26. Zane

26

ZANE

Mira has lived with me for a couple weeks already, but I'm still surprised when I walk into the living room and see her curled up on the end of the couch. Her feet are tucked underneath her, legs mostly hidden by the long hem of the Phoenix Angels jersey she's wearing.

I thought the endless sundresses were bad enough, but now, I have to lie in bed tonight and imagine bunching that jersey high around her waist. There's no shortage of distractions in this house.

Fuck me.

"Did Aiden go down okay?" I ask, voice cracking.

She sits up when she sees me. "Once he settled down, he fell right to sleep. He was exhausted. I've never heard him talk so much."

The entire night felt like a loss—until I stepped through the door and saw Aiden waiting for me. He was grinning, waving a foam finger twice the size of him and wearing a toddler jersey with my name printed on the back. It's his name, too, I guess.

Mira bought it for him at the merch shop.

"You're fast!" he kept saying, his blue eyes sparking with excitement. I recognized the look: it's the same one I wore when my dad took me to my first game.

It's been years since we've been to a game together. Years since we spoke.

Mira chuckles softly, pulling me out of my downward spiral of memories. "He told me you were ‘almost as cool as Spiderman.' Coming from him, that is a huge compliment."

"It's better than a lot of other things being said about me tonight," I mutter, lifting the lid on the pizza box to my right and eyeing the covered plate of chicken alfredo to the left. "What's with all the food?"

"Oh." Mira climbs out of her tangle on the couch and the jersey falls around the tops of her thighs. Silk pajama shorts stick out of the bottom, but all I can think about is how easy it would be to drag them down her legs. How quickly I could have her just as bare as the day we met.

A sudden need to know if she's wearing the same black lace panties almost blurs my vision.

"Your assistant called an hour after we got home to warn me she was sending a pizza," Mira explains. "I told her I was already making dinner, but she said it was tradition. I guess it's up to you. You can eat whatever you want."

If that were true, Mira would be on the counter in front of me.

I shift away from her so she won't see the massive bulge in the front of my pants.

I usually fuck after a game. That's what this is. I play. I party. And I go home with some woman who has my number painted on her face.

My cock could hammer nails right now, but it's just a Pavlovian response. Biological. I'd have this reaction to any woman standing in front of me with toned, golden legs and my jersey on.

I close the pizza box and grab the pasta. "Thanks. This looks good."

I warm the food in the microwave while Mira boils water for tea. We move around the kitchen like we've done it a hundred times before. Like this isn't the longest we've shared the same space since she moved in.

When she reaches into the cabinet for the tea bags, the jersey gapes around her arms. I can see a flash of her red bra and I nearly snap my fork in half.

"Why are your cabinets all so high?" she complains, lifting a knee onto the counter for an extra boost.

"Move," I command, a roughness in my voice that has everything to do with how easily I could fit myself between the spread of her thighs. "I'll get it."

I used to go out with Paige and get trashed after games. When I sobered up, I figured fucking was a better release. Now, I'm not so sure.

Maybe I should call Owen. What would be worse: falling off the trolley or sticking my tadger in the nanny?

I know which one I want more.

I sit down with my steaming plate of dinner and shovel food into my mouth. Like maybe if I fill this hole, I won't be thinking about filling?—

Nope. Not even going to think it.

Then I slow down enough to taste the dinner and groan. "You made this?"

"You like it?" She grins for a moment before she kills it and goes back to neutral expression. "Don't get excited. It's one of three dishes I know how to make well."

Even the brussels sprouts taste good. I force down greens for my health, but I've never enjoyed them. "When did you have time to do this?"

She winces. "Sorry, but we left the game early to beat the crowds. Evan was worried about keeping track of us in the crush of people and I didn't want Aiden eating nothing but licorice ropes and nachos for dinner."

"Don't apologize to me. You didn't miss much. I played like shit."

She wraps her hands around her mug. "I don't know anything about hockey, so I'm no expert."

"You don't need to be an expert to know the puck should probably go in the goal," I drawl. "Keeping it away from the other team is a good start, too."

"Oh. Then, yeah, maybe not your best night." She gives me a sheepish smile. "I'm sure you just had an off game. I can bring Aiden to another one and?—"

"No." Mira flinches at the force I put behind the word and I blow out a harsh breath before rephrasing. "I don't think it's a good idea to have him there."

She frowns. "Evan was with us the entire time, just like I promised. He even glared at the guy behind us until he took the hint and stopped screaming every curse word he knew right over the top of Aiden's head."

"It's more about the media," I explain haltingly. "I've been in front of crowds like that for years. I'm used to it. Or, I was . But as soon as I looked around tonight, it looked different. All I could see were the cameras and the lights."

"You don't want anyone to know about him," she guesses softly.

"It's not that. I want people to—I want some people to know about him. But not everyone. Not yet."

Her voice stays hushed. "I get it. I almost didn't take this job because I didn't want to be photographed with you. I'm obsessive about my privacy, even when I'm not fake dating a super hot hockey player."

"As opposed to an ugly hockey player?" I quirk a brow.

"I meant super hot, like, in the social conversation. A famous hockey player." Her cheeks flush the same color red as the jersey she's wearing.

When she turns around, my blood boils. PATTERSON is printed across her narrow shoulders where WHITAKER should be. "Why in the fuck are you wearing Daniel's old jersey?"

She settles back into the couch, my now-former best friend's jersey brushing against her bare skin. "He let me borrow it. I didn't have anything to wear. But it's actually really comfortable."

Will she wear it to bed? Does her skin flush everywhere when she's nervous?

The thought of her wearing Daniel's jersey to bed twists something deep and primal in my core.

I want to demand she take it off, but my cock is aching against my zipper as it is. I wolf down another bite of pasta instead. Bury my anger with carbs, or something like that.

"All I'm saying is, I get it. I know a super smart genius told you to make space for Aiden in your life" —She smirks at me, the tilt of her full lips sending more blood flow in the wrong direction. "—but you don't have to do it all at once. It's good to pace yourself and wait until you're comfortable. I'll take it as slow as you want."

All I can see is the slow crawl of Mira's body over mine. I'll take it as slow as you want. The problem is, I don't want it slow. I mean, well, yes, I do—partly. But I also want it fast and hard and relentless and repeatedly.

I blink and she's staring at me, a worried look on her face. "Are you okay?"

"I short-circuited. I'm not used to you being agreeable."

She rolls her eyes, and God help me, I could make her do that again if she'd let me. I could fuck a million different expressions out of her.

"Well, I'm not used to you being honest with me about what you need," she says with the fire I'm used to.

She doesn't want to know what I need right now. Honestly, I barely know what I need. Except for…

"I need time," I admit. "I thought maybe I was figuring this all out, but tonight was proof I haven't. I could barely focus out there."

"So Aiden won't come to the games until you're ready," Mira concludes like it's as simple as that. "That's fine. I'll send you a picture of him wearing your jersey before every game. We'll have our own watch parties from the living room."

Something about that feels even more dangerous than letting Aiden go to the games.

I blink again, trying to clear the fog from my head.

"I've just… I've never been good at doing anything halfway. It's an addict thing." I scratch the back of my head. "I can't give my all to hockey when I know Aiden needs me. I don't even want to. He deserves all of me."

Mira frowns and brings the mug to her lips. "No one expects you to go halfway with loving your kid. But Aiden needs stability. I can tell you from experience that money helps with that. So, maybe you need to think about it like that. When you're giving your all to hockey, you're doing it so you can make a living and give him everything he needs. At the end of the day, it's all for Aiden."

For the first time all day, the fog lifts. One piece of the scattered puzzle that has become my life snaps into place, and I have Mira to thank.

I don't do that, obviously. She'd be annoying about it and she's opinionated enough without encouragement.

Still, for the first time since we met, it feels like we're on the same team.

No one is more surprised than me by how much I like that feeling.