Chapter 8
Rome
If I was smart, I’d run for the hills.
But I’ve never been all that bright when it comes to women.
And there’s something about this one that’s making me fall right back into all the stupid habits I thought I’d broken free from.
“It’s actually two-fold,” she admits.
“Tell me more,” I let my hand fall away but I don’t move otherwise, watching her pretty face as she lights up with excitement. That might be my favorite thing about her.
“Your sister introduced me to her friend Nita? Do you know her?”
“Sure. They’ve been friends since they were little. I think elementary school.”
“She just opened a 50s style diner. The waiters there are making bank and when we chatted on the phone, she invited me to come check it out. And I can bring a friend. Since I’m a broke college student, I thought it would allow me a way to do something nice for you while also taking care of something important for myself. ”
Nita married a billionaire right out of college, who promptly dropped dead a year later, leaving her with more time and money than anyone should have.
And for some reason, everything she touches in business turns to gold.
She’s even richer than she was when her husband died.
So if this is her dream child, I’m sure it’s going to do well.
“All right,” I say after a moment. “I’ll go with you.”
“What’s your schedule?” she says, typing something into her computer. “Mine is probably busier than yours, minus the travel.”
“We have a game tomorrow night, we’re off Friday, another game Saturday, and we leave Sunday for nearly two weeks.”
“Okay, I work at the grocery store on Friday, but it’s a day shift, so we could go Friday night. Seven?”
“And how do we explain leaving together?”
She smirks. “We don’t. I work until six, and I’ll change and get ready at the store, and then meet you there.”
“All right.” I can’t seem to move out of her orbit, staring into her eyes, trying not to stare at the swell of her braless tits beneath a soft, lightweight sweatshirt that shows every curve. I can see her nipples poking through and I’d bet my last dollar at least one of them is…pierced.
Fuck .
Everything about her is sexy and complicated and electric.
I shouldn’t have agreed to this.
It’s going to mean trouble. I recognize the signs—I’ve put myself in situations like this a million times—and promised myself I would avoid women who’ll bring drama to my life.
Except there’s something different about Billie.
She still means trouble for me—with a capital T—but the risk/reward ratio is higher. The pull is stronger. The chemistry more explosive.
And all we’ve done is dance.
“It’ll be good to see Nita,” I add when the electricity between us starts to crackle like fucking dynamite. Another five seconds and I’m going to throw her down, rip off of clothes and?—
Knock it off.
All of that is a huge no-no.
I agreed to dinner, nothing else.
There can’t be anything else.
I’ll tell her after dinner. Thank her for taking me along and then make it clear we can’t go where this is going.
Sharing this place with Bodi is saving me a ton of money, which means I might be able to pay off my ex by summer.
Then she’s out of my hair for good and I’m free and clear.
If I can extend my contract for one more year, even making the league minimum, I can retire in decent financial shape.
It’s been nearly three years since my last divorce, and I’m still trying to get back on my feet.
“Well, anyway, I’m going to get some rest,” I say. “And Bodi said to go ahead and sleep in his bed again.”
She shakes her head. “I changed the fucking sheets earlier. God dammit. Well, I’m not changing them again. He can deal with one night’s worth of my body cooties.”
I snort. “Body cooties?”
“They’re cleaner than Bodi cooties.”
“All hockey players probably have those same cooties,” I deadpan.
She throws her head back and chortles. “You can say that again. He was so gross in high school. My mom used to chase him with deodorant… he never remembered to wear it so she told him that was all he was getting for Christmas until he wore it every single day.” Her expression softens for a moment.
“That was one of our last Christmases together.”
“I’m sorry, Billie.”
Fuck .
Now I’m touching her again. My hand on her shoulder, squeezing softly, letting it linger, giving her the only kind of support I can offer for something like this.
I don’t know much about the accident where she lost her parents beyond what Bodi told me the night she moved in, and I don’t want to be intrusive.
Or make her relive something that has to be painful, no matter how long it’s been.
“It was a long time ago,” she says quietly. “Bodi made sure I went to therapy and it helped. I just wish he’d gone too.”
“He didn’t?” I ask in surprise.
She shakes her head. “No. I think he was in survival mode. Taking care of me—I needed multiple surgeries and a full year of rehab—plus hockey and being thrown into full-blown adulthood. He’d just turned eighteen and suddenly he was in charge of a teenager, a career as a pro athlete, maintaining a home, and everything that went with it.
He didn’t have time to grieve. I think that’s why he’s all up in my business. ”
“Have you talked to him about it?”
She sighs. “I’ve tried, but he can be stubborn. He says he’s fine. All he cares about is me.”
“He’s a good guy,” I say gently. “I know it can be a hassle, him being so overprotective, but it’s obvious he loves you.”
“He does.” She nods. “That’s what makes it so hard. I know he’s got his own shit, but it’s starting to be intrusive. I mean, I’m pretty sure he thinks I’m still a virgin.”
Why does the mention of her virginity give me a semi?
I’ve got to get a handle on this crazy attraction between us.
“You’re, uh, twenty-two, right? He must know better?”
She grimaces. “I’ve never been able to bring a guy home. Never introduced him to any of my boyfriends. He’s hardcore.”
Yeah, this is going to go wrong ten ways to Sunday.
And for some reason I’m helpless to say no. It’s like she’s got me by the balls and even though I’m strong enough to break away, I don’t want to.
“Going forward, you guys have to come to some kind of resolution. You’re not a kid anymore.”
“Tell me about it.” She chews her lip thoughtfully.
“Believe me, I’ve tried. He just won’t budge.
I think at some point I have to find a guy who’s tough enough to stand up to him—in a respectful way.
Who isn’t afraid the big, bad hockey player will kick his ass.
That’s the only way Bodi’s ever going to back down.
But so far, no one I’ve ever dated has been man enough to do that. And I won’t settle until I find him.”
Her gaze lifts to mine and I swear to everything holy, there’s a question in them.
Am I tough enough?
Absolutely.
Am I the guy that’s going to do it?
Probably not.
I’m not in a position to get serious with anyone. Even someone I want as badly as I want her. I probably should set some parameters.
“I’m not afraid of your brother,” I say after a moment. “But I also want to play at least one more season, if at all possible. I can’t start off on the wrong foot here. I don’t know how much you know about me, but I’m not a popular guy around the league.”
She studies my face. “I don’t believe that, but I’m not sure why.
I don’t think I’ve seen anything but thoughtfulness and a touch of overprotectiveness in you, too.
Not like Bodi, but you stepped in at the bar when no one else did.
You tagged along with Bodi to come rescue me from my crazy roommates even though you had no idea what you were getting into…
that tells me there’s more to you than your hockey persona. ”
“It was the right thing to do,” I say simply.
“That tells me who you are on the inside,” she says, continuing to watch my face like she’s taking notes or something. “So why doesn’t that shine through on the ice? Or at least in the locker room.”
“I don’t know,” I admit. “I think it’s partly because early on, I wasn’t a skilled enough player to be a high scorer, so I had to lean on my ability to get under the other team’s skin, stir things up on the ice.”
“And fight.” She says it softly, but there’s no censure in her voice.
“Right,” I agree. “I like to fight. And like a lot of young men with more testosterone than common sense, I sometimes took it too far. I got a reputation. Even the guys on my own teams started being wary, looking at me like a loose cannon. And I guess I was.”
“Are you still?”
I hesitate.
Because I don’t know the answer.
The short answer is yes, but the long answer is far more nuanced.
I’m a lot more careful these days, both because some of the younger guys coming into the league are tough little shits and I can’t afford to get hurt, but also because I’ve matured enough to know that randomly dropping the gloves for no reason isn’t always the answer.
There are other ways to make a point. Ways that won’t put me in the box and leave my teammates scrambling on the penalty kill.
There’s more to it than that, though. It’s just hard to articulate.
“Probably,” I say with an indifferent shrug.
“I don’t believe that.”
“You should. Just because I’ve been nice to you doesn’t mean I’m nice. Ask my sister. She can tell you.”
“She has told me. She thinks you’re a good guy. And so do I.”
Fuck-fuck-fuck.
I stare down at her, and the sincerity in her eyes is going to undo me.
I’m in so much fucking trouble.