Chapter 20 #2
We stand outside the boards, observing the team running through drills on the ice. Though Jordan has his hands in his pockets, he watches with bright eyes, and I even catch him leaning along with the skaters a time or two, the same way he does when we watch hockey on TV.
My eyes are on him more than the players, and I have to keep reminding myself that I need to focus—also just like when we watch hockey together.
“Mmm, that’s big-league timing right there,” he says, glancing over at me. “Thinking two passes ahead. Jackson won’t be ours for long.” He gives a rueful laugh. Liam agrees.
“This is a fab facility, Libs.” A voice makes me turn to see Ellie walking toward us, and the two camera operators who had been focusing on the players both gravitate toward my sister and me.
Bennet fans are going to love getting to see Ellie in action again.
“That kitchen is mwah,” she continues. She makes a chef’s kiss motion.
“Don’t show my diet and nutrition people.
They’ll demand an upgrade at the Devils’ facility. ”
I move to hug her. It was nice of Ellie to come down and give me support like this. She’s emphasizing to Liam and the team that ownership is in my blood and I know what I’m doing.
“Hey,” I say after I introduce her to Liam. “What’s up?” I have to at least pretend like I don’t know what my sister’s doing here, talking me up in front of my new staff.
“Was in the neighborhood.” She shrugs. She gives me another side hug, her smile wide.
“I’m so glad you’re here, Libs.” It’s no surprise to me that there have been parts of Ellie’s move to Denver that have been hard for her, namely being away from our family when we’ve all lived in Houston together for so long.
She adores Janelle’s kids, and while sometimes it might be hard to see their large family given how she and Will have struggled with infertility, I know it’s harder being away than being close.
It makes me wonder if Janelle has told Ellie about her pregnancy yet.
Now that the rest of us know, she can’t keep it from her for long, even if it’s difficult to announce they’re expecting their sixth child.
“Can we do lunch tomorrow?” Ellie asks. “Do you have time?”
I nod. “Want to grill me without Jordan?” I arch an eyebrow at her.
I know what my sister’s up to. Mom might not buy our story about dating in secret and marrying quickly, but she won’t outright challenge me the way Ellie will.
She wants to get to the bottom of it, I’m sure, to protect me.
Last time I kept something big like this from them, it didn’t end well.
I wish I could figure out what exactly she thinks is going on.
That Jordan’s trying to con me out of money?
I already gave the man ten million dollars, and Ellie knows that.
I can’t help but consider how viewers are going to eat up the tiny taste of the old drama me and my sister used to play up for the cameras—Ellie disapproving of my new husband. Honestly, that was kind of brilliant of me.
“Grill you about what?” she asks innocently. “You guys have something to hide?”
“You act like you think we do,” I say dryly.
“Oh, yeah. That line is clicking,” Jordan suddenly interjects, clapping a couple times. “Sorry,” he says, looking at both of us with chagrin. He shifts closer to Liam, murmuring more compliments for the team.
Ellie reaches for my hand and holds it in hers. “I love you, Libby,” she says sincerely.
I lean my head on her shoulder. “I know. I love you too.”
My gaze strays to Jordan again as he tells Liam, “Love the way Jonesy isn’t overreacting. Smart.”
“He’s a great goalie.” Liam nods.
Ellie flicks her hand at a cameraman who has gotten too close, and he obeys instantly, moving away and going back to filming Jordan and Liam watching practice.
I wonder if they’ve heard the stories of how she—and my mom—controlled with an iron fist exactly what they filmed in the final few episodes of Being the Bennets.
“You like him,” she says in a low voice, sounding surprised in the same way she was this morning. She isn’t mic’d up like Jordan, Liam, and I are, so they won’t catch what she says unless she gets too close to my mic. I flick it off for a moment just in case.
I let out a quick laugh. “Of course I do, El. He’s my husband.”
“Yeah,” she says, drawing out the word. “Will you guys be home for dinner?”
“Mmm-hmm.” I wish Jordan and I could have some private time, time we don’t have to put on an act for anyone, but going out to eat to get away from Ellie won’t solve that either.
“Sofia’s making tacos.” Ellie rubs her hands together as she talks about her housekeeper and cook, who she’s fallen in love with since moving here. I’ve heard about Sofia’s tacos a lot. I’ve heard about a lot of Sofia’s food. Sofia might be the best thing about Denver, according to Ellie.
“We wouldn’t miss it. I’ve got to see if you’re overhyping the tacos.”
“Definitely not,” Ellie says seriously.
“Yeah, atta boy!” Jordan shouts, making us both jump as he bangs on the boards.
Ellie shares a grin with me. “He’s cute.”
“Yeah, he is.”
She reaches for my hand again. “It’s good to see you happy with him,” she says genuinely.
Guilt shouldn’t pile in my stomach. I am happy with Jordan; it’s just not for the reasons Ellie thinks. “Thanks,” I say in a quiet voice, turning back to him. He’s clapping at another good play during the drill, and my smile slips back onto my face, despite the guilt.
After watching practice, Jordan and I head to our separate offices to work for a while.
The camera crew has gone home, and everything in me relaxes as I sit in the big, over-cushioned office chair I chose for this space.
I spend several minutes enjoying being alone and not having to put on a show.
Then I get to work, losing myself in poring over the options we’ve come up with for coaches.
I cross a few off the list and make notes to ask Liam and Dan about some others.
My assistant interrupts at five to let me know she’s headed home. Valerie has been with me for two years now, and I was so grateful she chose to come to Denver with me. But she’s so talented, she’ll need a promotion soon.
I gather up my work, straighten my desk, and get ready to head out as well.
I told Ellie we’d be home for dinner tonight.
Once I’ve locked my office, I head down the hall to Jordan’s office, but it’s already dark and locked up as well.
I check my phone and notice a text I missed from him about thirty minutes ago.
Jordan
Down at the arena. Come get me when you’re ready to head home.
Jordan could head back to Ellie’s anytime he wanted, but it warms me that he waited. That he wanted to come home with me. Maybe it’s about this act for my sister, but I don’t think she’d question us coming home at different times. She and Will do it all the time.
I head down to the arena, and when I reach the concourse that runs around the top of the seating, I stop and lean on a railing, smiling. Jordan is down on the ice by himself. Him, a hockey stick, and a puck.
The arena is small, probably only about ten to fifteen rows of seats, so from here I can see the grin on his face.
He sprints from one end to the other, bouncing the puck back and forth as he goes.
The man has still got it. He’s smooth and controlled, and he glides along like it’s second nature to him.
It probably is. He’s been playing most of his life.
After I watch him for several minutes like some creepy stalker, he turns and catches me. His face brightens, and he waves at me. “How long have you been up there?” he calls.
“Not long. You’re good, Atkinson. You looking for a spot on a minor-league team?”
He laughs, coming to a stop against the boards nearest me. “You have me confused with someone else. My last name is Bennet.” He winks.
I wag a finger at him, but my eyes likely belie the sternness I’m trying to project. “It sounds like you’re flirting with me, Mr. Bennet.”
His smile, unwavering, shows zero concern for that accusation. “We’re in public, Mrs. Bennet. Anyone could happen upon us at any time.”
“You like toeing the line, don’t you.”
“Come skate with me, Lib.”
I burst into laughter, straightening from where I was leaning against the railing. “I don’t skate.”
Still, he beckons. “Let me teach you.”
“That sounds dangerous.” In more ways than one.
“Come on, Libby. You own a hockey team. You should learn to skate.”
He’s not wrong, which is why I let myself head down the stairs to him.
Definitely not because letting Jordan hold my hand or wrap his arms around me is something I want to do if I have the excuse to.
He disappears through the door that leads to the locker rooms and the equipment room while I make my way down to him. I’m sitting on the White Wolves bench when he comes back, skates in hand.
“What size?” I ask.
“Seven and a half,” he says, raising his eyebrows at me.
I can’t help that mine jump in surprise. “How do you know my shoe size?” I toe out of my slip-on sneakers.
“You’re my wife, Libby. Of course I know your shoe size.” He kneels down in front of me. Oh dear, we’re going to add a Cinderella moment to this?
“Fake husband,” I say, hoping my voice doesn’t sound as upended as I feel with his large hands cupping my calf as he slides my foot into the skate.
He looks up at me. His eyes have always been so striking, and now they’re shining with excitement. “That license says you’re my for-real wife.”
I wave a hand in front of me, trying to dismiss the way my heart has started racing. My physical attraction to Jordan is way easier to overcome than the little things like this.
He knows my freaking shoe size.
“You know what I mean,” I say.
“It’s not like it’s hard to look at your shoes and figure out your size. It’s a handy thing to know.”
“You plan on buying me shoes on a regular basis?”
He’s pulling the laces tight on the first skate. “Maybe. And it came in handy now, didn’t it?”
I stare down at him—well, to be quite honest, he’s so tall that I’m not really looking far down at him, even though he’s kneeling. “Are you for real, Jordan Atkinson?” I say it quietly, not meaning for him to hear.
He pauses, his hand on my other calf, warm and making electricity zing up and down my leg.
I want someone to walk in this arena so I have an excuse to lean over, pull his face to mine, and kiss him.
But I also want to have that moment for ourselves.
To kiss him without it being a performance for someone else.
“It’s easy to say, Libby,” he replies softly. “But I’m not like those guys who hurt your clients.” I don’t answer before he starts lacing up the second skate.
When he’s finished, he pulls me up, keeping both my hands in his, and guides us away from the bench and out onto the ice. He skates backwards, pulling me along with him. I’m not even really skating, just staying upright and gripping his hands.
We skate like that for several moments in silence, me looking down at my feet and concentrating on not falling on my butt.
“Ready to actually skate?” he asks.
“I am skating.”
He laughs. He lets go of one of my hands, making me flail, but a second later he’s smoothly slipped around me to put his hands securely at my waist. I swallow back a gasp at the heat in his touch.
Then he presses his body against my back.
“Follow my lead,” he says calmly—how can he be so calm?! “Right leg, left leg,” he murmurs, moving his legs in tandem with mine. We skate toward the goal at the far end of the ice. “Try to relax, Lib,” he says. “I’ve got you.”
Like me being unable to relax is about thinking I’m going to fall. How in the world could I fall with him holding me as close as he is, his chest against my back, his strong legs right behind mine?
The only danger here is that I’m going to fall for him.
“You’re fine,” he says in a melodic voice, and I force myself to melt into him, even though it goes against every instinct I have to protect my heart.
I’ve got you.
I believe him.
When we reach the net, we make an arc behind it, heading toward the other end of the rink. Jordan gives praise like “you’re doing great” and “just like that” in a calm, soft voice. Though he towers over me, he’s curved his body around me so that he’s speaking against my cheek.
We reach the other net, and he pulls away, allowing cold air from the rink to swirl between us. I shiver. Holding my hand, Jordan moves to my side.
“Now your turn.” His voice is husky. He doesn’t look at me as he leads me, now skating close to my side, but letting me skate on my own.
I definitely prefer it the way we were doing it before, and Jordan’s reactions say he does too.
By the time we’ve skated back to the other side again, I know I have to get us out of this situation before something happens that we can’t take back.
I stop behind the net and put my hand on the board next to me. “We’re going to be late for dinner if we don’t head out soon.”
“Oh, right,” he says, dropping my hand and circling the net swiftly a couple times like he’s running away from something. “Yeah, we should go.” He comes back to my side. “Want to try skating on your own on the way back?”
It’s a good idea, since any more touching is probably going to make me combust. “Yeah. Sure.”
“I’ll be right here the whole time,” Jordan promises, sticking to my side as we come out from behind the net. “I won’t let you fall.”
I think it might be too late.