Chapter 41
JORDAN
The front door opens and he steps inside, alone.
“You’re home,” I say stupidly, sitting up.
He sees Bea asleep on the couch and a wistful expression comes over his face.
“Yeah. I’m home.”
“Did you have fun?”
“Uh.” He tilts his head like it’s a strange question. “Sort of.”
I don’t know why I’m pressing on this bruise. Of course he dates. Look at him. Fucking look at him.
We work together and live on the same property. I’m going to learn things about his personal life. Get used to it, I tell myself, and don’t make it a big deal.
His gaze returns to Bea and his eyes soften. “Tonight went well, I see.”
“Sorry she’s not in bed. She was fighting me on it.” I have no idea how to babysit a kid. “I didn’t know what to do.”
“You did great. I’ll bring her up to her bed in a second.” He opens the fridge. “I’m going to steal a piece of your pizza, though,” he says over his shoulder. “I’m starving.”
“It’s your pizza.” I shrug. “You paid for it.”
He leans against the counter and takes a big bite. “Fuck, that’s good,” he mutters, and a shiver runs down my back.
Why is that so hot, watching him eat pizza, leaning against the counter in his own kitchen? It’s the most ordinary thing and yet I can’t look away. Maybe it’s the low tone of his voice, the appreciation, the way he’s enjoying it. The way his eyes close.
Or maybe it’s the quiet familiarity I’m witnessing, him totally at ease. Who gets to see Tate Ward like this, eating pizza in his kitchen at ten at night? Almost no one, I bet. My heart does a weird twist.
Maybe it’s the act of watching Tate Ward take something he wants.
What did he do with my panties? Why would he have them upstairs?
“Okay, one more.” He opens the fridge and steals another piece.
“Was it one of those places with super tiny portions?” I ask with a wry smile. “With four items on the menu?”
He gives me an odd look, swallowing a big bite. “I’m sorry?”
“The restaurant.”
His head tilts. “I don’t follow.”
“Where you went on the date.”
He starts to smile, staring at me like he’s trying to figure me out. “Date?”
I study my nails. “It’s fine. I’m not going to gossip to the team about it or anything.”
“I know you wouldn’t.”
A long, loaded pause of silence. Finally, I look up. He’s smiling.
“I wasn’t on a date tonight. Why did you think I was on a date?”
I gesture to him. “You look—”
I’m not going to finish that sentence.
“What?” Still smiling. Eyes doing that sparkling thing. “I look what?”
“Nice,” I force out with a shrug. “You showered and wore a different shirt and stuff.” I’m starting to mumble, looking anywhere but him, my face burning hotter than the sun.
“You think I look nice?”
I chance a look at his face and immediately regret it. “There’s no need to be cocky about this.”
“Who’s cocky?” He takes another bite of pizza, smiling at me. “It’s nice to hear I look nice.”
I swing my legs over the couch and get up. “Okay. Goodnight.”
He bursts out laughing, following me.
“Jordan, wait. I was just teasing you.” He steps between me and the front door, dusting off the crumbs on his jeans, and even that snags in my mind, because he’s so professional and controlled that it’s strange, seeing him do something as human and normal as brushing crumbs off his fingers. Onto the floor, for god’s sake.
I pull my sneakers on, not even getting my heels in all the way. I need to get out of here before I say or do something dumb.
“I wasn’t on a date. I was at a parent-teacher association meeting at Bea’s school.”
I stand, frowning.
“I make an effort to go when I’m in town,” he adds.
“You learn a lot about how your kid is doing from the other parents. Bea doesn’t always tell me what I want to know.
” Worry flickers through his eyes. “A few of them go out after the meeting for a drink, and I try to join to get the lowdown on what’s really happening with the kids and teachers.
” His mouth twists into a wry smile. “Obviously, I wasn’t drinking. ”
“I didn’t think that.” My gaze lingers on his shirt, and even in the dim light in his foyer, his eyes are so sharply green.
He glances down at his clothes. “I don’t always wear a suit, you know.”
A quiet, huffing laugh slips out of me but I keep my mouth firmly shut in case I say something dumb about how good he looks like this.
“I’ll walk you home,” he says, pulling his boots on.
My lips quirk. “It’s like forty feet away.”
He winks, opening the door for me and following me out. “Wouldn’t want a cougar to get you.”
It’s cold outside, but dry and clear, and tiny pinpricks of light sparkle in the dark sky. Tate’s gaze lifts as we walk, lingering on the stars.
“So, did you figure out what you wanted to know tonight? From the other parents?”
He rubs the back of his neck. “Not really.” He pauses, like he isn’t sure if he should continue. “She doesn’t have a lot of friends at school. I worry about her.”
He falls silent as we walk down the little path to the guesthouse.
“I, uh,” he starts, shooting me a wan smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “My father never showed interest in anything at my school. Never came to a single school play, parent-teacher meeting, hockey game, nothing.”
My heart twists. Same.
“So I try to be involved with Bea. It shows her that I care.”
Oh god. My heart. “That’s a good reason. You’re a great dad, Tate.”
“Yeah, well. I don’t know about that, but I try like hell.”
“You are,” I insist.
“It’s fine.” He laughs. “I wasn’t fishing for a compliment.”
“I know you weren’t.” There’s a steel to my voice that makes him look at me. “But you’re a great dad.”
“I’m away a lot.”
“But when you’re here, you’re present and giving her everything. And I’ll bet when you’re away, you talk to her all the time.”
“Every night.”
“And I’ll bet you think about her constantly.”
“Of course.”
“You’re a great dad,” I say again, firmly.
We’re at the guesthouse.
“Can I come in for a moment?” he asks as I key the door code in. “There’s something I want to talk to you about.”
The panties, my brain shrieks. He wants to talk about the panties.
“Sure.” My voice sounds tight, and I hold the door open as he follows me in.
“Yang-Hanson took a trade to Denver instead.”
“Oh.” Disappointment sinks in me. “He seemed so interested.”
“He was interested, alright.” Tate’s Adam’s apple bobs as he glances around my guesthouse, and for a moment, he looks almost . . . grumpy? “We’ll find someone else.”
“He was exactly what we needed.”
“He was fine. We’ll find someone else. Someone better.” He studies my face, and his expression softens. “You’ll find another player for us. I know you will.”
When he says it like that, in his low, steady voice, holding my eyes like that, I believe him. I believe it’s all going to be okay.
“Okay?” he asks, eyebrows lifting, and when I nod, he relaxes. “Good.”
This is the part where he should leave, but instead, he watches me.
“Why didn’t you finish your master’s?”
Alarm races through me and my eyes widen. “How did you know about that?”
“Jay told me.”
“Jay Choudhury?”
He nods. The UBC women’s hockey coach who let me work with the team for my thesis.
“Why did you—” I’m warm. “You talked to him?”
He nods again. “I wanted to know what you could do. He had exceptional things to say about you and your work.” There’s that studying, searching gaze again. “So I want to know why you didn’t finish.”
“I realized I was in the wrong field,” I rush out, not looking at him. “Why waste my time, you know?”
He folds his arms across his chest and leans against the kitchen counter. “From everything I’ve seen, hockey is the right field for you.”
I scramble for an excuse, a lie, but lying to Tate suddenly feels so wrong. “It’s not important.”
“It feels important. Elaborate for me, Jordan.”
He studies me like more than anything, he wants to understand, and for some reason, I think my secret might be safe with him. Maybe it’s because of how kind he was when I cried in the closet.
“I suggested some changes to the team.” I tuck my arms around my stomach to quell the discomfort.
I hate thinking about what happened. “It went well for a while and then it didn’t.
We were—they were winning. Everyone was in a good mood.
Nothing solves a team’s problems like winning.
They’d all come to the bar where I worked and celebrate.
I’d give them free drinks even though I wasn’t supposed to. ”
Stop talking, Jordan. I hate admitting that last part. That I was so eager for friends and acceptance that I jeopardized a good solid job.
“And then?”
“One of my suggestions didn’t work. A play I had designed with the coach.
They started losing. Someone got injured.
” My stomach, my lungs, my chest. Everything feels tight.
“They stopped showing up to the bar after games. No one wanted to celebrate anymore. And I heard them talking.” I study my hands.
“Wondering why I was still with the team if they weren’t winning anymore.
Wondering what the point was of having me around. ”
“So they lost a few games and they blamed you.”
“No—”
“And then they turned their backs on you.”
He sounds mad. Really mad. His eyes flash and his jaw tenses. Tate doesn’t look so patient anymore.
“No.” I swallow hard past the rocks in my throat. “There was no point of me being around anymore. I had a job to do and I failed.”
“You were a student. And even people with years of experience make mistakes. People screw up. There are so many people involved in a team, Jordan.” He shakes his head like he’s frustrated. “Why was it all on you?”
I don’t answer. I wish I hadn’t told him any of this.
“So you quit and opened a bar.”
“I bartended weekends and evenings to pay for as much school and rent as I could. I liked the idea of doing my own thing, hiring good people and making good drinks.” Having somewhere people can come to socialize. Being around people, but not involved. Being part of a group, but not really.
He takes a deep breath and pushes off the counter, stepping into my space. My pulse jolts, his scent surrounds me and he’s way, way too close but I don’t mind at all.
“Jordan.”
“Mm.” I close my eyes, breathing him in. I can feel his body heat.
“Look at me, please.”
“No, thanks.”
His fingers come beneath my chin, tilting my face up. Our eyes meet, and he brushes my bangs out of my eyes. Sparks scatter across my skin from where he touches me.
“My bangs need a trim,” I whisper, unable to look away.
His mouth kicks up at the edge, a wistful, sweet smile on his face that breaks my heart.
Oh god. My crush looms, gaining strength. I want to kiss him, and from the way he keeps glancing at my mouth, I think maybe he wants to kiss me, too.
I would, if he wanted to. I would kiss him and I’d love it.
“There’s something I need to be honest about with you.” He takes a deep breath. “That night we had dinner with Yang-Hanson, he asked if you were single.”
I frown. This is the thing he didn’t want to tell me? “Okay? I don’t c—”
“Hold on.” His expression is unreadable. “I told him you were seeing someone.”
I blink, baffled. “Why?”
“And when he asked if it was serious,” he rubs the bridge of his nose, eyes closed like he’s in pain, “I said yes.”
“Again, why?”
He takes a deep breath, broad chest rising and falling, before he rubs the back of his neck. I brace myself. It must be really bad, if he didn’t want to tell me.
Oh my god. It hits me.
“Do you think I’ll embarrass the team by fucking a player or something? That I have no self-control? That I’ll let it get in the way of my job—”
“I was jealous.”
I can feel the look of utter confusion on my face. “Jealous,” I repeat.
“Yes.” He stares at the floor. His eyes dart to mine, then back to the floor.
“You don’t get jealous.” He’s Tate Ward. He’s endlessly kind, responsible, and in control. “You’re the poster boy for emotionally mature.”
“Thanks.” A tiny flicker of a smile at the corner of his tense mouth.
Jealous. “Are you . . . attracted to me?”
If he says no, I’ll die on the spot. I don’t know why I asked.
Because he has my panties in his bedside table. That’s why.
“Yes.” He holds my eyes, his expression tight. “I didn’t choose this,” he adds quickly. “And I don’t want it, either.”
Wow. His words knife the buoyant red balloon of my crush. It pops and the limp balloon hits the ground with a flop.
“Right.” I blink. “Thanks.”
His head tips back with a sigh. “You know what I mean, Jordan.” His expression turns . . . sympathetic? “It’s never going to happen.”
Ouch. The limp balloon catches fire, smoldering, giving off thick, black smoke.
“It’s not even an option,” he says with a light laugh, and I want to dissolve.
It’s his laugh that really twists the knife, like it’s a joke.
Of course he’s not interested in me. I’m not polished or accomplished or any of the things he’s probably looking for.
The team had to buy me work clothes, for god’s sake.
I’m a mess. Of course he doesn’t want to be attracted to me. How inconvenient for him.
Fine. I don’t care.
I find my disinterested bartender stare. “Obviously.”
He stills, meeting my eyes, and I can’t read his expression. “Good. Glad we’re on the same page.” His eyes stay on my face, and he looks like he wants to say more. “Do you want a fire?” he asks, instead, gesturing at the wood stove.
“Nope.” I want this interaction to be over. Now. I’d rather freeze into a block of ice than extend it any longer.
He nods once. “Well, I guess I’ll say goodnight.”
“Goodnight.”
His gaze dips to my mouth and he turns away fast, striding up to the house like he’s hurrying to get away from me.