GAME MISCONDUCT (The Dartmouth Cobras) (3 page)

“Things would be different with you, sugar.” He ran his thumb over her knuckles, reaching out to tip her chin up with a finger. “I’d find a way to change. You’d be enough for me.”

For a split second, she was tempted to say yes. But that wouldn’t be fair. She held back a sigh and finished her coffee. “You shouldn’t have to change for anyone, Max. There’s nothing wrong with who you are.”

“But I would. I’m not telling you this because I expect you to . . .” He studied her face for a moment, then withdrew his hands. “I just want you to understand what happened tonight.”

The smile on her lips felt like it had been sewn in place. She stood and pulled on her coat. “I do.”

“Good.” He picked up the bill and shook his head when she opened her purse. “I’ve got it. Just give me a sec, and I’ll walk you to your car.”

“Thanks, but no. I need a few minutes alone to think.” She focused on buttoning up her jacket so he wouldn’t see the lie in her eyes. “Much as I understand, this is a lot to absorb. Besides, I’m parked right down the street.”

“It’s awfully late.” He looked helplessly at the line in front of the cash register and the waitresses rushing to clean up after the crowd. “I’d be more comfortable if you’d—”

“This isn’t Montreal. You’re more dangerous than anyone I’ll meet outside—
Hey!
” She giggled when he made a grab for her. For a second, things seemed lighter, brighter, their familiar playfulness a splash of yellow paint all over reality.

He caught her and wrapped her up in his great big arms, holding her close. Surrounded by his warmth, his strength, she felt her knees grow weak. She peeked up at him.

His eyes twinkled with mischief. He bent low and his lips brushed her earlobe as he spoke, letting his accent thicken his tone. “So you think I’m dangerous?”

Hell, yes.
When he talked to her, in that smooth, rich voice—damn, the things he could have made her do. Thankfully, he didn’t let the Southern playboy out often—with her anyway—but even without the vocal seductiveness and the face and the body, he played havoc with her concept of reality. He made her smile and laugh, made her believe in silly things like love at first sight.

But she was a Delgado. The responsible sister.

And he’d just proved he wasn’t the man for her.

“You really shouldn’t—” She squirmed out of his arms and the pain inside returned, even harder to swallow than before. “I have a boyfriend, Max.”

His lips drew together in a thin, hard line. “After last time, I thought you were ready to end things with him. You kissed me.”

Another blush flared up on her cheeks. She smacked his arm. “That’s not fair. You gave me chocolate—and it was a kiss on the cheek. A friendly kiss.”

“Ah, I see.” He bent over and pressed a light kiss on her forehead. “Well, then, here’s another.” His cheek brushed hers. “And if things are going well between you and Paul, I’m happy for you, honestly. But I hope you’ve made it clear you won’t tolerate him making you feel like shit about yourself whenever he’s having a bad day.”

She rested her head on his solid chest, breathing in his fresh scent, lightly tainted with beer. As she drew away, the overpowering aroma of freshly ground coffee beans took over, clearing her head.

“Of course.” She hooked her purse over her arm and nodded at the waitress waiting nearby. “You sure you don’t want me to pay for myself?”

“I’m sure.” He patted her cheek. “Might make a dent in my savings, but you’re worth it.”

“All right, then I guess I’ll see you around,” she said, even though she knew she wouldn’t. She swallowed when he let her go and started to turn away. “Thank you for . . . everything.”

“Yeah, well, take care. And don’t you worry.” His jaw worked as he paused, head down, and shoved his hand into his pocket for his wallet. “I’ll be here when . . . whenever.”

The bells over the door tinkled as she hurried out, desperate to get to her car before his sweet acceptance of her choices ripped apart her resolve. Before she’d reached the end of the block, the bells sounded again. She glanced over her shoulder and saw him, standing there. The gentle weight of his eyes on her back remained until she’d reached the safety of her car.

Once inside, she eyed him through the rearview mirror. Her heart beat hard between her ears when he didn’t move. Finally, he stuffed his hands in his pockets and took off in the other direction.

Make a U-turn! Go tell him the truth!

Shaking her head, she started the car, then pulled out. All the way home, her decision dragged her down. When she trampled up the front steps, she felt like all her bones were made of lead. The porch light blinded her as she fumbled in her pockets for her keys.

The door swung open. Paul sighed and gestured her inside. “Let’s get this over with.”

She closed the door softly behind her, then pulled off her jacket and went to hang it in the closet. “Get what over with?”

“You’re sorry, you’ll never do it again—”

Her shoulders stiffened as she turned to face him. “I’m not sorry.”

His dark brown brows creased in confusion. “But you’re back.”

“Yeah. I’m back.” She strode across the living room, kicked off her shoes, then plunked down on the stiff, white leather sofa. “And I’ll be sleeping here tonight.”

The grandfather clock in the hall ticked off the seconds in the silence. Paul’s shadow wisped over her as he crossed the room.

“Hey, I’m giving the guys a break tomorrow.” He scuffed his socks on the carpet and cleared his throat. “Maybe we can go visit your dad?”

Damn him, he always knows just what to say.
Visits with her dad were . . . pleasant when Paul was around.

“I’d like that.” Curling up on her side, she wrapped her arms around her chest. The dull ache wouldn’t go away. Almost felt like something inside had been surgically removed. Maybe her heart.

“Okay.” Paul bent down and kissed her cheek. “We’ll talk more in the morning. I was a little rough on you . . . I like that you’re so into the game, but this is my job. I see things differently than you do.”

“I know.” The wet spot where he’d pressed his lips felt cold. But for some reason, the spot on her forehead where Max had kissed her still burned.
So not right
. “But a win’s a win. You’ve gotta give the guys more credit. The goaltender was off his game. If the first line hadn’t pushed so hard—”

“That’s what you don’t get. If they’d focused on defense like I’d told them to—they deserved to lose after that performance.”

“The first line worked their asses off.”

Paul pushed away from the sofa. “You mean Max.”

“Not
only
him.” But
he
was probably the main reason for the fight. Maybe Paul sensed something between them. And if he did, this was all her fault. She reached out to touch the back of his hand. “I really hate when you call me stupid, Paul. Just because I can’t understand why you’d get so upset about your team winning—”

“And you never will.” He shook his head. “We’ll talk more tomorrow, Oriana. Get some sleep.”

Lying perfectly still, Oriana listened to the sound of Paul ascending the steps to their bedroom. She stared at the front door for a while, feeling trapped. If only she had the guts to get up and leave again. For good.

But this was her life. What she’d chosen. What she wanted. Normal. Stable. Things would get easier once she accepted all her dreams of some great romance were just that. Dreams.

But for now
 . . . she closed her eyes and drifted away into a place where reality didn’t matter. Where Max waited with his teasing smile and warm embrace.

Mid-March, Five months later

Rock on blades in the cold, shadowed spotlight,

The words “flag” and “freedom” stir you.

Do not be lulled by the song.

Hear the screams, knights of the ice, wield your stick swords.

Fly the wings, break away, never shy from the crush.

Play as though at war and hear the trumpet sound.

S
tanding in the shadow of the blocky beast of gray slate and glass, Oriana gazed up at the glaring light coming from the high window of her father’s office. In her mind’s eye, she could see the poem, written by her twelve-year-old self, etched on a bronze plaque. The plaque hung on the wall behind her father’s desk among tarnished gold medals and faded blue ribbons. The original had been lost long ago, but she could still picture her father, holding the stationery with the pink carnation print, hands shaking as he read the meticulously handwritten words. His eyes glistening, he’d laughed and hugged her.

“Beautiful, sweetheart,” he’d said. “You have no idea how much this means to me.”

For a while, his words rang true, but, by now, that precious plaque had gathered years’ worth of dust. The Delgado Forum, the largest building this close to the Narrows, was all her father cared about.

She inched closer to the wall.

Paranoid much?
She rolled her eyes and laughed at herself. Even if she stood in the middle of the street, her father couldn’t see her from way up there. And she was waiting for Paul, so it wouldn’t matter if he did.

The muffled sound of Metric’s “Stadium Love” came from her book bag. Heavy textbooks thunked on the sidewalk as she dropped the bag between her feet and crouched to unlatch the buckle. Reaching in to fetch her cell, her hand brushed the smallest book and heat skimmed her ears. She should have stopped at home and dropped it off. If anyone saw what she’d been reading . . .

Her fingers touched the cool, metallic edge of her cell. She snatched it out and closed her bag, making sure the strap was tight. The muscles in her thighs clenched as she rose, wobbling a little on her heels. Stilettos took some getting used to. Too bad the comfy sneakers in her bag wouldn’t look half as sexy as the thigh-high leather boots she’d chosen to complete her costume for the evening. She wiggled her toes and winced at the sting of a broken blister on the inside of her left foot.

What was it Silver always said? Ah, yes. You wanna look hot? Suffer.

Then again, her little sister had started wearing G-strings in her mid-teens to avoid “gross” panty lines. In her late teens, she’d stopped wearing bras. Oriana didn’t ask why—she really didn’t want to know. Keeping up with Silver’s warped fashion sense would take more free time, and, well,
guts
, than Oriana possessed. For school and special occasions, she wore nice, tailored suits. The rest of the time, she stuck with sweats. A little boring, maybe, but she hated having to constantly fiddle with her clothes and worry about how everything fit.

Looking around to make sure no one was watching, she ran a finger under the tight leather clinging to the flesh of her thigh. A cool breeze skimmed between her legs, reminding her of what else she was wearing. Better not to think too hard about the outfit beneath her white, mid-length wool coat.

She turned her attention to her phone, unwound the cord for her earbuds, then stuck them in her ears. When the highlight reel began, a smile whispered across her lips. The Friday night crowd bustling around her faded away. All she heard was the spectators’ roar. All she saw was him.

Even on the small screen, she could make him out. Max Perron, number 40. A close-up of his face after a sweet slap shot sent tiny wings aflutter in her stomach. Sun-kissed ocean eyes glowed in a wickedly handsome face. Beautiful . . . even more so up close, filled with heat. She hadn’t seen them in so long, not in person, not in any way that mattered, since the day he brought her flowers for her birthday and she’d told him their friendship was a bad idea. She’d ignored every call from him for what seemed like forever. Ignored them until they stopped coming.

A shriek pierced through the sounds blasting in her ears and brought her back to the present. She took out the earbuds.

“Tyler! Oh, I can’t believe it’s really you!”

The shrill cry came from a young woman dressed in a huge jersey who stepped out of the shadowed alcove halfway down the ramp on the side of the forum. The players came out of there after practices or games, and fans would lay in wait to get a glimpse of their heroes. But Oriana had a feeling this girl was more than a fan.

Tyler Vanek, one of the rookies brought up from the farm team the year before, stopped short and leaned an elbow on the brick wall beside the parking garage entrance, trying to look smooth.

“Hey. And you are . . . ?” His lips curved and his cheeks, soft and freshly shaven, glowed under the bare bulb that flashed on overhead. He raked his fingers through his tight, blond curls, and his eyes traveled over the girl as she hopped on her spiky, red heels.

The poise of a man, with the expression of a little boy eager to get his hand in the cookie jar. Maybe he didn’t know
who
the girl was, but he’d clearly figured out enough to like his chances.

What did Max call them again? Oh, yeah, Puck Bunnies
. Oriana smirked when the girl leapt forward with a little shriek.
Appropriate
.

Vanek braced and caught her before she could knock them both over. “Wow. You’re feisty.”

Ya think?
Oriana stuffed her phone in her book bag and took out her sunglasses. The last dying sunrays had barely crested the city skyline, but she slipped the glasses on anyway. A side step up the sidewalk out of their line of sight put her in the perfect position to observe without seeming to. Not because she was into . . .
watching
or anything, but she was curious to see how far it would go.

Most of the players would offer a signature and gently detach themselves. The rookie obviously didn’t know better. Bunny’s lucky day.

Clinging to his shirt, the blond Jessica-Rabbit-lookalike rubbed one leg up his thigh. “Can we go somewhere?”

“I can’t, I gotta get back.” Vanek groaned as her hand disappeared between their bodies. “But here’s good.”

With his back against the wall, he watched her get on her knees.