12. victoria
TWELVE
victoria
W hen we head downstairs after our “house rules” conversation, Rourke immediately finds me like he’s got a tracking device specifically tuned in to me.
“Victoria!” He tugs at my elbow, pulling me away from Leo with a grin. “I was looking for you. Join me for another game?”
I glance over my shoulder at Leo, but he’s already been intercepted by Lauren, the Crushers’ PR guru. Guess I’m left to fend off Rourke for myself this time.
Jaz looks over from the buffet in the dining room, her eyebrows lifting in a silent question. I give her a help-me-now look, and she immediately beelines over, stepping in just in time to block Rourke’s shameless campaign to monopolize my attention.
“I need someone to try out our new idea,” Jaz says, edging out Rourke. “Want to be my guinea pig?”
“I’d love to.” She loops her arm through mine as we head away from Rourke. Women always seem to know what their girlfriends need based on a look, and I want to kiss Jaz for rescuing me.
“Can I help too?” Rourke asks. “I can be your guinea pig.”
Jaz gives him an apologetic smile. “Nope. Can’t be a hockey player.”
Rourke turns to me. “Catch you later?”
“I’ll be around.” I feel the heat of someone’s stare and turn to see Leo watching the whole exchange. Great. Now I look like the one who’s sneaking glances at him.
You’d think confessing to Leo that I wasn’t interested in Rourke would’ve eased the tension between us, but no. If anything, it’s made it worse.
“So what’s this new idea?” I ask, turning away from Leo’s gaze and giving him the delightful view of my backside instead. Serves him right for staring so much.
“Lauren and I are starting a new social media account called ‘Crushin’ on the Crushers.’ It’s for people who want to submit their fan love for a player. They don’t actually have to have a crush—just share who their favorite player is and why they like them. They fill out an anonymous form, then we’ll sort through them and post the ones we think fit the vibe.”
I look over the form on Jaz’s phone. The questions are basic—share your favorite player and what you love about him. “And the point of this is... what? Other than feeding grown men’s egos.”
She laughs. “We’re hoping to attract more women to hockey games. The sport is largely attended by men, but this will show another side of the players—that they can be sweet and soft too. Each feature will highlight a player’s hobbies and interests, paired with fan submissions.”
“Sweet and soft? Do those words belong next to hockey players?” I lift an eyebrow. “Good luck selling that one to the team.”
“Lauren thinks it’ll work,” she says. “But we need to test the concept. That’s where you come in.”
“Me?” I ask, my stomach doing a nervous little flip. I can’t let anyone know what I think about Leo, even if it is anonymous.
“You’re not caught up in the Crushers’ world, but you’ve seen enough to have an opinion of the team. Besides, you and Leo are friends, right?”
“If you could call it that,” I say without adding the rest—we’re only friends in public.
My gaze slides to Leo, and his face snaps away. He’s dying to know what Jaz is up to. If I fill this out, he’ll always wonder who did it, but he’ll never be able to trace it back to me. Maybe this isn’t such a bad idea after all.
She leans toward me and whispers, “I know he’s a challenge, but do you think you could say something nice about Leo? I’d love a submission for him since he’s down about being benched.”
Nervousness ripples under my skin. I could turn my fan love into a romance novel if I’m not careful. Goodness knows I’ve been reading too many of them.
“Is that a yes, then?” Jaz interrupts my thoughts with a curious grin.
How can I say no—especially after she’s offered me a place to stay?
“Okay,” I say, dipping my face so she won’t see my cheeks burning. Never mind that in my latest novel, the broody main character bears an uncanny resemblance to Leo—except this one is fictional, so he’s significantly less infuriating.
I let my gaze fall over Jaz’s shoulder to where Leo chats with Lauren. They’re probably just talking shop, but my stomach tumbles at the thought of him with anyone else.
I clear my throat. “I’ll try to think of something nice to say. No promises, though.”
“You’re the best,” she says before trotting off to work the room with her sales pitch for this new campaign. I settle in a chair in the corner where I have complete privacy, but I’m not good at composing my thoughts with my thumbs. So I scribble it on the smile tally sheet in my pocket before typing it into the online form.
Leo, you’ve always been the one who could make me feel special, even when I didn’t believe it myself.
I hit the submit button as a nervous zing of energy courses through me. It’s supposed to be anonymous, so why does it feel like I’m standing in front of Leo with my heart on my sleeve? Anyone could have written this. A fan he met. Someone he signed an autograph for. A casual date.
As I lock my phone, Leo appears before me. “What are you doing?” he asks, his voice cool, even though his eyes dart nervously toward the phone.
I tilt my head and try to look innocent. “None of your business.” Then I head over to the punch bowl, sliding the phone into my back pocket so he’ll forget about it.
He follows me over. “I like making everything my business.” Then he arches an eyebrow. “And if you think hiding it in your pocket is going to stop me, think again.”
I scoff. “But you wouldn’t, because we set up rules. Remember?”
“Hmmm.” He taps his lips like he’s thinking. “I seem to remember that public touching is okay.”
“Public touching, yes. But not public snooping. Or does your ego need a rulebook reminder too?”
“Snooping isn’t technically on the list,” he corrects, then he grins wider, leaning in just enough to make my heart skip.
Curse that smile of his! It’s making me unreasonably happy, but I can’t give up my secrets.
“Great, I’ll add it to the list,” I say, stepping back for air. “No snooping on each other’s phones. And while we’re at it, no grinning like that. It’s distracting.”
“Distracting, huh?” His eyes dance, and his smile turns devastating.
Someone pass the smelling salts or I’m going to faint, right into Leo’s arms.
He rubs his jaw, and I’ve never wanted more to be somebody’s hand. “Should I add that to my strengths on the Crushers’ fan page?”
“Add ‘incredibly annoying flirt’ while you’re at it,” I shoot back, spinning on my heel before he sees the blush creeping up my neck.
Even though I’m racking up points on my smile tally, I need to escape this conversation before I turn molten. Leo follows me to the kitchen, snagging one of the Christmas rolls I made from the counter as I grab a rag and start washing dishes.
“These are amazing,” he says, taking another bite. “Sloan and Jaz have really outdone themselves.”
I fight back a grin as I plunge my hands into soapy water. “Oh, you think so?”
“Definitely. Best thing on the table.” He grabs another.
“Well, I’m glad you like them,” I say. “Because Sloan and Jaz didn’t make them.”
“Then who did?” he asks, popping the bread in his mouth.
“I made them,” I say with a smile.
His chewing slows. “Wait . . . you made these?”
I shrug. “Yep. Sloan and Jaz gave me a baking lesson earlier.”
His face freezes as he points at the rolls. “You? You baked these?”
“Shocking, I know,” I say with a laugh. “I figured it’s about time I learned some cooking skills.”
“I’m impressed,” he says, finishing off the roll. “Never thought of you as the baking type.”
“Guess there’s a lot about me you don’t know,” I say. “I’m like a treasure map—full of all kinds of secrets.”
His eyes meet mine as he leans against the counter. “Is that right? I’d love to find out every one of them.” His mouth tips up, and my heart leaps in my chest.
With every grin, my body gets another shot of dopamine. At this rate, I’m liable to become addicted to his smile.
I turn back to the sink. What better way to squelch any romantic feelings than to do the soul-sucking task of washing dishes? I begin scrubbing the tray in front of me like there’s a picture of Leo on the front I’m trying to permanently erase.
“Need some help?” Leo asks, sliding next to me and rolling up his sleeves, revealing forearms that are all corded muscles. Naturally, Leo is the kind who makes washing dishes look sexy. Honestly, he could rip his shirt off right now, buttons popping, and I’d gladly set fire to the rulebook.
“Earth to Victoria... hello? ” Leo says, waving a hand in front of my face and interrupting my fantasy. “What were you thinking about?”
“Nothing!” I answer, my voice going an octave higher. “I was thinking about buttons...” My eyes widen as I realize what I’ve just said. “I mean... dishes .”
“Dishes?” He gives a low chuckle. “Nice try, but you were definitely not thinking about dishes. I know that look in your eye.”
“What look?” I say innocently.
One corner of his mouth tips up. “It’s the same look you get when you’re thinking about devouring a bite of triple-layer chocolate cake.
I blink, wishing I had been thinking about cake. That would be a lot easier to explain.
He studies me. “Or maybe it was something else entirely... like kissing,” he adds.
I scoff. “Kissing? Please.” I grab a towel and snap it toward his leg.
“Hey!” he yells. “What was that for?”
“You’re breaking the rules.”
“What rule? I’m trying to help.” Leo takes the dish from my hand, our fingers brushing for a split second as he rinses it. A small tingle shoots up my arm.
Why do I feel like everything with Leo is a game to see who will outlast the other? And why does it seem like I’m the one who’s always losing?
“I don’t know, but I need to add a rule that says no flirting,” I say, lifting an eyebrow.
“No,” he says, firmly, wiping the dish. “That’s one rule I won’t agree to.”
“Why not?” I frown.
“Because I like to see your cheeks turn pink,” he says giving me a smile that’s adorably infuriating. “It’s cute.”
He’s smiled so many times in the last few minutes, I’ve lost count.
“My cheeks don’t turn...” Before I can finish, Leo scoops up soap bubbles and streaks them across my cheeks. “Here’s how you hide them.”
Okay, so maybe I do blush every time he smiles at me. Right now, my whole face feels like it’s about to melt off. It’s not my fault he’s so darn charming.
“Oh, really? Two can play this game.” I take a handful of soap bubbles and smear it across his chin. “There. We’re even. You even look a little like Santa.”
When I turn back to the sink, I feel the sharp flick of something against my butt.
I wheel around, my mouth open. “Did you just snap a towel... at my butt?”
“Absolutely not,” he says, a smile tugging on his lips as he flips the towel over his shoulder nonchalantly.
“Oh, but you did.” I nod, pointing at him, my hand dripping bubbles. “Guilt is written all over your face.”
“Even if I did, you never said there’s a rule about that.” He crosses those distracting forearms, daring me to challenge him.
“Well, now there is,” I say. “Rule breaker.”
His eyes darken. “Are you going to punish me?” Then his lips curve up, like he’s inviting me to.
I whip the towel at him, but he’s too fast. He grabs the edge of it and yanks it right out of my hand.
“Hey!” I protest. “That’s my towel.” I lunge for it, but he grabs my hands and backs me into a corner, right next to the fridge, where no one can see us. I’m not sure what game we’re playing now, but my heart is thrumming against my chest, and my breathing turns shallow with him this close. He steps closer to me, his hair falling over one eye, his face only inches from mine, the scent of his body wash making me dizzy.
“If you’re going to play games with me,” he says, his voice scraping, “the first thing to know is that I don’t like to lose.”
My body feels like melted wax, and every part of me wants to close the gap between us and crash his lips into mine, even though I know we shouldn’t. Logically, that would make everything impossible between us. But right now, my body doesn’t give a fig about what’s logical. I only want him.
He holds my gaze, and my eyes fall to his lips. I know I shouldn’t be thinking about kissing him right now, but I can’t seem to help myself. When I glance back up, his eyes are darker, his gaze heated.
Suddenly, Jaz calls from the other room, “Hey, everyone, it’s almost midnight.”
He blinks—the spell broken—then releases his hold on me, backing away one step, then another, like he’s forcing himself to.
“Guess we should head back,” he says in a strained voice, tossing his towel on the counter. Before he leaves, he looks down at my lips once more, and that’s when I see the conflict in his eyes—before he strolls out of the room, leaving me catching my breath.
I fan myself with the towel he left behind, trying to cool off the furnace inside my body, blazing after our encounter. Was I mistaken, or did I see something behind his eyes?
Right now, I can’t be sure. We were playing around, and things got out of hand. That was it, right?
I hurry to the living room, and since I’m the last to arrive, I wedge myself between a large buffet table and a group of hockey players. A few people shuffle for space, crowding me farther into the corner. That’s when I turn and notice Leo beside me, the only person I shouldn’t be next to at midnight.
I discreetly inch away, but as I back up, my butt bumps into something. A potted plant crashes to the floor with a loud thud , spilling soil everywhere.
I kneel, frantically scooping dirt with my bare hands. But the more I clean, the more the dirt scatters like glitter dust.
“Ten seconds,” Jaz says, starting the countdown. “Ten . . . nine . . . eight . . .”
From my place on the floor, I glance around, searching for an escape route. Rourke is blocking the other way, which means there’s no place to go.
Great. I’m trapped between a man I still have feelings for and one I’d rather not kiss even under threat of public humiliation. Less than ten seconds to figure out how to Houdini myself out of this situation.
Leo looks down at me on the floor, his voice low and teasing. “Looking for your gum again?”
I scramble to my feet, brushing dirt off my jeans, pretending I haven’t been trying to crawl my way out of this. “I didn’t bring any gum tonight. Only a knack for attracting attention.”
“I would agree with that,” he says with a smirk.
When I peek over my shoulder at Rourke, he tips his glass to me, giving me a look that blatantly invites me to stand next to him at midnight. Nope, not happening . I spin back to Leo, whose blue eyes make my heart flutter.
“I know the last person you want to be stuck by is me,” he says, his face turning serious. “But if it’s between me and Rourke, don’t pick me just because he’s worse. I don’t want to be your second choice.”
My heart stumbles like it missed a step. Second choice? He could never be that.
My eyes cut to his, and his blue gaze is like a laser to my heart. There might be a better way out of this, but right now, I don’t want to find it. I want this more than anything, want to lose myself in him, so that I can get over these feelings. Leo has always felt right to me in a way I can’t explain. Maybe one kiss from him will solve this ridiculous need I have to know what it’s like to have him close again.
The crowd chants together, “Three . . . two . . . one!”
“I’m not choosing Rourke,” I say as everyone erupts into cheering. “I choose you.”
His mouth tips up at the corner, a flicker of something dangerous in his eyes.
“Happy New Year, Vic,” he says in a low, husky voice. His gaze drops to my mouth, and he looks at me for an agonizingly long second before stepping toward me, his mouth brushing against mine in a soft, lingering kiss.
His lips feel like crushed velvet, enticingly smooth, moving against mine in a way that’s both tender and electrifying. It’s enough to make my thoughts evaporate and my knees go weak.
Maybe this is why I feel so greedy for him, for everything about him—his smiles, his touch, the warmth in his eyes. Even if this kiss means nothing but an obligation at the stroke of midnight, he’s still... Leo. The guy I never really got over.
When he pulls back, I’m wrecked in the best way. Because he still dazzles me, overwhelms me, makes me long to hear him say that I’m his.
When the noise from the party fades around me, my focus narrows only to those mesmerizing blue eyes—no longer ice cold, but soft, summer-sky blue. For a moment, his face shifts, like he’s going to apologize for what just happened. Instead, he just turns and walks away without a word.
I spin around, looking for a way to leave. Leo left me alone and confused in a sea of people, and all I know is that the look on his face didn’t match what I felt in that kiss. Everything about that embrace was like a tidal wave of pent-up need, even though his eyes told me he thought he’d made a terrible mistake.
Did I just do something I’ll regret? Based on the way my body is still humming with pleasure, definitely not . I’ll never regret kissing Leo Anderson. But if the look on his face is any clue as to whether this will lead anywhere, the answer—heartbreakingly—is no .
He’s got those walls up again, the same impenetrable, unyielding walls he’s had up since our lives crashed into each other. And here I am, standing on the outside, still holding my heart out to him like a fool.