Chapter 23
~Daley~
Outside the arena, a large group of people lingers, mostly men who didn’t have an excuse to visit the showcase today or simply didn’t want to wait in line but still want a chance to see Deke Belin in person.
“Hey, Deke,” one of the men calls. “Can we buy you a drink?”
“I’ve got beers and BBQ on my ranch,” another adds.
Someone else simply shoves a jersey at him. “Can you sign this?”
People begin to crowd in around us, many recording with their phones, but Deacon holds up his hands to get the group’s attention. “Hey, everyone. Thanks for coming out but I have to get going. Hope to see you at a game sometime.”
Without waiting to hear their protests, he slips his hand to the small of my back and steers me through the crowd towards his car.
I actually drove my own car over this morning with all the supplies in it, but with all the attention on us, I don’t want to delay our departure.
I’ll come back and pick it up once things have died down.
Once again, he opens the door for me before heading to his side. “Thanks again,” I hear him say as he opens the door, giving the disappointed onlookers a wave before getting into the car next to me.
“You handled that very well,” I acknowledge as he buckles his seat belt and starts the car.
“I told you: people are usually pretty respectful. If you say no, they accept it. They might complain about me having a big ego or some shit later, but nobody wants to annoy the guy who gets in fights for a living.”
He flashes me a grin as he steers the car carefully out of the parking lot, ignoring the people still staring at him.
“Jane mentioned you have a reputation for fighting on the ice,” I say, only hearing how that sounds as the words come out of my mouth. “Not that we sit around talking about you all the time.”
His grin widens. “Of course you don’t, Mama. Which way am I going here?”
It feels so natural to be in Deacon’s car, spending time with him, that I almost forgot he’s never been here before. “Left at the stop sign up here.”
We chat about the town during the five-minute drive to my house, and when we arrive, I tell him to stay in the car while I run inside. “I’ll open the garage so you can park inside. With a car this nice, I don’t want to leave it out on the street.”
Deacon gives me a knowing smirk. “Is that the reason, or do you just not want word getting out that I’m spending the night here?”
A little of both. “Give me just a minute.”
All week, I’ve told myself nothing’s going to happen tonight.
I repeated it while I washed River’s bed sheets and tidied his room, ensuring everything was fresh and clean.
I muttered it under my breath while I made dinner ahead of time so I could simply pop it in the oven when we got back this afternoon after a long day.
But now that we’re actually here, as I watch his tall, muscular body unfold from the driver’s seat and he grabs the overnight bag that he brought with him from the back of his car, my blood heats in a way I can’t control and am not even sure that I want to.
All day long, women ogled him, did their best to flirt with him, and he didn’t show the least bit of interest. No matter what they did to turn his head, he chose to come home with me, and when he gives me another slow, sexy grin as he walks over to meet me, a flush of both pride and desire washes over me.
Apparently, it’s clearly visible in my face.
“You keep eyeing me up that way, Daley, and this ‘friends’ label we gave ourselves isn’t gonna last the next ten minutes, let alone the whole night.”
Fuck.
His grey eyes pierce right through me as I blink up at him, trying to restart my brain after the short-circuit his words just caused. “I… uh… I’m going to turn the oven on.”
Spinning on my heel, I turn around and head for the kitchen, leaving Deacon chuckling quietly behind me.
My hand shakes as I turn the oven on to warm up, and I give myself another scolding-slash-pep talk while I pull the lasagna from the fridge and take off the foil I covered it with.
You made it through the whole day without embarrassing yourself.
Get through dinner and make an excuse to go to bed early. You can do this.
It’s not a true comparison, though. Keeping my distance was a hell of a lot easier at the showcase with dozens of people around than when Deacon steps into my kitchen, needing to duck his head so he doesn’t smack it on the door frame when he passes through.
“This is nice,” he offers, looking around the cozy country-kitchen space with its eat-in table that serves as my makeshift office.
“This whole house probably fits inside your garage,” I retort. Jane told me about the pictures she saw in one of the papers of Deacon’s mansion back when the paparazzi were in the thick of the story of his wife’s cheating scandal. From what she said, I don’t think I’m exaggerating.
His wince all but confirms it. “Yeah, it’s a little over-the-top. I didn’t think we needed so much space, but I got overruled.”
I can guess what he means but I ask him to confirm it anyway. “Your wife chose it?”
“Yeah.” He nods as he looks around the room, taking it all in.
It’s a little cramped; there’s never enough space for all the things I need for my experiments and teaching, so I have boxes of more supplies stacked against the wall.
His eyes travel over all of it before landing on the lasagna on the counter next to me. “Is that dinners?”
“It is. Lasagna and a salad. I figured Italian was a safe bet after your restaurant choice this week.” We share a quick smile at the memory. “I know you have a strict diet, so I hope it’s okay.”
“It’s perfect.” He walks over to inspect my creation, his body dangerously close to mine. “Let me worry about my diet, alright? I’m not one of River’s friends from school, you don’t have to take care of me. I’m not looking for a second mom.”
What he is looking for, he leaves unsaid, but the heat in his eyes suggests it isn’t exactly a friend either.
“Let me get this in the oven and we can go sit down in the living room,” I suggest. Without me asking, he opens the oven door for me, and I place the pan on the shelf and set the timer for 45 minutes. “Do you want something to drink?”
“Water,” he tells me. “The answer’s always water, but you go ahead and have whatever you want.”
“Got it.”
I pour him a glass from the filtered jug in the fridge and help myself to a half-glass of a crisp Chardonnay. I have a feeling I’m going to need it tonight.
A three-seater sofa dominates the living room, and I take one end while Deacon settles himself in the middle of the remaining space, both of us angling to face each other.
A small fireplace sits opposite us and above it hangs a picture of me and River from the night of his draft, both of us dressed up and beaming ear-to-ear.
Jonny took it on his phone, and I liked it so much, I had it printed.
Deacon makes a survey of this room as he did the kitchen, as if he’s looking for clues of some kind.
“Tell me about your wife,” I start, knowing that we’ve got 45 minutes to kill and the last thing I want to do is talk about myself that whole time.
He already knows the basics of my story, so we can use this time to focus on him.
Besides, chatting about his cheating ex should stop things from getting too heated between us.
Deacon sighs as he scans the room once more, his wary gaze eventually returning to me. “You want to know about how it ended?”
“No.” I shake my head vehemently, hoping he doesn’t truly believe I’m looking for gossip. “I want to know how you met. How you fell in love. What you loved about her. The good stuff.”
The uncertainty leaves his eyes, but his expression remains tight. “It’s easier to remember the bad stuff, unfortunately.”
“I understand.” Truly, I do. When I think about Anthony, which isn’t often, the memory of how things ended between us casts a long shadow over everything that came before, but there were good times. I wouldn’t have been with him if there weren’t. “Will you try, for me?”
The tension in his jaw loosens to the point that he almost smiles. “Well, when you put it that way, how can I resist?”