Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Bowen
I knocked on Parker’s apartment door, gripping a bottle of red wine. My nerves hummed with anticipation and excitement. The thought of seeing her again made my heart race faster than it did on the ice. When the door finally opened, her warm, inviting smile made my stomach flip like a puck off the toe of a stick. “Hey,” I managed, my growl rougher than I intended.
“Hi,” she replied softly, stumbling as she stepped aside. I suppressed a smirk.
Her bare feet peeked out from under the hem of her white jeans, and my gaze followed the line of her legs upward. The jeans hugged her hips perfectly, and the off-shoulder black top she wore clung to her curves in a way that was both subtle and tantalizing. An exposed, lacy black bra strap teased me.
I swallowed hard, trying to keep my thoughts in check, but the sight of her bare shoulder, the soft skin beckoning for a trail of kisses from behind her ear down to her collarbone, made my groin tighten. I shifted slightly, hoping she wouldn’t notice, and raised my eyes to meet hers. Her Caribbean-blue eyes held a knowing glint that made my blood heat. She winked, a small, flirtatious gesture that sent a wave of heat through my body. Maybe she was as eager as I was.
Desperate for a distraction, I focused on the comforting, savory aromas that filled the air. The rich scents of tomatoes, garlic, and browned beef teased my senses, and I inhaled deeply, letting the warmth of her kitchen seep into me. “Something smells good.”
“I hope you’re hungry. I made enough for an entire hockey team.”
I stepped into her bright kitchen and toed off my shoes. On the stove, appetizing steam rose from a pan of spaghetti sauce, alongside a pot of heating water. I placed the bottle of wine on the counter next to a bowl filled with lettuce, a cutting board, and a pile of vegetables.
“Thank you for the wine,” she said. She leaned up on her tiptoes and brushed her lips against my cheek in a light, affectionate kiss. The unexpected touch sent a jolt through me, making my veins buzz and my skin tingle. I could feel the warmth of her lips lingering on my skin, and it took everything in me not to turn my head and kiss her properly.
Later.
“Hope it’s good,” I said. “The guy at the store recommended it.”
Her eyes sparkled, the light in them as effervescent as champagne. “I’m sure it will be.” She gestured to the drawer by the sink. “The corkscrew is in there, and the wineglasses are in the cupboard over the dishwasher.”
I nodded, grateful for the task, and busied myself with opening the bottle, focusing on the routine to steady my nerves. As I poured the deep red wine into the glasses, I stole a glance at Parker. She watched me, her expression tender, as if she could see right through my calm facade to the storm swirling inside.
I handed her a glass, and I thought I should probably make a toast, something charming or witty. But I didn’t know any pretty words, and I found myself speechless in the face of her beauty.
She raised her glass, her smile gentle. “To us.”
The simplicity of her toast made my heart skip a beat. It was a small phrase, yet it carried so much weight. We tapped glasses, the soft ting echoing in the intimate space between us, and I took a sip. The wine was tart and fruity, with flavors that were almost as complex as the feelings Parker stirred in me.
Despite having brought wine to dinner, I’d limit myself to a few sips. Tomorrow was a big game—the first in the Stanley Cup finals against Boston. I couldn’t afford to be anything less than sharp, but standing here with Parker, I couldn’t think about anything else.
“Mmm, that’s a delicious wine. The guy at the store knew what he was doing,” Parker said with warm satisfaction as she took another sip. She set her glass down gently on the counter, the delicate clink echoing in the quiet kitchen.
She held up a cucumber in one hand and a knife in the other, her eyebrows raised in question. “Yes? No?”
I nodded, waving my glass over the pile of vegetables she had gathered. “Yes, to all but the red onion.”
“Sounds good,” she said as she turned her attention back to the cutting board. The rhythmic sound of the knife against the wood filled the air, a consistent, soothing cadence. “How was practice? I’ll bet it was intense.”
I took a deep breath, the weight of the day settling on my shoulders. “You’d be right.” Silence fell between us, punctuated only by the clack of the knife against the cutting board, her movements a little clumsy. Use your words, Bowen. Talk to the beautiful woman.
“We’re fine-tuning strategies. Working on our skills. Pushing ourselves to the limits. We’re focused. Determined.” I spoke with the confidence of a seasoned player, but inside, I was a mix of excitement and nerves about the Finals. I was as eager as a kid on Christmas morning and scared shitless at the same time.
“Well, good luck tomorrow night,” Parker said as she dumped the cucumber slices into the salad. She reached for a carrot. “I have a shift, but I’ll be watching on TV.” The pot of water on the stove boiled, the steam rising in lazy tendrils, and she dropped the dry spaghetti noodles into it, then gave it a quick stir. “I’m really not much of a cook.”
She launched into a series of stories about her attempts at cooking over the past year, each one more ridiculous than the last. I couldn’t help but chuckle at the way she described her failures—from burned scrambled eggs to flat cupcakes—the snarky edge to her tone making it clear she didn’t take herself too seriously. It was one of many things I liked about her. She could laugh at herself, and that made her seem grounded.
Before I knew it, the salad was ready, the spaghetti noodles were drained, and she was pulling a tray of golden, fragrant garlic bread out of the oven.
“What can I do?” I asked, suddenly feeling like I should contribute more than just standing there.
“Fill glasses with ice water?” She glanced over her shoulder with a smile.
“You got it.”
I set the water and wine glasses on her small dining table, which she had dressed up with cheerful plates and colorful napkins.
She placed the large, steaming bowl of spaghetti and meatballs in the center of the table with a flourish, grinning. “Ta-da!” She bowed playfully.
“Looks amazing.” My stomach growled in appreciation. I wasn’t just saying it to be polite; it really did look amazing, and the effort she had put into it made it special.
I helped ferry the salad bowl and basket of garlic bread to the table, then pulled out her chair. I settled into the seat adjacent to hers, and we served the food together. I divided the salad while she dished out the spaghetti, the movements coordinated, like we had done this a hundred times before.
Conversation lagged as we tucked into the meal, the silence comfortable. It was a quiet, shared moment that didn’t need to be filled with words.
My mind, however, was less settled, wandering back to our picnic the day before. Parker had been hesitant when she talked about growing up in Boston, her words carefully chosen, as if she was treading on thin ice. There was something she wasn’t telling me, and the more I thought about it, the more I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was a lot more to her story.
What was she hiding? Should I be concerned? Was it something that could break us, or was it something I could look past because we had agreed to keep things casual?
Her warm foot slid over mine under the table, breaking through my thoughts. She pressed down lightly, a mischievous smile tugging at her lips when I looked up. I wiggled my toes in response, and she grinned.
Parker swallowed, breaking the silence. “Would you rather…eat nothing but pizza for a month or nothing but ice cream?”
“Cold pizza—breakfast of champions.”
She laughed, the sound like music to my ears, lifting the weight that had been pressing on my chest. “Your turn.”
I chewed thoughtfully on a pungent slice of garlic bread, considering my options. “Would you rather…never eat chocolate or never read a book again?”
Her eyes widened, and her mouth dropped open in mock horror. “That’s not fair! That’s an impossible choice!”
I chuckled at her dramatic response. She’d had to drag me into the game, but soon, we were volleying questions back and forth like pucks. Her infectious laughter filled the room, her eyes sparkling with mischief and her smile lighting up the entire space. The worries that had been eating at me faded away, replaced by the simple joy of being in her company.
As dinner wound down, I watched her more closely. The way her eyes crinkled at the corners when she laughed, the way her lips curved into a soft smile, the way she seemed so at ease despite the secrets she was undoubtedly keeping. I realized I wanted to keep seeing her, secrets and all. Whatever she was hiding, I’d find out in time. But tonight, I just wanted to enjoy this moment with her, to hold on to the feeling of ease and warmth that filled the room.
I didn’t want to push her away by prying too much, not when things felt so good between us. So, I made a silent promise to myself: I’d be patient. I’d let her come to me when she was ready. And in the meantime, I’d enjoy every second I got to spend with her.
I stretched my arm across the gap between our chairs, my fingers finding a loose curl of Parker’s hair. The silky strands slipped easily through my fingers. “Thanks for dinner. It was delicious.”
She leaned into my touch, her eyes half-closed, the corner of her mouth lifting in a contented smile. “I’m glad you liked it.”
I brushed a finger down her soft cheek. “Guess we’d better do the dishes,” I rumbled quietly. Though part of me wanted to linger, touching her, memorizing the feel of her under my fingertips.
“They won’t do themselves,” she said, winking. She straightened up, but I didn’t miss the way her gaze stayed on me, as if she, too, wasn’t quite ready to break the connection.
We moved to the kitchen, the easy rhythm of our movements a silent testament to how well we worked together. We stacked the dirty plates and bowls, our hands brushing occasionally, each touch sending a spark of awareness through me. Parker handed me the rinsed dishes while I loaded the dishwasher, her fingers grazing mine just long enough to leave me wanting more.
The quiet whoosh of running water filled the space as I scrubbed the pot and pan, the repetitive motion almost meditative. But my mind was anything but calm, filled with thoughts of her, of us. Parker stood beside me, a dish towel in hand, drying the cookware.
When we finished, she put the last pan away and turned to survey the tidy kitchen, her hands settling on her hips. “We make a great team.” Her light tone held an underlying warmth that made me feel like we were more than just two people cleaning up after dinner.
I closed the space between us until I could feel the heat radiating from her body. I lowered my voice, letting it drop into a rough growl I hoped would get a reaction. “Oh, I don’t think of you as a teammate.”
Her response was immediate, a pink blush rising from her neck to her cheeks, the color deepening as she bit her lip. “We have gelato for dessert,” she whispered.
“I don’t want that kind of dessert.”