Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Tank rubbed his eyes wearily, as he dragged himself to yet another boring-ass team meeting.
It had been one week since he’d driven McKenna home from the pub, taken her to her bed—and her couch and her bathroom sink—and had the greatest sex of his life.
He’d woken up the morning after feeling like a million bucks, because McKenna had said she didn’t regret what they’d done. More than that, he genuinely believed she felt the same things he did. That what they’d shared hadn’t been “just sex.”
Or at least that’s what he had believed.
Clearly, the morning after had revealed different things to McKenna, who’d taken avoiding him to the next fucking level. The woman must have been a CIA operative or jewel thief in a previous life, because she was damn good at disappearing whenever he was nearby.
He’d sent countless texts and left an embarrassing number of voicemails asking if she wanted to get together to “advance their fake relationship,” but her responding texts—what few there had been—were brief and all business, claiming everything from “too much work” to “headache” to “Mom in town.” He didn’t think that last one was a lie, because she told him that her mom visited once a month.
The only excuse she hadn’t hit him with was the “staying in to wash my hair” crap.
She’d even managed to avoid their last road trip by convincing Benny to take some intern to their away game in L.A. so the woman could get travel experience.
It had been seven days—and Tank had hit his limit.
If he’d felt a little more confident about where she stood, he might have caved and broached the subject about what the sex meant over a text thread, but he decided his only hope for navigating whatever came next was if he waited until they were together, alone, and he could read her expressions and hear her words in person.
Interpreting tone of voice in a text was fucking impossible.
Too many nuances in word choice and punctuation.
They hadn’t said enough the morning after, and a lot of that was his fault because he’d pulled his punches, stupidly thinking slow and steady was the way to go.
She’d made a couple comments in bed that morning that indicated she still considered things between them to be fake.
Unsure how to convince her otherwise, he’d decided to see how things played out the next time they were together.
He didn’t realize the next time wasn’t going to happen for a full fucking week.
Today, he was putting his foot down. Even without words, she’d made it perfectly clear she was avoiding him because she regretted sleeping with him.
That hurt. But it wasn’t all that surprising, either.
McKenna had only ever slept with men she was in love with, and obviously, the two of them weren’t at that level…
yet. Add that to the fact that up until six weeks ago, she viewed him as a manwhore who fucked with reckless abandon, and it was no wonder she was probably kicking herself.
Tank wasn’t sure how to convince her she was NOT another notch on his bedpost, but his history wasn’t working in his favor.
Which was why he’d decided to stay the course as far as allowing her to think this was a fake relationship.
Actions spoke louder than words, so he needed to show her that he’d changed rather than simply telling her.
Earlier in the week, when she refused to take his calls, Tank had worried that McKenna would convince Benny to drop the fake dating thing.
However, as the week wore on and the team’s social media pages made a point of pushing their relationship to the foreground, he started to relax.
He didn’t know if those posts were McKenna’s or Roger’s doing, but photos and short snippets about them had appeared almost daily.
There’d been pictures of her with the other wives and girlfriends, cheering in the team box.
Several of the photos snapped by the paparazzi outside Pat’s Pub had made their way to the team’s Instagram and Facebook pages.
The team had also tagged themselves on the Peewee mom’s video of him chasing McKenna around the ice rink, and the comments accompanying it had been mostly favorable, a lot of people agreeing they were a cute couple.
Of course, there’d been too many cruel ones from catty women claiming he could do better. Trolling comments like that usually rolled off Tank’s back, but that was when they were directed toward him. Hearing people disparage McKenna had him seeing red.
Now, Tank leaned against the wall just outside the large conference room, waiting for his prey. He grinned when he spotted her walking between Benny and Roger. He imagined her purposely placing herself there, fashioning them as her bodyguards.
She’d chosen wrong.
“There’s my favorite Stingrays department,” he said, when they approached. Benny rolled his eyes as Roger chuckled. McKenna looked leery, which bothered him a lot.
“Wanted to walk in with my girlfriend.” Tank moved toward McKenna, leaving the other two men no choice but to take a step away as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, tucking her close.
“Tank,” McKenna said softly. “That’s not appropriate at work.”
Benny nodded. “She’s right. Although,” he leaned closer, his voice lower, “you two should probably sit together. The more people who notice and start talking about you as a couple, the better.”
Tank smiled when Benny gave him the green light he’d been waiting for. He lowered his arm but didn’t step away, worried she’d take off running if he gave her the opportunity. He placed his hand lightly on her lower back, guiding her into the room.
The conference room was the one the team used for press conferences, so it had auditorium-style seating. Today’s meeting had been called by HR, so McKenna wasn’t required to stand in the front with the presenters. Instead, she could sit with him.
He led her to two free seats near the rear of the room. McKenna sighed but sat without argument.
Kendra Kingsolver, the head of HR, called the meeting to order, clicking on the mouse to begin what was sure to be a mind-numbingly boring slideshow.
McKenna shifted uncomfortably in her seat after a minute or two, when he started toying with one of her Mouseketeer buns.
“Tank,” she murmured under her breath, chastising him for staring at her and not listening to a word being said.
He leaned toward her. “You can run, but you can’t hide,” he whispered, enjoying the way she blushed.
He’d missed her this week, dammit. And not because he was dying to get her back into bed—which he was—but because she added a brand of fun to his days that he’d never experienced.
“I’m not running,” she murmured back.
Tank sighed softly. “Bullshit. You realize we can’t sell the girlfriend thing if you keep avoiding me.”
McKenna narrowed her eyes, never failing to respond to his challenges.
If the only way to get her to hang out with him was to perpetuate the fake relationship, he’d pretend his ass off right into old age with her.
“Listen,” she whispered.
“Something you’d like to share with the class, Tank?” Coach Fields said loudly, calling him out. The man had it out for Tank these days, and he just couldn’t figure out why.
“No, Coach,” he said, turning his attention back to Kendra, who continued the presentation.
McKenna bit her lower lip, face flushed, and her leg bounced nervously until he reached over, placing his hand on her knee.
She glanced at him, then sighed, settling down.
When he flipped his hand over, wiggling his fingers, she gave him a half grin, then slipped her fingers through his, allowing him to hold her hand.
It was ridiculous how fucking happy that simple concession made Tank.
The two of them kept their attention on the screen, but Tank doubted McKenna was hearing much more than he was.
Instead, he was focused solely on her, enjoying the delicate scent of her perfume, the soft skin of her hand, the feeling of his knee pressed tight to her thigh. He even matched his breathing to hers.
When the meeting was finally over, the two of them stood. McKenna tried to reclaim her hand, now that they were no longer shielded by their seated positions, but he held on tight.
Several of his friends gave him knowing grins.
McKenna’s presence in the team box, as well as the way the two of them were always together nowadays, hadn’t gone unnoticed by his buddies.
It was just a matter of time before Blake or Victor pulled him aside to ask what the hell was going on.
He was sort of surprised Blake—the nosy ass—had held off this long, but he figured the fact they were fighting their asses off to land a wildcard spot in the playoffs, combined with Blake always racing back home to Erika and their beloved, spoiled puppy, Corky, was working in Tank’s favor.
So far, he’d only said that he and McKenna were testing the waters, and they’d gone out on a few dates. As things progressed, his friends were going to want more details. Because Tank didn’t date. Ever.
“Some of the gang are going out for dinner,” Rook said, pointedly grinning at their linked hands as they walked out of the conference room, all of them headed out of the building.
“Where are you going?” McKenna asked, obviously spying a way to escape him.
“No clue yet. We’re meeting in the parking lot to decide. I think Kostya’s hoping to talk everyone into Moe’s for seafood.”
“Who’s going?” Tank asked, even though he had no intention of joining them.
He needed to get inside McKenna’s head and see what the hell was going on, try to figure out a way to get them back on track, and he couldn’t do that in a big crowd of people.
Besides, he’d already made plans for the rest of their evening.
“Kostya, Andrew, Anatoli, and Victor. I think I convinced Preston, Chelsea, and Ally to come too. Chelsea’s mom is watching the baby.”