Skater

by Samantha Whiskey

  He furrowed his brow, taking a step toward me.

  Always one step forward one step back.

  “I wasn’t worried,” he said. “I know how amazing you are with her.” He sighed like the words were physically draining. “I’m fully aware of the shit I’d be in if it wasn’t for you.”

  “And Faith,” I said, shrugging.

  “Right, but you and Hannah.” He smiled. “You have something. Like you operate on the same frequency.”

  I grinned at that. “This,” I said. “Is true.” I reached for his hand, grabbing it before he could back away again, and dragged him up the stairs. “And since I know her so well,” I said as we reached the second story. “I’ll know exactly if her bedroom is big enough.”

  He chuckled softly as I tugged him down a hallway. “Your ideas about big enough and mine differ.”

  I halted outside a guest suite, craning my neck to flash him a smirk I usually saved for my friends. “Well, we’ve never quite figured that out, have we?” I stepped into the room, bee-lining it for the closet.

  “Were we supposed to?” His voice was low and just gruff enough to send heat pooling in my core. I could feel him behind me, the warmth from his body, the smell of him filling the room. God, why did my body have to want his so badly? Was he feeling it too because it’d been so long for him as well? With Hannah with him nearly twenty-four-seven the last five weeks, he’d had to change his lifestyle almost immediately.

  I reached for the closet handle. “Moment of truth,” I said, ignoring his question. I swung open the door. “Yes!” I squealed, clapping my hands together as I rushed inside the walk-in. “Now this is a proper closet!”

  Connor followed me inside, slowly turning in a circle to survey the space. “She’s five,” he said, glancing down at me. “You know that right?”

  I crossed my arms over my chest, stepping into his space, not backing down an inch despite how damn tall and lean the man was. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

  “I…” he rose his arms, indicating the space big enough for a small sofa and all her clothes. “She…” he dropped his arms. “Never mind. You’re right.”

  I grinned. “Did you just have a stroke?”

  He laughed, and I was shocked at how free and easy the sound was. “Maybe.”

  I stepped around him, unable to not brush my body across his as I headed for the door. I swore I heard him hiss.

  “Let’s check out the master,” I called over my shoulder as I headed across the hall. “It’s the perfect distance to Hannah’s room,” I said, stepping into the massive suite. “And it has a killer view of the pool.” I peeked through the opened window and down, noting the glass enclosed pool below. It wasn’t hard to imagine his ripped body cutting through the water as quickly and gracefully as he shredded the ice.

  “Nice,” he said, glancing over my head.

  “Perfect yard for a dog, too,” I said before heading toward the bathroom. I eyed the marble tub and separate shower. “Hell yes,” I said, climbing into the tub and sinking down. “Now this is the life,” I said, closing my eyes. “I should’ve been a hockey player.”

  Connor cleared his throat, and I popped my eyes open.

  “Comfy?” He asked.

  “See for yourself,” I said, gesturing for him to join me.

  His brows climbed up his head.

  “Oh come on,” I teased him. “We’re married, remember? This is part of the life.”

  “Well,” he said, smiling. “In that case.” He climbed in, his massive body dominating the space so much he had to shift my legs over his as he faced me from the opposite side. I gasped at the warmth of his hands on my calves, my shorts hiking up ever so slightly. All it would take would be a few more tugs from him and I’d be straddling his lap. Feeling the strength of him beneath me as I rode...

  God damn this was a bad idea.

  Playing around was one thing.

  Feeling his touch and craving more…that was dangerous territory.

  And I needed to stay out of the danger zone for the next decade or so.

  “She wasn’t lying,” Connor said, arching his head back against the tub. “This is definitely a perk. Maybe not as big as the pool, but a perk.”

  “You and the need for a pool.”

  “I like to swim laps to relax. How else do you think I keep this toned physique?”

  “Yeah,” I said, hating how breathless I sounded. “And look.” I pointed over his shoulder. “There’s a linen closet. Perfect spot to hide your box of sex toys so Hannah doesn’t find them.”

  He jolted, eyeing me.

  “What?” I asked innocently. “You can’t just keep the box under your bed anymore,” I chided him. “You want to have to explain why Uncle Connor has handcuffs?”

  He cringed, shaking his head. “Hell no. They’ll go on the top shelf.”

  “Smart man.”

  “Sometimes,” he said, and the weight in his tone hit me right in the chest.

  “I’m only messing with you, Connor,” I said, playfully grabbing his knee. “You’re doing amazing. Seriously. Above and beyond for that girl. She thinks you hung the damn moon.”

  He eyed my hand, and I snatched it back.

  “Did you just compliment me?” he asked, a smirk on his lips.

  “I…” I rolled my eyes. “Maybe. Don’t get used to it.”

  “I won’t.” He laughed.

  I sighed, glancing around the room, my muscles relaxing almost as if the tub was filled with steaming hot water, bubbles, and Connor sans clothes.

  Hot damn.

  “You’re amazing with her, too, you know,” Connor said, his voice quiet somehow. “You’ve got insane mothering instincts.”

  I snorted, and instantly covered my mouth with my hand, my eyes apologetic as he glared at me. “I’m sorry,” I said through my laughter. “Thank you for saying that but it’s not true.”

  He furrowed his brow, quickly shifting from the softer Connor to the growley one. I couldn’t decide which one was sexier.

  “I’m only good with Hannah because we’re the same,” I said. “And because I’m not with her full-time like a real mom would be. I’m actually terrible at nurturing,” I continued. “I’ve killed every plant I’ve ever owned.”

  “But you’re more than a babysitter with Hannah,” he argued.

  “She tells me when she’s hungry,” I said, a lump in my throat at his declaration. “Or if she needs something.” I sighed. “Give me a real baby and I wouldn’t know what the hell to do.”

  He chuckled. “What about a dog?” He asked, motioning toward the bedroom where I’d admired the huge backyard. “They’re kind of like practice babies.”

  “Again, I’d ruin it.” I smiled. “I adore Rookie, Chloe and Bentley’s bulldog, but actually owning one?” I sighed again. “I’d find a way to lose it or starve it or something.”

  “You severely underestimate yourself,” he said.

  “We can’t all have a Sharks’ ego.” I shrugged. “I have always wanted a dog, though. Like Chloe’s but instead of white I’d want a gray-dapple english bulldog with blue eyes.” I smiled. “And I’d name her Prince Sparkle Snort and we’d grow old together and live happily ever after.”

  A laugh ripped from Connor’s lips—so genuine and real that it sent warm chills soaring across my skin.

  “Princess Sparkle Snort?”

  “And?” I asked, unable to stop the smile on my face.

  “You can’t name a bulldog that.”

  “I can do whatever I want,” I said. “It’s my fake-dog.”

  “Touche,” he said, and leaned his head back against the marble, reeling in his laughter. “I think this is the one,” he said.

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Sweet,” I said, shifting to stand. “I would’ve hated having to pretend to be your wife at another one of these.” I offered him my hand like he needed it to stand.

  He took it anyway and rose until he t
owered above me as we stood in the tub.

  “I only asked you to help me pick a perfect place for Hannah. I never asked you to be my wife.”

  I laughed. “Could you imagine?” I asked, shaking my head.

  “We’d slaughter each other,” he said, his tone soft.

  “Demolished.”

  Why was my heart racing?

  “Pure torture.” He darted his tongue out to wet his lips, and I had a hard time not imagining what that tongue would feel like inside me.

  “Good thing we’re just pretending.” I grabbed one of his broad shoulders and used it as an anchor to step out of the tub, but his hands instantly flew to my hips, his strong grip hefting me out of the tub in a blink. He gently sat me on my feet, but his fingers lingered on the silk of my shorts long enough to steal my breath.

  One reach, one tiptoe upward and I could taste him.

  I blinked out of the fantasy and stepped out of his touch.

  “Good thing,” he finally muttered after I’d made my way out of the bathroom. He waited a few minutes before following me down the stairs toward the front door.

  Hand on the knob, I smiled up at him as he hit the last step. “Don’t worry about her,” I said, motioning my head toward where the realtor had to be waiting on us. “She won’t say anything,” I said. “About us. Plus, people tend to believe what they want about celebs anyway.”

  “I wasn’t worried,” he said, covering my hand with his when I’d frozen at the door. I moved so he could open it, watching as he sauntered onto the front porch and spoke with his realtor.

  He may not have been worried, but I sure as hell was.

  Because these annoying fantasies that had plagued me for weeks were shifting from pure sex to something…more.

  And when it came to Connor, more was exactly what I didn’t need.

  Chapter 7

  Connor

  “So you bought a house in four days?” Ivy asked as we stood in my new kitchen.

  My new kitchen. Man, no matter how many times I said it to myself, it didn’t feel real.

  “Yep,” I answered as she gawked up at me, her arms crossed under her breasts.

  “Four days. That’s impossible unless you know someone who makes you an offer you can’t refuse,” she finished in a freakishly good Godfather impression.

  “Not if you pay cash,” my realtor sang as she walked into the room, her heels clicking on my hardwood. “Then it’s pretty darn simple, especially if you’re willing to pay for a rush.”

  “You paid cash?” Ivy asked in a tone that implied I’d committed murder.

  “He sure did!” Lisa, my realtor, jingled the keys as she set down a folder on the kitchen island. “Here are your closing docs, all signed by the builder, recorded and ready for your filing cabinet. And no worries, once you guys feel...secure in your new marriage, we’ll get you added to the title,” she finished, giving Ivy a wink. “I know how public life can be pretty stressful for celebrities.”

  “I’m just a hockey player,” I muttered, flipping through the sales documents again.

  “And one of this year’s Seattle’s Most Eligible Bachelors,” she reminded me. “Though I guess you’re not eligible anymore, are you? And you work for the Sharks, too, right?” She looked toward Ivy.

  “No, that’s actually my sister. I’m a columnist with the Seattle Chronicle.”

  “Oh.” Lisa’s lips pursed. “Well, I guess if you ever lack content, your life is the ultimate scoop, right?”

  “Right.” Ivy’s cheeks flushed pink.

  The front door opened, and the sounds of our friends arriving echoed in the empty space of the house.

  “Holy Suburbia,” Porter mumbled as he entered the open-concept family room which led to the kitchen.

  “Very domestic,” Lukas agreed, surveying the architecture.

  “But empty,” Pepper noted as Eric nodded beside her.

  “I like it,” Bentley added. “At least all two rooms I’ve seen.”

  “My room is the best!” Hannah exclaimed as she ran into the kitchen from the back set of stairs. Her hair was wrapped up in a crown of braids and her feet were bare. “My closet is bigger than my old bedroom!”

  I didn’t ask her if she’d meant with Jess or my old place, and honestly, I didn’t want to know. It had been six weeks since Jess walked out, and there had still been no word from the private investigator I’d hired.

  “Show me!” Pepper demanded with feigned shock.

  Hannah grabbed Pepper’s hand, and the two disappeared up the stairs while Lisa did the holy-shit-they’re-actually-twins doubletake between Pepper and Ivy.

  “Told you. Girls are all about the closet,” Ivy sent me a smirk that gave me that same gut-punch mixture of annoyance and lust. I hated that she was right just as much as I was grateful for her rightness.

  Couldn’t anything about her be easy?

  “Well, I’ll just get out of your hair,” Lisa announced, putting some of her business cards next to my closing paperwork. “Just in case any of you need anything,” she said toward the guys, patting the stack of cards. I could practically see the dollar signs bouncing around in her eyes. “And Connor, you just let me know when you want to sell that little condo of yours, and we’ll get it on the market.”

  Right. The condo. I’d concentrated so hard on buying this place I’d forgotten about the one I already owned, not that it was worth even five percent of what I’d spent on this house.

  “Porter, you looking for a place?” Eric asked the hulking defenseman.

  “Me? Hell, no. I already bought a penthouse downtown. It’s close to the rink and a damn sight more comfortable than that shoebox you were in. No offense.” He shrugged.

  “None taken. Not all of us get paid your salary.” The guy made a couple mil a year more than I did, but he was the best shutdown defenseman in the NHL. I still couldn’t believe Ontario had let him go, and though I knew it had to do with a PR nightmare, it had all been pretty damn secretive.

  “Give it a few years, and you’ll outearn me,” he conceded.

  Lisa took her leave, and the guys met up with Warren, Gage, and Rory as they arrived, leaving Ivy and I alone in the kitchen.

  “You seriously paid cash?” she repeated, her eyes wide.

  “You’re still hung up on that?” I tucked the closing docs into the built-in desk drawer.

  “The house was over a million dollars. I was with you when you made the offer, remember?” She hopped up onto the kitchen counter, her distressed jeans contrasting the white marble. “I know what your contract was when you signed. Not that you can’t afford it, but cash?”

  I leaned back against the island, facing her. “I’m careful with money and don’t spend a lot. At least not a lot compared to the other guys. Almost everything I make goes into savings, and I don’t carry debt. I don’t need a fancy car or a downtown penthouse. Not that you can understand, given your upbringing, but when you grow up as poor as I did, security is more important than flashy shit. Having that money wired from my savings hurt, but now Hannah has a house in a good neighborhood, a good district, and it can’t be taken away, no matter what happens to me. We both know nothing is certain in hockey. I could blow out a knee tomorrow.”

  She looked at me in that way she had—like she was peeling my layers one by one to read past what I’d said to see the intent of what I’d meant and everything I hadn’t said. “How many houses did you live in growing up?” she asked, cutting to the heart of the matter.

  Fuck, she always saw right through me.

  “Between foster homes and my mom’s inability to stay sober? Too many,” I admitted.

  “And hockey saved you,” she assessed quietly.

  “In more ways than one,” I agreed.

  A strand of her hair slipped from the knot she had tied on the top of her head, and the need to brush it back behind her ear, to touch her in some way, struck me hard and fast.

  Her lips parted, and she looked like she was about to
say something when the doorbell rang.

  I couldn’t decide if I was relieved or pissed.

  The first of two moving crews had arrived, and the work began.

  Four hours later, the house was coming together. The guys had sworn up and down that they could move everything, but considering we headed into round two in a few days, I told them to assemble shit instead. The last thing I needed was Coach up my ass that Gage had torn a muscle carrying something.

  The girls had shown up in force, too, Paige, Bailey, and Jeanine taking over my kitchen like only friends—and a professional chef—could.

  “You honestly think I need a mixer that big?” I asked as Jeanine tucked a stainless steel monstrosity behind a cabinet door.

  “You have no clue how much kids eat. No. Clue.” She shook her head, no doubt thinking about her own daughter. “Besides, it’s a gift, so shut up and accept it. You’re lucky I didn’t overhaul all of this.” she motioned to the white and stainless steel kitchen.

  “Hey, it’s all top of the line,” I protested.

  “Sure, just not professional,” she shrugged. “But that’s okay if you don’t care about precise temperatures and adequate—”

  Bailey slapped her hand over Jeanine’s mouth. “It’s beautiful, Connor. I’m actually jealous of that gorgeous stovetop. The whole house, really. It’s so beautiful and fresh! And that pool!”

  “Uh huh,” I replied, unsure of what else I could say when they spoke a language I didn’t.

  “Where do you want this?” Pepper asked, holding up a box full of pink, frothy fabric.

  “I don’t even know what the hell that is,” I answered, poking at the stuff.

  “Oooh! It’s here!” Ivy exclaimed. “It’s for Hannah’s room! Come on!”

  She and Pepper ran off, both babbling excitedly.

  Thank God for the women. Not that I was incapable of putting shit away, but they were somehow transforming this house into a home. Into love and security and comfort in a way that I couldn’t even begin to compete with.

  “Exercise room complete,” Warren told me as he strode in, toolbox in hand. “And those mirrors? Niiiiice addition.” He gave me a thumbs-up.