6. Miranda

It iseither the smell of bacon cooking or the insistence of my bladder waking me. Whichever one it is, I roll out of bed and stumble to the bathroom.

"Oh," I cry. Declan is shirtless at the second sink, brushing his teeth. His surprised blue eyes swing to me, and his toothbrush hangs out of his mouth.

"Morning," he mumbles around his toothbrush as he goes back to his business. Needing to take care of mine, I go into the toilet room and close the door, locking it to be safe. I'm not sure if he can hear me pee, so I wait until he runs the faucet before letting loose. I didn't consider this when I thought it wouldn't be a big deal sharing a bathroom. I've shared bathrooms with other females, but never a man. A man I'm attracted to. Well, this will probably kill any crush I have on him.

Of course, walking in to find him shirtless was a wonderful surprise. He's huge. I looked up his bio on the team website before I fell asleep last night and saw from the official stats he's a few inches shy of seven feet tall and two hundred eighty pounds. But that's all muscle. I'm seeing miles of smooth skin and not an ounce of fat. Stupid bladder. If it hadn't been insistent about its need to be emptied, I would have had more time to enjoy the view. Instead, I mumbled good morning and rushed in here like a crazy woman.

I flush and come out, going to the other sink to wash my hands. He's still at his sink, shaving now. I'm surprised he doesn't use canned shaving cream. He has a tin with soap in it and a brush he wets and rubs over the soap, then he rubs on his face to get a lather. I watch, fascinated, as he takes the razor and scrapes it over his square jaw. His gaze flicks to mine as he rinses the foam and whiskers off in the sink.

"Did you sleep well?" His accent is the softer tone of his Irish side than the stronger Scottish brogue he had yesterday. Like mine, his accent absorbs what he is around. My Irish lilt is practically non-existent when I'm in America. When traces slip through, the assumption is I'm either from the southern US or sometimes Canada.

Nodding, I try to keep my gaze above his neck and not follow the drop of water trailing down his neck and between his pecs.

Swallowing my drool before it drips out of my mouth, I say, "I did. The sheets were perfect. Thank you for sharing."

"I'll share my sheets with you anytime. All you have to do is ask."

It's fascinating to see when he realizes how suggestive that sounds and watch the red flush stream up from his chest, up his neck, to the one shaved cheek visible and to both ears. It's like a cartoon thermometer with the red rushing up the tube and exploding out the top.

My giggle sets off his laughter, and the sounds of our merriment echo off the tiles of the bathroom.

He's the first to regain his composure. "Stop making me laugh or I'll slit my throat and that would be a terrible start to the day."

I can't resist. I need to touch him. Before he resumes shaving his other cheek, I pat his biceps. His warm, hard, huge biceps I want to squeeze. But don't. Because that would be creepy, and Declan is my friend.

"We can't have that. I'm going to get dressed. Can I hitch a ride with you to the rink?"

"Aye. Whichever one of us gets to the table first, we'll save bacon for the other, yeah?"

"Deal," I say as I let myself out of the bathroom, closing the door behind me. Leaning against it, I let out a long breath. Being around Declan, working together, living together, sharing a freaking bathroom is going to be both wonderful and difficult. It would be easy to let him in and get used to him being there, but I know it won't last. It never does. He'll get traded or find a girlfriend. Crap. Does he have a girlfriend? Does it matter?

Pushing away from the door, I go through my bags to dig out my clothes for the day. Pausing, I look at the small parcel carefully wrapped and protected in my bag. It's some random trinkets I've collected through the years. A black plastic unicorn cupcake topper, a little blue flower shaped eraser reminding me of forget-me-not blooms, the keychain with a tiny plush bear wearing a red Cornell sweater Dec gave me one of the weekends I visited him. It's silly I've kept them—I'm not usually sentimental and with how often I move, it's not practical. I should take them out and put them on a windowsill or something to make room in my bag. But what if I don't come back here? What if they realize I'm not a good fit for the job after all and I can't come back to get them? I'll bring them with me. They aren't taking up much room. I dress quickly in trousers and a black argyle sweater. Add warm socks and comfy lace up booties and I'm dressed.

"What am I doing with you?" I ask my hair as I look in the mirror on the dresser. I braid it since that's the simplest and will keep my hair out of my face. Once I'm done with that, I go to the bathroom door and knock on it. Not hearing anything in response, I cautiously open the door and peek at the mirror. Declan is gone and the door to his room is closed.

Pushing the door open all the way, I enter. The spicy scent of his shaving soap lingers in the air. Brushing my teeth and washing my face, I wonder what the day has in store for me. I know we will travel to Washington State for tomorrow night's game. I don't know if I should pack now and take it with me or if we will come back here for our bags. Opening my bedroom door, I see the apartment door open. We must be eating in the common room.

I haven't met the other three roommates yet. Guess there's no time like the present. After being the new girl in school almost every term, I should be used to it and stop being nervous, but like all of my first days of school, the butterflies are present and my hands are clammy. I wipe them on my trousers and prepare my mask of serenity. One thing I've learned through the years is if I can hide my fear of not being accepted, then people don't know they can use it to hurt me. They'll still reject me like everyone else has and it will still hurt but if I want to have the life I want, I need to take the risk. For years, I refused to care, but that's a lonely way to live. I don't want to be lonely anymore. Taking a deep breath for courage, I walk out of the apartment.