Nina leaving is not an option, at least not before she’s said what she’d come to say. The fact that she’d come to me in the first place, considering how she doesn’t particularly like me, well… “You can ask me anything,” I say, more curious than ever, and wanting to help her out.
“It’s just…I could use your help with a little problem.”
And I could use hers with a big one.
I angle my body and lean against the doorjamb, anything to hide my thickening boner. “Yeah, how can I help you?”
“You see, my editor asked me to write about hot hockey players, and I thought maybe you—”
“You think I’m a hot hockey player?” I ask, purposely teasing her.
She opens her mouth and closes it again, clearly flustered. I’m not sure why I keep provoking her. Then again, maybe I am. Back in the day, I called her Pretty BallerNina. She was pretty, still is, and I meant it as a compliment. She never took it that way though, and always gave me the death glare. I could have stopped calling her that, just like I could stop teasing her now, but the only time she ever paid me any attention was when I was playing around, and yeah, I kind of like her attention.
“No, it’s not that.”
“So, you’re not here because you need me to teach you some hot moves for the sex scenes?”
Her eyes go round and her cheeks turn a bright shade of pink. “No,” she blurts out. “That’s not it at all.”
I lean toward her, catch her sweet scent, and she visibly quivers as I crowd her. “Then what is it?”
“I’m here to see if you’ll help me learn the game, teach me the rules.”
I grin at her. “Hard to believe you don’t know the rules, considering your brother is an NHL player.”
She shrugs. “I was busy figure skating.”
“I know.” I remember watching her. She was fucking amazing on the ice, had so much talent. Goddamn crime that a spill took her out. Broke my fucking heart, really. A concussion laid her up for six month—I know all about that, but unlike her, I plan to get back on the ice. Hockey is my life, the breath that fills my lungs.
Jess starts her car, and Nina quickly looks in that direction. Her phone pings and she grabs it from her purse.
“Shit,” she says. “I’m going to kill her.”
“Problem?”
She jerks her thumb over her shoulder. “Jess says she has some errands to run and she’ll come back for me.”
I push off the doorframe and we watch as Jess drives away. “I guess you should come in then.”
I step to the side and wave my hand for her to enter. She hesitates for a second, then breezes past me. I close the door and turn to see her glancing around the big entranceway.
“You have a beautiful home.”
“Thanks.” I look around, too. See what she sees, but from my perspective. This house is my sanctuary—no one other than my sister and a few select friends allowed. It’s the one place I can hide out, be myself, and let go of the fucking act. “Something to drink?”
“Water, please.”
My bare feet slap the tile as I walk past her, and she follows me into the kitchen. I grab the old pizza boxes from the counter and stuff them in the garbage.
“Wow, I love your kitchen. My whole condo would fit in here.”
“I don’t really cook.”
“Then why do you have such great equipme
nt?” As soon as the words leave her mouth, her gaze drops to my crotch again, and then she quickly turns away, but not before I catch her blush. “I mean, this stove. It’s a chef’s dream come true.”
“My decorator insisted I buy it.” Five thousand bucks for a stove seemed steep to me, but she assured me someday my wife would love it.