by Lavinia Kent
“But…” She still wasn’t sure why Anne wasn’t taking care of these things.
Charlotte’s tone changed. “If I wanted to waste time, I wouldn’t have called you. I seriously do need it now.”
Wow. That had been an abrupt shift; she wasn’t quite sure what had happened, but clearly something had changed her sister’s mood. Still, she would do what she’d agreed to and just spend the time dreaming of de-stressing tonight. “Fine, give me whatever I need and tell me who to talk to and I’ll go.”
* * *
—
I’m thinking you should stay for a drink after bringing Baxter back tonight? We need to talk about the wedding. ;)
And what the hell did that mean? Brian stared at his phone. It might be good, but then…She might be going to tell him that she’d thought about it and decided it was unwise that they go together. He’d halfway been expecting her to text him that ever since the night of the Petersens’ party. And to be honest, he’d considered texting it to her.
But a drink? A drink sounded friendly, didn’t sound like a brush-off—although she’d already given him the brush-off, so…
But then, what guy didn’t hate “we need to talk”?
He glanced down at Baxter. He’d been surprised when she called, actually called, this morning and asked if he’d mind keeping Baxter for the evening, explaining that she had a couple of unexpected errands to run. He’d agreed with little reluctance. The only thing on his schedule was a workout and run and then hitting the books. And while Baxter might not be the best companion for a run, he was great company for studying. He could curl up under the table for hours, and Brian didn’t mind the occasional snore.
Baxter was, however, no help at all in figuring out Veronica and why she’d say she wasn’t interested—and then flirt a little. Although the dog did make it clear that she could be a pushover. She’d do just about anything for the drooling beast.
He looked at his phone again and typed his reply. Sure. Txt me when you’re arriving and I’ll come over. Work for you?
He hit Send.
Waited.
Waited.
Well, clearly she wasn’t going to answer immediately. There was probably a good reason. She had been the one to start this conversation. Maybe she was driving? Or eating lunch? Or…? Well, it didn’t matter, there were numerous times that he texted something when he only had a moment and then got busy and didn’t reply for hours.
It was just that she’d invaded his thoughts now and that was making it hard to study.
Chemistry.
It was another class he’d done decently in during college, but now had to relearn. Still, he took a deep breath. He did know how to focus, how to clear his mind of everything but the task at hand.
He opened the book to a page of questions and started to write out his answers.
It took a minute or two, but he found his inner place and let his mind become engrossed in the work. He barely noticed when Baxter shifted to lie across his feet.
His phone buzzed—the long, intermittent buzz of a call, not a text.
Veronica? His mind cleared.
He grabbed the phone.
The Boss flashed across the screen.
Matt “The Boss” McIntire. One of his favorite teammates, although they’d only played together for a year before Matt retired after one too many concussions.
He hit Accept. “Hey.”
“Hey, yourself,” Matt answered. “How’s it going?”
“Fine,” he said, as expected, although he knew that Matt was actually looking for more than that. Ever since his own forced retirement, Matt had taken an interest in being there for other players forced out by injury. Brian appreciated the sentiment, but he wanted to scream that there was a big difference between being forced out at twenty-seven after a half dozen years in the NHL and being forced out at thirty-five after more than a decade of play. It had taken a long time, and changing medical criteria, for The Boss to be retired.
“Really? I’m surprised you haven’t been back in town, with training camp beginning. I would’ve thought you’d be the type of guy to be here arguing with the doctors—or at least seeing if you could try doing some coaching.”
Silence. Brian sought the right words. “I did hound the docs for a bit, but I looked at the X-rays and MRIs too and I’m not a fool. I might wish I could play again, but not when I’ll never be good enough to be a starter. And I’ve no desire to sit on the bench as a backup—or never even get to suit up.”
It was Matt’s turn to be silent for a moment, then, “I guess I’m glad you understand that. I wish I’d realized it a few years earlier. Every time I go in for a brain scan I’m terrified of the damage I might have done. Every time I forget a word or do something clumsy, I worry.”
Brian had never thought of that, never considered it. He might be searching for a new life, but at least he didn’t have to worry about what was happening inside his head—except for those thoughts involving Veronica and what he’d like to do with her. “I’m sorry about that.”
“Fuck. I didn’t mean to turn the conversation. I was actually calling about you. I’ve thought about heading down that way and I thought we could catch up.”
“Sure.” He wasn’t quite sure he was ready for contact with his old life, but what else could he say? “It would be great to hang out. I should warn you, though, I’m pretty busy.”
“Walking dogs? You do know I’m capable of walking, right?” A low laugh.
“Sorry. Of course. Actually, I’m busy studying.”
“Studying? Now, that’s something I haven’t heard about. I thought you already got your degree.”
Brian hadn’t meant to let this develop into a conversation. “I did, but I guess I’ve forgotten a lot. I need to have it all fresh in my mind.”
“That sounds intriguing. Are you going to share?”
“I hadn’t planned on it, but why not. I am planning on applying to med school. It’s still all an idea at the moment. I feel silly when I talk about it. It seems like a stretch, a lot of hard work for an uncertain result.”
Matt laughed hard and deep.
That was not the response he’d been expecting—and it caught him off guard.
Matt must have sensed his discomfort. The laughter suddenly stopped. “I was just thinking that you were describing most people’s reaction to becoming a professional athlete—that it’s all a pipe dream. Even when you have talent, great talent, so many people spend their time telling you why it won’t work.”
“That’s true.” And it really was. He’d been told so many times that he’d never make it.
“And yet you don’t let it stop you. I know I didn’t. It was all about putting in the work day after day. You might have to be born with the ability, but if you don’t put in the hours, the effort, it doesn’t matter. So if this is what you want, I know you’ll do what it takes to get there. You can do anything. I know you can.”
“Anything except get back on the ice.” Brian couldn’t hold back the bitterness that filled his tone.
“You can do that too—although not the way you mean. But you could coach, or maybe even play on a local team.”
A long sigh. “There’s some truth to that, but it’s still more risk than I want to take.
They were both quiet, filled with memories.
Brian spoke. “I tried once, going to a rink, getting on the ice. It didn’t hurt, my muscles almost cried with relief at doing what they were supposed to do, but it was still torture. All I could think of was what I’d lost, what I’d never have again. It’s what made me move here. I wanted a fresh start. I hated running into people who constantly reminded me that I’d never play again. I knew I needed to find something else that could give me that same feeling. Hence, my crazy idea.”
“It’s not so crazy, no
t if it’s what you want—and I do understand. I can’t say I see how med school and skating are the same, but I know what you mean about searching for that feeling. I do still skate. I take my niece to practice. She’s good, really good. But you’re right that it’s not the same. I’ll always skate, but it lacks something when nobody is chasing me down the ice as fast as they can.”
There wasn’t much Brian could say to that. There was nothing like actually playing.
Matt sighed loudly. “But now I am depressing us both. So should I head your way in the next few weeks, give you a little company?”
“Sure, come down here and we’ll grab a beer. I should make time while I have it. Who knows what life will be like if I get into med school.”
“I’ll make plans and give you a call. I’m glad you’re looking toward the future and not the past. It sounds like you know what you’re doing.”
Brian stared at the pile of books beside his laptop. “Not so sure about that, but I’m trying.”
“That’s all any of us can do. Just try. And maybe have a bit of fun on the side. You never seemed to have a problem with that.”
No, he never had. But now—Veronica floated into his mind again. She still hadn’t texted back.
“Well, I’ll say goodbye, then,” Matt said. “I can cross off my good deed of the day.”
“I knew there had to be a reason you called. What’s your future plan? Becoming a saint?”
They both laughed and hung up.
Brian kept staring at his phone. Was she ever going to text back?
Chapter 8
She should text Brian that she was home. Veronica stared at her phone and debated. She’d been right that they needed to talk—and besides, it was unfair that she forced him to keep Baxter longer than necessary, although he seemed to be genuinely bonding with her dog. Something she refused to feel jealous about. Far too much of the time she’d been running errands had been spent thinking about him.
At least that had been better than spending her time thinking about her position in the firm or Charlotte’s wedding. Damn Charlotte. She was most of why Veronica still wasn’t relaxed. Their conversation when she’d finished with the errands had been even worse than the one at the beginning. She’d managed to straighten a few things up though, including being sure that she was sitting with Brian at the reception—Brian.
She clearly wasn’t succeeding in putting him in her past and her body certainly wanted him in her future—and in her present. Damn, but she wanted him now, right now. If only they could reach an understanding, make sure that this was just for fun and nobody’s business but theirs, then maybe she’d be ready to proceed.
Proceed.
She clenched her thighs tight.
Was she going to have sex with him again tonight?
Would he want to? Did a man ever say no? She had the feeling that Brian was more than capable of it.
She put her phone down on the counter and looked around her condo. She hadn’t noticed a smell of dog when she came in. There were fresh flowers on the table, something she did for herself, but she admitted they helped to set a mood—although who knows whether he even cared about mood.
She walked upstairs to her cozy bedroom. Hmm. Was he even going to see it? He hadn’t last time. Still, if things went as she imagined, there was a good chance he might. She gathered a few pieces of scattered laundry and put them in the hamper, straightened the sheets and handcrafted quilt.
That was everything. Well, almost everything.
She glanced down at herself, considered. Jeans and a new T-shirt with a relatively plain bra and panties underneath, nothing like what she’d been wearing to the party those weeks ago. Her mind filled with the look on his face as he’d stared at her. It had been powerful.
Her bra and panties did match—kind of. They were both beige.
Change? Was that also trying too hard? Did men even notice, or did they think women always wore lacey lingerie under their clothing? Did they even care?
Again, her mind filled with the look on Brian’s face, that deep, intense stare. Yes, he cared.
She started to pull off her T-shirt. Stopped. No, if this was going to happen, it would be casual. He could take her as he found her.
Take her. That only planted more images in her mind.
Lifting her phone off the counter, she typed, I’m home.
* * *
—
Brian’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He resisted the urge to pull it out immediately, trying to deny how eager he was. He might be feeling a little desperate to get back into Veronica’s pants, but he also had his own life to live. He forced himself to finish reading the page, forced himself to pay enough attention to take notes.
There, that was done. He’d hit his target for the day.
He pulled out his phone.
I’m home.
Simple—and oh so sweet. Actually, it wasn’t any different than what she texted most nights when she was ready for Baxter to return. Although mostly she texted that she was leaving the train station—did it mean anything that she’d texted from home? He was overanalyzing this.
On our way, he texted back. That too was an everyday reply and yet it felt like there was so much more to it with every letter that he typed.
As usual, Baxter showed little interest in his leash, but came willingly enough to his feet. He’d grown used to the routine and learned, after that first night, that Brian had no intention of carrying him.
Still, it took the usual twenty minutes to manage the mile from his aunt’s house to Veronica’s condo. Baxter might be willing to move, but he was rarely willing to hurry, except on the beach. Brian had discovered that he would move at a slow trot on damp sand.
He was distracting himself from what was coming. Was he making too much of an assumption that Veronica was willing to reevaluate things between them? He wasn’t sure.
And despite a whole day of thought, he wasn’t sure how he felt. He did like her—far more than he should, given how little he knew of her. But that didn’t mean he liked how she’d made him feel.
Not at all.
But maybe he’d read too much into that too. She’d never actually said anything negative, it was how he’d taken her comments.
And he was a big believer in forgiving and forgetting, particularly when a smokin’ hot woman was involved.
They reached her home and started up the stairs. He’d expected her to be sitting on the steps like she had been that first night. A shiver of disappointment slipped through him that she wasn’t. He didn’t like it. There was no reason he should be feeling like this. No reason at all.
He rapped on the door and almost instantly she pulled it open. A light scent of lilacs surrounded him. She’d bothered to put on perfume. He’d been around enough women to tell it had been freshly applied.
“Come on in,” she said, before bending to give Baxter some serious loving.
Brian wouldn’t have minded a greeting like that, not one little bit. He stood awkwardly for a moment, just watching them.
She looked up. “Do you want a drink? I’m having a glass of wine. It was a long day.”
“Oh?”
A wry smile formed on her face. “My sister, Charlotte—the one whose wedding we’re going to—called this morning to ask for my help picking up a few things she needed. She rarely asks for my help, so I couldn’t say no. And maybe I hoped that she wanted to spend some time with me, do something sisterly before her wedding, but mostly it was me running errands. And to be honest, she seemed so stressed that it’s probably for the best. Her mood was completely unpredictable. At the end, she did finally confirm that I’m not a bridesmaid and that she’ll move me from the head table if I want to sit with you. I wasn’t sure if that was a threat or if she was trying to be nice. She really was bouncing between seeming like the sister I�
��d always dreamed of and being somebody who acted like we barely knew each other.”
That got his head spinning. Well, he guessed they were still going to the wedding. He’d have to be sure that they talked about it tonight, that he understood what to wear and exactly what she wanted from him. But bridesmaid? How could she not know? And he did hope that she didn’t plan to leave him trapped at a table of elderly aunts while she sat with her family. That was not at all what he’d agreed to. “You didn’t know if you were a bridesmaid?” was all he asked.
“I know it sounds crazy.” She poured her glass of wine and tilted the bottle toward him. Why not? He was pretty sure he wasn’t going to get any more studying done tonight.
“Sure,” he answered.
Her hair fell forward as she poured, and he could only stare at the clean sweep of dark curls and that T-shirt. What was it about breasts in a tight T-shirt? They never failed to leave him curious. And he was more than ready to see Veronica’s again. He hadn’t gotten enough time to fully appreciate them last time. If he’d known how things would go, he’d have taken it much more slowly so that he’d have more than a couple of shadowed flashbacks to remember.
She raised her head and handed him his glass—and she definitely saw him staring at her breasts. A light flush rose on her cheeks, but she made no comment.
Settling back against the counter, she said, “I knew Charlotte hadn’t asked me to be a bridesmaid, and to be frank I hadn’t expected her to. I mean, I did used to date the groom, and frankly, she and I have never had that type of relationship. Besides, she has a bunch of great friends from college and law school. But then somebody made a comment and I needed to be sure I hadn’t missed anything—and it took me longer than it should have to pin her down. It’s such a weird thing to have to ask. It would have been awful if she was depending on me and I wasn’t there—even if she’d never said anything to me.”
“I guess so.” He had to admit he didn’t actually understand about brides and bridesmaids, but he would take her word for it. And what had that been about her dating the groom?