All heads turn. I’ve seen him on TV more than I want to admit I have so I know he’s bigger than he was when I’d hold onto him at night, but his size in the flesh is enormous.
I’d forgotten about Rhett this past month, haven’t even thought about him, but all it takes is one look into his steel eyes and it all rushes back in one gut-wrenching swoop. This is the man I wanted to raise a family with. Grow old with. I loved him with everything I had. Why do I do that? Fucking imprint like a damn puppy.
“Surprise, sunshine.”
Stacey steps out of the shower, grabbing a towel to cover his junk with. “You’re not allowed in here.”
“Of course, I am,” he says with the confidence of an Elkington. “If Jack wants me gone, I’ll go.”
Yes. Yes! Leave.“No, it’s all right.”
Stacey glares and points. “Fine, but I’m watching you, Elkington. You may be allowed, but you’re not welcome.”
I follow suit and cover my junk with a towel. I take the deepest breath I can and hope it fills with enough courage to do this. It’s hard enough to say no to Rhett via text or over the phone. In person, with his beautiful face and smooth voice, how will I resist?
Taking a brave step forward, I harden, utilizing all the coldness I saved up over the past year just for him, to keep a hefty impression of distance between us.
“What do you want, Rhett?”
“Get dressed and come with me.”
He’s not asking. I get dressed, but only so I can deal with him. The team’s beat up tonight, they need beer—which they’re not gonna get—they don’t need my relationship drama.
In my bag are a pair of jeans, a white t-shirt, and my leather jacket. He reaches for my bag. “We’ll bring that to my car. I’ll take you back to your hotel after. Tell them so they don’t interrupt.”
Jesus. “Where do you think you’re taking me?” I’m shaking. I need food.
“To get something to eat.” He eyes me to say he’s noticed my shaking. Being with him is already familiar. It’s easy to slide into old roles. He was attentive and took care of me. I liked that.
“Not to a restaurant.”
“No restaurants,” he agrees.
“And give my stuff to Stace. He’ll take it back for me.” I grab my wallet, phone, and keys. I do a subtle check of my texts. There are messages in the family group chat that I’m not in a hurry to look at—they will have seen tonight’s game—but nothing from Merc.
We walk by the team bus on the way to his car and I can’t help looking at it for signs of Mercy, but I can’t see into the tall, tinted windows. Rhett leads me to a sexy red McClaren. It’s his. I might check in on him via social media once in a while.
“Did you drive here?”
He sighs as he clicks a button and the doors swing upward, looking more like wings than doors. I get in at the same time he does. The scent of car leather and his Tom Ford cologne is overpowering. It brings back all our memories. It’s also comforting, like climbing into bed at the end of a day of drudgery.
“When I heard you’d be here, how could I resist?” He presses a button to start his car, but you barely hear it. Jeez, this is a nice fucking car.
“I dunno? Like you resisted for all last season.”
“Barely. I had a moment of weakness tonight and … you haven’t been watching me, have you?” He frowns.
Not lately. Haven’t had time. It’s been hockey, Mercy, my friends, and trying to get a Facetime call in with the fam. “No.”
The muscles around his eyes constrict. “I’m injured.”
“Sorry. Is it bad?”
“Bad enough I’m out for a few games. I’ll be back before Christmas.”
I run a hand through my hair, wishing I had my ball cap. I need to talk. Make conversation. “Did you see me plow into Sutter? I can’t wait to pound on him again. Cocky sonuvabitch.”
He winces. “I hate that I’m not on the ice protecting you anymore. I’ll tell him to lay off you.”
