Chapter 32 Darby
DARBY
I’m not holding out much hope for befriending Doyle any time soon, but at least I understand him a little better.
The guys start playing some hockey highlights for me, trying to expand my very limited knowledge of the game. I’m interested, definitely, but between the glass of wine, being cold earlier and now toasty warm against Henrik, not to mention all the extracurricular activities last night…
I can’t keep my eyes open.
I drift in and out of sleep while they laugh and reminisce.
I feel a little bad conking out on them, especially while watching something they clearly loved and enjoyed.
But Henrik pulls me up onto his lap and cradles me against him, his mouth on my head.
His hands slowly stroke my hair and back.
If he’s not offended his hockey highlights are putting me to sleep, then I won’t worry about Ren being offended either.
I’m not sure how long I’m out, but we’re moving. Henrik’s carrying me upstairs. I hear low voices but can’t quite make out the words until Leland says, “Good night. I’ll start editing first thing in the morning.”
A draft of cold air makes me curl deeper against Henrik, burying my face into his shirt. The last thing I want to do is drag on all the winter stuff and tromp around in the brutal cold. Even if it’s only ten minutes back to his place. But I need to take Skadi out anyway.
Blinking hard, I try to rouse myself. Mumbling.
Not sure why we’re going up more stairs. Away from the door. Maybe I drifted asleep again?
“Ren’s taking Skadi out. He invited us to stay the night.”
Oh shit. My eyes are wide open now. “Are you okay with that?”
He glances down at me, but I can’t see his expression in the darkened hallway. “I’m okay with everything and anything that makes you happy and comfortable. I doubt you want to face the cold to head home. Right?”
Home. Gulp. Also guilty as charged. “Right.”
He laughs softly. “That’s what I thought. We’ve all stayed over here before when the celebrations involved a few too many drinks. He’s got several guest rooms up here.”
Guest rooms. Right. Not me assuming…
I mean, it was just a kiss.
Never mind what Henrik said earlier. He was joking. Sure.
“Though of course his room is up here too,” he says in a low, silky tone. “Right to Ren’s bed. Left to the guest bed. You tell me where we’re headed, babe.”
My brain is hopping around like that rabbit outrunning Skadi earlier. It’s Henrik’s idea. He’s okay with it. Why am I struggling with the idea of—
But what if he changes his mind? What kind of guy is fine with bringing another guy into bed with his girlfriend?
Am I his girlfriend? It’s been, what, twenty-four hours? Night two?
A nervous giggle escapes. More of a gasp, really. A choke.
Which Henrik interrupts as left. He doesn’t complain. He doesn’t question. He doesn’t try to coerce me into something he wants.
Stutter. Does he really want it? Me and Ren and him?
“Wait,” I gasp out softly.
He pauses, his hand on the doorknob to the guest room. It dawns on me that he’s holding me mostly in one arm, easily, like it’s no big deal. He carried me up two flights of stairs. No big deal. He’s offering to share me with his best friend.
No big deal?
“What do you want?” I ask, my voice shaking.
“Wrong question, babe. All I care about is what you want.”
“But…” I heave out a heavy sigh. “I wish I could see your face. This is too—”
He shifts me slightly and turns to flip on the hallway light. “Better?”
He knows Ren’s second floor well enough to know exactly where the light switch is in the dark without fumbling. He knows the layout of the house.
Gently, he sets me down on my feet, though he keeps his hands on my waist. Close but not pressuring me.
Letting me think. He gazes down at me, his eyes steady.
Not shifting away, narrowed with suspicion, or avoiding my searching gaze.
He doesn’t say anything. Just lets me think. And look at him. His face.
Gruff lines are etched around his eyes and across his forehead from his formidable lumberjack routine. But those lines are soft now. There’s a knowing glint in his eye, a bit of a challenge, maybe, but not anger. His mouth is soft and relaxed, not pinched with jealousy.
I reach up and stroke my fingers over his grizzled cheek. Feel the texture of his skin. His beard. My other hand rests on his chest, feeling the steady pump of his heart, beating deep and hard from climbing the stairs but not laboring. “Are you real?”
His lips curl in a slow smile that curls my toes and makes my pussy clench hard enough my breath catches. “I am. Are you real, Darby Barclay?”
I don’t answer right away. I don’t feel real right now. I don’t feel like myself.
But that’s not a bad thing. Far from it.
Old Darby was sad, lonely, and living a gray, cold life.
The only bright part of her day was coming home to her dog, but the home itself was sad.
Boring. Empty. Temporary. It was a roof over my head and close to work.
Otherwise, I hated it. I hated not having a yard for Skadi any longer.
I hated the second-hand furniture I bought so I wouldn’t have to sit on the floor.
I let Michael take everything inside the house, hoping he would let me keep the bakery equipment in exchange, but I ended up selling everything to pay him out.
If the place burned down while I was gone, what would I even miss?
My photo album of Skadi’s puppy pictures.
Pictures of my parents. My diploma I’d worked so hard for, though I could just order another one.
A few treasured books I liked to re-read every year.
My recipe book with all my notes and adjustments I’d made over the years as I learned to double and quadruple recipes for large-scale baking.
That’s it. After thirty-three years of life on this earth, I’d accumulated a few treasures that would easily fit into my SUV. I could have thrown an extra box or two in the back and left Denver for good when I started on my journey to Vegas.
Now, I feel like Dorothy stepping out of her sepia-toned farmhouse into the wild, colorful Munchkin Land. Only instead of flowers and a golden-brick road, I’ve got plaid and muscles for days. Maybe I hit my head when we slid off the road. Maybe I died and this is an alternative reality.
It doesn’t feel like real life.
I’ve never lived in full color like this. Not really. I’ve never had a one-night stand with a man. Let alone two. Nights. Men.
It makes me laugh, my cheeks burning.
“I don’t know,” I finally admit. “This isn’t something I would ever do. I’m feeling…” I search around in my head for a metaphor he’ll get. “Like a boat someone forgot to tie up, and it’s just wandering around on the lake with no one to steer.”
“I told you from the beginning I don’t do one-night stands.”
I nod, peeking back up at his face. “I know. Me neither. It’s just…” My breath sighs out softly, my mind casting around, trying to find the right words. “What is this, then?”
He clasps my hand over his heart. “This is real.”
I feel like crying but I’m not sad. I swallow down tears. I don’t want him to think I’m upset. “It’s only one night. Well, two, now.”
“No, babe. It’s forever if you want it.”
I sniffle, biting my lip. “It’s too soon.”
“For me? Or to add Ren to the mix?”
I tip my head forward, resting my forehead against his chest. “If this is real, forever, even though it’s only been a day, then it makes even less sense to me why you’d be open to Ren joining us.
One crazy night, maybe. Something I’d think about in my old age and laugh and think ‘damn, I actually did that!’ But real?
Day in and day out? Every night? Once a week?
Is there like a schedule? A color-coded calendar? Make it make sense to me.”
His chest rumbles with laughter. “Oh, babe. There’s no spreadsheet for love. Big love. The kind of love that says the more the merrier.”
I choke again, shaking my head against him. “You said the L word. It’s too soon for that too. One hundred percent too soon.”
“I know what I feel, babe.” He rests his chin on top of my head, and wicked amusement enters his tone.
“If it’s easier for you to hear dirty talk than the L word, then we can fuck at home.
We can fuck here. We can fuck on the table.
We can fuck on the Ice if you want though it’d be cold as hell.
We can fuck at Lee’s, but we’ll have to come home to my place before we starve.
He doesn’t cook, so he doesn’t stock much food other than microwave dinners or something he can cook on the grill.
Someday I hope we can fuck at Doyle’s, but he’s got to get his head out of his ass first.”
My face is so hot I’m probably burning his chest through his shirt. “What are the rules, though? I don’t want to hurt anyone, especially you.”
“Why do we have to have rules if you’re happy? If one of them’s being a dick, they deal with me, and trust me, babe, nobody in their right mind wants to deal with the Mighty Zon when I’m pissed.”
“What if I’m the dick?”
His fingers close on my chin, gently tipping my face back up to his. “Somehow I don’t think my good girl is ever a dick—unless someone deserves it. Then I stand at your back with my belligerent Mighty Zon glare until you tap me to come in and do clean up.”
I try to glare at him as mean as possible. “I can be a bitch when I want.”
He huffs out a laugh. “Be my guest, babe. But something tells me that the woman who loves Skadi so much isn’t ever going to get off on hurting someone else just for kicks and giggles.”
“No,” I grudgingly nod. “I feel like hot steaming garbage when I think I hurt someone’s feelings. But I think I’d feel better about… this… if I had some rules. Some clear boundaries. So I know where the lines are, and I don’t accidentally cross them.”
“I’d like to be involved wherever you go. That way I can keep everyone else in line and make sure you’re safe.”
Aw. My vision’s all watery again but I give him a hopefully not wobbly smile. “Okay. Yeah. But—”
His eyes narrow. “There’s no but.”
I tip my head to the side, searching his face. “Is that really what you want, though?”
“Babe—”
“I mean it,” I butt in, holding his gaze. “You don’t want your own girlfriend? Everyone else is hands off? Something special, just for you?”
His fingers move up to my cheek, his knuckles lightly grazing my skin.
“You’re my something special. You being here at all is special.
You being willing to include my crazy-ass friends in our love—I mean, our extraordinary hot-as-fuck fucking—is special.
You’re making something I always thought impossible real and tangible. Besides, I get something just for me.”
“What’s that?”
“Your trust that I’ll keep you safe, whatever happens.”
“I’m not a net you have to protect.”
He arches a brow. “I was born to guard, babe, but there’s more to being a goalie than keeping the other team’s puck out of the net.”
“There is?”
“Let me call the shots. Let me run the team, because nobody can keep them in line like me.” He lightly taps my nose and winks. “Plus I guarantee a victory every time we step out on the ice.”
“What about Ren? I thought he was the famous Hotshot.”
“He is. But he still looked to me on our side of the ice.”
“What about his… uh…” I hesitate, not sure if I want to say it out loud. I don’t want to insult anyone.
“His off-the-ice experience?” Henrik asks, picking up on my train of thought. “He took a lot of shots, yeah. He’s always been fast and furious in that regard. But it never meant anything to him.”
“That’s what I mean, though. I don’t want to be just another notch on his hockey pole.”
Henrik throws his head back, laughing. “You mean stick, and no, he wouldn’t dare, I promise you.”
“Really?” My brow furrows. “If it doesn’t mean anything to him, then I’d rather pass, because it means a lot to me.”
“I never said you didn’t mean anything to him.”
Shaking my head, I laugh awkwardly. “Men like him aren’t ever interested in me.”
“Wanna bet? But you don’t have to take my word for it. Ask him yourself.”
I’m suddenly very aware of Skadi’s nails clicking on the floor as she runs up and gives me a happy yip. Which means…
I turn my head slowly and watch Ren lean against the wall. Casually, devastatingly gorgeous with his wide smile and dimples, rock-star persona and hot-as-fuck tats. “Ask me what?”
My tongue plasters to the roof of my mouth.
Unluckily for me, Henrik has no problem whatsoever asking for me. “She wants to know if she’s going to be just another notch on the Hotshot’s stick.”