Chapter 10
CHAPTER 10
TANK
A fter I get home from the rink on Saturday morning, I spend way too long staring at my reflection, feeling like a teenager prepping for his first date. Which is ridiculous. I’m not the kind of man who gives much of a shit about my appearance. I’m a jeans, tee shirt, roll on some deodorant and make sure I don’t have shit in my teeth before I roll out the door kind of guy.
I’ve also been on plenty of dates.
Just not lately…
And not with someone I like as much as I already like Stephanie.
She’s incredible. From her fucking gorgeous exterior to her even prettier heart. And I’m suddenly the kind of sappy motherfucker who thinks things like that about a woman I barely know.
“Get it together, LiBassi,” I mutter as I spray some sea salt shit Stone said would “ease my frizz” into the front of my shaggy cut and poke at the resulting waves.
My reflection scowls back at me, but even my cranky face isn’t as cranky as usual.
I look like a man who has a reason to be excited about the future. And I do. I moved all my coaching sessions to early this morning and have the rest of the weekend off.
With a little luck, I’ll get to spend at least half of it with Steph.
I hope the break-dancing festival is still as cool as I remember. I haven’t been since I was fourteen, back before hockey ate up so much of my time, there wasn’t any leftover for hanging out under the overpass, working on my tricks with Yoda and our crew. But in junior high, the Rose City Rejects had been my family, a source of connection and support when my real family was spiraling down the drain.
My dad hated it, of course. Called it a waste of time, said I was an idiot for risking an injury that could take me off the ice. But as a kid too young to drive and too old to ignore the shouting coming from my parents’ room, that sweat-stained carboard gave me a desperately needed escape.
Since then, a part of me has associated dancing with dark times. With sneaking into the house late at night, creeping past my father’s passed out form on the couch, hoping he wouldn’t wake up and decide to slap me around for violating the curfew he only enforced when he wanted an excuse to beat the shit out of me.
I let him taint the memories of dancing with my friends the way he tainted so many things about my childhood.
But maybe it’s time to take back that part of myself with someone who loves dancing almost as much as she loves yoga and her snuffly pup.
At my apartment door, I grab my leather jacket and the extra helmet I bought for Stephanie—I swung by the bike shop and grabbed one designed to make room for her ponytail and a satin liner cap to protect her hair—and head down to my bike.
It’s the perfect day for a long ride, warm but not too hot, with just enough breeze to keep things comfortable.
My phone buzzes as I’m strapping my helmet on, the sight of Stephanie’s contact flashing on my screen enough to make me smile— Just finished class and grabbed a quick shower in the back room. My sub is here, Mr. Sniffles went home with my friend, Zelda, for a playdate with her cat, and I’m ready whenever you are. I’m still DYING to know where we’re going by the way…
My smile widens as I type back— Nope. No hints. I’m headed out now. Be there in ten. Meet you out front?
Her response is immediate— YES! Hurry. I’m excited for our adventure!
Me, too , I reply. See you soon, Teach.
Three little dots appear, then— See you, Sexy.
Sexy…
I would be lying if I said I didn’t like that nickname.
I like it way too much, a fact I prove by replaying every second of the way Stephanie came for me on that yoga mat over and over again in my head as I guide my bike through the light midday traffic.
By the time I near the studio, I’m sporting a semi that’s also ridiculous.
This woman does things to me…things I couldn’t be happier about. Just the sight of her standing on the curb outside the studio, her pretty face lighting up when she spots me, is enough to make me feel like the luckiest bastard on the west coast. In a cropped purple tank top that shows off her toned arms and fitted black pants that pay proper tribute to her fine ass, she’s even more stunning than usual. And—score one for me—her braids are already pulled back in a low ponytail that should tuck into her new helmet just right.
“Hey, you,” she says, bouncing over as I kill the engine in a loading zone about a dozen feet from the studio entrance. I extend an arm and she slides up against me, her petite form tucking against me just right as I pull her close. “I missed you since class last night.”
I kiss her cheek, inhaling the addictive scent of her skin—vanilla and clove and something citrusy that’s new. “Me, too,” I murmur near her ear before kissing her neck. “Damn, Teach, you smell even better than usual.”
She shivers, her voice taking on a husky edge that goes straight to my dick as she murmurs, “Well, thank you. I put on my good sunscreen since we’re going to be outside all day.”
I hum beneath my breath. “Are we? You think so?”
She pulls back, shooting a mock glare my way. “Oh, come on! A hint. All I’m asking for is a hint. Inside or outside? You can give me that much.”
Lips curving, I concede, “Outside. Mostly. But there will be indoor options available.”
She nibbles her bottom lip. “Okay, that’s a good hint. That should keep me from going crazy while we drive.”
“Don’t go crazy. It’s too nice a day for that,” I say, handing her the helmet. “For you. It has a little space in the back for your ponytail.”
“It does?” Her lips curve in a delighted grin as she reaches inside, pulling out the satin cap. “And what’s this?”
“It’s a liner,” I say. “To keep your hair from getting messed up. The lady at the store said she always wore one when she went on long rides. I thought you might like one, too.”
“I have something like this I sleep in for the same reason.” Her gaze warms as she rests a hand on my chest, giving my pectoral an affectionate rub that I like way too much. “Thank you, Tank. This is so thoughtful. I appreciate it so much.”
I grunt, and she smiles.
“I do appreciate it. Just take my gratitude and enjoy it, Mister Grunty.” She steps closer, rising onto her toes to press a soft kiss to my lips.
My eyes slide closed for a beat, savoring the sweetness of this woman who clearly hasn’t had a decent man in her life for a while. If she had, she wouldn’t be so touched by simple gestures and garden-variety consideration of her needs.
In that moment, I silently promise to give her a proper spoiling ASAP, to show her not all man are idiots and that she deserves better than the bare minimum.
Way better.
“Let’s go, beautiful,” I murmur against her lips. “We have VIP tickets and the gates open in an hour.”
She pulls back, her eyes wide. “Is it a concert? What kind? I don’t even know what kind of music you like.”
I shrug. “You’ll see. And I like just about everything. Except the really angry shit.”
Her lips hook up in a wry smile. “Don’t like to feed the beast?”
I grunt again. “Something like that. I’m working on my blood pressure, you know.”
“I do know,” she says, slipping on the cap and then the helmet. She lifts her chin, holding my gaze as I reach over to tighten the strap for her. “How’s that going, by the way?”
“Not sure, yet,” I say. “The doc is going to check me out at the beginning of camp week after next. But I feel better. Hopefully, I’m making progress.”
“If not, we’ll keep working on it,” she says, patting my chest again. “No worries.”
No worries…
I can’t remember a time when that phrase would have applied to me, but as she climbs onto the bike behind me and we rumble out of the city, there isn’t a worry on my mind. I’m just…happy.
Happy to be on the road and to have a solid seven hours of Steph time stretching out ahead of me.
The ride south is perfect—warm sun, open roads, and Stephanie’s arms around me. About halfway there, I pull over at a roadside coffee stand and rest stop, just in case she needs the bathroom.
Or a latte.
We grab cold drinks and sip them side-by-side at a picnic table, our faces tipped up to the sun as a cool coastal breeze whips in from the west, promising fall is right around the corner. The season will be starting soon and there won’t be time for a day-long adventure like this.
But we’re here now. And for the first time in months, I’m not worried about my return to the NHL. Even thoughts of Garcia can’t bug me today. He can plot and scheme all he wants. None of that is going to matter when I show up and leave it all on the ice.
“Penny for your thoughts,” Stephanie says, stirring her matcha with her straw.
“Just thinking about camp starting.”
“Nervous? Excited? Both?” she asks.
“No. Just…ready,” I say. “And relieved. I’ve waited a long time for this chance.”
She narrows her eyes as she nods. “Good. I’m glad you’re not nervous. You shouldn’t be. You’re a grown ass man who’s going to show the rookies how it’s done.”
My chest tightens and suddenly the question I intended to ask her later is popping out of my mouth, “Speaking of grown ass man shit, I wanted to ask if it would be okay to call you my girlfriend. You know, in a couple weeks. When camp starts.”
She blinks, a bemused smile springing to her lips. “In a couple weeks? Not now?”
I exhale a laugh. “No, I mean, yes. Now. Of course, now. I’d like to call you my girlfriend as soon as possible. I just was thinking… At camp… It’ll be easier to justify telling the other players to keep their eyeballs to themselves if I can just say—that’s my girlfriend, don’t fuck with her or I’ll end you in painful ways.”
She sighs. “As a pacifist, I know I shouldn’t find threats of violence on my behalf sexy, but…” She leans in, pressing a kiss to my cheek before pulling back to add, “Yes. Of course, you can call me your girlfriend.” Mischief flickers in her eyes. “And don’t worry, I won’t let any of the other women at the concert put their grabby hands on you in the mosh pit. I’ll tell them to keep their horny fingers off my boyfriend.”
I smile. “I never said we were going to a concert. And I’m not telling you where we’re going until we get there.”
“I hate you. I really do…” She trails off, her cheeks flushing. “And I’m catching feels for you, LiBassi. Hope that’s okay.”
“More than okay.” I cup her face, dragging my thumb lightly across her bottom lip. “The feels are mutual.”
Her eyes go soft. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. All the feels.” I frown before I add, “Except the bad feels. Feels are just feelings right? I don’t usually do slang.”
She grins. “You’re cute.”
“Like an old man trapped in a young man’s body?”
She laughs again. “Exactly. But in a cute way. You’ve heard that before, I’m guessing?”
I nod. “From Stone, all the time. And Shane. And Yoda. And my ex. Before.”
Steph takes my hand. “I’m honored to be one of the people you’ve let close enough to know you.” She squeezes my fingers before adding in a whisper, “And yes, feels are just feelings. You’re doing great with the slang. Super natural.”
I grunt, she giggles, and soon we’re back on the bike, zooming south as newly minted boyfriend and girlfriend.
Twenty minutes later, I pull into the festival parking lot. Even from here, we can hear the bass thumping, and Stephanie’s arms tighten around my waist.
She raises her voice to call over the rumble of the engine, “I think I know where we are! Is this…” She trails off as we round the corner and the banner comes into view: brEAK FREE—PDX’s 15th Annual Break-Dancing Festival. “Yes! Oh my God, Tank, I was dying to come to this! Dying!”
She hops off the bike before I can even kill the engine, yanking off her helmet as she bounces on her toes on the dusty ground. “I love a dance festival! Any kind of dance! This is so amazing. How did you know?”
“I didn’t,” I admit. “But I remembered you asked me to dance that night at happy hour.”
“And you said no,” she teases, still beaming as she lets me take her helmet, strapping it onto the bike beside mine.
I shrug, suddenly self-conscious. “Yeah, I don’t dance much these days, but…I used to compete with a break dance crew when I was in junior high. I was pretty into it. I thought it might be something we’d have in common.”
Her eyes widen. “Really? You used to break dance? Like, for real? You’re not fucking with me?”
I play up my scowl. “Why? Can’t imagine me shaking what my mama gave me?”
She laughs as she sways closer, her arms looping around my waist with an ease that feels just right. “Oh no, I can. I really can. I can’t wait to witness this wonder of the dance world first hand. Are there workshops? Places for ticket holders to get in on the action? Do I get to see you serve your moves?”
“Never,” I say, before amending, “At least not today. I haven’t windmilled in ages.” I hug her closer. “But there is a stage and bands playing, if you’re open to giving me another chance to dance with the hottest woman in Oregon.”
She nods. “Absolutely. I can’t wait.”
“Me, either,” I say, nodding toward the front gate. “Ready?”
“So ready.”
We spend the next few hours exploring every corner of the festival, Stephanie’s excitement contagious as she pulls me from one performance circle to the next. The fairgrounds are alive with energy—dancers breaking, crowds cheering, beats pumping through massive speakers that vibrate the ground beneath our feet.
“Okay, but how do they do that ?” she asks for about the hundredth time, her eyes wide as we watch a kid who can’t be more than fourteen float across the floor. “It’s magic!”
“That’s an air flare,” I explain, grinning at her enthusiasm. “It’s all momentum and core strength. You could nail it in a month or so, easy. Maybe less. Your core strength is insane, and you already have a handstand. That’s the main starting move for…” I pause, catching the gleam in her eye. “What?”
“Nothing.” She bumps my shoulder with hers. “I like seeing you nerd out about something you love.”
“Takes a nerd to know a nerd, woman.”
She beams. “Absolutely. Tell me more about the air flare. Does it hurt your wrists? You’re right, my core is the stuff of legend, but my wrists start talking to me in Scorpion pose, let alone something like that.”
“I never had a problem, but you could always use tape if you need extra support. But usually, breakers start with baby flares and work up to an air flare. That gives you time to build up strength in the joints.”
“Can you still do one, you think?” she asks. “A baby flare?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. I haven’t tried in years.”
She grins as she whispers. “Try one. Then teach me how to try one. I want to learn new things”
I hesitate. “I don’t know.”
“Oh, come on,” she says, tugging me toward one of the practice areas. “You’re in fantastic shape and your flexibility in your shoulders is already so much better than when you started class. I want to see what you can do.”
I shake my head. “It’s been years. I probably can’t even?—”
“Please?” She bats her lashes. “Just one move? One baby one? For me?”
And damn if I can resist those big brown eyes.
“Fine.” I shrug out of my jacket and point a warning finger at her giddy face. “But no laughing if I fall on my ass.”
She mimes zipping her lips, but her eyes are dancing as I step onto the mat. I take a deep breath, letting the beat flowing from the nearby speakers fill me up.
It’s been forever, but somehow, my body remembers. The basic six-step comes back like I never stopped, then the baby flares. Before I know it, I’m throwing in a freeze, testing my balance and control.
When I’m out of breath, I step off to find a fist bump waiting for me. The thirty-something guy waiting his turn says, “Solid, bro.”
“Thanks, been a long time,” I say as I move back to Stephanie’s side.
She greets me with a dropped jaw and a playful punch on the arm. “What was that, Theodore? You’re incredible! Like, crazy good. You could have been a pro, b-boy.”
I laugh as I roll my eyes. “Hardly, but it felt good. I think I remember enough to teach you a few beginner moves, if you want.”
She nods hard enough to make her braids twitch around her shoulders. “Yes! I want. I definitely want.”
We spend another hour practicing basic moves together, laughing and getting sweaty and having more fun than I’ve had in a long time. She’s a natural—strong and graceful—which isn’t a surprise. She’s practically a yoga master and has incredible control and balance. Watching her absorb everything I teach her, acquiring new skills by leaps and bounds, does dangerous things to my heart. She’s just so alive, so full of joy, so sexy.
Damn, this woman…
Hopefully she isn’t wrecking my blood pressure, because I already know I won’t be able to quit her.
“I need water,” she finally says, fanning herself. “And maybe a beer? Should we have a beer and watch some music? Take a little rest?”
“We absolutely should.” I glance past her to the bleachers by the main stage, which are filling up as the more popular acts prepare to go on. “Why don’t you go grab us seats. I’ll get drinks and meet you on the bleachers?”
She pushes on tiptoe, pressing a kiss to my cheek. “Good plan. See you there.”
I head for a nearby drink tent, already thinking about how much fun it could be to set up a breaking practice area behind the yoga studio. The back garden is small, but there’s a concreate slab in the corner where a shed used to be that could be cleared off and turned into a place for us to play.
Play…that’s what it feels like, and I suddenly realize how much I’ve missed playing.
Hockey hasn’t felt like play in a long time. I was still a kid when I realized the game was my way out of poverty. Then it became my job, then the source of my shame, and now, my shot at redemption. I love hockey, but there’s too much baggage there for it to ever feel like play.
But dancing is just a good time, and even more so when you get to share it with someone as fun as Steph.
Back at the bleachers with my drink holder full of water and beer, I scan the seats for her, but don’t see a flash of purple tank top anywhere. Not much melanin in the crowd, either. I scan the area again, but even at a break-dancing festival, Oregon is a pale and pasty state. The few people of color are easy to spot and my girl isn’t among them.
Maybe she had to hit the bathroom?
I’m on my way back toward the porta-potty station when I hear raised voices coming from behind the Sunrise Smoothie Hut, which appears to be closed for the day.
“Get out of the way and let me go,” a voice that is unmistakably Stephanie’s says, her usually mellow tone pinched. “I’m serious. I need to get back to meet my boyfriend, and I don’t have anything else to say to you, Drake. This is so messed up. I can’t believe you think it’s okay to?—”
“Messed up? What’s messed up is you jumping into bed with another man two seconds after you jumped off my dick.” The male voice is Drake’s all right, but he sounds meaner, harder than that night at the studio.
I don’t like that energy anywhere near Steph. I like that fact that he’s talking about her and his dick in the same breath even less. It makes me want to throw him through a plate glass window, in fact.
Setting the drinks on the ground near the edge of the empty booth, I force myself to take deep, cleansing breaths, the way Steph taught me. I’m not going to wreck either of our days—our lives—by killing this man.
Even if I really, really want to.
But my Zen is almost immediately tested as I round the corner to see Drake taking a menacing step closer to Steph as she backs away. “You know you’re not over me,” he says. “You know you still want?—”
“Need some help, babe?” My voice emerges low, calm, but deadly.
I know Drake can hear the deadly. He instantly pales as he darts a wary gaze my way.
The fear and relief mixing on Stephanie’s face as she hurries to my side makes me want to punch the fucker all over again. “Let’s go,” she whispers, fisting her fingers in my shirt and clinging tight.
Drake snorts as he blurts, “What? No fucking way, this is the boyfriend? This guy? The neanderthal from the studio?”
“Big word. Congrats,” I say, unbothered by his insult. The only thing I care about is getting Stephanie away from him, and ensuring he knows not to bother her again. “Listen up, friend, Stephanie has made a choice not to include you in her life moving forward. She blocked your number and made it clear that she has nothing left to say to you. So, from now on, you’re going to respect that. You don’t text her or reach out on social media or come anywhere near her home or business. If you see her walking down the street, you move to the other side and keep your eyes on the sidewalk. Hell, you don’t even think about her if you can help it. Are we clear?”
His face flushes blazing red, making me think he’s already had a few. “Fuck you. This isn’t your business. Stephanie and I have history. This is between us. You’re fucking nothing. You’re just the rebound guy.”
“History is all we have, Drake,” Stephanie says, her voice steady despite the tension I can feel radiating from her body. “Ancient history, I regret more with every passing second. So, leave me alone. Tank’s right. I have nothing more to say to you, and I won’t ever again.”
Drake’s features twist into an ugly mixture of rage and confusion. “Are you fucking kidding me? You’re really choosing this meathead over me? Can he even read?”
“He’s incredibly intelligent, yes. But honestly, I wouldn’t care if he couldn’t read. Because he fucks me like a freight train and treats me like a princess,” Stephanie says, anger flashing in her eyes. “He’s twice the man you’ll ever be. So, get lost, asshole.”
I grin, loving every word of that take down more than I can say. It was a chef’s kiss of a comeback and we are clearly done here.
“You heard the lady.” I allow my grin to take on a shit-eating edge as I jab a thumb to my right. “Bye, Drake.”
“Bullshit,” he mutters. “You’ll be sorry. When you realize what you gave up.”
He opens his mouth as if he might have more to say, but I guess something in my expression—the burning urge to throat punch him simmering beneath my smile, perhaps?—convinces him that’s a bad idea. After a final growl, he turns and stalks away, his shoulders rigid with wounded pride.
When we’re alone, I turn to Steph, brushing a gentle hand across her forehead. “You okay, Teach?”
She exhales a shaky breath. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just… Thank you. For not hitting him. And for handling that so well.” Her cheeks flush as she adds, “Sorry about the freight train thing. I was mad.”
“You had every right to be.” I grin down at her. “And I’ll be your freight train any time. You’re sexy as hell when you’re angry.”
She laughs, but her smile fades as she steps in, pressing her face into my chest. “Thanks, but is it… Is it okay that I want to get out of here? I don’t want to run into him again. I’d rather just be alone with you.”
My heart lurches as I hug her close. “I’d like that, too. Can I take you home, Love?”
She looks up, her gaze softening as she whispers, “Yes, please, LiBassi. That’s all I want.”
“Then that’s what we’ll do,” I say, meaning it with everything in me.
Because that’s what this is about.
What she wants. What we both want.
And right now, I’m pretty sure what we want most is each other.