Chapter 3
ROOFING
SAINT
Anastasia shows up for me like I hoped she would. Her head peeks through the glass trap door resembling a large porthole that swings up wide from the floor. But she must be so stunned at finding me here she loses her grip and the door knocks her in the head.
“Ow!” she exclaims, her palm massaging her scalp from the hit.
“Shit, sorry about that. Here, take my hand.” I jump up to aid her entry. She slips her hand in mine. Sparks ignite up my arm like it’s the middle of summer fireworks, only it’s mid fall. The touch of her could inflame me into a bonfire.
We’ve never touched before now, unless you count the night Big D and I had to best-friend-sit her in Alberta.
She and Misty had flown up for our game, with the sole purpose of infuriating Misty’s ex, who played for the Alberta Stampede.
They’d held up funny posters that said things like, Storm’s stick is bigger than yours.
It revved up a huge fight, ending in Storm kicking her ex’s ass for the things he did to her.
Then Storm got word he was traded up to the pros with the Denver team and had to fly out that very night. Misty went with him, begging me and Big D to keep our eyes on Anastasia until her flight out in the morning.
You bet I kept my eyes on her. All of her. Every luscious inch. But there was that warning again from Storm before he left, not to fuck Misty’s friend.
All night at the hotel bar, we traded war stories about dating in L.A.
, laughing about it all, like it was pure therapeutic medicine.
She sat between Big D and me, my chair closer to hers than his.
Our knees and elbows brushed frequently.
When I walked her to her hotel room later, I simply suggested that she keep the party going with me.
She denied me once again.
She’s proven a challenge, I’ll give her that. I’m not used to a female denying me attention. Makes me desire her more.
All things considered, I’ve been a damn good boy keeping hands off in accordance with Storm and Misty’s warnings. But I doubt I can much longer.
“While that entry needs some work, look at this view. You know how to impress a woman. What is this place?” She goes to the railing, taking it all in.
I do the same—taking in her exquisite backside and the way the autumn breeze softly blows through her hair—the perfect length for my fingers to get lost in.
From the lights of the valley below, and the stars above in the moonless sky, this place has become my sanctuary. “I had this added on. It’s secluded from the pool patio, being on this side of the house. Still an incredible view from here, though.”
“Your rooftop sanctuary, nice,” she exclaims. “If I could write in a place like this, maybe my boss wouldn’t be breathing down my neck for me to meet my deadline.”
“Latest script giving you trouble?” She writes sappy Christmas movies.
I’ve fast forwarded through a few and I suppose if I were a woman who liked that sort of thing, they’d be good.
Misty says Anastasia’s latest movie streaming on TV the upcoming holiday season is supposed to be her best yet.
The fact this is her profession, that she worked her way up to being one of the top screenwriters at the studio she works for, is what impresses me most.
“You could say I lost my muse,” she mumbles so sadly, I want to know who hurt her. My brows quirk, but I’ll leave that alone for now.
“On a clear day, you can see all the way to the ocean. Sunsets are peaceful, too. Have a seat.” I gesture to the only two chairs up here.
The Adirondack style suits my need for this to be a casual space.
A couple of blankets and pillows flank the backs.
In the corner is a mini fridge stocked with beer and a bottle of wine.
I keep the bedroom door locked where the stairs are located, controlling access to it through an app on my phone.
In other words, we shouldn’t expect to be interrupted up here.
I plump up the pillow and motion for her to sit.
She turns and leans against the railing, instead. “Shouldn’t you be at the party, though, as the host?”
I grin at her familiar full red lips, something she can pull off well against her fair skin and long locks of dark wavy hair.
“You caught me. While I enjoy starting a party and having people around, I get bored quickly. I usually escape and come up here for a while until the party dies down. Funny, but most people assume I bring a woman up here with me to fuck, but I don’t.”
She cocks her head and crosses her arms against her ample chest, enough to squeeze her breasts together, a valley of cleavage peeking through the v-neck of her sweater. I’d love for my tongue to graze there.
“Are you trying to tell me you’re not liable for half of the playboy rumors about you, Saint?”
“Do these chairs in this small space look comfortable for fucking around?”
She takes it all in and shrugs. “Maybe.”
“People can believe what they want. I can only be responsible for myself.” I play it cool. “Honestly, other than you and Storm, I haven’t had anyone else up here. It’s my private space. A place where I come to think.”
“So I should feel honored?”
“Yeah, actually.” I wink paired with a casual glance down the front of her, enjoying every inch I see. “Now sit. Talk with me.”
“Why me?” She asks, and I don’t answer because I don’t have one to give. I simply saw her leaving and didn’t want her to walk out of my life.
She settles into the chair, on the edge, and she shakes like a chill works through her.
I tap a few things on my phone, which turns on the twinkle lights bordering the railing, and also fires up the space heater.
Then I take a blanket and spread it out over her, although I hate having to cover up her body, especially her chest, which is heaving as my fingers brush her body in the process.
I take it as a sign of the effect I’m having on her.
She has no idea what it does to me to take care of her.
“There. It can get chilly after dark and there’s a slight breeze tonight. Wouldn’t want you to catch a cold, angel.”
“Thanks,” she rasps. The noise from the pool party crashes into our space, with loud laughter and splashing and glass breaking, telling me things are getting wild down there. Anastasia shifts uncomfortably. “So, you wanted to talk. Are you okay?”
“Better now, with your company.”
“You could have asked anyone else at the party to be here.”
“But I wanted you.”
“Why?” she croaks.
“Why not?” Accidentally, we brush elbows, the blanket over her can’t halt the electricity flowing between us.
“Okay, Saint. Seriously, I came up here hoping you weren’t going to jump or something.”
“Jump? Why the hell would I do that?”
She chews her cheek and looks away.
I change the subject. “I saw you at the party with Withers. Is that serious between you?”
“No. Why do you care?” Her head snaps to me, the light chocolate of her eyes studying me intensely.
“Some hockey players can be assholes, that’s all. Just doing my duty, protecting Misty’s friend.” I lift a shoulder casually, like it means nothing.
“Then where were you last year when I could have used you?” she mumbles again.
“Did someone hurt you?”
“Just another dating disaster. Next question.” She might be unwilling to share, but I can read right through her. She rises and adjusts the blanket around her shoulders, leaning again on the railing, gazing out at the view.
I join her there, facing her. The better view.
My hand rests on the ledge a few inches from her.
I’m so close I can see her throat work. There’s no denying some kind of attraction between us.
It’s all the sign I need, and normally I’d take it and skate with it until I slap shot myself inside of her tight walls and score the goal. But something holds me back.
Anastasia isn’t just any puck bunny. Goddammit, I just want to take care of her, hold her curves in my hands, and plow so deep inside of her.
I sigh and force my eyes away, leaning both elbows on the railing. Staring out at the dark abyss and the sea of lights in the valley below, I know I need to back off from this challenge.
She’s the type of woman who yearns for something permanent. I’m the kind of guy who knows that isn’t in the cards for me. And I have a good reason why.
Besides, if I hurt her, and there’s no doubt I would, Storm and Misty would be pissed at me, all our friends, too. And I have very few true friends as it is.
“Seriously, Saint. Are you okay?” Her voice cuts through the melee in my mind.
Despite everything, there is an actual reason I asked her up here.
It came to me the minute I saw her leaving the party.
Hell, maybe even the second my eyes connected with hers through the glass before I fought Sanderson at the game.
“My mother called earlier today. She expects me to attend this fundraiser. I need a date. Would you go with me?”
“Uh… Um…” She blinks rapidly, croaking like I’ve just startled her with the most salacious news.
“It’s just a question, Angel. Yes or no.”
“Why me? I mean, what about that tall woman I saw you with tonight?”
“Look, that’s the third time you’ve asked why you. Why not you? We’re friends, aren’t we? I need a friend to help me get through this event.”
“Oh. So you need a fake date?” Something like relief spreads across her face.
“Angel, I don’t fake anything. And when you’re with me, you’d better not fake a single thing, either.” My voice drops low, almost a growl.
Her breath hitches. Anastasia is a complete study of how to make a good girl blush. Gotta say, this is the most fun I’ve had outside the hockey rink all day.
More crashes and noises come at us from the party below. “I need to get these people out of here. So what’ll it be? Yes or no?”
“I can’t believe I’m about to agree; I must have a mild concussion from that glass door over there.” She chuckles. “But sure—we go only as friends, though.”
At this point, I’ll take her as that. I really do need my mother off my back about settling down. Anastasia would be the perfect date instead of some slutty bunny. And, with any luck, we’ll have a good time together.
More glass crashes at the pool party down below, irritating me. I don’t have time to argue with her about the type of date this is. I lift the glass trap door to exit. “Fine. I’ll text you the details. Feel free to stay up here as long as you like.”
About an hour later, after the last person leaves, I check the roof, but Anastasia isn’t there; I don’t expect her to be.
I fast forward through the feedback from the security cameras until I find what I’m seeking. Shortly after I’d left the roof, she did, too. When she went out the door, she got into an Uber. Alone.
A half smile rises to my lips in relief at that. I’ll be damned if I allow anyone else like Withers to have her.
My phone rings suddenly. I see who it is, and the name sends the past rushing back, pinning me in place. I ignore it, sending it to voicemail. But it’s the exact reminder I need that I don’t deserve someone like Anastasia either.