Chapter Four
IAN
Shit, have I already fucked up?
It felt like a nice gesture, getting her old drink, but the way she’s looking at me—lips parted and a little furrow between her brow—makes me wonder if it was weird.
She pulls out the chair on the opposite side slowly, sinking into it while eyeing the sugar-loaded monstrosity warily. “I can’t believe you remember my drink.”
“Kind of hard to forget sugar coma in a cup,” I scoff.
Her mouth twitches in a smile. Her smile causes the cute little dimple she’s always had to deepen, and I’m struck with the realization that while it used to make her face more babyish, more angelic even—now it just accentuates how stunning she’s become. It makes me feel strange to acknowledge that, even in my head.
Not that it’s kept me from noticing, because fuck have I noticed.
The Lila I remember was all elbows and skinny legs, but this Lila—it feels almost wrong to refer to her as a kid, even for nostalgia’s sake. This Lila is pouty lips and luscious curves and a smile that makes me wish I were wearing tighter underwear, and fuck me these are not thoughts I should be having, but my brain hasn’t gotten the memo yet that this is Lila. Jack’s little sister and my old friend.
I try to think back to the time when I last saw her—she had to be, what, seventeen? Between the draft and her going to college out of state, and then moving to France…it feels like a lifetime since I sat this close to Delilah Baker. Looking at her now, it seems like she’s lived a lifetime since I last sat across from her. Save for her big brown eyes that are just as wide and clear as they were back then, I can’t see much left of the scrawny kid I used to know.
This Lila isn’t a kid at all, that’s for damn sure.
“You know,” she chuckles, tearing me out of my inappropriate tumble of thoughts, “I haven’t had one of these in forever.”
“Finally started caring about your glucose levels?”
She rolls her eyes, pulling the plastic cup closer. “In France, it’s all about espresso. I got addicted to it.”
“Oh, I can get you something else,” I try.
She shakes her head. “This is good. Really.”
She wraps her lips around the straw, and I watch for a second too long as she takes a drink. I clench my teeth as I force my eyes away toward my own cup, bringing it to my mouth to sip if for no other reason than to distract myself from the urge to stare.
“Mm,” she hums. “Okay. So that’s still amazing.”
I glance up, but the sight of her pink tongue flicking out to catch some stray whipped cream on her lip sparks that same strange feeling in my chest. My heart rate seems to be as slow on the uptake as my brain, if the way it jumps at the sight is any indication.
I clear my throat. “So…France? That must have been a trip.”
“Oh, it was amazing. A fucking dream, actually. The patissier I studied under—Olivier—total grump, but he’s brilliant. I think I saw him smile maybe…twice? In three years? But the man can bake macarons that’ll make your taste buds orgasm.”
My ears heat, and I have to hope that they’re not peeking out of my hair. It’s the second time in fifteen minutes that she’s made a sex reference to food. It’s doing nothing for the me who’s trying desperately to rein in my brain’s confused reaction to her being so…grown up. I don’t know how to navigate little Lila making sex references of any kind.
My eyes flick to her chest as if they have a mind of their own, and I have to hold back a snort.
Little. Right.
“That sounds great,” I mumble, tilting my cup again for another swallow of my coffee. I rattle the ice after awkwardly. “Your brother sent me a few pics when you first left, but you know how Jack is with keeping up with people.”
Maybe I would have been better prepared, I think bitterly.
She laughs, her dark brown eyes glinting. “Yeah, he came over my first year. I’m surprised you got that much. I bet it was the worst photo too.”
“Half your head was cut off.”
“That tracks.”
“It was a very cute half of a head,” I tease.
She visibly stiffens, and it takes me a second to hear what I’ve said. It’s something I would have said to her when she was a teenager and sulking. Innocent. Without meaning. Does it sound like flirting now? Jesus. It’s been too long since I’ve interacted with a woman outside of a meaningless one-night stand. The easy air between Lila and me that we once had is dryer now, harder to manage. Maybe it’s simply because it’s been so long? It sure as hell isn’t helping that she looks like…Well, that she looks like the way she does.
I clear my throat. “Was the language barrier an issue?”
“Oh God,” she says in a sort of laugh-scoff. “It took me months to even be able to have a decent conversation. Olivier refused to talk to me in English. He always said: ‘If you want to cook like the French, you have to speak like the French.’?”
“He sounds like a dick.”
She shakes her head, smiling. “No, he was brilliant. I think most brilliant people tend to be a little eccentric.”
“Is eccentric a nice word for ‘kind of a dick’?”
She laughs again, and I can’t help but enjoy the sound. Lila laughs with her whole body; she throws her head back, and it comes from deep down in her stomach, her entire face lighting up like she’s not thinking about how she looks or what she sounds like—Lila laughs like she’s happy to just be. It’s infectious.
It’s also hard to ignore how it makes my chest feel too warm.
“But you got it, right? I mean, you must have, eventually.”
She nods. “I’m still not going to get snatched up as anyone’s interpreter, but I get by.”
“Well, go on,” I say with a wave of my hand. “Talk French to me.”
I say it as a joke, mostly, which means I could never anticipate the way my pulse quickens when she opens her mouth, sounding every bit a native to the French tongue in my very limited experience as her soft tone shapes softer words.
“Tu es mignon avec tes longs cheveux.”
Jesus.
My fucking dick twitches. Twitches. Because Lila Baker just said God knows what to me in French. What the hell is that about? I clench my teeth, mentally sending down a message for my cock to settle the fuck down.
“What um”—I have to clear my throat again, because it’s suddenly dry—“What did you say?”
Her smile is just a bit wicked as she leans to prop her chin on her fists. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
I would. I really would.
“Brat,” I manage with a tight laugh, and I don’t miss the way her eyes round slightly with the word, which is interesting. It’s also something I shouldn’t be noticing, probably. “You sounded pretty French to me.”
“Well, I was there for three years.” She twirls her straw in her cup. “What about you? Big change from Calgary to Boston. Do you miss it?”
“Parts of it, maybe?” I shrug, desperate for the distraction. “But Boston is home, you know? I’m really happy to be back.”
Her mouth turns into a thin line, and I can see the flash of pity in her eyes, even if it only lasts a moment. It’s still long enough for something sour to settle in my stomach. I know where her mind is, because it’s written all over her face. I can’t say why it’s so upsetting to know that Lila is thinking at this very moment about all the reasons I left, but I don’t like it.
“I didn’t read the stories,” she says quietly, confirming what I already knew. “I know they’re bullshit.”
And weirdly, I believe she believes that. Lila always did have an overinflated opinion of me. She thought I hung the moon when we were kids. Even after all these years, I don’t like the thought of marring that image, even if it was always misguided. When we were younger, sometimes it felt like I could do no wrong in her eyes, and in turn, that used to give me the confidence sometimes to feel the same way, as silly as it sounds. I used to think it was because she was so much like a sister to me. Now that thought feels…odd.
I can’t meet her eyes, focusing on my cup instead. “Yeah. Well.”
“I still can’t believe people are stirring it all back up again,” she says irritably. “You would think they had better things to do.”
“Yeah.”
Apparently, I’ve been reduced to monosyllables.
I could tell her, I think fleetingly. Jack knows, after all. There’s no reason why I couldn’t tell Lila. I don’t even know what’s keeping me from doing so right now. Maybe it’s just that it’s too much, after so long. Dumping my problems on her after seeing her for the first time in practically a decade is probably a weird move.
“Well,” I say instead, “hopefully I don’t embarrass us too badly on your show, and people get something better to talk about.”
She smiles again. Which means more of that fucking dimple. I try to take another drink, only to realize that I’ve already downed it all. Great.
“I won’t let you burn your fingers off,” she teases. “You wouldn’t be able to hold a stick again, and then I’d be the one in the hot seat.”
I can’t help but grin. “I doubt they’d miss me too bad. I’m old news now.”
“Shut up.” She rolls your eyes. “I watch your games when I can. You’ve still got it, Cupcake.”
There’s a flicker of warmth in my chest, but whether it’s from her silly nickname or her praise, I can’t be sure. “Well, let’s hope Boston agrees with you.”
“They will,” she assures me.
She brushes one thick tendril of her chestnut waves over her shoulder, and my eyes follow the silken movement in a way that just feels too aware for my best friend’s little sister. My attention feels like the kind I would give a beautiful woman I saw across a bar, and I realize it’s because I would if I didn’t know her. If we didn’t have the history we do. What the fuck?
I don’t even realize I’m still staring until she talks again.
“So…Mei got remarried, huh?” she asks casually, not looking at me. “How do you feel about that? Are you okay?”
I feel a wave of genuine confusion. “Okay?”
“Yeah, you know…It must be weird.”
“Not really,” I tell her honestly. “I’m happy for her. They’re great together.”
I get the feeling that Lila must have at least seen the headlines from the last couple of weeks. Regardless of what she believes me to be capable of, it’s clear that the possibility is still floating around in her mind that I might be hung up on my ex-wife, that I might have tried to sabotage her wedding…whatever else the news outlets have spat out lately. She gives me a strange look, almost like maybe she doesn’t believe me when I say I’m fine with Mei being off the market again, but it feels odd to try to reassure her. I mean, what would be the point? It doesn’t matter if Lila might think I’m still torn up over Mei.
“This is weird, right?”
My train of thought falters as I give her my attention, watching as she leans back in her chair and crosses her arms loosely over her stomach.
“What’s weird?”
“Talking after so long. It didn’t used to be weird.”
“Oh.”
I consider this, taking in all the things that have changed with her; her soft mouth, her softer curves, the spray of freckles over her nose that have gone from endearingly cute to sinfully enticing—all the things I shouldn’t be noticing about her but can’t help but notice, anyway.
“It’s just been a while.”
“You’re different,” she says with a crease on her forehead.
“Am I?”
“You used to smile a lot more,” she points out. “You seem more serious now.”
My mouth curls down. “A lot has changed, I guess.”
“That’s fair,” she reasons. “I can’t say I haven’t changed a little bit myself.”
She says it offhandedly, probably just trying to commiserate, but my eyes tilt down to the stretch of her T-shirt over her chest compulsively—it’s an easy mistake, I think, given that her crossed arms make everything above them more prominent—too quickly for me to even realize what I’m doing, but not quick enough that I don’t notice her noticing I’ve done it.
What the fuck is wrong with you? This is Lila.
I’ve never been more grateful for growing my hair out. There’s no way my ears aren’t red.
“You’ve definitely changed,” I mutter distractedly, only making the moment weirder.
Fucking hell.
I rattle the ice in my now-empty cup. “I’d better be getting back to Jack’s,” I blurt out. “He mentioned going over some game footage before we start training camp.”
“Of course he did,” she says with a breezy laugh.
When the fuck did I become so conscious of dimples?
She stands, taking her cup with her, and I do the same, hovering awkwardly and making a point to keep my eyes on her face, where it’s safe.
“I’ll see you next week, though, right?”
I nod, all too aware of how I tower over her standing like we are. I don’t know why it matters.
“Yeah,” I tell her. “I’ll see you next week.”
She surprises me by reaching out with her arms, and for the second time today, I’m subjected to the softness of her body pressing against mine. It’s nothing we haven’t done before. We’ve hugged a thousand times in our lives. There’s no reason for me to be so damn on edge. Maybe this really is weird, like she said. Maybe we just need time to readjust. Eventually, my brain has to catch up and remember that it shouldn’t be having all these weird thoughts about her. Right?
I hold my empty cup in one hand to loop my arm around her shoulders, returning the hug as the scent of her lavender shampoo and a lingering sweetness underneath it that must be all her assaults my senses, just as soft as she has come to be.
She really isn’t a kid anymore, I think distantly.
I have no idea what to do with that.
Jack is sprawled out on the living room couch when I get back to the apartment, his hair wet from what I assume is a recent shower and his arm in a different sling—lime green this time.
“How many of those do you have?”
He glances down at his sling. “I don’t know. Seven or eight, maybe? The standard ones are just navy or black. Shit is boring.”
“Heaven forbid,” I murmur, locking the apartment door behind me before heading to the fridge and grabbing a beer.
“How was the meeting?”
I unscrew the cap from the amber bottle, taking a drink before giving Jack a shrug. “It went okay. We got everything signed, at least. Molly made sure that I won’t be pushed into any shirtless nonsense at the last second.”
“Better not be getting naked around Dee,” he says with mock indignance. “How was she, anyway? Did you two catch up?”
I can only hope that my face doesn’t betray the twinge of guilt I feel when my mind immediately wanders to her dimple and her too-soft curves that shouldn’t even be on my radar. They aren’t on my radar, I chastise myself.
“We got coffee after the meeting,” I answer flippantly. “She told me a bit about her time in France.”
Jack makes a face. “Fucking hated it there. No one liked me!”
“Wow, that must have been a novelty for you.”
“Damn right it was. I’m lovable.” He juts out his chin in a way that reminds me of his sister. Now that’s an odd thought. “Dee had this douchey boyfriend for a while. I met him once when he came back for Christmas with her. God, he was a tool. He acted like wine drinking was some kind of religious experience and was appalled when I had the gall to offer him a Michelob.”
It makes no sense that I bristle at the mention of Lila’s past boyfriend—I’m sure she’s had several over the years, with as gorgeous as she’s grown to be. I tell myself it’s a lingering sense of protection for a pseudo–little sister. Even if it feels off.
“She seeing anyone now?”
Jesus Christ. What the fuck, Ian?
Jack arches an eyebrow. “Why?”
“Just realized I forgot to ask her,” I say as casually as I can muster. “No big.”
Appeased, Jack shrugs. “She hasn’t had a boyfriend for a while. Thank fuck. I hate thinking about some meathead boning my little sister.”
My shoulders tense.
Okay, this is getting ridiculous. What the actual fuck is wrong with me?
“Yeah, I hear you,” I toss back. “Weird that she’s not a scrawny kid anymore.”
“Tell me about it,” Jack huffs. “She turned into a Grade A hottie, which means I have to worry about dicks sniffing around her all the time.”
“Is it weird that you refer to your sister as a hottie?”
Jack smirks. “Nah. We have the same genetics, after all. Just an informed opinion from an objective standpoint.”
“They should have put your head in a sling,” I snort. “It’s gotten too big.”
“That’s what she said,” he laughs.
I roll my eyes. “You still want to watch that footage?”
“Yeah. Pittsburgh got a new center last year. He was a rookie, but he had a killer season. We play them first thing when the new season starts. You need to see him play.”
“We should just slap a coach’s jersey on you,” I muse, dropping onto the couch beside him. “You’re almost as bad as he is.”
“Someone has to make sure you guys can still win a game with me out of commission for another two months.”
“Right,” I deadpan. “How will we go on without you?”
“Don’t act like you’re going to mope when you skate back out as our left wing and look to your right and I’m not there.”
“I’ll try to hold back my tears.”
“You’re excited to be back, though, right?”
“Mostly, yeah,” I tell him. “I could do without the stupid-ass internet chirping, but it does feel good to be back home.”
“Did you talk to your dad again?”
I can feel myself grow immediately tense, a common occurrence when my father is involved. My official relationship with my father is that publicly, we’re solid, but privately? He can fuck right off. Not that it stops him from calling every so often to try to critique my performance even though I was playing for another team. And now that I’ve up and gone against his wishes and taken Mom up on her prodding to get me to take the trade back home…things are even more tense.
“He’s still not happy I’m back,” I admit. “Especially since everyone is making it their business to try and suss out why I was at Mei and Bella’s wedding.”
“Because there’s no way you could have just been invited, obviously,” Jack snorts.
“Dude, I have read everything from I tried to object when the minister called for it to me cornering her in her honeymoon suite, demanding an audience.”
“Bella would have kicked your ass.”
I nod. “Absolutely she would have.”
“Well, good thing he doesn’t have the final say in where you play,” Jack says smugly. “He’d have a lot of explaining to do if he pushed you too hard on it.”
“But so would I,” I point out with a sigh.
Jack frowns, no doubt trying to think of what to say to that. I wave him off.
“It’s whatever,” I tell him. “I just have to keep my head down until this shit with the press blows over. Once we start winning games, Dad won’t give a shit where I am as long as I keep my mouth shut.”
“And Abigail?” Jack prods gently. “Have you talked to her since you’ve been back?”
I grind my teeth together. Abby’s name always elicits strange emotions inside me—ones that are usually colored with guilt. “Just some texts here and there.” I shoot him an apologetic look. “I gave her your address in case she wants to visit. I hope that’s okay.”
“Shut up.” He waves me off. “Of course it is. I’ll add her to the list with the doorman so she can get up without any fuss.” He eyes me warily. “Sorry,” Jack offers, clearly seeing how tense I’ve become. “I wasn’t trying to rehash old shit. I was just curious.”
“It’s fine.” I shrug. “Let’s just watch your footage.”
“Sure. Yeah.”
He fiddles with the remote, flipping through recordings in the DVR, making a face that is equal parts concentration and worry. It’s funny—I’ve seen Lila make the same one. The reminder of her inadvertently causes my mind to wander back to our visit at the coffee shop, the scent of lavender and sugar still lingering in my senses.
“I was really surprised by how different Lila looks,” I say offhandedly. “You should have sent more pictures and prepared me while I was away.”
“You know I suck at pictures. You should use social media like a normal person.”
“You know why I don’t.”
“Ah.” He looks sheepish, no doubt remembering the onslaught that awaits me on social media on any given day. “Right. Sorry.” He frowns then, peering at me from the side. “Wait. Are you trying to say that my sister is a Grade A hottie? Because that’s weird, dude.”
“I didn’t say that,” I say a little too quickly.
“But you’re thinking it?”
“I’m not thinking anything! I’m just saying she grew up, that’s all. It was a surprise.”
A knock you on your ass surprise, that’s for sure.
Jack narrows his eyes for a moment, finally turning his attention back to the TV and grumbling, “Don’t be getting any ideas about my sister. That would be weird as fuck. Practically incestuous.”
I want to argue that Lila and I are absolutely not related—but I imagine it would do nothing to help my case. Besides, it doesn’t matter, because for all intents and purposes, he’s right. It would be weird for me to think of her like that.
It is weird.
“Wasn’t thinking that at all,” I argue feebly. “Chill, man.”
I guiltily remember my body’s reaction to Lila and her little French lesson, one I desperately wish I could remember the words from so I could google what the fuck she said.
“Mhm.” He hits a button, bringing up the recording, and his short attention span saves me from any more grilling. “Oh shit. This right here. Watch this. Fucking wild what this kid can do with a stick.”
I force myself to focus my attention on the screen, but admittedly, I’m still turning over Jack’s words in my head, almost like they’re stones that I expect to yield something new beneath them if I shuffle them around enough.
Stop being weird, I tell myself. You’re just surprised by how much she’s changed. That’s all. You could never think of Lila as anything other than the kid sister you never had.
And those are exactly the reins I’m going to tie around my thoughts, because that’s exactly what I should be thinking. There’s no good reason to entertain anything different. In fact, it would be better to just not think of Lila at all. Obviously, my brain is being too weird for that.
And yet, for all my reasoning…none of it stops me from thinking about her smile.