Skater

by Samantha Whiskey

  Hell, I was just thankful she could, that she felt safe enough not to lay awake worrying, wondering what would happen to her tomorrow.

  She would never have to worry again. Ever. Not if I had anything to say about it.

  I left the pink and purple confection she and Ivy called a bedroom, shutting the door behind me softly.

  Voices carried into the hallway, and I walked into the living room to find Lukas and Porter holding down one side of my couch, and Eric comfortable in the armchair, Pepper curled in his lap.

  Ivy sat at the end of the sectional, her feet tucked under her. Damn, she looked...right. Comfortable. Like she belonged here, at the end of an amazing day, her hair coming undone from her braid, her skin flush with happiness.

  “There he is!” Lukas lifted his beer in salute. “The hero of the hour!”

  “Shhh,” I waved my hand at him. “You wake up Hannah, and I’m dropping her off at your house at 7 a.m.”

  “The hero of the hour,” he repeated in a stage whisper. “The slayer of dragons, and the fiercest of noise code enforcers.”

  “Haha,” I mocked, but smiled. “What are you guys doing here anyway? Not that I’m not happy to have you.”

  “You said you weren’t going out tonight, so we came to you,” Eric answered.

  “Plus the beer is cheaper,” Lukas added with a tilt of his head. “Not that Porter here is partaking.”

  Porter grunted in response.

  With that Swedish accent, Lukas sounded so damn proper that I almost believed he was, but I knew him way too well for that shit.

  “Want one?” I asked Porter as I passed to the kitchen.

  “No thank you,” he hefted his water. “I don’t drink.”

  Huh. I tucked that tidbit away for later examination and opened my frig. “Ivy, you still have a hard cider in here, want it?” I offered, taking out a beer for myself. I’d allow myself one, but not more.

  Lord knew I couldn’t afford the PR nightmare of showing up drunk at an ER in an Uber with Hannah if she had some kind of freak accident in the middle of the night.

  “Yes, please. Oh, and my—”

  “Ice cream?” I finished, knowing she loved her late night sweets.

  “Exactly!” She shot me a grin over her shoulder, and it punched me in the gut, only to travel lower and...stay.

  Shit. I was used to lusting after Ivy. Hell, it was impossible not to. She was pretty much a walking, talking ad for temptation with those lips and the smooth skin of her neck that practically begged for my tongue.

  Are you fucking kidding me? Her neck? Get a damn grip.

  I quickly looked away, grabbing her pint of salted caramel from the freezer, a spoon, and somehow balancing our drinks as I headed back to the living room.

  “My hero!” She exclaimed as she took her ice cream and cider, repeating Lukas’s earlier accolade, but it sounded different coming from her.

  “You keep ice cream for her?” Pepper asked, her eyes taking on a knowing glint. “You know that’s the way to her heart, right?”

  My fingers flexed on the chilled bottle in my hand.

  “Oh, he’s not interested in my heart. Don’t worry. Just my babysitting skills, and sometimes my interior decorating. The ice cream is here because I was sick of his stupid yogurt and kale routine.” Ivy waved her spoon at me before digging into her pint.

  “Hey, kale is good for you,” I fired back, settling into the only empty seat—the one beside her. “And I’m not sure if I’d classify Glitter Explosion from Hell as interior decorating.”

  She quirked an eyebrow at me and dragged the spoon from her mouth slowly.

  Really. Fucking. Slowly.

  Shit, what would those lips feel like wrapped around my cock? I cleared my throat, hoping it would do the same for my thoughts.

  “Every girl needs a little sparkle, Connor,” she told me in all seriousness.

  “On every surface?” I countered. “Pretty sure she could signal space with her bedroom if she flashed her mini-blinds fast enough.”

  Pepper laughed, and Ivy just rolled her eyes.

  “Don’t be dramatic,” she accused.

  “Seriously. NASA called me before the game. They’re worried about the safety of their astronauts. Said something about it blinding them on reentry.” I took a long swig of my beer.

  “I’m not even sure how they could see it with the ego you keep here. I mean, it’s so big it blocks out the sun. They should be more worried that you’re blocking the signal beacons all the way in Florida.” She batted her eyelashes at me.

  I laughed.

  I’d never before had so much fun giving her shit. Then again, I’d always done it out of anger, not fun.

  Lukas took over the conversation, and I looked at Pepper and Eric, willing myself to remember why I had to keep Ivy at a distance. Why she was dangerous to me.

  But every time I thought about it—her outing Eric and Pepper—I was less and less angry. She had to have a good reason right?

  Or was it blatant jealousy over their happiness?

  By the time the impromptu gathering was at an end a couple of hours later, I was still rolling the question over and over in my head.

  “You ready to go, Ivy?” Pepper asked as the group filed toward the door.

  “Wait one second,” I blurted. “I actually have a present for you.”

  Her eyes widened. “You what?”

  “Present,” I muttered. “You know, for being so awesome with Hannah since you won’t let me pay you.”

  “Of course you’re not paying me,” she said, her back going ramrod straight as she stood from the couch. “Hannah isn’t a job.”

  Well, shit.

  “Not what I meant,” I said defensively. “I just wanted...you know what? Just come with me.”

  I led her to what was now Hannah’s study, aka, the previous beer pong room.

  “I love this room,” she said with an appreciative sigh at the white bookcases filled with children’s books and the wide, matching desk.

  “Me, too. I hope I can find another one she likes just as well.” I opened the closet door and reached for the box at the top of the highest shelf.

  “You’re moving?” she asked with a higher pitch to her voice.

  “Don’t worry,” I teased, retrieving the box. “I’m not getting traded and leaving you high and dry without someone to torture. Just thinking about what the social worker said about there not being a yard here, or kids her age. Think it’s time for me to grow up and buy a house. I’m actually meeting with the realtor tomorrow.”

  “Damn, and here I was thinking you were perpetually Peter Pan.”

  I turned to find her only a few feet away, looking up at me with those amnesia-inducing eyes.

  “I have a kid now, remember? No Peter Pan, here.”

  She shrugged, crossing her arms under her breasts, which brought her cleavage to the neckline of her Jackson jersey. “She’s the perfect Tinkerbell.”

  “And that would make you who? Wendy?” Not going to lie, the thought was becoming more appealing with every moment I spent with her.

  “Nah,” she answered. “I’m done with lost boys.”

  Right. Because she’d been with Crosby. He knew what it was like to kiss her, to hold her, to slip between those long legs and—

  “So what’s in the box?” she asked softly.

  I shook my head. “The present. Right. I just wanted to say thank you for what you did for Hannah today. Every day, really, but especially today.” I motioned to where the shadow box on the wall was noticeably missing a jersey.

  “You’re not mad?” she asked, scrunching her nose in a way that made her way too fucking adorable for my peace of mind.

  “Not in the least.”

  She swept her tongue over her lips, a nervous gesture, I was sure, but still sexy as hell.

  “It was important, though, right? Because it was framed.”

  “It was the jersey I wore in my first Shark game.”

/>   She gasped and bit her lip. “Oh, shit.”

  “She’s my first niece, so it’s actually really fitting if you think about it. And the first girl to wear my jersey to a game.” My lips quirked at the memory.

  “So not true, you liar,” Ivy fired back with a teasing huff and a roll of her eyes. “I’ve seen hundreds—literally hundreds—of women at any moment wearing your jersey in that rink. It’s not like I don’t go to games.”

  “Fine, then she’s the first girl I’ve ever loved to wear my jersey. Better?”

  Her gaze slammed into mine, and the air between us crackled. “Really?”

  “Really. I’ve only ever loved my sister and Hannah. That’s it. The first time I saw her wearing my jersey I just about melted in a puddle.”

  “Yeah, it’s a claiming thing, right?” her voice took on a sharper edge. “Like you own her because your name is on her back?”

  I bit back my first instinct, which was to engage. Attack. Snap back like we usually did to each other.

  “No,” I said slowly. “Because growing up, that name meant trash. Unwanted. And there I was, an NHL player, and there she was, with her own last name on a jersey that said it was worth something. I was worth something. Our name was worth something. It wasn’t my first game, I’d already seen bunnies wearing the jersey, but Hannah...she’s the only person I’ve ever seen wear my number who I knew would choose me over everyone else in that rink. She wasn’t wearing it because I was a hockey player, or because she was mine, but because I was hers. There’s a difference, Ivy.”

  Her lips parted, and she looked at me like she’d never seen me before. Like I was a stranger, some anomaly that had appeared randomly.

  “Oh,” was all she said.

  “What?” I asked, dropping my voice to match the mood of the moment.

  “Nothing. You just...you surprise me. Every time I think I have you pegged, you throw me for a loop.”

  Her eyes dropped to my lips.

  Before I could even process my instant, overwhelming need to kiss her, she pointed to the box I still held between us.

  “Present?” Her smile was shaky.

  “Oh. Right. Shit. Now it feels stupid. You know what? Never mind.” Now it felt loaded. Like I was saying something I really wasn’t. Like I was crossing lines we hadn’t even drawn because we’d never needed boundaries as much as we needed a no man’s land.

  “Oh no, I want it.” She reached for the box.

  “No, really, it’s nothing,” I pulled it back.

  “You can’t take back a present!” She exclaimed with a yank.

  “I haven’t given it to you, so it’s not taking it back,” I reminded her with a tug.

  “Stop acting five-years old and give me my present!” She gripped the box so tight it crumpled on her end.

  “Now who is acting five?” I shot back.

  “Ugh!” she complained, and I let her have it when she pulled.

  She stumbled backward, and I caught her by the elbows before she could crash into the desk.

  “For fuck’s sake, be careful!”

  “For fuck’s sake, stop being so aggravating!” She huffed, blowing a stray strand of blonde hair from over her eyes.

  God, even pissed, she was beautiful. Maybe even moreso.

  “Fine. Have it!”

  “Fine! I will!” She ripped the box open and stared at the contents. “It’s a jersey.”

  I couldn’t read her face at this angle. Couldn’t see if she was astonished or bored. With Ivy, that tone could mean anything.

  “Yep.” And now I felt stupid. The woman was rich in her own right. Her dad was a damned NHL coach, and I’d handed her a fucking jersey.

  She put the box on the desk and removed the gift, holding it up and reminding me that it would dwarf her. Maybe not as badly as Hannah, but still. Ivy wasn’t exactly over six feet and a couple hundred pounds.

  “It’s your jersey.”

  “Yep.”

  Jesus, this was getting awkward. “Look, I just saw that you always wear different jerseys to the games, except when you were always wearing—”’

  She shot me a look that warned me against finishing that sentence.

  Crosby’s.

  “Anyway, I hadn’t seen you wear mine, and thought maybe you didn’t have one, so just in case you ever want to do a matching thing with Hannah like you did with your hair today or whatever.” I ran my hands over my hair and begged my mouth to shut up so my brain could catch up.

  And if she looked at me like that for any longer, I was going to find out exactly how she tasted.

  “Ivy, you coming?” Pepper asked, breaking the spell.

  “Yeah, just one second!” Ivy answered. As if she sensed the moment was getting too real, she gave me a dazzling, flirty smile. “You know, I do actually own one of your jerseys.”

  “You do?” My voice inched toward cracking as she stepped forward, invading my personal space in every possible way.

  “Yep. I use it all the time.”

  She used it? To get herself off? To sleep in? To curl up and watch tv with my name on her back? Shit, I was going to come without ever having kissed her.

  “You do?”

  “Yep,” she responded. She rose on her toes and brushed her lips across my cheek. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” I was just about to tell her why that one was special when she retreated.

  At the door, she turned around, a laugh on her lips. “After all, I need something to dry my car with after I wash it.”

  She left me standing there, speechless as always.

  Chapter 6

  Ivy

  “And this one has a pool and waterfall combo with a glass enclosure to ensure privacy,” the realtor said as she walked ahead of us into the home. She glanced over her shoulder, eyes on Connor. “I remember that was on your must-have list.”

  He nodded, eyes scanning the interior of the fifth home we’d toured today. I’d been shocked when he’d asked me to tag along, but not when he’d told me he was doing this for Hannah. With the shift in his life, he knew he had to buckle up and be what Hannah needed—not that he hadn’t been before—but buying a stable home instead of his pure bachelor sex pad was the first step.

  “You see things I don’t when it comes to Hannah. What she needs.” He’d said on the phone when he’d asked. I knew he was referring to the continuous gifts I showered on Hannah—clothes and hair-ties and bows. Warm socks for the rink and special treats on Saturdays. Sure, she didn’t technically need all those things—in reality, all she needed was for her uncle to love her no matter what, to be there for her, be her stability in a world that kept tilting—but he already was that. Or at least he was trying. It had to be hard going from the occasional provider who was a celebrity athlete on his solo nights to never having another solo night again in the span of a blink.

  Which is what had softened me enough to agree to help him.

  Because for Hannah, there wasn’t a whole lot I wouldn’t do, and that was one thing Connor and I had in common.

  “And,” the realtor went on as we came to pause in the great room. She pointed toward the staircase. “This one has a spa tub big enough for two.” She gave Connor and me a wink. “Important for newlyweds, you know.”

  Connor choked on air.

  I managed a sweet laugh as I placed my hand delicately on his chest. “Does the master have a separate shower with bench seating?” I asked. “Because that is crucial for us, right honey?” I batted my lashes at Connor, totally loving how gaped at me.

  Loosen up a little, Bridgerton.

  The guy had a constant stick up his ass, and I was more than ready to see him lose it, even for a few moments.

  “Right…uh…love,” he said, the words rushed and forced from his tongue. I knew from our intense convo last night that the man had never told another woman—besides Hannah—he loved her.

  With his track record of bed-hopping, I had doubted it anyway.

  Well,
we had that in common then, too.

  “It does!” The realtor said, fishing out her cell and tapping across the screen.

  “Can my wife and I have a few minutes to look around?” Connor asked, shifting to slide his arm around my shoulders. Warm chills raked across my skin, little electric bursts that popped when he rubbed circles along my bare skin where my tanktop ended.

  “Of course,” she said, flashing us another wink as she headed toward the front porch that wrapped around the house. “I’ll be out here if you have any questions. Take your time!” She hollered as she closed the door behind her.

  Connor didn’t immediately drop his arm, and I didn’t immediately step out of his embrace. Instead, we stood in a charged silence where neither of us looked at the other. We simply surveyed the great room before us—rich hardwood floors, custom built-ins on the focal wall, soaring vaulted ceilings.

  “Hannah’s unicorn picture book collection would fit perfectly there,” I said finally breaking the silence and pointing toward the built-ins. “And,” I continued, trying like hell to ignore how nice it felt to have a warm body so close to mine as he continued to hold me against his side. “You could do a couch chaise combo there,” I said. “And a study nook over here.” I motioned toward the other side of the room that was nothing but wide-open space and gorgeous bay windows.

  I drew my gaze back to him, finally working up the courage to meet his eyes—those stunning, dark, deep eyes. They were locked on mine, the hard lines softer as he stared at me wide-eyed.

  “What?” I asked, almost a whisper.

  He blinked a few times as if the word had popped some bubble around him, and he took a step back. Then another, leaving the space where he’d been cold.

  “Nothing,” he said, chuckling. “That was funny.” He motioned toward the front door where the realtor likely waited. “That she thought that we were…” he pointed between us. “We were…”

  “Fucking?”

  He jolted before arching a brow at me, his eyes dropping to my lips for a few seconds too long. “That mouth of yours.”

  A warm shiver trailed the length of my body.

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “I never speak like that around Hannah.”