“Does she cook?”
“Who, Maggie? I don’t know. Probably. I don’t know that much about her.”
But he did know she had a boyfriend. Pete.
Spencer didn’t understand what she saw in the guy. If Spencer’d been a woman, he wouldn’t have given Pete the time of day. Granted, Spencer had spent a total of two minutes in Pete’s presence, but that had been enough to form an impression of a guy who dressed like his mom was telling him what to wear, who liked to hear himself talk, and who didn’t seem to have a clue that seeing your girlfriend in some other guy’s car might be cause for alarm, especially if the girlfriend was someone as hot as Maggie.
Maybe the guy had a really big dick.
Spencer thought about that. It was a possibility. In his experience, most women cared more about what you did with your mouth—not just oral, but what you said to them—than your dick size. He wasn’t lacking in that department but that didn’t stop him from wondering every once in a while if an oversized penis was something that could tip the scales.
“Something bothering you?” Stacy asked. “You’re frowning.”
He blinked. “No. Just trying to figure out this next step.”
An hour and a half later, they were finally done. Thank God.
“But what about these?” Stacy held out a couple of nuts and screws.
“Nothing to worry about. There are always a couple of extras. This thing is solid.”
On the flat roof of the doghouse was a cushion and a latticed railing. There was also a little set of doggy stairs, but Spencer saw that Stacy’s dog, Persimmon, bypassed those and just jumped up on the roof directly.
“Oh, look, he likes it!”
She tried to coax Portabella, her other dog, to go into the house part, but she didn’t seem interested.
“Okay, well, I have to go,” he said, having packed up all his tools while she was dealing with the dogs.
“Oh, so soon? I was hoping I could serve you lunch at least, as a thank you.”
Spencer winced. If he stayed for lunch he’d have to actually eat what she made for him. He opened his mouth to decline, but she looked so vulnerable, he didn’t have the heart.
“Okay, but I can’t stay long.”
She beamed at him.
Lunch was surprisingly palatable. It was a hoagie with gourmet but familiar cold cuts, not sliced soy bologna or hormone-free yak cheese. She’d also made potato salad. She told him it had anchovies in it and he blanched at that, but it actually tasted good.
They talked about a TV show they both liked and reminisced about dearly departed Frank who had enjoyed licking people’s toes and barking at the TV whenever a commercial came on. How he knew the difference between a commercial and regular TV, Spencer could never figure out.
“It’s funny how whenever I put shoes on to come over to your house, I think about Frank,” Stacy said. “He was a good dog.”
“He was. He would have liked that dog house we built today, especially the top floor.”
“Oh, that’s right. He liked higher vantage points.”
Spencer chuckled. “Always on the lookout, that Frank.”
After a pause, Stacy said, “So this was good, right? Having lunch together?” She was twirling a lock of her hair around her index finger. “Because I thought we could make it a regular thing. Since you’re a bachelor and all.”
Spencer gave her a pained smile. “I’m not helpless. I can and do cook for myself, Stacy.”
“No, I didn’t mean to imply you were helpless. Goodness, no. Obviously you’re a very competent man, but I guess I’m old-fashioned and I think a man should have someone to take care of him.”
Spencer felt a little uncomfortable. It was that personal space thing again. She’d laid a hand on his forearm and he’d had to casually draw it away by pretending to have an itchy scalp.
“Hey, it’s not that I don’t appreciate the offer, but I like things the way they are, if that’s okay. I’m a big boy. I can take care of myself.”
Smiling, she shook her head, a slight flush creeping up her cheeks. “No, of course. You’re a very busy man with a busy life. You don’t have time.”
“Exactly.” He leapt on the excuse like it was a ferry, pulling away from the dock. “I’m so totally busy right now. In fact, I need to get going.”
“Oh, I didn’t know. Let me put some of the potato salad into a container for you to take home. You liked it right?”
“Yeah. I did. It’s the best thing you ever made.”
“It’s the most boring thing I ever made,” she said, taking the bowl out of the refrigerator and doling out way too large a portion. “I just followed the recipe. I didn’t put my creative twist on it.”
He tried to make his laugh convincing. “Well, to tell you the truth, I kind of like traditional recipes.”
She arched a brow at him. “Really?”
He shrugged, hoping with all his might that she’d get the hint. All this time he’d thought she was just a horrible cook.
“Huh.” She pushed the lid down on the container to burp out the air.
15
During the two weeks since the breakup, Maggie and Jade had gone to five hockey games, cheering their hearts out for Spencer and the rest of the Dragons. The team won four of the five games and Spencer was performing well and getting more minutes as a result.
And yet, much to Maggie’s disappointment, he hadn’t asked her to meet him afterward. Not that she’d expected him to. She didn’t expect anything from him at all. In her mind, they were even. Even if he had gotten the tickets for free, they were worth a fair amount of money.
Jade had told her to sell them. “You could totally get a couple of designer purses or subscribe to the Wine of the Month Club…”
“I’m not cashing in on the tickets. He gave them to me so I could enjoy the games as a hockey fan, not to make a profit. What if he found out? He’d think I was ungrateful.”
“No, he’d think you were an underpaid educator of America’s future.”
Maggie had looked at her friend. “‘Underpaid educator of America’s future?’ I think you missed your calling. You should be a lobbyist. Or a political ad writer.”
Jade had preened. “I know, right? Shit like that just comes to me.”
“Either way, I’m not selling any of the tickets. That’s final.”
“Party pooper. Have you ‘visited’ Kirby lately?”
“No. It feels…awkward when I think about calling him.”
“Have you told him you broke up with Pete?”
“No.” She made a face. “What am I supposed to say? ‘Hey, in case you were wondering, I’m single now.’ No. No. A hundred times no.”
“Then schedule a visitation. Kirby is your dog, so it’s your right.” Jade gasped. “In fact, I’ll bet Kirby hasn’t been to the dog park in a while. Tell Spencer that’s Kirby’s favorite place, because it is. Then take a picnic lunch and a blanket. Voila.”
“Jade, come on. I’m not doing that. That is so obvious. Also, it’s February. No San Franciscan picnics in February. But Kirby does love the dog park. And I really miss him.”
“And by him, you mean…?”
“Kirby, of course. Stop it. You’re ridiculous.”
And yet, later when she was at home, thinking about Spencer and wondering what he was doing, she reconsidered the idea of seeing Kirby. It had been three weeks. Sure it was using her dog as an excuse to spend more time with the man of her dreams, but it was a perfectly valid excuse.
She’d been about to text him, when her phone rang.
It was Spencer.
Her heart beating like crazy, she let it ring twice more so as not to look overeager.
“Hey, Maggie, it’s Spencer. Don’t panic, but something’s wrong with Kirby.”
She sobered immediately. “Tell me.”
“Well, he’s pacing around, pawing at his eyes and panting. I don’t know what’s wrong.”
“It might be a co
rnea abrasion. He had that once before. We need to take him to the vet.” She glanced at the time. “Damn it. My vet’s not open now.”
“I know a 24-hour clinic. I’ll take him right now.”
“Give me the address. I’ll meet you there.”
Twenty minutes later, Maggie pulled up to the All Hours Pet Clinic. Spencer was already inside with Kirby. He was filling out paper work.
“I just got here.”
She knelt to hug her dog and examine his eye. He didn’t want her to touch it, kept pulling away. “Poor Kirby.” She sat down.
Looking worried, Spencer turned to her. “Maggie, I don’t know what happened. Honestly. I took him with me to get some dog food and by the time we got home, he was in distress, restless, messing with his eyes, like I told you. I don’t know what happened. What if it’s cancer? That’s what killed Frank.”
A bit wild-eyed, Spencer had deep furrows in his forehead and he didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands. He put them in his pockets, took them out, pushed his fingers through his hair. The poor man acted like he’d drunk ten gallons of coffee.
“Spencer, it’s okay.” She cupped his cheeks, hoping to soothe him, but ended up getting flustered herself. The stubble on his face scratched her palms in a deliciously sexy way. She wanted to feel it against her lips, her neck, her inner thighs. She found herself noticing the lay of his whiskers and how some of them were blonder than others.
He calmed immediately, and his startled, confused gaze seemed to hold her in stasis. He really had the most beautiful Aegean blue eyes. His long nose was slightly crooked, probably from having been broken, but that small flaw made him more approachable. Warmth flowed through her body and she was getting aroused.
Reluctantly, she let go of him and clasped her hands behind her back so she wouldn’t be tempted to touch him again.
“It’s not cancer. He probably just scratched his eye or got something in it, like he did last time.”
He frowned and turned away and she hoped it wasn’t because she’d gone too far into his personal space.
Spencer had never gotten a boner in a vet’s office before, so this was a first. Sometimes he thought if he could have a super power, he’d want it to be total penis control. Then he wouldn’t be caught in embarrassing situations like this one where a woman innocently touched his face and bing, up went the pup tent.
Luckily, they called Kirby’s name a moment later and Spencer was able to stand so the examining table hid his erection.
Kirby did indeed have a cornea abrasion. The vet prescribed some eye drops and an Elizabethan collar to keep him from causing more damage. That was a big relief. Spencer made sure he paid the bill, even though Maggie tried to.
Kirby did not like the wide funnel-shaped collar. As a pug, he was born with a resting grumpy face, but he sat on the sidewalk outside the vet’s looking more disgruntled than usual.
“So the drops need to be administered three times a day,” Maggie said. “Maybe I should come by and do it.”
“That actually might be a great idea because I’m going on a road trip day after tomorrow and I don’t like the idea of leaving Stacy to do it.”
“Me either. If I do it at seven, three and eleven, it won’t conflict with my job.”
He scowled. “What? You want to come to the house three times a day? No. That’s insane.”
“I don’t see as we have any other choice because I don’t think moving Lulu to my place for the duration is good for her.”
“Agreed. Let me handle it until I have to leave town. Then, here’s an idea, you can stay at my house.”
She shook her head. “Spencer, no.”
“Why not?”
“Because.” She waved her hands around. “It would be weird living in your house.”
Huh. He’d expected her to tell him Pete wouldn’t like it. Apparently, she was the kind of woman who didn’t see the need to ask her boyfriend for permission. Good for her.
“Look, I did some calculating too.” He pulled the bottle of eye drops out of the bag. “This says a week of drops. That means six entire days for you. If you don’t house sit for me, that’s eighteen separate trips to my house.”
She made a face.
“Exactly. Come on. It’ll be great. You can use the spa after a hard day at school. It’ll be so relaxing. And my shower is nice too.”
“Spencer, I am not using your shower.”
“But you’ll stay at the house? And take care of Kirby?”
She sighed. “Yes. I’ll stay at your house.”
“It’s not a prison sentence, you know,” he said, giving her a sidelong glance.
“Sorry. I just…it feels like I’m imposing.”
“Maggie, you’re not imposing. Do I need to remind you the debt I owe you? You lent me Kirby—”
“And you gave me season tickets. We’re totally square on that.”
He took a step closer and her heart began to race.
“All right, look,” he said. “I feel like we’re friends now and friends don’t keep score.”
Even though her forehead was still slightly creased, she nodded. “Okay. Deal. But I’m not sleeping in your bed.”
And then of course, all he could think about was her sleeping in his bed. And soaping herself up in his shower. Padding around his house in bare feet and a T-shirt. He even pictured her sitting at the kitchen table in nothing but her panties, chewing on a red pen, correcting papers.
For the second time in the past hour, his jeans got a lot tighter in the crotch area, which was wrong, wrong, wrong, because she had a goddamned boyfriend. He needed to remember that, because there was no point in lusting over a woman who was off-limits. The Bro Code—hell, the decency code—declared that a guy didn’t poach from another guy. And really, for all he knew, Pete was a plastic surgeon whose sole mission was to fix cleft palates on kids from third world countries. Maybe he treated Maggie like an absolute queen. Maybe they were high school sweethearts who had grown up together and shared a history that Spencer could never compete with. Or maybe he was a loser, but she was in love with him anyway. Whatever it was, she was taken.
16
Spencer took Kirby home and the poor little guy went right to the oversized bed he shared with Lulu and tried to find a comfortable position to sleep. Spencer gave him a doggie treat as consolation then got himself a beer. He drank half of it standing at the counter, lost in thought.
Maggie seemed to have set up camp inside his head. He could not stop thinking about her. At home, her dog was here as a visual reminder. At home games, he felt her eyes on him. Eighteen thousand people watching, and he was hyperaware of her. He always took the time to check her seats to make sure she was attending. Even though he couldn’t make out her face, he could tell it was Maggie from the poof of hair. Jade was always with her but never Pete, despite the fact that he was “a big fan.”
Was he playing better because of her being there? Mama Marilyn thought so. She’d been keeping a close eye on his stats since he’d given Maggie the tickets and had recently shown him a spreadsheet she’d made of his production at home versus on the road.
Great. Just what he needed—another person shoving analytics at him.
It showed a disturbing and obvious trend: he got more points at home than he did in other cities. Sure, there could be a lot of factors contributing to that—poor sleep, jet lag, the energy in the different arenas, ice quality—but, even if he’d never admit it to Marilyn, he really didn’t think it was any of those things. He felt a strong need to impress Maggie. And when he scored a goal or an assist, he had to stop himself from glancing up to see if she’d been watching.
He was so screwed.
The next day, Spencer counted the minutes until Maggie came over after school with her suitcase. They agreed that since he was leaving at the crack of dawn for the road trip, she should stay the night so she could administer Kirby’s drops before she went to school. He was ridiculously excited and kept telling hi
mself, she’s off limits, she has a boyfriend. But his dark side took over when he was showing her his bedroom. It was as if his conscience just gave up in the face of irresistible temptation.
“So, seriously,” he said, “you’re welcome to sleep here. It’s obviously the nicest room in the house. The guest room is comfy, but not luxurious. It’s a trick I learned from my mom. She told me if the guest room is too nice, guests won’t want to leave.”
“Where are you from?” she asked. “Do your parents live very far away?”
“I grew up in Hamden, Connecticut.”
“Oh, that’s right,” she said even though he’d never told her that.
He raised a brow and her cheeks went pink.
“Before I met you,” she said, “I was a fan, and fans, you know, do like to find out about the personal lives of the players. Jade knows a lot more than I do.”
“Of course she does,” he said, sitting on the bed and patting it in an invitation to join him. “Jade probably knows what I had for breakfast.”
Maggie laughed and, tucking one leg underneath her, sat next to him. She left a good two feet of space between them, which was probably a good thing, considering.
“So, tell me,” he said with a teasing smile, “what else do you know about me?”
“Not much. I know a lot more about Paul Nordbeck than I do about you.”
For a moment, he was offended. She liked Nordy better than him? WTF. But then he saw the corner of her mouth tilt upward.
He shook a finger at her. “That was a good one.”
“Wasn’t it?” Then she laughed and the huskiness of it made him remember he was sitting on his bed with the sexiest woman he’d met in a long, long time. He caught her gaze and for a moment, he thought he saw an answering passion in her warm brown eyes, but she glanced away.
“I know you love dogs,” she said softly. “I know you treat women with respect.”
She risked another glance up at him and it took everything he had not to inch toward her.
“You are suspicious of casseroles, you’re a much better hockey player than the current management gives you credit for, and your closet is unnaturally tidy.”
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