Chapter 12 Called It
CALLED IT
SAINT
The little gathering at my house with the rookies somehow ends up being a party.
Not as crowded as my typical after-game affairs, though.
Still, the glare on Anastasia’s face when she finally arrives home and finds all the people here and me in the pool isn’t good.
She spies a couple of puck bunnies near me talking, when I was minding my own business wallowing in my beer.
I haven’t been very good company all night since the phone call from Brady.
With the way she swivels on her heels, she must think there’s something else going on between me the bunnies. She huffs away while I quickly hop out and grab a towel. It shouldn’t matter what she thinks, but somehow it does.
One week into her tantalizing honey scent filling my home, it grates on me how much I like it.
Every evening, after she takes off her work outfits, she puts on what I’ve come to call her Teasing Saint outfit.
A generic Puckers’ jersey, and a pair of denim cutoffs, so short-short it leaves my imagination plenty wild, running all kinds of fantasies through my head about her.
With her hair up in a bun or ponytail, and her contacts swapped out for tortoise-rimmed glasses, she relaxes.
And it’s my favorite part of the day when we eat and talk, play video games, and just hang out.
Tonight, she hasn’t changed yet. That figure hugging black skirt and silk cream blouse has me clapping myself on the back. Knowing she wears clothes I picked out for her, that I paid for, has become a minor obsession of mine. I look forward to seeing which items she wears each day.
Every morning, I make us pour over coffee, discovering we’re fans of the same brand of beans, and fix our cups with cream only.
Convenient. I have a wide collection of mugs with different sayings on them, so each day I choose one for her to read and smile about.
I like knowing I send her off with a little message from me to start her day.
The couple of times I’ve been home for dinner, when not playing a game, we’ve eaten together and talked more.
She even attended one of my games this week, which turned out to be my best one yet this season.
She’s a pleasant distraction in my life, easy to talk with and beautiful to look at.
But she’s kept me at arm’s length all week.
When I’m dry enough, I wrap the towel low on my hips and follow her into the kitchen.
“You’re home later than usual.” Yes, I’ve been a fan of studying as much about her and her little quirks and habits as I can. I start with that and instantly regret it, given the glare she sends me.
“That’s what happens when my boss suddenly gets a harebrained idea and I have to rewrite several scenes in a completely new direction.” She reaches for a bottle of wine, so I pull a goblet down from an upper cabinet above her head. She peers up at me and softens slightly. “Thanks.”
“Pizza?” I don’t wait for her answer, and warm up a few slices for her anyway as she fills the glass to the brim.
She pulls herself up to sit on the counter and takes her first sip.
Her heels come next, as they fall off to the floor, her toes stretching and cracking, something she’s done almost every night.
If they hurt her so badly, why does she wear them?
Although I’m grateful since I bought them for her and admire her legs in them.
Each night, I take her shoes and place them by the front door, these interesting habits of ours developing only a week into our roommate situation.
Tonight, though, I ignore the shoes, and put my weight on my hands along the counter’s edge on each side of her. I have a good buzz going, my mind filled with too many thoughts I can’t handle right now, so I just stare at her, studying her face.
Shit, I’ve had too much to drink because I think she’s Lilah reincarnated. Why couldn’t I see it before? I picture Lilah coming back to me as an angel. Anastasia, an angel, sent here to save me.
I need to taste her. My eyes fall to her cherry red lips as I move in. I’ll start there, but a hand stops my progress. “What?”
“Nothing.” She crosses her arms on her chest.
I pull back from being so close to her, and I pick up another beer, then I think twice and put it back down. “You seem to be in a mood and it’s more than just work.”
“You think you can read me now, Saint?”
“Yes. Want me to guess?”
“Take your best shot,” she scoffs and sips her wine.
“Okay. You walked in and hated that I had a party without you being informed. Yes, I probably should have texted you. Even worse, you saw two puck bunnies in close proximity to me in the pool and jumped to your own conclusions.”
She snorts. “You’re a free man. Talk to as many women as you want.”
Yeah, she’s mad. I called it. “I can tell you don’t really want me out there carousing with women. You want me here, where I can fully carouse with you.”
She doesn’t deny that. “I have more pages to write tonight and have to get up early in the morning to head back to work for a very important meeting. A noisy party isn’t exactly helpful.” She rolls her eyes.
I march straight out to the patio. “Everyone out. Party over. Ladies, there’s the door. Guys, get your asses home and get a good night’s rest. We have a skate in the morning, films to watch, and the game tomorrow night, so I expect you to be spry and chipper. Go on. Get out.”
When the last person, Leo, heads out the door, he nods toward Anastasia still sitting on the kitchen counter. “What about her?”
“She lives here, dumbass. See you tomorrow. And bring your A-game.”
“Always.” We fist bump.
When I return to Anastasia, she says, “You didn’t have to do that for me.”
“Yeah, I did. I wasn’t in the mood to party, anyway. I’m glad you’re home.” I load another plate with cold pizza, plus grab hers. “Come on. Let’s eat by the pool.”
“But I have so much work to do.”
“Later. First, you need to eat.” I head out to the patio and set everything down.
I slip off my towel and dive back in, the water clearing my head.
When I resurface, she’s hiked up the skirt and sits on the ledge, kicking her legs in the water.
She pulls our plates over and we eat in silence for a minute.
“I heard from the insurance man today. They’ve got a bid and a timeline, and said it could be two months more before my place is finished.” She shakes her head. “To make matters worse, the Writer’s Guild is talking of a strike soon in Hollywood.”
“Can they do that?” I ask.
“Yep. But hopefully it’d only last a few days.” She sets down the half-eaten slice of pizza and pushes the plate away. “My life is crazy right now, Saint. I should move in with Nana or find a temporary place to live. I’m cramping your style here.”
“No, you’re not,” I scoff, and finish my plate. “I like you being here.”
“But I know how it is for sportsmen. You need to be at the top of your game, mentally and physically. And you have to find ways to relieve stress, like partying. Piling my stress on top won’t help you.”
“You’re staying. End of discussion.” It’s not her causing me stress. It’s Mom and Esme…and Lilah and Brady. Looking back, what happened to Lilah and our baby has always been the catalyst at the core of my worst moods.
Working through grief is a bitch. But it’s been ten years and have I really tried to work through it? That boggles my mind. My life reduced to a number like that. I glance at Anastasia and I know it’s time to do something about it.