rescuer, even if he was more attractive by a factor of ten than any of the Hollywood actors on the screen.
And anyway, she was feeling drowsy again. It had been a shit day of epic proportions. Her asshole ex had proven himself to be even more dangerous than she’d expected. But here she sat, drinking whiskey with Patrick O’Doul, feeling perfectly safe.
Weird.
Vince might make trouble again. No—he would make trouble again. But at least for tonight she wouldn’t have to face him. This sofa was like an island of calm in the chaotic sea of her life. And she really did appreciate it.
She grabbed one of the water bottles off the coffee table, opened it and drank half. After she set it down again, she began to feel sleepy. Drunk and sleepy. She closed her eyes to the sounds of an on-screen car chase and drifted off.
SEVEN
O’Doul watched the rest of the movie, occasionally sneaking looks at Ari’s sleeping face. The anxiety she’d worn for the last couple of hours was gone now, and he’d been a part of that. Satisfaction settled like a warm blanket on his chest, and the sensation was completely unfamiliar.
He’d never had a sleeping woman on his couch before, and he let himself wonder for a moment what it would be like to have someone in his life.
He glanced around his apartment, wondering what she saw. It was a huge space for one person. He was always here alone. What would it be like to live with a woman like Ari? To put his key in the door and find her at home, making a drink or sitting on the sofa, waiting for him? It was almost impossible to imagine. He’d been a loner so long that the condition was probably permanent.
After the credits rolled, he shut the TV off. He got up to brush his teeth and turn out a few lights.
Ari didn’t stir or wake. He knew he could cover her with a blanket and let it go at that, but her head was angled onto the arm of the sofa in a way that didn’t look comfortable enough to last eight hours.
Okay, then. He’d just have to do a little better for her.
“Come on, sweetheart,” he whispered, kneeling in front of her. “Time to hit the hay.” He patted her hand.
Nothing.
Welp, all right, then. He got up and slipped his hands underneath her back. When he lifted her slightly, a pair of sleepy arms came around to clutch his neck. “There you go,” he said encouragingly. He carried her over to the bed. Luckily he’d turned down a corner of it when he’d made it up for her. So it wasn’t too difficult to slide her into bed.
When her head hit the pillow, Ari rolled onto her side, toward the center of the bed, and let out a sleepy sigh.
Mission accomplished.
He walked around the big bed to turn off the lamp and remove the other pillow. He’d need it on the couch. But when he leaned over to reach for it, Ari mumbled something to him. He put a knee on the bed to try to hear her. “What’s that, sweetheart?”
One warm hand emerged from the covers and clasped his.
He slipped her smooth fingers between his rougher ones, his thumb tracing her wrist. “You’re going to be fine, you know that, right?”
Her hand closed a little tighter on his, and she sighed. Her eyes were still closed.
Unsure what he should do, O’Doul sat down on the side of the bed, just holding her hand. His body felt heavy and tired, but in a good way. As he sat there in the dark, the day’s strange events replayed themselves in his mind. He’d been in a scuffle tonight—the first one in years where he wasn’t wearing skates. And that wasn’t the only odd thing about the fight. It was also the only one in years he was certain had a real purpose to it.
Ari continued to hold his hand, and he let her. He knew he ought to get up and take his weary self over to the couch.
Although Ari had told him once that when two people touch, they touch with their whole soul. And her soul was clinging pretty hard to his right now, her long fingers clasping his hand as if her life depended on it.
Fuck it.
Still holding her hand, O’Doul stood up again and lifted the covers on his side of the bed. He slipped between the sheets and positioned himself carefully on his own side of the generously sized mattress. This would be a hell of a lot more comfortable than the sofa, anyway.
He closed his eyes, thinking that it should feel so strange to have Ari in his bed where no other woman had ever been. He’d always imagined he wouldn’t be able to sleep if
he brought someone home—that an unfamiliar presence would disturb the sanctity of his private space.
It didn’t, though. The soft sound of her breathing only kept time with his own.
He drifted off to sleep without trouble. But when the low beep of his phone’s alarm chimed seven hours later, he was a little disoriented. An arm had been flung across his chest in the night, and a slender knee was propped onto his.
O’Doul fumbled one hand onto the nightstand to silence the phone, then he took stock. In the first place, it was warmer in the bed than he was used to. But the weight of her hand on his chest was pleasant, as was the softness of her breasts pressed against his biceps.
All in all, having another sleeping person in his bed was less odd than he would have thought. But the contact of her sweet body gave his own a few ideas. If he ever did have someone in his life, maybe they’d wake up slowly together like this, pressed together . . . That happy thought made his cock begin to grow nice and heavy.
It was time to cut that idea off at the knees, obviously.
In one cautious motion, O’Doul rolled toward the edge of the bed and out of Ari’s grasp. He ducked into the bathroom to take a leak and brush his teeth. When he came out, Ari was sitting up in his bed, looking sheepish. “Hi,” she said sleepily.
“Hi yourself. You a coffee drinker?” Did yoga instructors approve of caffeine?
“The stronger the better,” she said.
“I knew I liked you. I’ll make some. We have about thirty minutes until the car comes. The shower is all yours.”
“Thank you,” she said, scrambling out of bed, then straightening the sheets.
He left her to it, heading into the kitchen to grind the coffee beans. He found a package of English muffins in his refrigerator. Splitting two of them, he set them into the toaster, then rooted in the refrigerator again to find a stick of butter in its sleek, modern Scandinavian butter dish.
When he heard the shower running, he took the opportunity to open his closet and pull on his shirt and trouser pants. Flying in a suit and tie wasn’t his favorite part of the NHL lifestyle. But a guy had to do what a guy had to do, and after more than a decade in the NHL, he was pretty used to it. He grabbed the first tie off the rack and slung it around his neck.
The coffee was done and the toast was buttered when Ari emerged from his bathroom in a soft knit dress, towel-drying her hair. “You have the most amazing shower,” she said with a shy smile.
“It’s my favorite thing about this apartment,” he agreed. “I don’t know why the builder decided to put in three separate sprays, but I like it. Milk for your coffee?”
“If you have it.”
He reached into the fridge and brought out a carton. “Always.” He poured a dollop into both mugs.
She picked up one of the two plates he’d set out and took a bite of English muffin. “Patrick, thank you.”
“It’s nothing,” he said, ducking into the refrigerator again.
“Not true,” she insisted, waiting for him to meet her gaze. “Yesterday was a total shit show. I know it was just a coincidence that you were the one to witness it. But I really appreciate all the help. You have no idea.”
“Well.” He cleared his throat. “Don’t mention it. Just glad I got there when I did.” His Katt Phone buzzed in his pocket, and he pulled it out. “Our car is downstairs. You need anything before we go?” He took a bite of his toast.
“I’ll just need another minute to grab my things.”
A few minutes later they were on their way down to the lobby. O’Doul wondered who they’d meet down there, and what they might say. Anyone who saw them together this morning would get the wrong idea. He couldn’t imagine that Ari needed to add gossip to her list of problems. But there was nobody in the lobby except a sleepy concierge.
Outside he opened the car door for Ari, then lifted both their bags into the driver’s trunk. Just as he was sliding into the car, he saw Leo and Georgia emerge from the building’s entrance, heading for another hired car parked just behind theirs. Leo was distracted by their luggage, but Georgia gave him a wave. And then he watched her eyes widen in surprise when Ari slid across the seat to make room for him.
The last thing he saw before the car slid away from the curb was her amused smile.
EIGHT
MONDAY, MARCH 14TH
“I’m not buying it,” Georgia said. The two of them had taken seats in the largely empty Canadian stadium. While the team sweated through practice on the rink below them, they ate dumplings from a food truck outside the stadium.
“Suit yourself, but it didn’t happen,” Ari insisted, nibbling a dumpling from her chopsticks. “These are really good, by the way. I love spicy peanut oil.”
“You’re changing the subject,” Georgia accused.
“If you say so.” She finished the dumpling, leaving Georgia to gape at her.
“Wait. Really? You didn’t hook up?”
Ari shook her head. “I was having a rough day. My, uh, ex was giving me a hard time.”
“Oh, no!” Georgia’s face filled with sympathy. “What did he do?”
“He was just being a dick. Yelling at me.” Trying to break into my home. She’d outlined her tale of woe to Georgia last month on a road trip. But today she didn’t care to elaborate. “You and Becca were dress shopping, and O’Doul was in the neighborhood. So I went home with him. No sex happened. But I got drunk and passed out on his couch in front of Face/Off.”
“Bummer.” Georgia shook her head. “I like my version of events better. More hot sex. Fewer terrible exes.”
“I know, right? But it’s not like that.”
“Could it be, though?” Georgia picked at her last dumpling. “I was kidding a second ago, but I’m serious now. I used to think O’Doul was an ass. But now I think he’s just really lonely. My gut says that if the right girl softened him up a little, he’d be the most loyal man who ever lived.”
Ari thought the idea had merit, but whoever finally got through to O’Doul would not be her. “Someone else will have to win that prize. I haven’t been single since I was twenty-one. I need a break from men.” Looking back on the last year with Vince, she didn’t like what she saw. Did she stay so long out of loyalty? Or was she afraid to be alone?
Only one way to find out.
“Was he awful? Your ex?”
Yes. “I don’t even know how to answer that. I put up with too much from him. I was like a frog sitting in the water on the stovetop. The water got hotter and hotter, and I didn’t jump.”
“But then you finally did,” Georgia pointed out.
Too late, Ari chided herself. She hated being out of town right now, wondering what trouble Vince would stir up. How crazy was he willing to get? She should have left the storage room locks alone. But then he’d never have left. God, would she ever extricate herself from this asshole?
It was time to execute an emergency change of subject. “So, don’t keep me hanging. Did you find a dress last night?”
Georgia laughed. “I found a dozen of them. Becca made me try on so many they’ve all blurred together in my mind.”
“Ah. You overshopped.”
“I did! Becca has some serious stamina. I swear to god, she has a special notebook just for my wedding, with dividers and sections, and a place to put pictures she’s clipped. No wonder she’s such a good office manager. But it’s killing me. I can’t wait to marry Leo. But the ceremony is twenty minutes, right? Is it awful that I’m way more interested in making it to the play-offs than in flower arrangements?”
“It’s fine. But you do need to choose a dress.”
“I think I did. Hang on—you can tell me what you think.” Georgia dug into her purse and pulled out her Katt Phone. She flipped to a photo and handed the phone to Ari.
“Nice. Wow.” The dress was sleek and strapless, and sh
owed off Georgia’s athletic body to a tee. “Did you buy it? That’s kind of perfect.”
“Not yet, but I will. In fact, I’ll call them today and ask them to put it aside for me. Becca has this idea that we’re going to look at some other shops. But I don’t see the point. I’m going to wear it once. Why shop twice?”
Ari loved this about Georgia—her pragmatism. “It really suits you, too. It’s not fussy.”
“Thanks. I had no idea just how fussy those suckers could be. I put my foot down when Becca wanted me to try one with beads on it. Beads!”
“The horror,” Ari teased.
“I know, right? I made the mistake of asking Becca if she thought I could get away with a dress that wasn’t so weddingy, so I could wear it again. The poor girl almost had a coronary. So I tried on a dress with lace on it just to make her feel better.”
“I don’t see you in lace,” Ari admitted. “Buy the one in the picture. You look amazing.” She handed back the phone. “When I was a little girl I did that thing where you put a white T-shirt over your hair and pretend to get married. I couldn’t wait to plan my wedding.”
“Hmm . . .” Georgia said, her eyes on the guys skating drills below. “I didn’t play wedding. But I did practice standing on the podium at Wimbledon, and curtseying for the queen. So I can’t claim to be any less vain. And that Wimbledon thing isn’t happening for me, so I might as well throw a wedding.”
Ari watched the younger woman with fondness, and once again had a moment’s appreciation for the new friendships her upheaval had brought. “When I was twenty-two years old, I was sure that Vince and I would get married. And even as things sort of fell apart with him, I still hoped he’d pull it together so we could plan our future. God, that was stupid.”
Georgia turned to her with a soft look. “I’m sorry. But there are better men out there.”
“Yeah.” She cleared her throat. “Last night I was trying to explain to O’Doul why I stayed with Vince for so long. Everything I said sounded lame. And I didn’t even tell him the worst reason.”