23. This Might Take a While

CHAPTER 23

THIS MIGHT TAKE A WHILE

WESTON

I’ve lived in this house for a year and a half, but I’ve never baked a cake in this kitchen. That seems like a mistake now, because the house smells amazing . And it’s surprisingly fun assisting Abbi with her mixing and scraping.

Once the cake is in the oven, and the timer is set, I have an easier time stealing kisses. I push Abbi up against the counter and take her mouth with the same furor that I usually save for stealing the puck.

Abbi melts against my body. Her mouth softens under mine, and her arms wrap around my neck.

I’m just wondering whether there’s enough time to drag her upstairs for a quickie before the oven timer dings, when she pushes me away with gentle hands. “Westie, I have to make the frosting. Caramelization takes some time. Do you have a skillet?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I say, because it’s more polite than ripping her clothes off. Then I find the woman a skillet.

Abbi melts another stick of butter in the pan and then tosses the pecans in. She stirs them continuously and takes frequent sniffs of the pan.

“What is that for?” I ask.

“My mom’s instructions say to cook it until it smells ‘caramelly,’ and then start adding the powdered sugar. This might take a while.”

“Want a drink? There are beers in the fridge.”

“Sure,” she says brightly. “Thanks.”

I get us each a beer. And then the living room erupts in shouting and confusion.

Hmm.

“You’d better go see what just happened,” Abbi says. She gives me a little push on the hip. “Sounds like a bad call from the ref.”

“Right back,” I tell her.

“Take your time. I got this.”

As I head for the living room, I glance back at Abbi. She’s humming to herself and stirring the pecans. She looks happy.

I feel pretty damn happy, too. I’ve got hockey and beer and the sweet scent of cake. And—even better—I’ve got more of Abbi’s kisses coming at me later. I can’t wait to drag her up to my lair and show her how much I’ve missed her.

“What do you look so happy about?” Tate asks on a growl when I arrive at his side. “The ref just gave this game away.”

“Look on the bright side,” I point out. “At least he didn’t just give our game away.”

“I guess,” he grumbles. “There’s still ten minutes in the period. We can rebuild it.”

Due to an unfortunate glance at my news feed this morning, I already know that we didn’t, in fact, rebuild it. But I’ll keep my trap shut, and I cock my hip against the doorway and watch Boston fight for it anyway.

I’m cheering on the goalkeeper when the front door opens and a familiar face appears.

“Hey guys!” It’s Amy, a teammate’s little sister. She goes to Champlain College—which is the other college in Burlington. And every so often she swings by with a friend or two. In fact, last time that happened I hooked up with?—

Uh-oh . After Amy clears the door, another face appears. Her friend is cute and bubbly. I remember we had a good time together. But it was only the one time, of course. But now her gaze locks onto mine, and there's a fire in her eye that spells trouble.

And here I’d thought that a non-Moo-U student was a winning hookup choice. I’d assumed the odds of us coming face-to-face again were pretty low. Not low enough, as it turns out. She tosses her coat onto a hook and makes a beeline for me.

Oh shit.

Even though I’m always up-front with my hookups, this happens once in a while. I make my little speech the same way every time, before any clothes come off. So, listen, I'm not in a position to start anything serious. But if you’re up for one night of fun, I'm your guy .

Not everyone's hearing is great, I suppose.

“Weston, hey! It's been a while,” she says. She holds out her arms, as if expecting me to kiss her hello.

I don’t, though. Instead, I stand up a little straighter and give her a smile that’s friendly but not encouraging. “How’ve you been…” It takes me a second to pull her name from my memory. “Kerry?”

“Cara,” she says quickly.

Shit. “ Cara , God. Sorry. Well it's been a while.”

“Yeah. No kidding.”

I see my buddy Tate start to smile at me from a couple yards away. He can sense my distress. But does he come over here and rescue me?

Nope. No such luck.

Cara moves closer. She puts a hand on my chest. “Anyway, I thought I'd hitch a ride with Savannah and see if you were up for hanging out tonight.”

Tate hides his mocking grin behind his beer, and I want to slug my teammate. Because, Christ, this is a train wreck. "Uh, Cara, the thing is…” And then I come screeching to a halt, because this isn’t a speech l've made before. There's someone else. That sounds like a line from a drama.

I'm still choosing my words when Abbi materializes at my side. "Cake's out of the oven!" she says brightly.

"Oh, awesome!" I slide an arm around her automatically—the same way I've done a half dozen times already tonight.

But Cara goes rigid. And her face turns red so fast that someone should probably call the fire department.

"Could you help me invert it?" Abbi asks. “I need a largish plate if you've got one.”

“Plate. Large. Yup,” I say, stumbling badly. “I’ve got that. Baby. ”

Abbi gives me a sideways glance that seems to wonder if I’ve sustained a hit to the head. “Okay. It needs to cool for five more minutes, but then it’s go time.” She kisses the underside of my jaw before peeling away, heading back to the kitchen.

Meanwhile, Cara keeps turning redder. “Looks like you’re a little busy,” she says quickly. “Take care.” Then, before I can say anything, she slips past me and heads up the stairs in the direction that Amy disappeared.

Several of my teammates watch her ascent. And when she’s good and gone, they turn to me.

“Awkward,” says Vonne. “I sense a story there.”

“It’s a short story,” Paxton chirps from the sofa. “They always are with Weston.”

“That’s not true,” Vonne points out. “Weston has a girlfriend.”

“You’re a freshman,” Tate says. “You haven’t seen how it goes with him. We’re all a little surprised that he and Abbi have been together these past couple of weeks.”

“Right?” another of my teammates puts in. “Weston doesn’t date. It’s an unwritten rule of hockey.”

“You mean, like, the fight ends when your opponent goes down?” Vonne asks with a smirk. “And never step on the logo in the middle of the locker room floor?”

“Like that,” Tate assures him. “But Abbi is breaking all the rules.”

I give him a withering glance that suggests he should keep his voice down. “Abbi is the exception that proves the rule.”

Vonne raises his hand, like a second-grader. “What does that even mean? That phrase makes no sense.”

“Sure it does,” I bark, even though this whole conversation makes me uncomfortable.

“What it means ,” Tate whispers, “Is that Abbi graduates in the spring. Weston here doesn’t have to worry about a real commitment.”

“Ooh, an older woman,” Vonne says. “Love it.”

I roll my eyes at both of them. Tate isn’t wrong. It’s just that I’m not enjoying listening to my love life being picked apart.

So I leave them behind and head into the kitchen to help Abbi find a plate for her cake. The air here is heavy with the scent of nuts and sugar. “Holy shitballs, that smells good.”

“Doesn’t it?” Abbi says. “This was the cake my mother made for my birthday every year. It’s a straightforward cake recipe, but with this crazy pecan icing. You can only eat a small slice before you start to slide into diabetic shock. So a whole cake would last us a week in the refrigerator.”

“I give it a half hour in this joint,” I tell her. “So cut yourself a nice slice. You have to look after your own needs at the hockey house.”

“I’m starting to understand that,” she mutters to herself.