14. Maren
MAREN
Two weeks later, Dom knocked on my open office door. “Package for you. Courier.”
The box arrived at eleven-fifteen on a Tuesday.
I knew it was from him before I opened it.
No return address, my name on the label in clean block letters, and the box itself was matte black with a ribbon the color of burnt orange.
Sidewinders orange, which was a statement, and with Ryan Lindqvist I was starting to understand nothing was a coincidence.
“Thanks.” I waited until his footsteps had faded down the hall.
Inside, folded in black tissue, was the most beautiful lingerie I had ever held in my hands.
A bralette and matching underwear in dark black silk and lace, simple and expensive, the fabric so good it didn’t need decoration.
I turned the bralette over, the weight of it in my hands, and thought about how much he paid attention.
Not to what was flashy but to what was good.
There was a card tucked under the tissue. Stark white stock, his handwriting. Clean block letters, the same as the label.
WEAR THESE FRIDAY.
—R
I sat with the note for a moment.
Then I got up, closed my office door, and sat back down.
My phone was already in my hand.
Maren: The wrapping was dramatic…
Three minutes passed. I had two patients in an hour and a report to finish and I watched the screen like it owed me something.
Ryan: Too much?
Maren: I didn’t say that
Ryan: So. Friday.
Maren: What’s Friday
Ryan: You’ll find out Friday
Maren: That’s not how plans work
Ryan: It is when I’m making them. I’ll pick you up at seven.
I sat with his words for a long moment. The silk was still draped over my hand, cool and impossibly soft.
I loved how take charge he was; it was unnerving in some ways though.
I wasn’t used to it, and still afraid to let my guard down long enough to relax and lean into it.
Like everything needed my control. But giving up control… It was devastating, was what it was.
Maren: I haven’t said yes yet
Ryan: Is this the game we’re playing?
I put the phone face-down on my desk and carefully refolded the tissue over the lingerie and put the lid back on the box and slid it into my bottom drawer.
I lasted four minutes before I picked the phone back up.
Maren: Okay. Seven.
The response was immediate.
Ryan: Wear them.
Ryan: Please.
I laughed lightly and closed the app and got back to my report and did not think about Friday for the rest of the morning.
Obviously, I thought about it constantly for the rest of the morning.
I thought about it on Tuesday afternoon and Wednesday morning and Thursday while I was running through a hip flexor protocol with Cole Westbrook, who looked at me at one point and said, “You okay? You seem like you’re somewhere else. ”
“I’m here,” I said, bringing myself back. “Squeeze. Hold it.”
Cole squeezed. Held it. “You look like you’re distracted. Anything you wanna share?” He gave me a knowing smirk and for a hot second I was afraid he was onto me.
“Cole.”
“I’m just saying.”
“Three more seconds,” I said. “And then we’re done. Nothing else to it.”
Cole grinned at the ceiling. “Sure, boss.”
Friday arrived the way anticipated things always did. Too slowly and then all at once.
I’d showered and done my hair, and then I stood in front of my open underwear drawer for a long moment before I reached past everything in it and opened the bottom drawer of my dresser instead.
The silk was exactly as good as I remembered.
I put it on and stood in front of my mirror.
The bralette fit like it had been made for me—a fit that didn’t happen by accident, which meant he’d paid attention to more than the color and wrapping.
I thought about how he could have known my size and decided not to think about it too hard, because it would short-circuit my brain.
Then I pulled on jeans and a nice top, the standard going-out attire for a woman trying to look cute but casual, and a light sweater over it. It wasn’t particularly cold, but the air conditioning in some places would freeze me out, and I knew it.
He was exactly on time. I opened the door and he was standing on my porch in dark jeans and a gray henley with his hands in his pockets, and I had the same thought I always had when I saw him outside of a professional context.
That he was unfairly good-looking, which still caught me off guard, even now.
“Hi,” I said.
“Hi.” His eyes moved over me. Quick, thorough, landing back on my face. “You look pretty.”
“Thank you.” My face was heating, so I turned around to grab my purse. “Where are we going? Am I dressed okay?”
“You’re perfect. You’ll see.” No, you look perfect, but you’re perfect.
“Ryan—”
“Get in the car, Callahan.”
Then he stopped while opening the car door for me.
“What?” I came to a halt too.
“This.” He let go of the car door handle and stepped into me, grabbing the back of my neck and pulling me in for a heart-stopping kiss.
His tongue slid along mine, and all my thoughts left me.
The silk of my new panties went damp as heat pooled low in my core, and I kissed him back, meeting his energy.
It was over too soon, and when Ryan pulled back, he shook his head as he grinned at me before opening the car door. Momentarily stunned, I stood there for a moment, wanting him to abandon this surprise and come back in my house to fuck my brains out. Bossy style.
“Get in the car, Callahan. If we keep this up, I won’t be able to stop. And I have a surprise for you.”
I got in the car silently, a playful grin on my face.
He drove us west and about five minutes into the drive, reached over and took my hand in his, intertwining our fingers while I watched the city go by and ran through options in my head.
A restaurant I didn’t know, somewhere on the canal, maybe a place downtown.
I tried not to stare down at our joined hands, once again thinking back to the time we’d spent together in Minnesota when he’d done the same thing but hid our hands in his lap where Griffin couldn’t see them.
He turned into the Sidewinders facility.
I stared at the parking lot as he pulled in. Empty. The building dark except for the security lights along the perimeter. My building. Where I worked. Where we worked.
“Ryan.”
“I know.”
“This is where I work.”
“I know. Coincidentally, I too work here.” He smirked at me.
It was what I’d call devilish. I wanted to roll my eyes at him, but he was so fucking hot, and he had charm I found irresistible.
He enjoyed giving me shit, but not in a mean way, and I felt properly put in my place but also happy about it? What the fuck.
He cut the engine and got out of the car, completely unbothered, and I sat there for a moment before he opened my door and I followed him.
He took me through the player’s entrance, down the corridor that smelled like rubber and cold and the mineral sharpness of the ice plant running underneath everything.
I’d walked this corridor a hundred times; well probably not a hundred, but a lot.
I knew exactly where it led and I had no idea why he’d brought me here on a Friday night until he pushed open the door to the rink.
I stopped.
The overhead lights were off. In their place, the ice was lit from below and along the boards.
A warm amber glow I’d never seen in here before, soft enough to be atmospheric, bright enough to skate by.
Music was playing low on the loudspeakers, relaxing and chill, not quite a slow song but close.
On the bench, a thermos and two cups. And a box that appeared to be skates.
I stood in the doorway and took it all in.
“You talked to the lighting guy,” I said.
“He showed me how to run the boards separately.” Ryan was already at the bench, picking up the thermos. “Hot chocolate? It’s cold in here. I mean, compared to outside.” He laughed.
I walked in slowly, taking it in. He’d thought about all of it. The light, the music, the hot chocolate, the skates waiting on the bench. He’d come here on a Friday at some point and figured out how to make my workplace into something else entirely.
I turned to look at him. He was pouring hot chocolate with the same careful focus, and he glanced up and caught my expression and said, simply, “You’ve never skated. I wanted to fix that.”
I took the cup he held out.
“Thank you,” I said, which was not close to adequate but was all I had.
“Don’t thank me yet.” He nodded at the skates on the bench beside me. “You haven’t tried them on yet.”
I picked up the smaller pair and turned them over. Black skates, my size. I checked the tag and raised my eyes to him. “Are these for me?”
“Of course they are,” he replied, taking the other one out of the box, and knelt down in front of me, where he began removing my shoes.
“These are hockey skates,” I said. He had known my size. “Why hockey skates?”
“Hockey skates are for badasses.” He crouched in front of me, completely matter-of-fact. “You’re the most badass woman I know.”
I stared at him. He picked up my foot and started working the skate on like he hadn’t just said that.
“Ryan.”
“You’re also on my ice.” He didn’t look up. “You wear what I wear.”
I opened my mouth. Closed it. Looked at the top of his head while he laced me up with the same care he gave all things that mattered and decided I had absolutely nothing to say. Instead, I watched him as he carefully tied my new skates on, completely into the task at hand.
He laced both skates methodically, starting from the toe and working up, pulling each section snug before moving to the next. I watched him focus while a zing I didn’t immediately have a name for ran through me.