Chapter 2
TWO
HANNAH
Grant
Hannahhhhhhhhhhhhh!!
Where did you goooooooooooooo?
Me
My head started to hurt, so I left early.
Grant
Are you okayyyyy? Meds? You need medz?
Me
No meds. I’m in good hands :)
Grant
You’re the best sister everrrrrr.
Me
And you’re so wasted! Be safe, have fun, and call me later this week! Proud of you, G.
The rumors about Brody Saunders are true. He doesn’t talk much. He communicates in grunts and scowls. He’s tall as hell.
And he’s hot as sin.
I’m not afraid to admit I did a deep dive on him when Grant was drafted by the DC Stars a couple of years ago. Everyone kept talking about what a young team they had, led by a fantastic new coach, and curiosity got the best of me.
A pass through his (very limited) social media later, concluding that Brody is really fucking fine would be an understatement.
He’s a man in every sense of the word with broad, wide shoulders and a neatly-trimmed beard.
Dark hair, dark eyes. Tattoos decorating his arms and the back of his massive palm.
I’ve always been drawn to people who would burn the world down for me if given the chance, and I have a feeling Brody fits that characteristic to a tee.
How I ended up next to him on the sidewalk is still a mystery, but I’m not going to question it. Not when he sees me shiver at the gust of wind that rips through the June air, pulls off his sweatshirt, and hands it to me without a word.
“You don’t want it?” The scent of his cologne tickles my nose when I slip the hoodie on. “Thank you.”
“I’m six six and two hundred pounds. The dead of winter is my favorite time of year,” he answers.
“I spend almost every day on the ice, but I still prefer warmer temperatures. Guess it’s my Florida blood. It dips below sixty degrees, and I’m miserable.”
“How long have you been skating?”
“Since I could walk. How long have you been playing hockey?”
“Longer than you’ve been alive.” The muscles in his jaw tighten like he’s mad about his history with the sport. Maybe he’s mad at me. “Where are we going?”
“For a walk. If we happen to pass my apartment, we can go up.” When he eyes me, I hold up my hands. “This isn’t some plan to jump your bones. If I wanted to do that, I could’ve left with anyone else.”
“All the single guys at the club sucked. Trust me. I interact with them on a daily basis.”
“Who said I was limiting myself to men?”
“What does that mean?”
“I’m bisexual,” I say. “And, no. My brother doesn’t know.”
“Your brother doesn’t know?” Brody stops walking and steps toward me.
I shuffle back, having to tip my chin up to look at him towering above me.
Liquid heat pools in my stomach when his palm rests against the wall behind me, gaze unreadable.
“Would he have a problem with your sexual preferences? If so, I’ll rip his throat—”
“Thank you, but you can save the hero speech and threats of violence.” I put a hand on his chest and he yanks away from me like he’s been burned.
“Grant wouldn’t care. I think on some level, he already knows.
We’re best friends and tell each other almost everything.
I just… I don’t want my personal life to be part of his professional life.
The media is ruthless. He shouldn’t have to field questions about who I’m sleeping with when he’s getting ready for the most important games of his career, so I’m keeping it to myself for now. ”
“If he ever gives you any shit…” Brody trails off, running a hand through his hair. “You tell me, and I’ll take care of it.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Do you live with him?”
“God, no.” I laugh. “We didn’t have a lot of money growing up, and we shared a room until Grant was thirteen. The day he got his own space was the best day of my life. For as much as I love my brother, we do not function well as roommates.”
“Is your apartment close?” he asks.
“It is. Interested in coming up?”
“Only for a few minutes, then I’m leaving.”
“I’m not forcing you to spend time with me. You can go whenever you want.”
“Someone might give me an earful if they saw me leaving your place.”
I sidestep past him and start in the direction of my building. “Good thing I’m just the lowly sibling of an NHL player.”
“Lowly?” Brody’s footsteps echo behind me, his voice almost a growl. “Not sure that’s true. You’re a world champion figure skater.”
His observation catches me off guard. The toe of my shoe hits a dip in the concrete. I stumble over my feet, but before I can fall, his hand is around my waist. His fingers dig into my hip, and I’m completely safe.
“How do you know that?” I breathe out, a palm on his bicep to steady myself.
“My daughter is also a figure skater. I listen when she talks.”
I remember reading an article about him having a kid, but it never mentioned anything about a wife. I wrangle myself free from his hold.
“Please don’t tell me you’re married.”
“No. Amicably separated from Olivia’s mother after we realized the only place we were compatible was in the bedroom after a night of drinking. We co-parent well. We don’t do relationships well.”
“How old is your daughter?”
“Twelve.” Brody smiles when he says it. His face comes to life in a way I haven’t seen from him all night. “She’s full of energy and keeps me on my toes.”
“Clearly she doesn’t get that from you.”
“No.” A gentle laugh. Humor in the shake of his head. “She does not.”
Comfortable silence settles between us for the next few blocks. He walks on the side closest to the street, and when we make it to my apartment complex, I smile.
“This is me. Still want to come up?” I ask.
“Sure.” His eyes darken when I tug on the hem of my skirt. “But only to make sure you get inside safely.”
“I heard you the first ten times.” I tap my key fob against the door and push the glass open with my hip. “I’m on the eighth floor.”
Brody looks around the lobby, nodding hello to the security guard sitting behind the concierge desk. “Is this a safe area?”
“Yeah. There are families in the neighborhood, and it’s nicer than what I could afford by myself.
Grant helps pay for it,” I say when he gives me a questioning look.
“Figure skating is a very expensive sport to participate in, which I’m sure you know all about if your daughter skates.
People assume we make millions of dollars, but we don’t.
A win at the World Championships brings in sixty-four thousand.
Which, yeah, isn’t terrible, but the unfortunate side of being an athlete is not making money unless you’re winning.
When you’ve had a rough couple of years like I have, it’s even harder. ”
“What do you mean?” He hits the button for the elevator and brings his hand to the small of my back as he ushers me inside when it reaches the ground floor. “Are you injured?”
“I can’t find my groove.” The elevator doors close, and I realize this is the first time I’ve acknowledged the sensation that’s gripped me every time I’ve laced up my skates the last few months.
“My late teens and early twenties were really good placement wise, but that success has fizzled out. I had a rough showing at an event in March. Since then, motivating myself to train has been difficult.”
“Is that the last time you competed?” The elevator rises. Brody’s palm is still on my back, and I swear his thumb grazes along the line of my spine. “That was a while ago.”
“It is, but I’m sure this feeling will pass. It’s all an ebb and flow, right?” The elevator doors open, and I lead the way down the hall. When we get to my apartment, I slip my key in the lock, turning the knob. “Here we are.”
“Shoes on or off?”
“Whatever you’re comfortable with.” I kick off the heels I’ve been wearing for hours and groan at the relief of freeing my toes. “Want some food?”
“My last meal was lunch before the game, and that feels like days ago,” Brody says.
“Congratulations on being back-to-back champions, by the way. The guys played really well in a tough series.”
“They did. They’re going to be the reason my hair turns gray, but I couldn’t ask for a better group.” He pauses, huffing out a laugh. “Don’t tell anyone I said that. It would only inflate their egos, and I like knowing I scare them.”
“Grant is terrified of you, but you’re also his idol.
He alternates between excitement when you acknowledge him and fear he’s going to piss you off.
” I round the corner to the kitchen, motioning for him to follow.
A quick check of my fridge shows limited food options, and I move a bottle of salad dressing out of the way.
“Do you want the bad news or the good news first?”
“Bad. I thrive off negativity.”
“I don’t have anything to eat.”
“And the good news?”
“The pizza place down the road is still open, and they make the best pineapple and ham pizza in the city.”
“You’re joking.” Brody leans against the counter, arms folded over his chest. The move shows off the veins in his forearms and more of his tattoos, and it’s unfair how goddamn attractive he is. A god among men. “You like pineapple on your pizza?”
“Let me guess. You only like cheese and sauce. How boring.”
“You say boring, I say classic. We don’t need to reinvent things that have nothing wrong with them.”
“I bet you aren’t spontaneous.”
“What gives you that impression?”
“I have no idea. Half cheese, half pineapple coming right up.” I laugh and grab my phone from my purse, putting in an order. “Should be ready in twenty minutes.”
“You’re making me live life on the edge tonight.”
“You can’t be too bothered. You’re still hanging around.” I head for the liquor cabinet in the living room. “Do you want a drink?”
“Are you going to have anything?”
“I could go for two fingers,” I murmur, looking at him over my shoulder. When I do, I catch his eyes moving away from my ass. There’s a guilty expression pulling at his lips. “Maybe three. I bet I could take it.”