The Girl With Hearts (Midtown Brotherhood #1)

by Savannah Blevins

  “You wanna skip O’Riley’s? Pizza and beer at my place instead?” He could practically envision Drew’s now murderous face behind him, and it made his smile grow. Drew should have just left it alone. He would have given her the puck and gone home, satisfied that his simple gesture might have brightened her day.

  No harm.

  No foul.

  Now he would take what he really wanted. He wasn’t going to hit on her like Drew predicted, but he would get her alone, and that would be enough to make him happy and ruin his brother’s night.

  “That sounds so much better,” she answered, tucking her hair behind her ear as if relieved of some great burden she’d been carrying. “Care if I wear Drew’s ratty sweat pants?”

  He was close enough to touch her now, her chin tilted up at him, offering him the perfect view of her luscious pink lips. Getting her alone sounded better and better. “Not if you’ll lie and tell Austin I really ate brussel sprouts and a protein shake.”

  “It’s a deal.”

  Something leaped inside of him, but only a pussy would assume it was his heart—like he had one of those anyway—so instead, he merely ignored it. He quickly grabbed his bag and motioned her forward before Austin could ruin the moment. “My car is in the garage out back.”

  He started walking behind her, until he finally remembered his brother. He paused, reached over to take the puck from her hand, and turned to give it to a stunned Drew behind him. “Wait. You better keep this,” he told him, his lips curling into a mischievous smile. “I wouldn’t want her to succumb to any latent desires on the way to the car.”

  “You know there is a bathroom just around the corner,” she added over his shoulder, and it was then he realized she was in on the joke.

  Drew’s lecture must have struck a nerve. He wondered if he had managed to insult her using the same loving tone as he’d used on him. Either way, he fought back laughter. “Oh, c’mon,” he chuckled, playfully knocking his elbow against hers, “the bathroom? I’m a little classier than that.”

  The look they exchanged made him ready to throw her over his shoulder and pack her out of there. “Oh. Sorry,” she laughed, a hint of blush touching her cheeks. “Then I guess you better let Drew keep hold of it.”

  Drew was utterly irate. His cheeks flushed scarlet, and his hands knotted into fists at his sides. “I hate both of you,” he bit out, apparently unamused by their antics. “And Austin isn’t going to be happy about this,” he added, yelling after them as they turned toward the door.

  Henrik chose to ignore him, because it served him right. He made it a point to flip his brother the finger over his shoulder as he led Leila out of the building.

  Chapter 9

  LEILA’S INTERROGATION

  Leila stood at the entrance to the living room, her plate of pizza in one hand and bottle of water in the other, staring at the scene in front of her. Henrik, who’d opted for just a pair of shorts when he changed out of his suit, was sprawled out in the middle of the couch, already enjoying his beer.

  In a normal apartment, this wouldn’t be an issue, but Henrik and Austin’s place was the typical bachelor pad. Despite their hefty paychecks every month, they still had only one piece of furniture in the living room, and she was pretty sure that couch was the same one from their dorm room back in college. Not to mention the ping-pong table that doubled for a kitchen table. That was simply embarrassing.

  “Why are you just standing there?” he asked, pointing at the TV. “Rachel is about to break up with Ross again.”

  She cleared her throat, attempting not to look directly at him. “Could you, you know, choose an end of the couch?”

  Henrik’s smirk made evident what she already suspected. His choice of seating had been strategic. “I don’t bite.” He grinned, patting the spot directly next to him.

  She cocked a brow at him. “I’d have to disagree.”

  He almost choked on his beer, covering his mouth as he coughed it down. “Yeah, I guess, technically, you’re right.”

  She sauntered over and begrudgingly squeezed into the small space between him and the arm of the couch, making it a point not to come in contact with any part of his body. He was tempting enough without her reveling in the scorching thrill his touch would surely induce. He glanced over at her, displeasure apparent on his face. “What?” she inquired, leaning further into the couch.

  He glanced at the bottle of water in her hand. “No beer?”

  “I’d prefer if one of us keep our thought processes working appropriately.”

  “Or what?” His crooked smile was unnerving, or maybe exhilarating. She couldn’t quite decide with her pulse thrumming so loudly in her head.

  “Just enjoy your beer, Henrik.”

  He turned back to his television show, though he continued to smirk as if he’d accomplished some unknown goal. If it was to have her crawling out of her own skin, he’d succeeded. She felt like a cat floating on a spindle. She would eventually crash and drown a very ghastly death.

  She decided to just ignore him, or at least, she did her very best to ignore him. It was difficult, though, and the close proximity made it nearly impossible. Not to mention his lack of clothing, especially covering his arms. The intricate designs that laced down the one nearest her was practically calling her name. She forced her attention elsewhere. She couldn’t risk falling for Henrik’s tricks, and it wasn’t just because Drew had forbidden it.

  She was tired. The game had taken more energy than she had to give, and now she was paying the price. A deep-rooted pain formed behind her eyes, a feeling that was growing all too familiar.

  She set her plate of pizza on the floor by her feet and decided it would be best to just stick with the water. She leaned back into the couch and tried to pretend he hadn’t already scooted another inch in her direction.

  They were halfway through their second show when he finally spoke up, breaking the lingering silence that buzzed between them. “You’re allowed to look,” he stated evenly, never taking his eyes off the TV. “You don’t need my permission, though when it comes to your eyes on my body, it’s safe to always assume you already have it.”

  “What are you talking about?” she stuttered, acting as if she hadn’t been stealing glances at him out of the corner of her eye.

  He merely held out his arm in her direction. “Go ahead,” he assured her. “Ask me. I see it on your face, so go ahead and say it out loud.”

  She started to deny it, his audacity bringing out her natural instinct to rebel against anything he suggested, even if he was right. However, her curiosity was bound and determined to eventually win this one. “Why? I mean, I’m not one to judge. I have tattoos, too. But why—”

  “So many?” he finished for her.

  She nodded.

  “I started with this one,” he explained, pointing to the Swedish flag on his bicep. “I got it right after college when I went back there to play the summer before the draft.”

  She slid her hands underneath her thighs to fight off the urge to place her fingers on it. “That means this one must have come next,” she guessed, trying to keep her attention focused. She admired the Fighting Sioux emblem that represented their college logo. “Austin has one too.”

  “We got them together the night before the draft,” he explained. “We never thought we’d be on the same team again. He was a big baby about it, though. I swear he almost cried.”

  “And this?” she asked, nodding toward the spiraling text that seemed to weave through the entire design, linking it all together. “What is it?” It wasn’t English, and Leila assumed it was some form of Swedish.

  “Something my mother used to say,” he confirmed, but turned his arm over, moving on with no further explanation.

  Drew always did that too. He never wanted to discuss Sweden or his parents.

  “I got this one after I signed with New York,” he said changing the subject as he showcased the artwork along his forearm. “And I’m not really sure w
hat this one means. I got it the same night I decided to stop drinking bourbon.”

  She was laughing when her eyes met his, but his playful smile cut it short. He was doing it again. She’d always wondered how he kept a revolving door of women with his reputation, and she was slowly starting to understand. He was smoother with his game than she’d expected. Relaxed and playful. Never trying too hard, but always offering the perfect opportunity and inspiration to make the next the move.

  “You have a blank spot,” she pointed out, bringing her hand up and purposefully touching the bare skin just under his wrist to demonstrate her willpower, even if it was only to herself. “Are you saving that for when you win the Stanley cup?”

  “Something like that.”

  His smile was infectious, and suddenly it grew quiet as they looked at each other, her fingers still on his skin. His eyes dropped to her lips, his own parting ever so slightly in response, and if she didn’t break the silence soon, she’d fall victim just like all the others. “You never answered my question, though,” she said softly, quickly removing her hand and looking away. “Why so many?”

  Henrik, appearing unaffected by the entire exchange, shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  It was his typical answer. She’d heard him give it a hundred times during interviews, not that she intentionally watched his interviews, but she’d catch one or two occasionally and not turn it off. The difference between her and the media was she knew he was lying. “I’m not a reporter, Henrik. You can tell me the truth.”

  He looked over at her and then back to the television, indecision etched across his features. “People often think because of the way I live my life, I don’t care about anything.” He looked back at her. “And they’re probably right about some of it, but there are some things that mean a lot to me.”

  She smiled, glancing back at the tattoos. “Like your mom and your friendship with Austin.”

  “Yes, those are a couple things.”

  “Don’t get me wrong,” she said, chuckling, “but I don’t think you have to permanently tag yourself for people to notice the full on bromance you have with Austin. Trust me, the world knows.”

  She couldn’t help but notice the intensity that rolled off him in waves before he shrugged and looked away. “Yeah, well, you asked.”

  “I did, and thank you for being honest.”

  He nodded, and again it fell silent. His eyes narrowed slightly, as if he were concentrating hard on whatever thoughts he was processing. “What’s wrong?”

  “You didn’t ask the obvious question,” he stated matter-of-factly.

  “About what?”

  “The script.” He gestured toward the string of foreign words along his arm. “Aren’t you going to ask me what it translates to?”

  This time it was her turn to shrug and appear disinterested. “I figured if you wanted everyone to know, you would have written it in English.”

  “True,” he said, nodding, “but as I’ve pointed out on varying occasions—you are not everyone.”

  She peered over at him in awe, trying to decipher his intentions. He could be lying. Just another strategy in his playbook. There was something about the tone he’d used, though, a sincerity that wasn’t usually there. She decided to risk it. “Okay,” she said cautiously. “What does it say in English?”

  He started at the top of his arm, tracing the words downward as he spoke.

  “My love is not fleeting, not a simple stirring in the soul, but rather a tidal wave, consuming only those who dare step in my path.”

  Her brow rose in interest now. “Your mother said that?”

  Again, he nodded. “The last time being the moment right before she put Drew and me on a plane to the U.S. It was the last time I saw her.”

  The conversation hadn’t gone at all how she suspected. This was meaningful. This was real. Henrik offered her an opportunity, all right, but it wasn’t to his bed. “Drew doesn’t talk about her much,” she said evenly, testing the waters. “Actually, he avoids the topic entirely.”

  “He is still a little bitter, and angry about the entire situation. I can’t blame him. He was younger than me. It was hard for him to understand what was going on.” He paused for a moment, and she knew he was deciding whether or not he wanted to continue. He looked at the floor, his features pale when he finally continued. “My mom was sick. She was very secretive about it. I still don’t know exactly what was wrong, just that she went to the doctor a lot, and eventually it got so bad that she lost her job. Seeing as how my no-account father had abandoned us years before, that meant we lost our house. We stayed in this crappy apartment above a grocery store that let her work part-time when she felt up to it, but it wasn’t enough.”

  He took a deep breath, and she suspected, like Drew, this wasn’t a topic he spoke about often. “Eventually, I took it upon myself to quit hockey after school, and I got a job just so we could have food on the table. That’s when she bought the plane tickets.”

  Her heart ached. It made sense now why Drew never wanted to talk about his life in Sweden. “Did she talk to you about it?”

  “No.” His tone was stern now, tense. “I tried, God knows I did, but she continued to insist it was only for a visit. Just for the summer while school was out. Our uncle was a hockey coach, and he wanted us to come to a camp he was running.”

  He looked back at her then, an expression she’d never witnessed before capturing his vibrant eyes, turning them a glossy ocean blue. “She sold our car to buy those tickets. I knew we weren’t coming back. Drew, on the other hand, he still had hope. She eventually stopped answering his calls, because he constantly wanted to go home. She told him he needed to stay here, to play hockey—have fun. It only made it worse.”

  “That’s why Drew quit, isn’t it?” she asserted, trying to piece together the little information she already knew into the story.

  “I think he thought if he quit hockey, then she’d let him come home.”

  “When did you lose her?”

  Henrik swallowed, a lump forming in his throat. “She passed away my freshman year of college. Drew was devastated.”

  “And you?”

  She clamped her mouth shut, feeling horrible for having even thought the words. Of course he was devastated too. It was his mother.

  “It’s okay,” he whispered. “It was different for me. I knew what was going on. Even though I didn’t agree with it, and I felt powerless, I understood she was just doing what was best for all of us. I had a lot of things to keep my mind busy. I had hockey, and Austin’s goofy ass dragging me out every night. More importantly, I had a little brother who needed me to at least act like I had my shit together.”

  She wondered then if that had been the point all along. An explanation for his actions. His lifestyle choice—the bars, the women—it was all just one big distraction. Or maybe she gave him too much credit. It was possible he was simply a soulless horn dog. It was too soon to tell.

  Chapter 10

  LEILA’S UNEASE

  The night eased on without a hitch. Being with Henrik was effortless. Easy. They laughed at the same stupid jokes, and got excited about the same ridiculous re-runs of their favorite shows. And Henrik kept talking. He talked about his career, what he’d do if he ever got his day with Stanley, and even about the harsh conversations with his coach about the trade rumors.

  Henrik told her everything. He was honest and open.

  It scared her.

  She couldn’t be any of those things with him.

  “I have to admit I’m impressed,” he said, leaning back to look at the clock.

  Leila glanced at him. “What do you mean?”

  “Did you really think our siblings would leave us alone this long?”

  She smiled, shaking her head. “No. I’m actually kind of surprised.”

  Henrik looked around the room, suspicious. “Austin must have the placed bugged.”

  “I would be more worried about Drew.” She laughed. “He prob
ably has a hidden camera somewhere.”

  “Yeah,” he nodded solemnly, “that sounds like something that pain in the ass would do. I bet if I kissed you, they’d break the door down.”

  She could imagine it perfectly. Henrik’s lips on her neck, brushing across her skin. “I guess your door is lucky you’re on good behavior.”

  Henrik snorted before taking a sip of his beer. “Who said I was on good behavior?”

  She shot him a glare. “Do you really want to prove your brother right?”

  “He’s already right, or have you forgotten about that little visit to my hotel room?”

  His smirk turned wicked, and she glared harder. Of course she hadn’t forgotten it. She just didn’t want to think about it, not with him sitting so close, and almost naked. The memories were too real. She straightened her shoulders, determined to end it now. “I think we can both agree our brothers need to remain clueless.”

  “Obviously.” He nodded, looking around the room nervously, as if he were actually worried about Austin and Drew listening in. When his inspection was complete, he scooted down the couch. Way down the couch.

  “What are you doing?” she practically blurted out, sinking into the corner.

  “Asking you a question,” he said innocently.

  “Does your mouth require your ass to be that close to me?”

  He ignored her, his body sliding up next to her, invading her space. “My brother seems to think you’re all heartbroken about this Derek thing.”

  “That isn’t a question,” she pointed out, crawling up the armrest.

  It was suddenly hot. Unbearably hot.

  “I have my reasons to believe you don’t really give a crap about your break-up.” He grinned. “Call it a hunch.”

  “Henrik.” It was a warning.