"Is that her name? What's her story?"
"Why? Are you interested?" Sammie wished she could take the words back, wished she had taken just a second to think before speaking. It wasn't just the words—it was her tone of voice. Cold. Judgmental.
Jealous.
And Jon knew it, too. She could tell from the way he was looking at her, with that glint of amusement that flashed in his eyes and the faintest hint of a smile that played with one corner of his stupid, sculpted mouth.
"Would you care?"
Yes.
Sammie didn't say that, though. She couldn't—she didn't care, she wouldn't allow herself to care. And the last thing she needed to do was let Jon think—for even a fraction of a second—that there was even the slightest chance she might care.
She took a careful sip of her drink, silently composing herself, hoping Jon couldn't see the way her hand tightened around the cup—like the insulated cardboard was Rachel's neck and she was gleefully squeezing it.
She placed the cup back on the table then offered him a sweet smile. "You're a grown man. Who you do is your business."
Jon just sat there, watching her, his brows slightly raised in amusement. A second went by, then two, before Sammie realized what she had said. She yanked her gaze away from Jon's, heat rushing to her face.
"I mean what. What you do is your business."
"Hm-hmm. Sure."
"I didn't mean—"
"If you say so. Before you jump to more conclusions, I was only asking because she seemed a little…I don't know. Pushy. Forceful. Maybe desperate, even. Like she was trying to prove something."
"Ha. Like Rachel cares about proving anything to anyone. Trust me, Rachel is only worried about herself. Amanda's the same way."
"Who's Amanda?"
"She wasn't there today. I'm not even one hundred percent sure she's still on the team. I mean, I think she is but maybe not."
"What happened?"
"Turns out she was using drugs. She OD'd at one of the games a couple weeks ago so then they tested everyone and they kicked her off the team. Except I think they changed their minds and offered to help her with rehab because Chuckie told them it would be bad PR if they didn't."
"Chuckie?"
"Yeah. He's the head of marketing and PR for the Blades, and he's dating Taylor. Only he almost got fired, too. Well, not really. He almost sort of quit because they were going to permanently suspend Taylor because they were dating and—why are you laughing?"
Jon ran a hand across his eyes and shook his head. "No reason."
"You were laughing. Why?"
"Because you still do it."
"Do what?"
"Those little bursts you have."
"I don't know what you're talking about." But she did, and she wished she didn't. She thought she had changed that, thought she had broken that habit. And she had—until Jon showed back up.
"Sure you do. You'll sit there, all quiet and refined, then start talking a mile a minute, like you're making up for all the time you were quiet."
"You're imagining things."
"No, I'm not, and you know it." He leaned back in the seat, readjusted Clare in his lap before dropping a kiss on the top of her head, then looked back at Sammie. The teasing light was gone from his eyes, replaced by a seriousness that made Sammie shift uncomfortably in her own seat.
"I missed that. When I was overseas—"
"Jon—"
"I would just sit there sometimes, close my eyes, imagine hearing your voice. Your laughter. Remember the way you would gesture with your hands when you talked—"
"Jon, don't. Please."
"It's just the truth, Sammie. Why don't you want to hear it?"
"You know why. Because—" She swallowed, shook her head, gazed at the fireplace across the room. "It was your choice, Jon. Not mine. You can't tell me how much you thought about me after doing what you did."
"You know why—"
"I know. And maybe part of me understands. But part of me doesn't. And you don't get to tell me how you thought about me. Okay? I can't—I don't want to hear it."
"Fair enough."
They sat there for several long minutes, neither one of them talking, neither one of them looking at the other. Sammie shifted in her seat, looked down at her watch without really seeing the time.
"It's getting late. I need to get Clare home."
Jon reached across the table, his hand closing around hers. Big. Strong. Rough. But gentle, so gentle. Sammie swallowed against the emotion in her throat, forced herself not to move.
"For what's it worth, I'm not interested."
"What?"
"You asked me earlier if I was interested. In your teammate—"
"It's not my business—"
"The only woman I'm interested in is you."
Her eyes shot to his as a dozen different emotions slammed into her. Anger. Hope. Fear. Resentment. Desire. Need.
More hope.
She shook her head, pulled her hand from his, shook her head again. "No. Don't you dare do that to me. It's not fair."
"It's the truth."
"I don't care. It's not happening. It can't happen."
"Why not?"
"Why not? How can you even ask me that?" Sammie glanced around, pulled in a deep breath and forced herself to calm down. She leaned closer, lowering her voice. "You walked away, Jon. You turned your back on me. On your daughter. You never gave me a chance to help you. You never gave me a choice. How can I trust you not to do the same thing again?"
"Because I learned my lesson the first time."
Sammie sat there, watching him, unable to look away from the gaze holding hers. Dark. Intense. Hypnotizing. Her heart pounded in her chest and her lungs burned with each short, rapid breath. And she realized, in between one heartbeat and the next, that she wanted to believe him.
Oh God, she wanted to believe him.
She closed her eyes, breaking the spell he seemed to hold over her, and shook her head. "I need to leave."
Had she expected him to argue? To put up a fight and try to convince her to stay? To try to change her mind? Not just about leaving but about…everything.
He didn't. He simply nodded and grabbed Clare's jacket, started helping her into it. Sammie slid out from the bench, tried to take Clare from him. "I can do that."
"I've got it."
"I said I can do it—"
"And I said I have it." Jon gave her one last, long look, one she couldn't read, then straightened Clare's coat around her and zipped it up. He stood up, sweeping Clare into his arms with a smooth, efficient, move.
Like he'd been taking care of his daughter for her entire life.
Sammie started to reach for her, needing to feel her daughter's warmth, needing to hold her. But Clare wrapped her arms around Jon's neck and shook her head, her curls bouncing back and forth. "No!"
Sammie blinked, surprised at the sharp command in Clare's voice, surprised at the sharp stab of pain she felt at that single word. She told herself not to read into it, reminded herself that this was part of a normal stage at Clare's age, that making a big deal of it would only make it worse.
But it still hurt.
Sammie forced a smile to her face then turned and led the way out of the coffee shop, the sound of Jon's heavy steps behind her as she walked to her car. She'd been lucky, finding a spot not too far away. She was even more thankful for that luck now, because it meant spending less time in Jon's company.
She needed to get away from him, to put distance between them so she could think. So she could convince herself she had only been imagining things, that she wasn't feeling anything. That she didn't want anything. She was simply tired and overwhelmed by the hectic pace and events of the last few days. That was it. Nothing more.
She dug her keys from her jacket pocket and hit the remote for the locks, then pulled open the rear door. She turned and reached for Clare, bit back the hurt when her daughter snuggled closer to Jon.
; "No! Don't want to go with you."
"Clare, sweetie. Come on. Time to go home."
"No! Want to stay here."
"Clare—"
Jon shifted Clare in his arms, holding her so she had to look at him. "Hey, Little Bits. Don't talk to Mommy that way."
"But I don't wanna go."
"I know you don't. But you have to."
"No!"
"Hey, none of that. If you act up, Mommy won't let us hang out again. You don't want that to happen, do you?"
Sammie opened her mouth, ready to argue with Jon, ready to tell him that he was making her out to be the bad guy, but she stopped when Clare shook her head, suddenly looking serious.
"Noooo."
"Me either. So why don't I get you buckled in so Mommy can take you home, okay?"
"'Kay."
"That's my girl." Jon pressed a kiss to her cheek then stepped past Sammie, kneeling on the backseat as he got Clare buckled into her car seat. Sammie leaned closer, trying to make out the soft words of their conversation, but all she heard were the quiet murmurs of Jon's voice, followed by Clare's high-pitched giggle.
Jon finally straightened, closing the door then turning to face Sammie. Her body was caged by his, her back pressed against the driver's door. He braced his hands on the car's roof, one on either side of her, so she had nowhere to go.
"I want to see her this week."
"Fine. Call me. We can work something out."
"I want to see you, too."
"Jon—"
"Just until I'm sure I'm not going to screw anything up with Clare. You know, like making sure I don't feed her pizza and beer."
"Oh." He had meant he wanted her to be with Clare, not that he wanted to actually see her. Of course. How stupid was she to read into it? "Yeah. Sure. That's fine."
"Good."
She expected him to step back, to give her room to open the door so she could climb into the car and start it up and leave. But he didn't step back. Instead, he leaned forward, the heat of his body wrapping around her as he dipped his head toward hers.
Sammie stiffened, tried to turn her head to the side, but she couldn't move, realized she didn't want to move. How long had it been since she'd been kissed? Almost three years, the last time she had seen Jon, the day he had left. And she wanted to feel his kiss, wanted to see if it was the way she remembered, prayed that it wasn't.
Then Jon's mouth was on hers and she stopped thinking and just felt. The heat of his body pressed against hers. The surprising softness of his lips. The warmth of his mouth as he kissed her.
Gentle. Soothing. Seeking.
Sammie held herself still for the space of a few heartbeats. Frozen. Unsure how to act. Afraid to react. Then she sighed and leaned against him, reached up with her free hand and curling it around the edge of his open coat.
And then he pulled away, ending the kiss as quickly as it began. Sammie sagged against the car door, her lips still tingling from his touch, and tried to focus on the man standing in front of her.
Tried to figure out what had just happened.
"Drive safe." He leaned forward and pressed another kiss against her cheek, just a quick one, then turned and walked away.
It took several minutes before she was coherent enough to open the door, and several more before she was finally able to get the keys in the ignition and start the engine.
She was still trying to convince herself that nothing had happened, that the kiss meant absolutely nothing, that she had only imagined her reaction when she pulled into her driveway twenty-five minutes later.
Chapter Seventeen
"Are you okay?"
Sammie looked up from tightening her laces. "Yeah. Fine. Why?"
"Because you've been jittery and distracted ever since you got here." Taylor brought the blade of her stick close to her face, tilting her head to the side as she ran her hand along the tape. Then she turned that same studying look on Sammie. "And your play shows it."
Sammie dropped her gaze, thought about making up some excuse, then decided against it. Taylor was only speaking the truth. Sammie had completely blown two plays, giving New York prime scoring chances. The only reason there weren't any points showing up on the scoreboard was because Rachel had rushed forward to cover her screw-ups.
Both times.
Rachel, of all people.
And the woman hadn't bothered to keep her irritation to herself, either, making more than one snide comment each time they got back to the bench. Nobody had bothered to contradict her, or tell her to keep quiet, because they all knew Rachel was right.
Sammie had messed up and deserved to be called out. It just galled her that it was being done by Rachel.
"Do you want Coach to switch up the lines?"
It wasn't a question, more of a quiet threat. Sammie swallowed back her irritation—Taylor was their Captain, she had to be focused on making sure the team worked together. Switching up the lines was something the coaching staff did, but there was no doubt in Sammie's mind that Coach Reynolds would listen to any suggestion Taylor made.
"No, I'm good."
"You sure about that?"
"Yeah."
Taylor nodded, rested the stick across her lap, then nudged Sammie in the side with a small smile. "Good. Because that would have totally sucked. Now tell me what's going on."
Sammie almost laughed. Tell her what was going on? They were in the locker room for their first intermission, which was more than halfway over. She didn't have enough time to tell Taylor what was going, not in any detail.
So she shrugged and simply said, "Jon's here. With Clare."
"Yeah. I saw him earlier."
"You did?"
"Duh. It's not like the stands are that big, you know. Or that filled. Of course, I saw him. Besides, you kept turning around to look at the crowd. I figured something was up."
"Oh."
"That's it? Oh? Aren't you going to elaborate?"
"I don't even know where to start."
"Okay, how about the basics. Are you guys sleeping together yet?"
"What? God, no. Absolutely not. You're worse than Shannon."
"But you're thinking about it."
"No!"
Taylor leaned back, her brows arched over whiskey-colored eyes. "Really?"
There was so much meaning in that one simple word, in the way she drew it out. Disbelief. Surprise. Knowledge of the inevitable. Sammie sighed and looked away, afraid Taylor would see too much on her face.
"No, I'm not. I can't. That would be—that would be disastrous. In more ways than I could even imagine."
"You sure about that? Because you guys have been spending a lot of time together these last two weeks, ever since Thanksgiving weekend."
"No, we haven't. He's met me after practice twice and he's here with Clare tonight. That's not 'spending time together'."
"What about the other times? Because you said he's been spending more time with Clare—which means he's with you, too."
"That doesn't mean anything." At least, that's what Sammie tried to tell herself. The problem was, every single time she saw him, every single minute they spent together, chipped away at her resolve to keep her distance.
It should be easy enough. Jon hadn't even tried to kiss her again. Yes, there were times he seemed to stand too close. Times when his arm brushed against hers, or when their hands touched for just a second too long. But there wasn't anything she could point to and say 'stop doing that', not without sounding like an idiot because he wasn't doing anything.
Except driving her crazy.
"Well, maybe you should."
"Should, what?"
"Sleep with him."
"What?" Sammie stared at Taylor, trying to figure out if she was joking or not. No, she wasn't. "Are you crazy? Weren't you the one who said I should tell him to get lost?"
"Yeah, but you haven't."
"He's Clare's father. It's not that easy."
"Or that's just a convenient excuse."
/>
"That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard."
"Look at it this way, then: if you sleep with him, maybe you'll get him out of your system and you can move on."
"Absolutely not."
"Hey, maybe he'll be a super-dud and that'll help. You'll never know until you try, right?"
"Trust me, it's not in Jon's nature to be a dud in anything. Especially in—God. No. No, we are not having this discussion. I can't believe—"
"If you could see how red your face is right now." Taylor laughed, the sound turning into a small snort as she started to fall back before catching herself. Sammie glared at her through narrowed eyes, wondering how much trouble she'd get in if she knocked Taylor off the bench.
"You're not funny."
"Yes, I am, and you know it."
"You're not. None of this is, because Jon wants to take Clare home tonight so they can spend all day together tomorrow. He wants to take her to the aquarium."
Taylor's laughter faded. She sat back up, sympathy flashing in her eyes. "Is that what's really bothering you?"
"Yeah. I've never—I've never been away from Clare for that long before."
"What about our road games?"
"That's not the same. I mean, we haven't spent the night on the road, you know? I've always been able to go home and tuck her in, even though she was already asleep, and just watch her if I wanted to. Plus, she was home. And I'm there in the morning as soon as she wakes up. But this—this is different."
"So then tell him no."
"I already told him yes." She hadn't meant to, but she had taken one look at the silent pleading in Jon's eyes—the pleading he had tried so hard to hide from her when he brought it up—and heard herself say yes.
"Then tell him you changed your mind."
"I can't. You have no idea how much this means to him." But Sammie did, knew he was somehow trying to convince himself that he wasn't the monster he believed himself to be. No, he hadn't brought up their conversation in his car again, hadn't talked about everything he'd done and or what he believed he'd become. Neither one of them had.
But Sammie knew those thoughts weren't very far from the front of his mind. She could see it in the occasional faraway look he got on his face, in the mingled expression of wonder and doubt that flashed in his eyes whenever he looked at Clare.
Loving Hard: A Chesapeake Blades Hockey Romance (The Chesapeake Blades Book 2) Page 12