Major Misconduct (Aces Hockey #1) (11 page)

They all grinned. “Well, here you go,” Dior said. “Lots of people.”

“This is a nice place.” She looked around the bar, taking in the old brick of one wall, exposed rafters and ductwork above, an inside wall featuring a floor-to-ceiling display of wines in a clear glass cooler.

“One of our favorite Friday night places,” Leigh shared. “Great drinks and food, and usually lots of hot guys.”

“Awesome! And speaking of hot guys…what’s happening with Hakim?” She looked at Jillian.

“Eh. He’s nice enough. We had fun skating. He’s no hockey player, though.”

Lovey grinned. “Didn’t know you had a thing for hockey players.”

“I don’t.” Jillian smiled back. “But after seeing your brother and his teammates that night, it was kind of a letdown skating with someone a little less…proficient.”

“Hockey players are hot,” Leigh said. “If you want to be friends with us, you’ll have to introduce us to your brother.”

She said it in a way that was utterly charming and Lovey laughed again. “I can do that. I was talking to my mom yesterday and she was all disappointed that he’s not seeing anyone. I told her I’d work on it. Of course, I don’t know why anyone would be interested in him, he’s such a redneck goof.” She rolled her eyes.

“He’s your brother,” Jillian said. “Of course you wouldn’t see him as attractive. But I can tell you, he definitely is.”

Lovey gave her a look, raised eyebrows, chin down. “What? Seriously?”

“He’s good-looking and seriously built. Nice guy. I liked him, not sure if there was any spark there.”

“I’d like to find out if there’s any spark,” Dior said.

“Okay, girls, I will definitely introduce you, but I have to say this—if you’re interested in my brother or any of his friends just because of their money, I will stab you with a sharp object. Okay?”

“Okay,” they all agreed without taking any offense.

“I like you.” Lovey smiled at them. “We can be friends.”

Everyone laughed. Lovey’s drink arrived. “Dior, you have a beautiful name,” she said. “Are you named after Christian Dior?”

“Yeah, my mom loves fashion.”

“Apparently you do too.” Lovey nodded at her outfit. “Gorgeous. Hey! Would you let me take a picture of you and put it on my blog?”

They all looked at her with wide eyes. She explained about her blog and how she was going to be looking for more style inspiration in Chicago.

“Um…I don’t know,” Dior said. “I guess it would be okay.”

“I’d need you to sign a release,” Lovey said. “Just to make it legal. You’re beautiful. I’d love to show off your style.”

“How can I say no to that?” she joked. “I love clothes. Too much.” She grimaced. “My credit card company loves me for that, but I need to be careful.”

“I hear you,” Lovey agreed. “My weakness isn’t just clothes. I love all pretty things. Sensual things—even candles that smell nice. But thrift shops and junk stores are a great source for pretty things. Repurposed. Half my furniture in my apartment is ancient stuff that I’ve refinished or repainted. I don’t have much money either, so I kind of had to find a way to have nice things that didn’t cost a fortune.”

“I love thrift stores!” Leigh said. “I’ll show you my favorites. There are also some consignment shops here that have amazing designer stuff.”

“Oh, that would be great!”

The evening was so much fun. They ate bruschetta and pastas and drank more daiquiris, and some guys approached them after dinner and offered to buy them drinks, so they let them and flirted a little, and then Lovey took a taxi home all mellow and happy.

Living in Chicago was going to be great.

The team was supposed to leave San Jose right after the game on Saturday night, arriving back in Chicago on their charter flight around three o’clock Sunday morning, but the flight got delayed because of weather in Chicago. They were all exhausted, and sitting in the airport for hours didn’t help their mood after the loss.

“We’ve got a ten a.m. practice tomorrow,” Hughie said to Marc. “Dude, you gotta get us out of that.”

So Marc as the captain had a word with the coaching staff. The flight ended up only leaving an hour late, but still, they’d agreed by the time everyone got home they’d get minimal sleep, and they made it an optional skate in the afternoon. Marc shared the news with the others, who were all appreciative. “Thanks, man,” he heard more than once, and more than one guy yawned as he said it.

Marc managed to sleep on the flight. He’d gotten pretty good at shutting things out and crashing, but still he wanted more sleep in his own bed.

Team staff had their vehicles waiting for them on the tarmac, and he jumped into Duncan’s new SUV with him for the drive to their condo. Team staff would look after their gear and get it to the arena for them. Neither of them talked much as Duncan navigated dark freeways and streets through light traffic.

Once inside the condo, Marc couldn’t help but glance at the couch in the living room. No Lovey. Duncan noticed too.

“Huh,” he said. “Where is she?”

The door to the room she’d been using was closed. Marc started toward it to see if she was in there, but Duncan elbowed him out of the way. “I’ll look.” Quietly he eased the door open and stuck his head inside. Then he withdrew and shut the door. “Son of a bitch. She’s got all her furniture in there.”

“Is
she
in there?”

“Yep. Sound asleep in her bed.”

Imagining Lovey in bed was not where his mind should go. “Great,” Marc mumbled. “See you later.”

He headed straight to his room. He’d already ditched the tie but couldn’t wait to get the suit and shirt off and climb into bed. His big, empty bed.

Well, it was good that Lovey wasn’t sleeping on the couch anymore. No more accidental encounters with her in skimpy little clothes. They did, however, still have to share a bathroom. Which he needed to use then.

Once again he shook his head at the feminine scent of the room. Now not only was her girlie crap spread out everywhere, new towels had appeared—soft, thick yellow towels, one of them with flowers embroidered along one edge.

Sleep. He just wanted to sleep for about a year. His body hurt from numerous hard hits into the boards. He’d taken a puck off his skate and his foot still throbbed, although they’d checked him out and nothing was broken. He’d finished the game on sheer will alone. They’d set the tone for the game from the opening face-off, with a lot of hard hits and grinding, physical play. This worked for them. They’d had the Sharks on their heels most of the game, but it had been a one-goal game until near the end of the third, when a fluky play had the puck going into their own net off Olaf’s skate. Another loss, but this time it irked even more because they really felt they’d played well enough to win.

Fuck.

He slept in, later than usual anyway, and found himself strangely eager to get dressed and leave his bedroom. He didn’t have to think too hard about why that was. He was eager to see Lovey.

Fuck, being away from her had been weird. She’d been staying with them for just over a week but had made her presence so known in the condo, her brightness and laughter and girl crap in the bathroom and in the fridge, he found himself wanting to get back to that. It was a bizarre, edgy feeling.

He stopped short at the sight of her in the dining room stretched out on a yoga mat. She wore snug black pants that ended just below her knees and an equally tight lime green tank top. She was on her hands and knees, walking her hands out in front of her, ass in the air, little bare toes curled into her soles. Then she dropped her head to the mat and remained like that.

He couldn’t take his eyes off her sweet little ass, rounded cheeks pushed up toward him. Blood flowed to his groin in a hot rush. The pose made him want to move up behind her and—
Crisse.

He cleared his throat and moved into the kitchen. She turned her head, arms still stretched out in front of her. “Oh hey,” she said with a smile. “You’re home.”

“Yeah.”

She slowly, gracefully, pulled herself up and sat, ass to her heels now. “I missed you.”

His head snapped around to gape at her. “Uh…” Why did she say things like that? Fuck!

“Seriously.” She lifted her arms above her head in a stretch. “It was so quiet here I could’ve gone crazy. I need people to talk to.”

“Oh.”

Why did he turn into such a speechless idiot around her?

“But I kept busy.” She stood now but bent over to roll up her mat, again giving him a hard-on-inducing view of her ass. She propped the mat in the corner, behind the weight bench, then approached him.

“That’s good.” He started to find food, pulling a dozen eggs out of the fridge. Wow, there was a lot of food in it. Usually there was mostly beer.

She slid that sweet ass onto a stool at the island. “How was the trip? I watched every game.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” She gave him a look with a little notch between her eyebrows. “You okay after last night? That shot you took in the foot looked painful.”

“I’m okay. It hurt like a motherfucker, but I walked it off.”

“And finished the game.” She shook her head. “You guys are so tough.”

“It’s our job. Uh…want some eggs?”

“Yeah. I would. Let me help. I like mine scrambled.”

“I can do scrambled.”

He opened the fridge again and frowned. “Why are there fifteen fucking bags of spinach in here?”

“I use it to make smoothies,” she said serenely. “And there’s not fifteen.”

“Oh.”

Together they cracked eggs and toasted bread. Lovey got out the big non-stick fry pan. As they worked she chatted about what she’d been up to while the team was away. And Marc found himself listening with curious interest.

“You actually leased an apartment?” he said, frowning.

“Yeah. January first. That’s still a ways away. Sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize.”

“I have the impression you don’t want me here.”

Her honesty made him cringe. “It’s not that I don’t want you here…I just…”

“Don’t want me,” she finished.

He closed his eyes and shook his head. “That’s not it either,” he said quietly. “You’re Duncan’s sister.”

“I’m tired of hearing that. Being his sister doesn’t make me a nun, for cheese sake.”

He choked on a laugh. Christ. “What do you want on your toast?”

“I don’t want toast, thanks.”

“Why not?”

She gave him a lopsided smile. “I avoid carbs.”

He blinked. “Why?”

“They make me put on weight.”

He couldn’t stop himself from giving her an up and down look. “You don’t need to worry about that.”

“Not if I avoid carbs,” she agreed. “Don’t worry, I don’t always. I just try to stick to lean protein and fruits and vegetables as much as I can. Then once in a while I can have pizza or a hamburger and it’s fine.”

“That sounds…reasonable,” he admitted.

“I can’t eat a gazillion calories, like you and Duncan. Are there any hockey players who put on too much weight?”

“Yeah, sure. Dale Ronson comes to training camp every year overweight and has to take some off.”

“Huh. He’s a huge guy, though.”

“True, but carrying around too much weight isn’t good.”

They sat to eat breakfast. “Any luck finding a job?” he asked as he forked up eggs.

“Um. No. Not yet. But I’m feeling good about a few things.” She looked down at her plate.

Why did he have this gut feeling she wasn’t really looking? But why wouldn’t she? She clearly didn’t intend to freeload off her brother for the rest of her life, since she’d rented an apartment. What was going on with her?

It wasn’t his business, despite the curiosity burning a hole inside him.

She changed the subject. “You guys gonna practice today?”

He let her have that. “No. They made it an optional skate this afternoon. Our flight was a little delayed last night and we didn’t get home until four-thirty.”

“Oh my God. Yeah, that would have make things tough for a morning practice. So if it’s optional, you don’t have to go.”

“I’ll go.” He grimaced. “I might not skate. Gonna get a few things checked out. Might be a good idea to rest today.” He circled his left shoulder gingerly. Then he met her concerned eyes.

“You’re sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

She bit her lip and the worry on her face made him strangely pleased. But also sorry. It also made him want to kiss her.

She was so open and out there about everything, it made him both admiring and uncomfortable. He tried to keep his emotions under wraps. Yeah, he was passionate about his game but it was important to stay in control at all times. So her freely admitting she’d missed him (and Duncan), openly showing her concern for him, honest about the fact that she was attracted to him and apparently wanted to do him, made him a little nuts.

“Why did your girlfriend break up with you?” she asked.

Wow, that was a head-spinning change of subject. “Christ. Why are you bringing her up?”

“I’m just curious. I didn’t even know you had a girlfriend until I talked to my mom the other day. She says to say hi, by the way. She was worried about you when you broke up with…”

“Marissa. She broke up with me.”

“Yeah. Mom said that. So what happened?”

“I’m not ‘romantic’ enough.” He slid off the stool. “You done eating?”

She tipped her head to one side. “Really? She broke up with you because of that?”

“So she said. Gimme your plate?”

Lovey snorted. “That’s bullshit.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Girls want romance. Right?”

“Weeell…I don’t know if you can generalize like that. How can you say all girls want one thing? It can’t be true. And what does that even mean? Not ‘romantic’ enough…did she want roses every week? Foot rubs every night?”

Marc laughed. “She wanted fireworks.”

Lovey bit her bottom lip. “Well, that I get. But you know, sex gets less about the fireworks when you’ve been together awhile.”

He couldn’t help but laugh. “Not sexual fireworks. Literally, fireworks. And horse-drawn carriage rides. That kind of shit.”

“Oh.” Lovey gave a small smile. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to insult your sexual prowess.”

“She never complained about the sex,” Marc admitted dryly.

“But seriously…horse-drawn carriage rides? That’s kind of superficial. I mean, being romantic isn’t about flowers and gestures like that. It’s about…being thoughtful. Small gestures, yeah, but they have to be personal. It’s just being there for each other. Spending time together.” She gave him a sideways look.

“Huh.” He shrugged off the vaguely uncomfortable feeling her words aroused. Because deep down inside, he had a feeling he hadn’t been there for Marissa. He’d been there…but not wholly.

Shit. Lovey didn’t even know him or Marissa, and had somehow put her finger on what the problem really was. It wasn’t that he wasn’t romantic enough. It was that he hadn’t cared enough to be romantic.

No wonder Marissa had dumped him.

“Gotta get ready to go,” he mumbled, and booked it down the hall to his room.

Marc went to the rink, but Duncan didn’t. When Marc got there, the trainers all agreed he should have a rest day, so he hung out for a while as some of the guys did the light skate. Marc noted that Ronson hadn’t come. He didn’t have to, but it still bugged Marc. Something big was up with him.

When he got home, the incredible smell of roast beef filled the condo.

“Holy shit, that smells good,” he said as he entered the kitchen.

Lovey stood there peeling potatoes, wearing an apron with a picture of a puck on the front and the words “Puck you!” She beamed at him, and once again, the shiny warmth in that smile made all his problems fade into the background—worries about why the team kept losing, could they turn things around, was he doing something wrong, and what was up with Ronson. “Hi! It’s the roast beef I promised you.”

His stomach rumbled in anticipation. “Are those going to be mashed potatoes?” he asked hopefully. “With gravy?”

“Of course!”

“It smells garlicky.”

“Yes. This is my garlic and red wine roast beef and gravy recipe. It’s pretty popular.”

“Are you a chef?”

She blinked at him, then gave him a glowing smile. “No, but I like to cook. Did I tell you I signed up for a cooking lesson next week?”

“No. No, you didn’t.”

“Remember I said I need people to talk to? I have to get out more and meet new friends. And I like cooking and learning more about it, so I found this cooking school and signed up. Next week I’m making fresh spring rolls.”

She was unbelievable. Talk about embracing life. “That sounds good.”

“There’s another course coming up that I’d like to do. It’s how to match beer with food.”

“Huh?”

“Yeah. Like wines, but beer. Doesn’t that sound cool?”

“It actually does.”

“Maybe you can come with me. It’d be fun.”

Marc glanced at Duncan, sprawled out on the couch watching something. “Maybe.”

“It wouldn’t be like a date,” she said, catching his look. “Just us doing something together.”

Riiiiight. “Need any help?”

“How are you at peeling potatoes?”

“Not good, but I can give it a shot.”

“Okay, have at it.” She handed him the paring knife and stepped aside. “I need to do the carrots and beans.”

Once again, they were in the kitchen cooking together. And it was kinda nice.

The meal was fucking fantastic. He and Duncan consumed nearly the whole roast—it wasn’t that big—and all the mashed potatoes, smothered with unbelievably delicious gravy. The vegetables were fresh and crisp and she even had dessert—an apple pie, for fuck’s sake, that she’d made herself, but not just ordinary apple pie, an apple pie with caramel sauce poured over the crust, baked to a golden crisp.