I stare at the mangled mess of my hair in the back grate and groan. “That poor dryer.”
“May it rest in pieces,” he says solemnly, tossing it into the trash.
And then, something in his gaze softens. Lingers. It’s just a moment. But I feel it.
CHAPTER 8
Penn
Mila’s eyes arewide, her cheeks flushed, one hand gripping her towel and the other rubbing her scalp like she’s making sure she still has hair.
It’s awkward, as it should be.
She’s still practically naked, damp and flushed, and I can’t stop myself from dragging my gaze down her body once more. Just for a second. Just enough to feed the part of my brain that’s apparently forgotten boundaries.
“Get dressed,” I say, gruff as hell as I make my way out of the bathroom, through the bedroom and into the hallway. “Come downstairs. We need to talk.”
She nods, a little dazed, follows me through her room. I don’t move until the door clicks shut behind her.
By the time I hit the bottom of the stairs, I’m already annoyed with myself. My hands shake a little as I crouch in front of the fireplace and stack kindling. The motion grounds me, but it doesn’t stop the images from playing in my head.
Her standing there in nothing but a towel, wet hair clinging to her shoulders, looking at me like she didn’t know whether to slap me or cry.
She was beautiful. I always knew she’d grow into it, but I wasn’t prepared forhowbeautiful.
And Idefinitelywasn’t prepared for how badly I wanted to touch more than just the busted dryer stuck to her head.
It’s been a long time since I’ve reacted to a woman like that. Even longer since I let myself feel it. I’ve kept everything buriedfor so long, I thought maybe those parts of me had shriveled up and died along with my heart.
But Mila’s different. And that pisses me off. I don’t know what to do with it—what to do withher.
I get a wood fire going in the den hearth just as she comes down the stairs, hair brushed, damp and looking no worse for wear after her battle with the dryer. She’s dressed in jeans and a soft pink sweater that makes her look younger than twenty-five. I don’t have to look all that hard to see the fifteen-year-old girl who put her entire life on the line to back me up.
Mila takes the couch without being told and curls up like she belongs there. Like this is normal.
I settle into an adjacent chair, drumming my fingertips on my thighs. I’m normally not prone to nervousness, but Mila’s got me all messed up today. I focus and get down to business, forcing aside images of her naked body.
“I went to see our general manager, Callum Derringer this morning. He was meeting with the team’s owner—”
“Brienne Norcross,” Mila says, and I blink in surprise that she knows her name.
Mila smirks. “Oh, come on… everyone knows who Brienne Norcross is. She’s like the patron saint of badass women.”
I stare at her, a bit slack-jawed.
Mila looks almost disappointed. “You didn’t think I’d just give up on hockey, did you? That I’d stop watching or caring about it?”
“Well,” I hedge, not sure what I was thinking. “Your dad and brother were the driving force behind the sport in your family.”
“And I was a big Wraiths fan and watched your practices and went to all your games. It’s in my blood, same as you, Penn. I never gave up on the sport, and so yeah… I know who Brienne Norcross is. And I’ve also followed your career, obviously.”
I don’t know why that pleases me so much, but once again, I’m forced to put such irrelevant feelings aside.
“At any rate, I told Brienne and Callum everything,” I say, turning my gaze to the fire.
“Everything?”
“Yeah.” I look at her. “From start to finish. The hazing. Nathan’s death. What you and I did to make things right. How our lives turned out so wrong. The threats. You. What happened with McLendon. The teddy bear. All of it.”
