“So what’s the deal, Squirt?” Matt asks as we settle down on the couch with a cold beer. The party ended an hour ago, so once everything was cleared away and Mila was sent off for a long soak in the tub, I knew I’d have to face my brother’s questions.
I take a long pull on my beer and avoid his piercing stare. Jesus, when his career as a hockey player ends, he could totally work for the CIA! His loud huff and the playful shove on my shoulder alert me to the fact that my grace period is over, and it’s time to talk.
Swallowing the liquid in my mouth, I prepare to share the half-truth as to why I’ve shown up on his doorstep.
“Like I said, I’m done with Paris. I’ll still graduate, but I’m tired of working for tyrannical chefs who take all the credit for my blood, sweat, and tears,” I explain. This much is true. I loved my job as a sous chef, but I constantly felt like my hard work wasn’t acknowledged or appreciated. I often developed new dishes for the menu just to see the head chef take all the credit once they became top sellers.
“Okay, I get why you’d want to get out of that situation,” my brother concedes. “But why leave Paris altogether? Couldn’t you just work at a different restaurant? You’ve always told us how much you love France.”
“I did. I do,” I reply, my eyes prickling with tears, feeling the loss of my dream deep in my heart. “I just feel like it’s time to come home, see what options are open to me here.” I shrug and take another swig of cold beer, thankful for the satisfied look in my brother’s eyes. He’s buying my story, and I feel a weight slowly lifting from my shoulders.
“Well, it’s good to have you home, kid.” Matt gives my shoulder a reassuring squeeze and drains his beer. “Take it you wanna crash here until you get yourself settled?”
“Of course.” I smirk. “There have to be some advantages to having a rich douchebag for a brother. How many rooms does this place have anyway?”
Matt pulls me into a headlock and scrubs his knuckles through my sleek hair, ruffling it up, which he knows I hate. “Don’t be a brat, or I’ll make you sleep on a cot in the garage.” He laughs as I struggle to release myself from his grip.
Thankfully, Mila chooses that moment to return from her bath, giggling at our sibling wrestling match. “See, this is why I’m grateful that I’m an only child.”
At the sound of her voice, Matt releases his grip, shoves me away, and pulls Mila down onto his lap, planting a sloppy kiss on her lips.
“Feeling better after your bath, Red?” he asks, grabbing a handful of Mila’s robe-covered butt. Ugh, these two are nauseating! One disadvantage of staying here will be all the PDA I’ll have to deal with.
“Yes,” Mila sighs, snuggling into Matt’s chest. “I feel very relaxed.” As she begins to kiss and nibble at my brother’s ear, I take that as my signal to leave them to it.
“Okay, I’m gonna head back to my hotel as I paid for tonight already,” I say awkwardly, standing up in order to get away from the make out session that seems to be unfolding in front of me. “What time can I come back tomorrow?”
My question seems to get my brother’s attention away from his girlfriend, and he gently lifts her off his lap. “I’ll walk you out and give you the door and alarm code. Just come back whenever you’re ready.”
Mila straightens her robe and stands as well. “I’m really excited to have you come and stay, Lana. I’ll make up the guest room at the top of the stairs for you.” With that, she pulls me into a hug, and I let her warm, lavender scent envelop me. It’s comforting and I feel safe for the first time in months. “You’re welcome for as long as you need.” The way she whispers this in my ear makes me think she knows there’s more to my story than I’ve revealed so far.
“Thanks, you guys. I promise that once I get my job situation sorted out, I’ll start looking for a place,” I reply, pulling out of the hug and accepting the piece of paper Matt has scribbled the codes on. “I know you two have only just moved in together, and I don’t wanna cramp your style.”
“No sweat, Squirt. You’re welcome as long as you need. You’ll just have to put up with Mila screaming my name at all hours of the day and night.” He smirks at the crimson blush that stains Mila’s cheeks and pulls her into a hug while I open the front door and make gagging noises.
“Dude, that’s way too much information,” I grumble, stepping over the threshold. “Looks like I’ll be investing in a set of ear plugs.”
“Can’t help it if your brother’s a sex god.” He chuckles again, despite Mila trying to cover his mouth with her hand.
“Oh my GOD, shut up,” she cries as he picks her up, making her squeal. “Come back as soon as you’re ready, Lana. I’ll make sure this idiot behaves himself.”
“Thanks again.” I retreat down the steps as they wave goodbye, and my brother slams the door, no doubt getting ready to ravage his girlfriend. Ugh, I’m definitely heading for the drugstore to buy some ear plugs and possibly a blindfold.
It’s late by the time I get back into the city, so I order some soup and crackers from room service and try to read. However, my mind finally feels still enough to process everything that’s happened over the last seventy-two hours. I begin to wonder what Etienne is doing, whether he freaked out when I didn’t come home from work. Did he check his tracker app during the day and see my phone moving steadily away from the city? Has he been to the bistro to look for me or tried to track Zac down?
My phone lights up on the comforter, and I see Zac’s name appear. I throw my Kindle down and grab the phone, swiping to accept the call.
“Hey Zac, you’re up early,” I say, sliding down into bed. It’s a little before dawn in Paris.
“Bonjour, babe.” His deep voice travels across the ocean to immediately comfort me. “Not up early—I’ve not been to bed yet.” I can hear the mischievous smirk in his voice, and I smile.
“Naughty.” I giggle. “Who was the lucky boy?”
“Didn’t catch his name, but he was Spanish and didn’t speak a word of English or French, so we communicated in the best way I know.” He chuckles.
“You’re a whore.” I sigh good naturedly, knowing my best friend and his reputation for hot, anonymous hookups. “So, what’s new?”
The pregnant pause that follows makes my stomach clench, and my palms become sweaty. I subconsciously twirl a lock of hair around my fingers, tugging it until my scalp stings.
“Etienne came to the restaurant.”
His words cause a spike of ice to stab through my heart. “Oh god, what did he say? Did he hurt you?”
Zac’s deep baritone laugh vibrates through the phone. “Oh baby, don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself.”
“I know you can handle yourself, but just tell me what happened!” I cry out, feeling all the relaxation leave my body in a sickening wave.
“Okay, Lana, relax,” Zac soothes. “It took him twenty hours to track me down, and when he came to the bistro, he was surprisingly calm and sober.”
I suck in a breath. “What did he say?”
“He asked if I knew why you’d gone to the Côte d’Azur and why you’re not answering your phone. I guess my plan to send your phone on a mystery tour is working.”
“Yes, you’re very clever.” I sigh. “What did you say after that?”
“I told him you were tired of his shit and needed a break and that’s when he punched me,” Zac replies in a tight voice.
I gasp and tug harder on my hair. “Oh Zac, are you okay?”
He laughs again. “I told you I can handle myself. He got one punch in and split my lip before the guys in the kitchen dragged him off and kicked his ass out.”
I feel the tears sting my eyes as I think about my best friend taking a punch to protect me. I know all too well how Etienne’s angry hands feel, and I shudder at the thought.
“I’m so sorry I dragged you into this drama,” I say in a strangled sob. “If he approaches you again, you need to call the police.”
“Don’t worry about that, babe. The kitchen porters gave his ass a pretty good kicking in the alley behind the bistro when they threw him out. I don’t think he’ll be back anytime soon.” Zac chuckles. “Plus, I might get a sexy scar out of it.”
I sigh and let my body relax again. I know that Zac can handle himself; at over six feet tall, he towers over Etienne’s slight, aristocratic frame, outweighing him with lean muscle that’s hard earned from time in the gym and hours playing soccer at the weekend. But it still hurts my heart to know he’s also suffered at the fists of that asshole.
“So, how did things go with your brother?” Zac asks, bringing me back to the moment. “Did he buy your story? Is he gonna let you stay with him?”
“Yes and yes,” I reply. “It’s all good. I’m gonna move in tomorrow and then think about what to do for work.”
“What about your contacts in Seattle? Have you tried them yet?” he asks, reminding me of the talk we had one night after too many glasses of Côtes du Rhône.
“Not yet, but who knows if anyone’s hiring?” I reply. “It’s a long shot that any of these leads will come to anything. I have no work history in the States, so who’d hire me?”
“Oh Jesus, would you listen to yourself?” Zac growls. “Where’s my badass bestie who can do anything she puts her mind to?”
“She’s tired,” I sigh, suddenly feeling like my bones are made of lead, a deep aching fatigue that I’ve been fighting for too long settling over me like a weighted blanket. “I’m so tired.” Even as I say the words, I feel my eyelids droop.
“I know, baby. It will get better, I promise. Take some time for yourself. You need to heal.”
“I know,” I mumble. “Zac, can I ask you something?”
“Anything, you know that.”
“Can you stay on the line while I fall asleep?” I feel ridiculous for asking this, but I always feel so safe around Zac, and after his revelations about Etienne’s visit, I need that security right now.
“You bet,” he replies in a quiet voice. “Snuggle down and I’ll regale you with all the gossip while you fall asleep. I love you, babe.”
“Love you too,” I whisper, and I don’t even hear the beginning of his first story as I slip into a dreamless sleep.
The smell of sweat stings my nostrils as I push through the door into the team gym. Most of my line are already exercising hard on various machines and apparatus, working with the different athletic trainers around the room. I’m only late because I’ve had a session with the team doctor who is still assessing my throat injury. He confirms it’s mostly healed, but he wants to keep an eye on it until the tenderness and periodic voice loss has settled down. Of all the injuries I could sustain as a goaltender, I never imagined this would be a problem. I always thought my knees or hips would give out first. But thankfully, those parts of my huge body seem to be holding up well, especially as I’m about to turn thirty.
As I throw my towel and water bottle down on the mat, I see Coach Casey approach.
“How was your session with the doc?” he asks, running his hand through his silver hair. Coach used to be a kick ass player back in the day, and I respect him immensely as our coach. He’s never steered us wrong, and even though he’s tough and takes no shit, he’s a great leader. It’s one of the reasons our premature exit from last season’s cup run stung so much. And my part in that exit feels even more raw. I took a puck to the throat in the deciding game of the series against Dallas and had to leave the game. I don’t for a second believe that was the sole cause for the loss, because I’m not a completely self-centered asshole, but the goalie is the constant presence in the team, usually playing the entire sixty minutes, so when the reserve goalie had to take my place, it unsettled the team dynamic, and shit just fell apart.
“He’s happy with my progress,” I reply. “He just wants to keep up the weekly monitoring while I’m still having some pain and voice loss.”
“Okay, good,” Coach Casey says. “Make sure the equipment team packs your neck defender with your gear. I know you hate wearing it, but I’m not gonna risk another injury.” He slaps my bicep and goes back to talking to the lead athletic trainer who’s putting Bugs through his paces on the rowing machine.
I decide to warm up with some stretches, so I drop to the mat and begin stretching out my legs, contorting myself into various different poses that mimic what I do on the ice. As my muscles become more elastic, I move into a box split, rolling my hips back and forth, finally pushing forward into my hands and knees, continuing to roll my hips.
“No wonder you’re such a hit with the ladies.” Knox smirks, dropping down next to me while he chugs water from his bottle.
I just grunt at him and continue my stretching. Knox doesn’t seem to get the hint that I don’t want to chat, and he continues rambling on about his latest conquest. His light brown skin is slick with sweat, and I’m happy to see him working hard instead of slacking off and dicking around. We all hoped that when Brett got traded to the Washington Sentinels and Knox was called up to the first line that he’d stop his partying and get serious. And even though he’s focused and having a great season on the ice, he’s still making waves when it comes to his personal life. If I thought I was tabloid fodder, he’s their front-page bad boy, constantly being photographed with different women, partying all over Seattle.
“Dude, I don’t wanna hear it,” I grumble, falling out of my stretch and fixing him with my icy stare. His ramblings about hot chicks just serve as a reminder that it’s been a few months since I hooked up with anyone and about the last conversation I had with my mom. Her disappointed words still ring in my ears just to be quickly replaced by sapphire blue eyes, cute freckles, and a peachy ass.
Lana Landon.
The sexy firecracker who happens to be my teammate’s little sister and therefore completely off limits. I’ve not been able to get her sassy attitude and bright smile out of my head since the party a few days ago, and I’m ashamed to say she’s been at the forefront in my mind when I’ve fisted my cock in the shower.
As if he can sense I’m having dirty thoughts about his sister, Matt strides over and stands over me, scowling. Guilt immediately envelops me, and I swallow the dry lump that’s suddenly formed in my throat.
“What’s up, man?” I ask, trying to sound as casual as possible.
His scowl doesn’t leave his face, and I’m convinced he’s going to call me out for perving over his sister. However, he surprises the shit out of me by asking, “How’s the throat? Coach said you’ve been seeing the doc.”
Relief washes over me, and I stand, towering over Matt by several inches. “Yeah, he just wants to keep monitoring it. There’s no problem. Thanks for asking.”
“Of course, man.” He slaps my back. “We’re a team. Gotta look out for my brothers.”
Shit, now I feel twice as guilty about lusting after his kid sister. I need to get this crush under control and put her out of my head.