Chapter 3

Three

Maeve

Tanner Bang is in my hotel room.

Tanner Bang, not Tanner Davis, that is. My God, how the hell did this happen?

Oh, right. I invited him. Actually, I invited both Tanners. Or did I? Maybe I didn't. Maybe I only invited this one, considering it was Kate who sent the text to Tanner Davis, only for it to land in the wrong inbox. Is a text chat called an inbox?

I don't know. At the moment, I don't know anything, and no matter how I spin this there is a small—maybe big—part of me that's grateful I'm not here with my very good friend Tanner Davis. While it's true I haven't been touched in a long time, I don't want anything to come between our close friendship.

Not that anything is going to happen between Mitts and me. He's right, everything about this is wrong, and I still can't believe I invited him over. It's out of character for me. Not a surprise as I don't make good decisions anymore. As I stare at him over my shoulder, my gaze strays to his big hands as he swipes them through his hair, a sheepish look on his face because yes, I did catch him checking me out.

Odd thing is, it doesn't bother me like it usually does. I've always been an object to others, women and men alike. It comes with the territory in modeling. But there's something different in the way Tanner looks at me, like I have more to me than modeling, like I'm more than a pretty face.

Maybe that's just wishful thinking, and to be honest, I can't be thinking about that at all, because like I've told myself a million and one times, hooking up with a player is not a good idea. But dammit, I'm lonely, and he's nice.

Go for it, Maeve.

No, no, no. I can't do that. He's a hockey player and Kate already said she liked him. I was going to introduce the two of them tonight until she shoved me out of the bar. Could she be wondering where this Tanner disappeared to? I mean, Tanner Davis is likely still at the bar, which is going to make her think I was right—he wasn't going to show. Do I even tell her she sent the text to the wrong person?

I pour a little extra scotch into our glasses, needing something to slow down my racing brain and push back all the questions. I spin and hold out his glass. "Extra stiff," I say and when I watch his Adam's apple bob, I realize just how sexual that sounds.

Heat flushes my face, and I take a huge sip of scotch, letting it burn down my throat. I wince and nearly cough as Tanner tips the glass to his lips and just holds it there as he watches me make a fool of myself.

"Hard liquor," I point out, and work to ignore the burn. "Good."

He chuckles. "If you don't like hard liquor, you don't have to drink it."

"No, I like a hard liquor." I gulp. Jesus, what did I just say. "I mean, I like hard?—"

"I know what you mean." Did his voice just drop an octave lower?

I take a deep breath to pull myself together. "I didn't mean for that to sound sexual," I tell him. "We're just friends having a drink."

"Friends having a drink," he agrees and lifts his glass. "Are we even friends?" He cocks his head and stares at me as I hurry across the room, needing a measure of distance between us, and plunk down onto the sofa. "You actually seem to go out of your way to avoid me. Did I do something to offend or upset you?"

Yeah, you took your shirt off at my clinic and I could only touch your shoulder when I wanted to explore the rest of you. That was very offensive.

Of course, I keep that to myself. "No, I don't, and you didn't." Okay, maybe I do go out of my way to avoid him. There's no denying I felt a little something deep between my legs when I worked on his shoulder last year. "Just busy with work." I take another drink and try not to choke as he saunters toward me, and drops into the wing back chair.

A chill moves through me, the night air growing cooler as it seeps into my room. Tanner jumps up, pulls the patio door shut and sits back down.

"Thanks." I set my drink down, cup my hands and blow on them. He swallows again. "I'm always cold."

"Yeah." He stands again, sits on the coffee table in front of me and catching me off guard, takes my hands in his.

I jerk them back and horror moves over his face. He holds his hands up. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that." He scrubs the scruff on his chin. "I was just going to try to warm your hands up."

"I…it took me by surprise. As a physiotherapist, I'm used to doing the touching, not being touched."

Our eyes hold and lock and from the way he's looking at me, it's easy to see he's reading more into that statement. He's seen me around enough to know I'm always alone, much like I know he's always alone. I guess we both have our reasons.

"I keep scaring you tonight," he murmurs, his voice soft and full of regret. "I should go."

He makes a move to stand and I stop him, taking his hand and putting mine in the center of his big palm. I don't trust a lot of people, and I don't know enough about Tanner to trust him, but there is warmth in those salted caramel eyes of his that puts me at ease, and how can a girl not like a guy who loves his mother, going to extremes not to upset her. He nearly tore my heart from my chest when he admitted that to me. Plus, my father really likes him. He always has such nice things to say about the rookie he treats like a son. And…it could be the alcohol taking the edge off.

Wait, does the fact that my father treats him like a son make him my stepbrother or something? Oh, God, no.

"I actually like the company. If you want to stay, I'd like that."

He rubs my hands in his big mitts and as he creates heat with friction, it ignites the needy juncture between my legs. "You're one of them, are you?" he mutters softly.

"One of what?" I ask, trying to sound casual, but not sure I'm pulling it off.

"Someone who's always cold." He lifts his head, his concerned eyes on mine. "Are you eating carbs?"

I laugh at that. "Yes, Dad."

He laughs and his eyes fill with hope. "Good, want to sneak in a pizza?"

"Sneak?"

"Training, I'm on a strict diet."

God, a pizza sounds so good. "Here I thought you were a rule follower."

"Did you not just witness me climbing around a damn cement wall to have a drink with you." I laugh at that. "Okay," he says a bit guilty, his shoulders dropping. "I am a rule follower, mostly."

"Until it comes to pizza and plastic partitions," I tease.

"Right."

And me…because he's right. No matter how I spin it, or try to convince myself, we shouldn't be doing this, but here we are doing it. It's risky, and a little bit exciting. Like Tanner, I'm a rule follower too. My modeling life was strict, with everything from what I ate, to when I went to bed. But I'm a grown woman now and can do what I want, mostly…and I mostly never do anything.

"Fine, I won't tell if you don't tell," I say and he offers me a grin that reaches between my legs and strokes deeply as he snatches his phone from his pocket. I stop him. "I actually know a really great place, just around the corner, and they're fast."

"Yeah?"

"I went to college here, with Kate. The girl I was sitting with earlier." Maybe now is a good time to put a word in for Kate. I owe her that after it didn't work out with the other Tanner. "Did you see her?"

He nods. "I saw her."

"I think she might have a crush on you."

"Oh yeah." He shrugs, not at all fazed, and I'm sure he's used to girls crushing on him. "She's your good friend?"

"We grew up together here in Florida. I've known her since I was five." I jump up to grab my phone to call in the pizza.

He circles his finger in the air. "Is that why you changed your mind about all this?"

Damn, he's astute.

"Something like that." I remind myself that my best friend likes him, and it's not like we could date anyway. I avoid the public eye, and he's constantly in it. I can't—won't—put myself out there again.

"You're a good friend," he states.

"Maybe she could be your plus one. If you're stuck." Jeez, I don't want to come off like I'm forcing her on him if it's not something he's interested in, and I suspect he's not. "Although I'm not sure a guy like you would be stuck."

He scrubs his face. "I mean, a trip to Santorini in the winter isn't so bad, right?"

I stare at him for a second. He's astute, I've already established that, but he didn't at all get where I was going with that. Does he not know how appealing he is, how any woman would be lucky to be on his arm? Does he think the selling point of the trip is Santorini in the winter? That almost makes me laugh.

I turn my attention back to my drink as he frowns. "And the guy sitting with you two?" he asks. "Who was he?"

I spin back to see him. Was that jealousy I heard in his voice? It instantly sets off alarm bells. But I find nothing but curiosity on his face, so I relax. Curiosity I can handle. Jealousy, well, I know first-hand how that can lead to something very dark and dangerous.

"He looked familiar." His frown flatlines as he glances up, like he's searching his memory bank. "I just can't place him."

I relax. "Oh yeah, he used to be a skills coach for the Bucks, before your time. He's a good friend of mine."

I find my phone at the bar, and call up my favorite pizza place. "They have a special on Hawaiian." I crinkle my nose. "Do you like Hawaiian?"

"Of course not." His mouth drops open, aghast. "Jeez, Maeve. I'm not a monster."

I burst out laughing at that. "That's good, otherwise I wasn't sure I could still call you a friend." I move past the specials and check out some of my favorite options. "How about the coronary? All meat and cheese. Mmm."

"I'm cheating, not trying to kill myself."

I arch a brow and eye him. "Veggie with pepperoni."

He rubs his palms together. "Now you're talking."

I grin and punch in our order. Once I'm done, I set my phone down and make my way back to the sofa. I sit and tuck my feet underneath me to keep them warm.

His gaze moves to my feet. "The saying is cold hands, warm feet?"

"No, the saying is cold hands, warm heart. Feel," I blurt out and stick my foot out. "Cold."

I instantly realize my mistake as he takes my foot into his hand and starts rubbing. Damn, this is far too intimate for my liking. Well, that might be a tiny lie. I do like it. Too much. But we shouldn't be touching.

"Hopefully the pizza will warm you up. How do you handle Boston in the winter?"

"With lots of coats, hats, scarves and blankets. You should see my bed." He swallows again and I'm pretty sure he mumbled something about liking that idea. No, I must have imagined that. We're in a hotel room with a bed, and he's not asking to see that…unfortunately.

Dammit.

"I just mean, I have a million blankets, even one of those weighted blankets. I can barely move once I'm tucked in." I struggle to keep my brain working and weirdly blurt out, "I went to a dermatologist one time, for this rash I had." He pulls his hands back from my feet and holds them up as he gives me a playful look that suggest I might have leprosy. I whack him, and my hand connects with hard biceps. Okeydokey. "Not a weird rash or anything," I explain with a shaky laugh. "Teenage skin." He continues to rub and I sink back into the sofa, enjoying his touch. "Anyway, he noticed my feet, and checked them out. His diagnosis—cold blue feet."

"Medical jargon," he snorts out. "I'm surprised you could even remember the name of the diagnosis. It's so…complicated."

I laugh again, loving his humor, which is a shock really. He's always brooding, even after a win. Why is he suddenly so easy going? "There was a medical term. I just can't remember it and he said it was harmless anyway."

I turn my attention to his big hands. "Is that why they call you Mitts?" I ask.

His head lifts. "What?"

"Your hands. They're big. Is that why they call you Mitts?"

"No." he looks back down, avoiding my gaze.

"Tanner," I blurt out.

His head jerks back up. "What?"

"Oh, I have to know now."

"No, you don't." he sets my feet on his lap, grabs my glass and hands it to me. "Drink. It will also warm you up."

I take a drink and not letting him off the hook, I press. "There's a story here. I have to know."

He groans, places his elbows on his knees, and drops his head into his hands. "I actually can't believe you don't know by now."

I sit up. "Do I need popcorn?"

"No!" he yells, and the next thing I know he's tossing the throw pillow at me.

"Hey," I yell. He grabs it from me before I can toss it back, and like a guy who is the youngest of six kids—I'd seen these antics at Kate's place growing up—he wrestles me on the sofa, until I'm beneath him, my hands over my head.

But then suddenly neither of us are laughing anymore. His gaze drops to my mouth when I foolishly lick my lips. My body softens beneath his, giving in a little as I adjust to his impressive weight.

"Maeve," he murmurs. "This is…" He briefly pinches his eyes like he's in total agony, and I get it. Believe me, I get it.

"A bad idea," I say finishing his sentence for him, even though my body is screaming at me to shut the hell up.

"Fuck." He groans again and his movements are stiff as he shifts, readjusting his weight and I struggle for something to say, to get our minds off this explosive heat between us, and how we can't do anything about it.

"Your shoulder. Is it okay? You didn't hurt yourself, did you? You sound like you're hurting."

Jesus, can you just stop rambling already, Maeve.

"I'm hurting," he says and when his gaze lands on mine again, his lips twitch.

"Yeah, me too," I tell him. Since he's being honest, I might as well be honest too. "But…"

"But, we shouldn't be doing this." He pushes off me and runs his fingers through his hair. Knuckles rap on my door and we both go still. The knock comes again and he leans into me conspiratorially. "Why do I feel like a teenager about to get caught in a girl's bedroom?"

"Did that happen a lot?" I ask, and he laughs and zippers his lips.

He pushes from the sofa and I stare at his cute ass as he crosses the room, and glances through the peep hole. "Pizza." I sit up and finger comb my hair as he gives the delivery guy a tip and makes his way back to me.

I inhale. "God, that smells so good."

He lifts the lid and I open the plastic bag to set out the paper plates and napkins. He slides the slices on, picks up his plate and sits beside me on the sofa. I bite into the cheesy pizza and moan.

"You know, when I was at Scotia Academy, I knew people who ate pizza with a fork and knife."

My jaw drops open. "Monsters."

He laughs. "I know, right?" He bites into his pizza and his eyes practically roll back in his head. "There was a guy from New York at the academy. He had to leave the room when the utensils came out." He rolls his eyes. "Canadians."

"Did they say sorry all the time?" I joke.

He puts his hands by his ear. "Sorry, what's that?"

"Did they say sorry all the time?" I repeat.

He grins at me, his head angled playfully, and maybe it's the booze, but I'm slow to clue in. "Ass." I whack him.

He laughs. "Sorry, not sorry."

I shake my head at his antics, and take a drink of my scotch to wash down the pizza and this time it goes down a bit easier. We eat in silence for a moment, and I don't miss the way his legs keep pressing against mine. It sends need rocketing through me.

"Warming up?" he asks, which reminds me of his nickname.

"So, tell me, why Mitts?"

"You're not going to let this go, are you."

"Hell no."

He finishes his slice and opens the lid to grab another. He arches a brow at me and I shake my head no. He slides another slice onto his plate. "I loved Nova Scotia." A look of melancholy moves over his face, then he snaps out of it and fakes a shiver. "But the winters were long and cold."

I nod, not really understanding where he's going with this. "There was a guy at the academy…he taught me to knit."

"No way."

"Way," he says, and I laugh.

"I can't believe you knit."

"And I can't believe I thought it was a good idea to knit Christmas mitts for the guys on the team last year." He groans and shakes his head.

"Mitts. Ohmigod, that is hilarious."

"Yeah, that's me. Hilarious."

I nudge him with my leg. "Come on, I bet they loved it."

"Yeah, I think so, and maybe that nickname is better than Banger, like I had at the academy."

I grin at him. "Is that because you…you know, did that a lot."

"Last name is Bang, Maeve."

I chuckle and bite into my crust. "Right."

I study his hand as he reaches for his glass and finishes his scotch. Warmth goes through me, and that's when I realize just how much I'm enjoying myself. When was the last time I really relaxed?

I jump up and refill our glasses, and I don't care if it's getting late. I don't want this night to end. I hand him his glass and when our hands touch again, he takes a fast breath.

"I should probably get going." He shifts and while I want to protest, I don't. "Thanks for the pizza. Next one is on me."

Why am I suddenly visualizing myself eating pizza off his abs?

He walks toward the patio and my gaze drops to his perfect backside. "Tanner's butt has got nothing on you."

He glances at me over his shoulder, his eyes narrowed. "What?"

Oh, God. Did I really say that out loud and how could that even make sense to him? Damn you scotch.

It's not like you had to drink it, Maeve, and honestly, you're only buzzed so stop using alcohol as an excuse or a reason.

"Nothing," I mumble quickly. "But no."

"You're really not making sense, Sweetness."

"You're not climbing over the wall after having a drink. I am not going to be responsible for you falling eight floors and cracking your skull open." I stand, and walk toward the door, going up on my toes to peek out into the hall. "Looks like the coast is clear."

He hesitates for a second and then nods in agreement. My heart beats a little faster as he comes toward me, and I simply stand still, leaning against the door as his large frame comes closer. God, he really is a thing of beauty.

He reaches me, and since my brain isn't really working, I smile up at him. He leans in, and for a quick second, I think he's going to kiss me, but when his hand reaches for the door handle, I realize my mistake.

I'm about to move but he blocks me, and my gaze lifts to his. "Tanner," I whisper, the scent of his cologne, combined with his closeness overwhelming me, in the nicest ways.

"Maeve," he murmurs, his body tight, his voice full of agony, and want. "We can't do this."

"I know."

"We're not doing this."

I nod. "Nope, we're not."

"I'm leaving."

"You're leaving," I state, and as though moving of their own accord, my fingers grip his shirt and hold tight. "Tanner. I…I don't trust myself to make good decisions. Not anymore."

"Maeve."

He puts his hands around my waist and turns me until his back is against the door and my chest is against his.

"Yeah?" Something long and hard presses into my stomach and I can't help but move my body, wanting to explore his thickening appendage.

He bangs the back of his head against the door. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. Which is followed by, "Fuck."

"Yeah. Um, I don't think of you as a stepbrother or anything."

He eyes me like he has no idea where that's coming from. "Okay, that's good to know. For the record, I don't think of myself as your stepbrother, either."

I groan, so completely thrown off by this man I'm not even sure what I'm saying, let alone doing. "I don't…I'm not…nothing is right."

His eyes soften and his body relaxes, letting me know the fight has gone out of him, and I'm not sure if that's a good thing or not. I can't be the strong one here, my damn body won't allow that.

"Wrong, Maeve." His big hands move from around my back to cup my cheeks, his warmth seeping under my skin as he angles his head, presses his lips to mine and murmurs, "This…this right here…is right."