Chapter 9 #2
He smiled when he said Ally’s name. The guy had it bad for Chelsea’s best friend, something everyone—with the exception of Ally—could see clear as day.
Rook hesitated, then added, “And a few of the puck bunnies.”
Victor walked up next to them, overhearing the last bit and growling, “What puck bunnies?”
Rook sighed. Victor was not fond of the team’s groupies, so there was a good chance he was about to change his mind about joining them for dinner.
“Mindy, Elle, and maybe Kristie. I’m not sure who else.” Rook shot a look in Tank’s direction, a sure indication that he did know of at least one or two others.
They hit the parking lot, which was clearing out quickly, since the HR meeting was the last thing on everyone’s calendar for the day.
Sure enough, Lara was standing there, hanging out with Elle and Mindy, all three women chatting with Andrew, Kostya, and Anatoli next to Lara’s Porsche, which she had—of course—parked right next to Tank’s Audi.
“She’s relentless,” McKenna muttered.
“Yeah,” he agreed. “I think the issue is that no one’s ever said no to her. You know, as my girlfriend, it’s your job to keep me from going astray.”
“Tank—” she started.
“Come with me. We’ll grab some dinner and I’ll drive you back to your car after.” He was aware she expected him to drive her to the restaurant where everyone else was going, but he wasn’t about to squander this time with her.
“Fine. But just dinner,” she said, pointing her finger at him.
Tank crossed his heart, not caring if he went to hell for telling a lie. Because if tonight went the way he hoped, they’d be indulging in dessert as well.
“Hey, Tank,” Lara said, as they approached his car.
He nodded at her, annoyed when she closed the distance, claiming his free side as if he wasn’t holding McKenna’s hand.
“Long time, no see,” she murmured, curling closer.
Tank tried to shift away, but Lara was tenaciously clinging to his arm.
“We’re all going to Moe’s for dinner,” Kostya announced, happy that they’d gone with his choice.
“Cool,” Tank said, finally managing to shake Lara off. “McKenna’s riding with me.”
Lara frowned, but before she could offer a complaint, Tank disengaged the locks on his car, quickly leading McKenna to the passenger seat.
Crossing in front of the hood, he waved to his buddies. “See you.”
He intentionally didn’t add the word later. He’d text Rook when they got to his place to let him know they wouldn’t be joining them for dinner.
Lara was shooting daggers at McKenna when Tank pulled out of the parking space.
“She’s still delightful,” McKenna said dryly.
Tank laughed, because he could deal with a sarcastic McKenna better than a skittish one. “A real peach, right?”
She rolled her eyes, and Tank literally had to force himself to concentrate on the road before he popped a woody.
He had no clue what it was about her eye rolling that got him instantly hard.
If things weren’t so up in the fucking air with them, he wouldn’t give a shit about her catching him with a hard-on, but until he found a way to get them back on track, it was probably best to hold his arousal at bay, lest she run for the hills.
They drove in silence for the first few minutes, but it wasn’t the easy, companionable quiet he’d gotten used to with her. Instead, this was stilting and awkward, making it clear neither of them knew what to say.
Or at least, McKenna didn’t…until she figured out they weren’t going to Moe’s.
“Moe’s is the other direction,” she pointed out, when he turned down the street that led to his condo.
“We’re not going to Moe’s.”
“But you said—”
“Nope,” he interjected. “Just said we were going to grab some dinner. I didn’t say where.”
McKenna huffed an impatient breath, letting him know she’d intended to use their friends as a buffer. “So where are we going?”
“My place. I’m going to cook for you.”
She quickly shook her head. “No. I don’t think that’s a good idea. Besides, the whole point of fake dating is to be seen.”
And with that statement, Tank knew exactly where McKenna stood on this thing between them. She was still determined to play make-believe.
He wasn’t thrilled about that, given how incredible that night between them was, but Rome wasn’t built in a day, so he’d go along with it.
For now.
“I get tired of the cameras, Mouse. Tired of always putting on a show. I haven’t seen or talked to you in a week, and it’s obvious we need to get things straight between us. So tonight, I just want it to be us. Okay?”
She hesitated for just a moment, then conceded. “Okay.”
He smiled, reaching over to place his hand on her thigh. He gave it a quick squeeze, then left it there. He waited for her to pull her leg away, so he was pleased when she didn’t.
“I thought you said you couldn’t cook,” she said.
“I said I didn’t cook, not that I couldn’t. There’s a difference.”
“Guess I should have realized that. Those scrambled eggs of yours were light and fluffy and tasty. Mine are always the consistency of rubber.”
He winked at her. “The secret is butter.”
McKenna giggled, and they fell silent again. This time, however, it felt easier, less stressful.
Tank parked outside his condo, then reclaimed her hand, holding it as they rode the elevator up to his place.
McKenna’s eyes widened when they walked inside. “Your cleaning lady clearly came today.”
He shook his head. “Nope. She was here yesterday. I tidied up this morning after I grabbed groceries for our dinner tonight.”
“Really?” she asked, her tone the perfect blend of surprised, suspicious, and maybe even touched.
Tank booped her nose. “Really.”
“You realize I’m only here because you tricked me.”
“You’ve seen me on the ice enough to know I don’t always play fair.
Just to win.” Tank’s condo was an open floor plan with the one great space containing his living room, dining room, with the kitchen separated by an island rather than a wall.
He pulled out one of the stools by the island for her and she sat.
Walking to the fridge, he pulled out a bottle of Chardonnay. He noticed that seemed to be her favorite. “Wine?”
She nodded eagerly. “Yes, please.”
He poured them both a glass, then tapped his against hers. “Hope you like stir-fry. I make a killer fried rice.”
“That sounds great.”
Tank fired up his wok, then pulled out the ingredients he’d prepped earlier, tossing the onions, carrots, and mushrooms in when the oil was hot.
He gestured to the Bluetooth speaker sitting on the end of the counter. “Why don’t you pick out some music for us?”
McKenna connected her phone, scrolling through until she found a playlist she liked.
Tank didn’t recognize the first song, but he liked it. Especially, when McKenna started humming along, swaying in her seat.
“Who’s singing this?” he asked.
“The Jonas Brothers,” she replied, as the brothers sang about some woman loving them to Heaven. “It’s got a fun beat.”
He agreed, pulling the wok off the heat and crossing to her.
She laughed when he grabbed her hand and started spinning her around the kitchen.
McKenna kicked off her shoes, so she could slide in her socks, the two of them pulling out their most ridiculous moves as they tried to one-up each other.
McKenna gasped when he dipped her—the big ending—placing a quick, hard kiss on her lips.
He lifted her slowly, stroking her flushed cheek with the back of one finger.
McKenna pressed her palms to her face, Home Alone style. “I’m red, aren’t I?”
“You’re gorgeous,” he replied.
McKenna grinned in that way that told him she didn’t quite believe what he was saying, but she liked it anyway.
She returned to her stool, and he put the wok back on the heat, sautéing the vegetables, scrambling a couple eggs off to one side of the large pan before heating the chicken and shrimp he’d cooked prior to the meeting. Once that was ready, he tossed in the jasmine rice and seasoned with soy sauce.
“It smells delicious,” McKenna said, as he placed a large bowl of it in front of her, before grabbing Yum Yum sauce from the fridge.
Joining her at the counter, they discussed what little they’d heard in this afternoon’s meeting while eating.
“This is so good,” she said, praising his stir-fry after they both polished off a second helping. “Do you think you would have chosen hockey as a career if you hadn’t been pressured by your dad?”
Tank had never thought about that. “Wow. That’s hard to say. I mean, hockey is all I’ve ever known, and honestly, I love it. But now that you ask…”
She gestured toward her empty bowl. “You could have been a world-famous chef.”
Tank snorted, then tilted his head toward the kitchen counter, covered with dirty dishes. “I think there’s a clean-as-you-go standard for chefs and there’s no way in hell I’d pass muster on that.”
She laughed as she acknowledged the pile of dishes in the sink and on the counter. “Your poor housekeeper. I swear it looks like you used every dish and utensil in your kitchen, just to make the stir-fry.”
Tank was very fond of Maria, and he paid her well because he really did put her through her paces, not that she ever seemed to mind.
“She claims she has job security with me because she’s never shown up and been surprised by a clean house—with the exception of the nights I’m on the road with the team. ”
“You’re lucky to have her.”
“I am. Why don’t we go sit on the couch? It’s more comfortable.”
“Aren’t you going to rinse the dishes?”
Tank didn’t reply. Instead, he just grasped her hand and tugged her toward the living room, while she snickered.
“You’re a heathen.”
They sank down on the couch together, Tank not bothering to keep a proper distance. He’d missed her too damn much this week.
“It’s getting kind of late,” she said, glancing toward the clock on his wall.