by Kate Meader
That sounded about right. That sounded about perfect.
“So what should we do?” he asked to test his theory.
She gave him the once-over, her eyes lingering on his chest, then with a lick of her lips, she stood quickly. “I was kind of in the middle of something when you knocked.”
“Middle of something?”
“Yes. I should get back to it.”
She backed up a couple of steps. Her gaze skittered over his thighs, outlined nicely through the not-fluffy-enough towel. His adductors looked that good.
“I’m just …” She thumbed over her shoulder.
“Going to get back to it?” He put his hands behind his head, which showed his triceps to perfection.
“Yes.” She swallowed, and he got the impression she was taking inventory of his sexiest parts.
“Best get to it, then. I’ll catch up with my stories.” A big Days of Our Lives fan, he often watched the episodes here because Hunt had a bigger TV. He picked up the remote. “I’ll be out here if you need me.”
“I won’t.”
“Or if you need a brownie.”
Her eyebrows slammed together. “I’ll just take one. In case.”
“In case you have problems working up an appetite. For it.”
She rolled her eyes.
“It’s masturbating, isn’t it?” he asked.
“Idiot,” she muttered, before heading off in a huff.
Smiling to himself, he took another bite of brownie and settled in.
4
Elle tried to focus on the Financial Theory class she was taking for free online through Yale’s Open University. Going to school was one of her goals since discharging from the army but she didn’t want to pay tuition until she had an idea of where her interests might lie. So far she’d enjoyed Financial Theory more than Ancient Greek literature and Early Modern England more than Dante in Translation, but the four factors of production couldn’t compete with the knowledge that Theo was in the living room wearing that ridiculous Jean Luc Picard tee and a towel.
She’d thought it would be amusing to put him in that shirt. Knock him off that pedestal her hormones had placed him on. But it molded to his chest like latex, highlighting every muscle better than if he’d been naked.
As for that knowing look of his when she took the brownie, his sly comment about masturbating? As if he knew he was her guilty pleasure every morning. That she checked in along with thousands of other drooling men and women just to watch Theo Kershaw talking about protein shakes or the special pants he needed to cover his glutes or whichever moisturizer he was being paid to recommend this month. And his skin did glow! #NoFilter
She squirmed on her bed, trying to get relief or work up some friction or—no! She would not be getting herself off while a half-naked Theo Kershaw watched his soaps in the other room.
Research would be her weapon. Forewarned was forearmed.
She’d already checked out his Wikipedia page a few weeks ago around the time she started watching his videos, so she knew the basics. He was twenty five, a year younger than her. Born in Chicago, raised in Saugatuck. Played college hockey in Vermont. Number three draft pick four years ago to LA.
Then disaster struck one night on the ice, a ruptured brain aneurysm that left him unconscious in the ICU for a few days and close to death. It took him over eighteen months to recover, after which he was signed by the Rebels.
Hunt had mentioned Theo’s health scare before and every online article about him referenced it, but she hadn’t dug much deeper. A quick check of survival rates for aneurysms revealed terrifying statistics. Sixty percent usually bled out, seventy percent of the survivors had permanent neurological deficits. Her heart contracted. That must have been hell to overcome.
He seemed pretty quick off the mark, never lagging in response to her jibes. As for whether he was a good player, pro hockey was a business like any other, no room for sentiment. He’d clearly made a recovery in all the areas that mattered.
Maybe there were other issues that could be credited to his injury. The lack of forethought when it came to speech. The motor mouth. The food thievery.
Someone ought to research that.
She tried to imagine how such a health setback might affect her: she’d be grateful for surviving, for that second chance. She knew all about do-overs. It was why she was here, trying to balance her ledger.
Theo had almost died a couple of years ago. Wow. And she was in here being snarky and rude and horny. It wouldn’t hurt to be nicer to him. He was actually quite funny, even when he was being as irksome as a handsome gnat.
Was that her conscience or her neglected vagina talking?
Her phone buzzed with a call from—thank God—Hunt.
“Where the hell have you been?”
“Scrabble.”
“Seriously?”
He sighed, but she knew his moods. He wasn’t really all that put out. “You know how some families are into skiing or touch football or pickup games?”
Not really, but she went with it. “Uh huh.”
“Jordan’s parents are scrabble people, but it’s a phones-off scenario. Hushed tones in keeping with the gravity of the situation.”
“How about telling me if you’re having a good time meeting your new girlfriend’s family?” Men. Never knew when to get to the good stuff.
“They’re really nice. I was a bit worried that they’d expect something else, but so far they’ve been great.”
Levi Hunt had been best friends with Jordan’s husband, who died in Afghanistan five years ago. Hooking up with your friend’s woman was apparently some bro code no-no but they’d soldiered on and found their happily-ever-after.
“Well, quit jabbering about yourself, Hunt. Your neighbor is locked out and we need his spare key or you’ll come home to find half the sofa chewed off.”
He chuckled, which was beyond weird. The man had always been so serious back at Fort Campbell, where Elle had worked in Special Forces support. Falling in love had lightened him up.
“I have his spare key.”
“Which is …?”
“On my keychain. Here in DC.”
She groaned. “What good is it there? What if you lost it?”
“I won’t because I have my keys with me at all times. I’ve never lost them. Ever.”
Unsurprising. Hunt probably had an internal GPS that knew if he’d strayed more than fifty feet from any target.
“But he’s here. Eating.” In a towel, emitting sexiness to beat the band, not that she should mention that. As much as Hunt liked Theo, he didn’t like when he flirted with her. Her roommate was strangely protective which she kind of enjoyed, never having had a big brother.
Only parents. Incredibly difficult, grasping parents.
“Call the super. He’s on the first floor.”
“There’s a super on site?” If that were true, why hadn’t Theo thought of it?
“Yeah. Number’s on the fridge.”
“The one that will be empty if I don’t get him the hell out.”
She felt the air change all the way from DC as Hunt put two and two together and came up pissed. “Has he tried anything with you?”
“No,” she answered far too quickly. Because he hadn’t but … she wouldn’t mind if he did? As if a guy like Theo Kershaw would ever think of her that way. His flirting was all a grand joke. “No,” she said again as much to herself as to Hunt. “He’s just talking all the time.”
Hunt laughed again. Falling in love evidently caused some sort of head trauma to hard-ass former Green Berets. “A lot of words in that brain of his.”
“And he seems determined to speak every single one. That aneurysm business sounded really serious.”
“Yeah, it was. Most people wouldn’t make it back to regular life, never mind their peak in pro hockey. The kid’s something else.” Hunt’s admiration was obvious and meant something as he was notoriously stingy with his compliments. “I’d like to say there
were no side effects but this is Kershaw we’re talking about. You flying home tomorrow?”
“Yes, early. Into JFK.” She stopped there. No more embellishing in case she was caught out in a lie. “But it’ll be a short trip. I’ll be home before you, probably.”
“We should talk about that when I get back.”
“You chucking me out?”
“Not exactly but I’ll probably move in with Jordan soon and as the apartment is leased by the Rebels org—”
“I need to figure out a plan. Don’t worry, I’ve been saving and looking for my own place.”
“Good to hear, but there’s no hurry. You won’t be homeless, Butler—I’ll make sure of it. All right, have a nice holiday and let me know if you need anything.”
She smiled, grateful to have him in her corner, yet determined that he should never feel responsible for her. She could take care of herself. “Say hi to Jordan for me.”
“Will do.” He clicked off.
“No luck then?”
Theo stood in the doorway to her bedroom, thick forearms folded over his Picarded pecs.
“We need to call the super.” At his blank look, she said, “Landlord.” She walked by him into the kitchen and found the number for “Ivor the super.” She’d never noticed it before.
“You probably should call, seeing as how you’re an official tenant and all. In fact, why didn’t you already?” She handed over her phone.
“And miss out on these fun times with my snarky neighbor? No chance.” Theo left a message. “Might be hard to get a hold of him. It’s his day with Daisy.”
“Daisy?”
“His blow-up doll.”
She shook her head. “Excuse me?”
“I walked in on him once. We don’t speak of it, but there are special days for him and Daisy. That’s all you need to know. So you’re moving out?”
How long had he been standing at the bedroom door listening? “Have to eventually. This was always a short-term arrangement.” Tina, her boss at the bar had offered an apartment above the Empty Net. It would be more expensive than rent-free but she needed to get situated and the commute couldn’t be beat.
Her phone buzzed in his hand and he looked down. “Who’s Dee?”
She snatched back the phone.
“Says she needs to talk to you. Called you Eloise.”
Her mother called her Eloise—even by text—when she was mad at her, which she had been for … oh, going on five years now. But it was Elle’s latest stunt that had the family creating a dark-haired doll in army fatigues that served nicely as a pincushion.
“Just someone I know.”
He snorted. “Obviously a ploy.”
“A ploy?”
“This act of yours. To make you seem more interesting that you really are. A woman of mystery who shows up out of the blue and won’t reveal anything about her dark, secret past.”
She offered her most blasé shrug. “You want the boring details? I was honorably discharged from the army six months ago. I used to work with Hunt in Special Forces support as a comms specialist—”
“A come specialist?”
Her sigh implied the eye roll she couldn’t be bothered giving. “Now I’m figuring out next steps while I tend bar at the Empty Net.”
“What kind of next steps?”
“Free online classes. Trying to decide what I like before I spend my tuition assistance on it.”
“That’s cool. You don’t like hockey.” Kershaw wasn’t one for dwelling on a subject, that was for sure.
“Not a big sports person.”
“I got that. What do you like? What does Sergeant Cupcake want to be?”
Free. Not tied down. No responsibilities.
Absolved.
“Not to be called Sergeant Cupcake, for a start. I was a corporal.”
“Even better! I love a nice alliterative phrase. And I only give nicknames to people I like.”
She resisted the urge to enjoy the hell out of Theo liking her. In that space while she tried not to take pleasure, he remained silent. This was strange on him—and strangely arousing, particularly because of how he was looking at her.
He moved closer. Too close. Not close enough. Maybe he had skincare recommendations to make.
The corners of his mouth kicked up in a blinding grin. Please God, don’t. And then he did something that slayed her: he rubbed his thumb over her jaw. Gently, like he was worried about frightening the wounded animal.
“Maybe we should start over. Hi, Elle. I’m Theo.”
No, you’re trouble. Was he going to kiss her? That wasn’t what she needed. Her body thrummed with want but not for a kiss. Not for this tenderness.
He stood close now, peering down on her like an immortal descended from the heavens to play around with plain old Elle. For a moment, she let herself dream. She’d been a good girl for a while now, working on her ledger. Didn’t she deserve a little fun?
She touched her hand to Jean Luc Picard’s dome, stretched taut across Theo Kershaw’s pecs. Just one touch for now because she didn’t want to be greedy.
You’re so selfish, Eloise. You never think of anyone but yourself.
So she was selfish. Why break the habits of a lifetime? Why not indulge in the feast on offer? Her hand brushed one pec, then pressed against it to test its solidity. His pure, unyielding maleness.
His eyelids flickered, enough to seed a doubt in her chest. He didn’t want her. Not really. She was merely convenient.
She drew back. “I suppose I’m some sort of challenge for you.”
“Oh, you’re a challenge all right. But not in the way you think.”
Rejecting that dime store psychoanalysis, she shored up those defenses that had briefly slipped with the unsteady beat of her heart.
“Doesn’t matter anyway because you don’t do it for me, Superglutes.” She injected 100ccs of sarcasm into the nickname coined by Hunt.
“No?” Said in that lazy I-don’t-believe-you-for-a-second way of his. “I’m kind of popular.”
“Yes, I’ve seen those billboards for your underwear.”
“Fender bender when you did, right?”
“Oh, I have epic self-control. But seeing them made me realize that you’re a bit too pretty. I kind of like ’em rougher.” She placed a finger under his chin and tilted it for inspection. “You ever get into a fight? And I don’t mean those phony ballets you perform on the ice for your fan base.”
“I’m more a lover than a fighter.”
She scoffed, reluctantly withdrawing her touch. “Thought as much. Wouldn’t want to risk getting that perfect nose broken.”
He didn’t take offense. She wondered what in the world would ever bother The Theo Kershaw.
“So we’ve established I’m not manly enough for you. Any other comments?”
“Oh, I’d never be one to criticize.”
He waved a hand. “Help me out, Elle-oh-Elle. Give me some pointers on how to win a real woman such as yourself.”
She thought about it for a moment, her blood fizzing with the fun of sparring with him. “You’d need to be a completely different person. But don’t fret, your current vapid personality is probably cleaning up so don’t change a thing, ’kay?”
He didn’t look put out, probably because her jab carried no heat. They both knew she wouldn’t be talking to him like this if she really believed he was dumb and vain.
“Yeah, good thing I’m doing okay. It’s just you’re here and I’m here …” The implication being that only proximity would force him to lower his standards.
She patted his chest and suppressed a groan at how hard it felt under her fingertips. “I know you can’t help yourself. You’ve got a penis that seeks out the nearest vagina like a diving rod. It’s really not your fault.”
“True. I can’t be held accountable for my incorrigible flirting.”
He grinned and she grinned back, and that fizz in her veins bubbled bright. He’d figured out her game, matched her qui
p for quip. They understood each other and now they were … friends?
How odd.
And surprisingly sweet.
Theo Kershaw was smarter than he looked. Confusion must have registered on her face because he seemed to be closer, more present. A rush of awareness overtook her, not just of him, but of them and the sparking connection being formed in this moment, more powerful than mere sexual attraction.
“Theo, I—” The cock in her hand buzzed. No, the phone. The phone. “Super,” she murmured.
“Yeah, it will be,” he rasped right back.
Shaking her head to break free of her lust-fogged daze, she slipped out of the pocket she’d become trapped in against the kitchen island and held up the phone. “The super. Your landlord.”
He took it, spoke a few words she barely heard, and hung up. “He’s going to come up and let me in.”
“Daisy can spare him?”
“She’s very understanding.” He crossed his arms and flashed those pearly whites. “So, where were we?”
“Nowhere.”
He clutched his chest, typical over-the-top Theo. “You’re going to give in one day. And I’m going to laugh my head off when you do.”
Fortunately, her sanity had made a late but necessary entry into the proceedings. “Never going to happen, Kershaw. It’s bad enough you waltz in unannounced, steal our food, and generally act like this is a frat house, you’re not going to get me thrown in as a perk.”
“What’s that saying about protesting too much?”
A loud knock sounded. “There’s your ride. Have a nice holiday.”
5
@TheTheoKershaw Fun on Christmas Eve!
#SecretSanta #TheoDoesChristmas #WhatsInYourSack
Theo adjusted his fur-trimmed red velvet hat, picked up his sack of goodies, and pressed record on his phone.
“Hey guys! Just a short video to say hi to everyone on this beautiful Christmas Eve and to wish you all a happy, happy holiday. I’ll be heading home in a few minutes but first up, I wanted to play Santa and drop off a gift for my neighbor—oh, you like the hat?” A flurry of hearts floated up from the comments section and soon his video was dive-bombed with fire emojis, likes, and comments about his Santa hat.