by Kate Meader
He’s not for you, Eloise.
Theo made no moves to redress, just started rinsing off dishes. “So, what were your plans today?”
“Cereal for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Binge watch Hallmark Christmas movies. Paint my toes.”
“I can paint toes.”
That would make a good video for his social, and she kind of liked the idea of helping him with that. “If you’re hanging around thinking I’ll change my mind …”
“I’m not, though we both know if I stay like this, dazzling in my dino-briefs, your resistance will eventually falter.”
“You think I’ll break down?”
“I’m going to make you lunch, and then I’ll have you eating out of my hand. Chicken parm sound good?”
It sounded amazing. It was nice to have someone taking care of her—she wasn’t used to that. She didn’t want to get used to that, but surely a few hours at the holidays wouldn’t hurt. A few hours to forget that she was more alone this season than at any other time in her life.
She wouldn’t fall for his charms. She’d enjoy them from a distance, safe in the knowledge that they were just two neighbors being neighborly while one of them cooked lunch in his underwear. Sure, completely normal. So what if she wanted more. We don’t always get what we wish.
“Hey, Elle.” He waved in front of her face. “Where’d you go?”
She managed a smile. “Chicken parm would be great. Just tell me what to do.”
6
While Theo was determined to see this underwear-only challenge through, he did don an apron to flash-fry the chicken cutlets because oil spatter on a naked chest was no joke. But he saw no reason why he should hide his great ass on the day before the baby Jesus was born.
Elle sneaked plenty of looks, too. After she’d helped him find the ingredients—flour and breadcrumbs, he’d brought the rest—she settled with a glass of wine at the kitchen island.
“If your fans could see you now. Want me to film a few seconds?”
“No,” he said quickly, then when she looked at him strangely, he explained. “After this morning, people will start wondering about you. Add in the mystery woman I’m cooking for while dressed in these bad boys, and there’ll be questions. Unless you want to be hounded, you probably should stay on the down low.”
She’d gone nuts about that video this morning and made him delete it. He got it. Not everyone enjoyed the limelight.
“You’re right. I didn’t think—I thought I could give your rabid fans something to make up for the deleted video.”
Theo grabbed a jar of Paul Newman’s marinara sauce. Into his head popped an image of Cool Hand Luke himself puttering about in a kitchen, working on sauce recipes, Scott Joplin playing The Sting theme on a piano in the corner. Yeah, that probably happened.
“You were kind of crazy about being on camera. You don’t seem the shy type. Or is it so horrifying to be connected to me?” No doubt she thought he was just another dumb jock.
That’s why you like her, Kershaw. Because she’s made it clear you’re not special.
But you are special, baby boy, his brain chimed in, in the voice of his gran. Good old Aurora, his greatest cheerleader.
“I don’t like to filmed, that’s all. It’s not personal.”
“A lot of people would jump at the chance to be seen with me, y’know.”
Her expression was pitying. “Poor Superglutes, aren’t you getting enough attention from your millions of Instagram followers? Is it lonely being adored by all your fans?”
“Very! All they see is this amazing body and gorgeous hair and beautiful cheekbones. Sure, I’m hilarious and great in bed, but do they appreciate it? Do you appreciate it?”
She was rolling in her lips, trying not to laugh.
“I know. You’re impossible to break. But wait until you’ve tried my chicken parm, then you’ll be begging for—”
“More chicken parm?”
“Yes!”
She laughed, and it was nice to be responsible for that, even if she was laughing at him rather than with him.
“I’ll set the table.” She looked in the drawers and found placemats, then set out flatware and wine glasses. She even lit a small candle which smelled like cinnamon and pine cones. Within minutes, he was serving up bowls of angel hair pasta topped with a perfectly crusted golden chicken parm cutlet, sauce, and melted mozz.
“An extra hour on the treadmill tomorrow,” he said, patting his naked abs.
She was pouring wine and missed the glass.
He grinned.
“Can it,” she grated.
“They’re just abs, Elle-oh-Elle, and you claim to be so above it all.”
She pushed a glass his way. “No one likes a braggart, Kershaw.”
“What’ll we drink to?” He held up his wine glass. A half hour of crunches unless he could get some exercise in a more pleasurable way.
“A full fridge I didn’t pay for,” she said. “Finally.”
“Good food and good company,” he finished, clinking her glass.
She held his stare as if they’d both made the most significant toast ever. He wasn’t sure why but breaking bread with her meant something.
“Tell me about your home town,” she asked after she’d had a glass of wine.
“It’s right on Lake Michigan and has about a thousand inhabitants in winter and ten times that in the summer. At the turn of the last century, it was home to an artists’ colony trying to get some inspiration outside of Chicago. It’s really beautiful. The water’s different, the sky’s kind of alien. It was a good place to grow up, for the most part.”
“All your family’s still there?”
“Just my gran.” The image of another family, just a few miles away in Chicago, tried to take hold. His bio-dad was probably putting up the tree, making a last-minute eggnog run to Target, hiding wrapped presents for his boys under the bed. Since Theo’s hospitalization, Nick usually checked in every few months with a bland hi-how-are-ya text. He had to know Theo was based in Chicago now, but still no invite to Casa Isner.
Theo refocused on Elle. “Where did you grow up?”
“Oh, all over. We moved around a lot.” She cast a quick glance over the empty plates, clearly looking to change the subject. “We did good work here.”
“We did,” he said solemnly. So she didn’t want to talk about her family and he wasn’t dying to spill about his except for Aurora, who he really needed to call. “How about you head out to the sofa and get it warm for me?”
Skeptical silver-blue eyes met his.
“While I take care of dessert and the dishes.”
“You’re gonna make someone a lovely wife, Kershaw.”
She headed out and he rinsed off the dishes and loaded them in the dishwasher. Then he made the call he should have made a couple of hours ago.
“Hey!” he said to his grandmother, with a double injection of holiday cheer so she wouldn’t think something was wrong.
“THEO, BABY BOY! Are you almost here?”
“Not quite.” He lowered his voice. “Something came up.”
“Your penis, I hope. I’ve been worried about you.”
“Aurora!” He shout-whispered into the phone. “And at the holidays, too.”
“Well, I have been concerned. I’m hoping someone else is involved and it’s not just you and your right hand.”
He hadn’t been with anyone since before the surgery—almost two years—and while his grandmother didn’t know that for sure, she had a pretty good idea. The woman kept track of his social and social media life like a bloodhound. Apparently inserting his penis into someone was the ultimate sign he’d recovered.
“This isn’t about a woman.”
“You’re whispering,” she whispered loudly. “Is she in the bed beside you?”
“No, she is not!” Though not for lack of trying.
“So, it is a woman. I saw your video this morning before you took it down. Everyone’s commenting o
n your previous post asking who she is and what’s going on.”
The perils of being a social media superstar. “My neighbor was on her own so I stopped in to make breakfast and it turned into lunch. That’s all.”
“I hoped there’d be more to it.”
So did he. Despite that explosive kiss, he got the impression Elle didn’t think much of him beyond his excellent physique, pretty face, and killer smile. Or maybe he got that impression because that’s exactly what she’d told him.
“There isn’t anything going on. I’ll leave here in about an hour and see you by dinner time.”
“All right, drive safe. I miss you, baby boy.”
“Are you seriously not going to put your clothes back on?”
“Why, is it too much for you, Elle-oh-Elle?”
Curling up in the corner of the sofa with a blanket was Elle’s best defense against Theo, who was still walking around in his underwear. She should have insisted he put his jeans back on, minimum, but his cocky swagger had made her bristle and accept the challenge he presented.
And challenge it was. His thick thighs made her mouth water (not drool, thank you, just liquid that remained inside her mouth which she considered progress from her morning Insta check-ins). They were hairy, too, which she’d never thought was a turn on. But with Theo, everything was arousing. Leg hair, calf muscles, even his toes. The man had very attractive foot digits.
Thankfully, he was sitting at the other end of the sofa, the cushions, uh, cushioning his lovely globes. Did she miss them as they pranced and preened around her kitchen while he cooked? Sort of. But this was for the best.
“Do you need your sweater?” she asked, torn between hope and lust.
“Nah, I’m fine.” He reached for his water glass and took a sip; the movement highlighted his lats, which were as sexy as the rest of him.
Sighing, she turned on the TV and queued up Christmas Jingle Jangle: Ambitious City Girl Gives Up Job of Her Dreams to Bake Cookies in Small Town and Lock Down Inn Owner/Christmas Tree Farmer/Local Vet (not it’s real title).
Within ten minutes, Theo was fidgeting.
Within twenty he was sprawled on two thirds of the sofa, one outsized foot planted on the middle cushion, a position that stretched his dino-briefs taut against his impressive package. There was no mistaking the outline, the length, the sheer girth of what he was working with.
“Quit it,” she muttered.
“Pardon?” Polite, as if they were in a Jane Austen production.
“You know.”
“I’m sure I don’t.”
Taking the blanket with her as she stood, she placed it over his lower half. “There, much better.”
“You are the envy of women the world over and this is how you treat your opportunity? Tut tut.”
“Is there an elderly maiden aunt hidden beneath those gaudy muscles?”
He smiled wistfully. “Just something my gran says.”
“You guys sound close.”
“She raised me and did an amazing job.”
“Such modesty.”
“I was complimenting my grandmother.”
She wondered about his parents but asking would open up the floor for questions about the Butler clan of miscreants. Next.
On the TV, Blond Chick was dressing a tree with spray-painted popcorn on a string.
“I’ve never understood that,” Elle said. “Why go to all that trouble when you could just buy a garland or something?”
“Didn’t you make holiday decorations when you were a kid?”
She shrugged. “No. I bought them like a normal person. I’m guessing this is something you and your sainted granny did.”
A shadow crossed his brow, a flash of remembered pain. “Yeah, we did. She’s pretty creative.” He didn’t elaborate, and she got the impression that it killed him to hold back. The guy was chatty to a fault.
“She must have been worried sick about you when you had your ruptured aneurysm.”
He leveled a curious gaze at her. “She was. I wouldn’t have made it back without her.”
“Hunt thinks you’re some sort of wunderkind because you’re back to your peak. Maybe even better than before.”
“I do feel like that sometimes. New and improved.”
She didn’t know what he was like before, but he couldn’t be exactly the same now. “Maybe it rewired your brain differently.”
“Maybe, but then the rink has always felt like the safest place in the world. Within my control.”
Elle had felt something like that in the army. It’s what she’d sought—a measure of control over the chaos.
“If only I could bring some of that to the rest of my life,” Theo added.
“Looks like you’re doing okay with your Instagram videos.”
Oh. Shit.
“You watch my videos?” No need to verify that smirk was fully activated; its cockiness drenched the room.
“I may have seen one or two on my travels.”
He moved in closer, bringing all that heat. “Are you a … fan? I’m over there filming my morning routine and you’re over here … watching?”
He made it sound so creepy. She was no creepier than any of his adoring fans. Not that she was like them. Not at all.
“Like I said, just happened on one or two while scrolling my feed and drinking my coffee. And you always seem your usual cocksure, arrogant, king-of-the-world self.”
His humor faded. “It’s what the fans want to see. Funny, sexy, no filter Theo.”
“Aw, so sad. When all those fangirls send their hearts and tell you how good your abs look, don’t you feel like a god?” Especially since he’d survived such a harrowing experience. Some people might come out feeling blessed, even invincible.
He shrugged those broad shoulders. “All my confidence is reserved for the ice. Off it … well, let’s just say I haven’t returned to peak conditioning there.”
Was he saying—? “You mean the D in D-man has performance issues?”
“Not performance issues! There’s nothing wrong with my equipment. I’ve just lost some of my mojo, that’s all.” He folded his arms.
“This is your play, Kershaw?”
He looked confused. “Play?”
“Making me breakfast and lunch didn’t work, hanging out in your underwear didn’t cut it, and that barely passable kiss—”
“Hey!”
“Didn’t get you in my boy shorts. So you’re going with the pity angle. You expect me to believe that The Theo Kershaw might be going through a sex drought because he’s lost a little confidence?”
He stared hard, burning a hole in her head, then broke into a sexy grin. “Figured it was worth a shot.”
She pushed playfully at his arm and had to fight not to linger with her horny knuckles. “You probably should get going. Home to your gran.”
“I suppose so. I’ll just grab my clothes.”
When he returned, his jeans were on, half-snapped, his sweater in his hand. Disappointment should not have been her primary emotion. Theo had been nice enough to hang with her for most of the day, he’d made her breakfast and lunch, and hadn’t annoyed her nearly as much as she’d expected during her Hallmark movie binge—all fifty-four minutes of it.
She walked with him to the door. “Thanks for sticking around—that was really nice of you.”
“I’m a nice guy,” he said, the words muffled by the sweater he was pulling over his head. It sent static through his usually perfect hair and made him look boyish. She preferred when he was muscled and objectifiable. This Theo was a little too human for her liking.
He seemed to hover until she took a step toward the door, then he followed her lead. Now it was her turn to linger. She’d become quite used to catching up-close-and-shirtless Theo in her periphery that it was almost strange to see him covered up.
They both stood, expectant.
“Well, that was—”
“Happy hol—”
Talking over each othe
r prompted nervous laughs, and then he leaned in to capture her joy with his lips on hers. Perhaps he’d meant it to be quick. Perhaps he’d meant it to be friendly. But her body had the jump on her brain. She responded hungrily, drawing his moan, a deep, heartfelt sound that vibrated through her body. Pent up frustration found its release with her hands going straight to his ass.
She’d never have forgiven herself for not taking advantage.
He felt good. Firm and tight and meaty.
He separated from her, his lips wet, his eyes wild. “I should … what should I do?”
For too long, she’d resisted anything or anyone that might throw her plans for balance out of whack. Indulging in a treat like Theo might be bad for her—but like all useless calories, she could spend time burning them off later. Right now, she needed this. She needed him.
“You should get going?” His gaze dimmed, and she added with a grin, “Into my bedroom.”
7
Eyes stoked with lust, he smiled—not smugly but like he knew her secrets. She had to be clear about the rules.
“Just this once, Kershaw. There’ll be no future drop-ins or booty calls or quickies against the juke box down at the bar after closing.”
“Thought about that, have you?”
“Oh shut up.” She kissed him because it was plain her vocal cords were the problem here.
“Thank Christ,” he muttered. “I want you so bad, Ellie.”
Ellie. She let the way he said her name wash through her veins, enjoying the sparkle. And then she was two feet off the ground with Theo Kershaw’s big, hockey stick-holding hands molded to her ass and his big hockey-skate wearing feet walking her back the way they’d come.
“Your bedroom?” he panted against her lips.
“Near the bathroom.” She didn’t want him to trip so she refrained from kissing him, just watched as he watched her on his path to her bedroom.
She was going to have sex with Theo Kershaw. Was this a terrible idea? Probably. Did she care? Not anymore.
Happy holidays to her!
He placed her down on the (unmade) bed, and she winced at her slobbishness. “Sorry for the mess, I wasn’t expecting—”