by Elise Faber
He didn’t.
They won . . . the championship and the bragging rights.
But when the trophy ceremony was over, and they were back in the locker room, Luc was hard-pressed to ignore the “unless you want someone else to” part of Mico’s teasing.
He didn’t want to share Lexi.
He didn’t want to wait and watch her with someone else.
It would fucking kill him.
Except . . . what could he do? She needed time to heal, not him pressuring her for what she might not want to give, what she might not be ready to give for a while. Even if sometimes he thought that he glimpsed some heat in her eyes.
Because aside from those few and far between glimpses, she hadn’t given any indication she wanted anything besides friendship.
So, he would just show her that he wasn’t going anywhere, show that she could trust him.
He wouldn’t push.
Not yet, anyway.
Chapter Eleven
Lexi
The knock on the door wasn’t welcome.
She was having a pity party for one in her recently-acquired apartment.
Because she’d filed for divorce.
Officially.
And she shouldn’t be crying, even though she’d had a moment of weakness and had actually considering calling Caleb and asking him to take her back (seriously, what the fuck, Lexi?), she’d gotten the paperwork filed, and her attorney thought everything would be finalized in three months or less.
Go her.
Single at thirty-six. Exactly what she’d dreamed of.
Which was why she ignored the knock and went back to her pity party for one—which consisted of a bottle of wine and eating straight out of her gallon of rocky road. Maybe she’d buy herself a pack of party hats online and keep drinking until they showed up in two days.
Then at least she could be festive.
The knock came again, and unfortunately, she knew who was on the other side. Or at least, she assumed she did, still ignoring it while tapping away on her cell’s screen.
The knock came a third time before the lock clicked open and the door pushed wide.
Luc walked inside, took one look at her face, and plunked a pizza on the counter.
“That good, huh?”
She rubbed her nose on her shoulder, oh so cute. “Go away,” she snapped.
He ignored her, moving to the cabinets and pulling down two plates before dishing her up pizza—with pineapple. He set one in front of her. “Eat,” he ordered, “and something besides pure sugar.”
She clutched her ice cream closer. “You’re not the boss of me. And anyway, wine’s not pure sugar.”
“Care to reconsider that statement?”
A smile. Even when she was feeling mopey and pissed off, his smile was still a beam of sunshine straight into her soul.
And that was the wine talking.
Because look at that, she’d almost finished the bottle.
“No,” she muttered.
His eyes went to that nearly empty bottle. “Drinking your dinner?”
“Yup.” A beat; her eyes narrowed on his. “Gotta problem with that?”
“Nope.” He nudged the plate closer. “Though you might want some bread to soak up the booze for the morning. We’re too old for hangovers.”
“I can have a hangover if I want.” More muttering.
This time his smile pissed her off.
That was also the wine talking.
“I’m staying drunk until my party hats come in two days. ‘Cause I’m supposed to be celebrating instead of feeling like shit.” She held up the phone, gestured at the screen. “See? They’re pretty with sparkles and everything. But they’re not coming for two days.” Her cell dropped onto the counter with a clatter. “So, I’m staying drunk until they come, and that’s that.”
“That doesn’t sound like a good plan.”
“I don’t care,” she muttered, scooping up a giant bite of ice cream. “Drunk until party hats.”
“Lex—”
She dug back into the carton, glaring at him. “I think I already told you to go away.”
There was that grin again, so fucking bright and lovely and—
“I hate your smile,” she grumbled, stuffing the spoon into her mouth.
He laughed, grin widening. “Well, I love yours.”
She sniffed, put down her spoon, and began glugging wine. Was she feeling tipsy? Damn right, she was. Did she give a fuck right at this moment that she’d probably have that hangover Luc was talking about? Nope.
“Nope,” she repeated with a pop on the p.
“Nope, what?”
“Nothing,” she slurred and then since the bottle was swimming in her vision and she didn’t trust herself to reach for it, she held up her glass and added, “Since you’re not leaving, at least give me a refill.”
“Nope.” It was his turn to pop on the P . . . right as he snagged the bottle and moved it out of arm’s reach. She could see that much, even if everything else was still floating and drifting like a buoy on the waves. “Not until you eat something that’s more filling than ice cream and wine,” he said, pushing the plate a little closer. “See? It’s even got pineapple on it. Your favorite.”
She shoved the plate back, staggered up to her feet, the wine glass in her hand. “Stop it.”
He brought it close again. “No,” he said, his eyes flashing. “You need to take care of yourself.”
“I am taking care of myself.” And so what if her words were slurred. She was a grown woman who could live her own life as she wanted, and if that involved two days of drunkenness and party hats and red wine and rocky road ice cream, then that was just perfectly fine.
She nodded, agreeing with her inner monologue.
“The fuck you are,” Luc said, snagging her arm and the glass.
The latter he set on the counter, the former he held as he picked up the plate and shoved it in her face. “Eat. The. Fucking. Pizza,” he ground out.
“Fuck you,” she said through gritted teeth.
His brows rose, and he rocked back slightly on his heels, but he didn’t let her go. “That’s fine,” he said after a moment. “You can be pissed at me, at your situation, at the world if you want.” His eyes came to hers, something hard and molten in those emerald depths. “But you’re still eating the goddamned pizza.”
Something inside her snapped.
Maybe it was the slice of pizza an inch from her nose. Maybe it was the divorce filing. Maybe it was her father and Caleb and every other man who’d tried to ingratiate himself into her life.
Who the fuck knew?
What she did know?
That she wasn’t eating the fucking pizza. She didn’t give a shit that it smelled delicious or that it was her favorite or that Luc had been kind enough to bring it to her.
No one had any right to tell her how to live her life.
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
She smacked the plate out of his hand.
She must have surprised him. Hell, she’d surprised herself. She’d never done anything like that before. Never ever. But it was done, and she could only watch as the ceramic disc flew down onto the tile . . . and shattered.
The pizza went one way, the plate’s remnants scattered in a hundred different directions.
Some of the haze of alcohol faded, and shame poured in.
“That was a supremely stupid thing to do,” Luc growled, his eyes going to her bare feet, the glass shards all around. She’d never seen such a furious expression on his face. Not ever.
Tears welled in her eyes, but she didn’t apologize. Couldn’t apologize.
Instead, she just lifted her chin.
And . . . waited for him to leave.
“Fuck,” he hissed, scooping her up. His shoes crunched on the glass as he carried her over the debris of the plate and pizza, moving to the couch and plunking her on it.
“Luc,” she whispered when he tu
rned away, knowing this would be the moment when all of those fears came true, the moment he decided she was too much trouble.
And he would go.
And she would be alone. Again.
His eyes, blazing emeralds, came to hers, but he didn’t say anything.
Instead, he moved back to the kitchen and picked up the shards of ceramic, the ruined slice of pizza, tossed them all in the trash. He retrieved the dustpan she kept beneath the sink, swept the space, and when she started to get up to help, he glared at her, snapped, “Stay.”
She sank back down onto the couch.
Watched in silence as he grabbed the vacuum from the hall closet and ran it over the floor.
Back and forth no less than ten times.
Then he calmly grabbed another plate, filled it with pizza, put the ice cream in the freezer, and topped off her glass.
“Eat,” he ordered again, bringing the wine and pizza over to the coffee table.
She hesitated, and he crossed his arms, fury dancing in his eyes.
Lexi picked up the pizza, took a bite.
Only after she’d chewed and swallowed did he bring his plate over and settle down next to her. Without a word, he turned on the TV, pulled up the reality show she’d been bingeing of late, and they sat in silence as they ate and watched.
As he refilled her glass.
Over and over again, until she shook her head in silent refusal.
Then they sat in that continued silence as he pulled the ice cream back out and got her a fresh spoon.
And stayed quiet . . . when the tears came.
When he wrapped his arms tightly around her as she ruined another one of his shirts.
The silence was only broken when he carried her to bed, brushed a kiss to her forehead, and ordered—more orders—softly, “Sleep.”
Luckily, it was an order she didn’t mind heeding.
She let her eyes close as the blankets were tucked around her, sleep rising up to drag her under.
And in the morning when she woke up, definitely hungover, though not nearly as bad she would have been if Luc hadn’t demanded she eat, she hobbled her way into the kitchen and smelled the coffee he’d made. A greasy breakfast sandwich that she knew instantly would be the best hangover cure ever sat next to the still steaming pot. Sighing in relief, she poured herself a cup, took a sip as she turned, saw the blanket folded neatly on the end of the couch, the pillow next to it.
And next to that . . .
She blinked, crossed over to the coffee table and frowned at the purple hat, almost identical to the ones she ordered last night.
It was propped up next to a bottle of ibuprofen, a note on the wood next to it.
So you can stop drinking.
-L
P.S. You can push me away, but I’m not going anywhere.
She ran her finger over the glittering hat, tiny purple sparkles gathering on the tip. It was just a gift, a silly, what should be meaningless but was instead a ridiculously important gift—because it showed again that he paid attention, that he listened and gave a shit what she said.
Because she was finally getting that it was a gift . . . from the one man in her life who’d proven he would stay.
Chapter Twelve
Luc
It was September, time for a new season.
Fresh beginnings and a chance to start over.
Luc had high hopes for the team. They’d picked up some good players, their rookies were looking good at training camp, and their experienced guys were solid.
“What do you think?” he asked Oliver, when the captain skated up to him, leaning back against the boards as the young guys played on.
Most would spend the majority of their time in the minors.
A few would find permanent positions with the team.
Marcel Aubert was one of them. A talented forward, he would make a good addition to the offense, and while their defense was mostly untried, they had a couple of older players that Luc would be relying on to bring stability.
Oliver nodded. “I’ve got a good feeling about this season. May take us some time to find our groove, but most of the guys are genuinely motivated.”
The most in that sentence was concerning, but when he glanced at Oliver, the other man shook his head. “Just some personality clashes, I think.”
“You let me know if it becomes too much to handle.”
Oliver opened his mouth as though to say something, but then Tommy, the team’s head coach, blew the whistle to gather up the rookies. Oliver straightened, readying himself to skate over and join them.
“You know you don’t have to be here for every practice, right?”
Only a few of the full-time roster guys were here, mostly those recovering from injuries who needed the extra ice time.
Oliver met Luc’s eyes. “Leaders lead by example.”
Then he skated over and joined the players huddled around the red line, taking a knee and giving his full focus to Tommy.
Luc smiled, approval sliding through him.
Yeah, he had a good feeling about this season, too.
She was tentative tonight.
Probably because he hadn’t been alone with her since that night at her apartment, when she’d tried to push him away.
They’d both been busy with work since then, trying to get everything settled for the new season, and though he’d stopped by her office and they’d eaten lunch together with conference calls rolling in the background on speakerphone, they hadn’t spent time like this in nearly a week.
This meaning at one of their places.
This currently meaning his back yard, their feet in the hot tub, and beers in their hands. Along with soft pretzels dunked in the cheese dip he’d picked up on the way home from one of their favorite restaurants.
“Did you . . ?”
He glanced up from where he’d been studying the bubbles in the heated water, and met her gaze, lifted a brow when she hesitated. “Did I what?”
She gestured at the pretzel that remained. “Did you want the last one?”
Since they’d stopped being that polite around each other, stopped the dithering do-you-no-do-you civility a long time ago and just ate what they wanted, Luc waited.
Teeth nibbling into a lush bottom lip. “I mean, if you’re still hungry, then you can—”
“I saved it for you.” He shifted, nudging the plate closer. “I always save it for you.”
Because the woman had a hollow leg and could eat him under the table.
Because he would never deny her anything.
Because she loved these fucking pretzels.
Because he loved her.
“Why?” she whispered.
And he couldn’t tell her that.
Not yet. But . . . they were getting close to that time, to when he would push, when he would make it clear just what he wanted. That gave him the strength to just smile and say, “Because you have a fucking hollow leg and can eat me under the table?”
She nibbled at her bottom lip.
“What?” he asked, smoothing back a strand of her hair.
She didn’t back away, just shook her head and reached for the pretzel.
“I’m not mad,” he said softly. “I wasn’t mad then, and I’m certainly not mad now.”
“You were definitely mad.”
“I was . . . frustrated that you weren’t taking care of yourself,” he told her. “That was all.” He nudged her shoulder as she took a bite. “You were pretty spicy yourself, if you remember.”
“I was a total asshole,” she murmured, dropping the pretzel, shame washing over her face. “You’ve been so nice and understanding and amazing, and I treated you like—”
“No,” he said, stopping with a hand on her wrist.
“Yes,” she countered.
“No,” he said again. “You lost your cool. You’ve had the shit piled on you, and you lost it one time. I’m not a baby. My feelings aren’t hurt. I promise.”
“But it
wasn’t right, and I hurt your feelings . . .”
“No.” He cupped her cheek. “You didn’t. I’m sure there will be a time I freak out, that I lose my cool.” He sure as hell hoped not, but shit happened, and he wasn’t dumb enough to think he was completely immune to it. “You just return the favor when I do, and we’ll be good, okay?”
Her eyes studied his for a long moment.
Then she nodded, released a shaking breath. “Okay.”
“Good,” he grumbled. “Now, eat the fucking pretzel. We need to catch up on our couples.”
For the dumbass reality show she’d hooked him on.
She took a bite of the pretzel, smiled up at him with such warmth in her eyes, such affection, so much that he nearly felt blinded, as though he’d looked into the sun, and he knew he couldn’t tell her he loved her. Not quite yet.
But soon.
Soon, he’d find the perfect time.
Chapter Thirteen
Lexi
She stared at Luc’s back, sweat seeping through his T-shirt, causing it to stick to all those yummy muscles there.
Yummy?
No.
She wasn’t supposed to be thinking anything about Luc was yummy.
He was her friend. That was it.
Even if he was yummy.
He glanced over his shoulder, lifted a brow. “Coming?” he asked.
Yes, she totally could be coming with him, if only she made the first move. Her gaze dipped down to the firm globes of his ass, outlined to a delicious degree in his workout shorts.
Lex froze, forced her gaze back up, shoved the heat away.
Because one, nose wrinkle. When had she gotten into childish innuendos? (Side note: probably right around the time she’d stopped having regular sex). And two, her decision to keep Luc firmly in the realm of friendship meant that she shouldn’t be thinking about yummy muscles and delicious curves and definitely shouldn’t be thinking about anything remotely related to coming.
“Lex,” he said again, his tone teasing, his eyes still on hers. “Did I break you on this paltry hike?”