Chapter Twelve

T allulah clutched her chest with one hand, the script in the other. “I fear too early, for my mind misgives. Some consequences yet hanging in the stars shall bitterly begin.”

Lissa flopped onto the couch, throwing a dramatic arm across her eyes. “How do they expect a bunch of twelve-year-olds to know what this stuff means?”

Not for the first time, Tallulah wondered if Lissa was an adult trapped in a tween body. “You read my mind, kid,” Tallulah said, plopping down beside her. “I think the point might be that you try to figure out what it means. Sometimes that’s what learning comes down to. Making your mind stretch.”

Lissa groaned. “You sound like Mrs. DeSoto, my language arts teacher.”

“Mrs. DeSoto sounds like a wise and stylish woman,” Tallulah sniffed.

The girl humphed. “We’re going to get assigned roles in class, so we can act out Romeo and Juliet . We don’t have to memorize the script or anything, you get to hold your book while you do it. But... all the girls want to be Juliet.”

“Including you?”

Lissa picked at the edge of the couch. “Maybe.”

In other words, yes, desperately .

“Thad Durst is probably going to get picked for Romeo.” Lissa’s face started to turn pink. “He’s, like, the best reader and he’s Mrs. DeSoto’s favorite, even though he goofs off in class. He never raises his hand, he just blurts things out and everyone laughs. It’s not even fair.”

“Every class has a Thad, I think. Mine was named Nolan. Let me guess, he’s constantly fixing his hair. Like this.” Tallulah did a microscopic head flick. “Over and over again.”

Lissa burst out laughing. “He does do that!”

“They all do. It’s in the cool guy DNA.”

“A bunch of girls like him.”

“Hmm.”

“ I don’t.”

“Okay.” Tallulah surreptitiously studied the flush coloring Lissa’s usually pale complexion and decided they would be turning the corner into crushes soon. Maybe they already had, but she wouldn’t push Lissa to talk about it. Instead, Tallulah cleared her throat and raised the script up in front of her face. “You’re up, Benvolio.”

“I want to play Juliet, too,” Lissa said quietly.

Tallulah put her arm around Lissa’s shoulders. “Then I hope you get picked, but no matter what happens, you’ll always be my Juliet.”

A thoughtful smile plucked at Lissa’s lips. “My parents are kind of like Romeo and Juliet, I think. They were meant to be together.”

That statement dropped into Tallulah’s stomach like a brick into a swimming pool.

Just over a week ago, she’d made out with Romeo outside of a club. Who did that make her? Rosaline? Some other off-script side chick? “What do you mean?”

“Sort of like Romeo and Juliet, they were just star-crossed. The timing was wrong. My dad was more famous when they were married, so he was always doing interviews and filming commercials. Now he has more time. They just have to figure it out.” She slumped a little. “I’ve been begging my mom to bring me to the opening night game, so they can see each other, but she said no.”

Probably because Mom was busy with her new fiancé.

Or maybe they simply weren’t the type of divorced couple who could make a friendship work. Conscious uncoupling wasn’t for everyone. Sometimes a split was clean, without a second act friendship. Whatever the reason, it worried Tallulah that Lissa wanted a reconciliation so badly and it didn’t seem to be remotely in the cards.

Was it her place to discuss it with Lissa, though? Not even close.

Especially considering the idea of a reconciliation between Burgess and his ex-wife made Tallulah feel pretty... weird. And jumpy. A touch jealous?

Certainly not , she mentally scoffed.

But when she heard the key turn in the apartment door and her pulse took off like a racehorse, the possibility of getting jealous over Burgess didn’t seem that far-fetched.

Great.

“Dad’s home,” Lissa said, bounding off the couch with her script in hand, skidding to a stop in front of the door as her father walked through. “Hey, Dad.”

“Hey, kid.” With an equipment bag slung over his shoulder, Burgess pulled Lissa over and dropped a kiss on the crown of her head. “How was your day?” he asked while his eyes searched out Tallulah across the room. Nodded once at her.

She nodded back.

They stared for a moment, then averted their gazes at the exact same time.

Tallulah dried suddenly damp palms on the thighs of her yoga pants. This was how it had been going for the ten days since she’d moved in. A lot of staring and trying not to get caught, but getting caught repeatedly. And by the end of the night, they gave up altogether.

Openly staring, his gaze a silent challenge. As if to say, you know where to find me .

Although, his stony countenance wasn’t giving big, hungry alpha at the moment. It gave nothing away at all. But the way he massaged his lower back after setting down the bag... that was rather telling. As were the white brackets that appeared at the corners of his mouth.

“Dad. We’re doing Romeo and Juliet in class. Mrs. DeSoto is going to assign parts next week.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yup.” She danced on the balls of her feet. “Tallulah is helping me get used to the lines.”

Burgess was visibly distracted by the pain in his back. “That’s great.”

Lissa looked down at the script in her hands, then at Tallulah. Back at her dad. “I hope I get Juliet. Everyone wants to be Juliet.”

Daughter stared at father, holding her breath. Waiting for a reaction.

Tallulah’s hands snuck together in her lap and clutched. Say something , she begged Burgess. Say anything. To her disappointment, Burgess grunted and started to walk past his daughter, but he slowed down on his way to the kitchen, his chin coming up a notch, something seeming to occur to him. He turned and looked back at Lissa. “You’d be good at playing Juliet, kid.”

Lissa fumbled the script, pure joy sprinting across her features before she hid it. “Thanks.” She didn’t seem to know what to do with herself, but eventually she jogged toward her bedroom. “I’m going to go practice.”

“Wait. What about dinner?”

“I ate with Tallulah!” The bedroom door slammed.

Burgess shot Tallulah a raised eyebrow.

She was busy trying not to swallow the heart in her mouth. “Um... yeah. Yeah, sorry, I broiled her some sole with lemon and capers. Threw it on top of some broccoli rabe.” She tried to be casual about saying, “There’s a plate for you in fridge.”

“I thought you weren’t going to cook anymore.”

“I’m not. This was the last time.”

Burgess hummed on his way to the kitchen, but there was a distinct hitch in his step.

Tallulah sat half-turned on the couch, watching him, trying to put a name to the fluttery sensation in the dead center of her belly. Maybe it was his overall freshly showered athletic sexiness that made it impossible to not peruse him. Or perhaps it was the way he’d clearly been listening to her advice. He’d obviously realized how much Lissa valued his opinion... and he’d incorporated it into his behavior. That. That was...

Very appealing.

Too appealing, really.

Now she had the nonsensical urge to reward him for it in some way, which was so ridiculous . Why should she reward him for being an attentive dad? That wasn’t her job. His attentiveness should be a given! Yet she was already rising to her feet, making excuses for the sudden need to make sure he knew he’d made an impact with one little sentence. Maybe because it wasn’t a small thing for someone set in their ways to learn a new way to be. It wasn’t small at all.

Tallulah entered the kitchen slowly, telling herself to turn back every step of the way. Burgess stood at the counter, looking down at the plate of food she’d left, garnished and all, appearing kind of bemused. Her entrance distracted him, though, his head turning sharply to the left. “Hey,” he rumbled. “How were your classes today?”

“Fun.”

He smirked at her. “Dork.”

The smile just kind of blossomed across her face. “Damn right. I’m even excited for the homework I have ahead of me tonight.”

“Appalling.” He dipped his chin toward the plate. “Thanks for this.”

“You’re welcome.” She ventured closer, despite her common sense telling her to go lock herself in the bedroom again. Common sense and her sense of self-preservation. The activity she had in mind was incredibly unprofessional, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself from coming to a stop directly behind Burgess and going up on her tiptoes, reaching past him to take the olive oil out of the cabinet. “You were great with Lissa just now.”

“Yeah?” He shifted on his feet. “Thanks. Remembering to say the thing... it takes focus, right? You have to be ready at all times.”

Her hands paused in the act of uncapping the olive oil. Why was her heart beating so fast? Because he’d listened to her? “Parenting and hockey are more similar than you realized?”

“Yeah,” he said on a rushing exhale that didn’t sound all that steady. “I gotta ask. What are you doing back there, Tallulah?”

Good question. “I noticed your back is bothering you,” she said, pouring a dollop of olive oil onto the pad of her thumb, rubbing it together with her index finger.

He’d stiffened at her explanation. Now he picked up the plate and stuck it in the microwave in front of him, closing the door soundly. “It’s fine.”

Before he could move away, Tallulah lifted the back of his T-shirt and dug her thumb into the base of his spine, running it firmly upward. And the man all but collapsed forward onto the counter, moaning. It was actually far more dramatic a reaction than she’d expected—and she’d expected him to release a satisfied male groan at the very least.

This? This was a man who’d just sailed past the pearly gates.

“Do that again,” he ground out. “Please.”

She dug deeper and pressed a horizonal line up the base of his spine, before moving right and rubbing a circular pattern into the hard muscle of his rear hip.

“Oh my God,” he said raggedly, fully propped on his forearms now.

Oh my God was accurate. That’s what he was. A marble-slabbed God with a firm ass that was now fully displayed in mesh athletic shorts a foot below her face. And she’d brought him to his proverbial knees with a stroke of her thumb. Which was wildly empowering. Also... very worrisome.

“How long has it been hurting like this?”

“I can’t remember a time when it didn’t hurt,” he breathed.

“How are you treating it?”

“Over-the-counter painkillers.”

“Burgess.”

Momentarily, he straightened. Hesitated. And stripped off his T-shirt, tossing it onto the kitchen floor. Then he dropped forward once more against the counter with a mesmerizing ripple of muscle. “Yell at me all you want, gorgeous, just keep doing the thing.”

She’d never actually felt her pelvic floor so acutely, but wow, there it was, tightening up like shrink wrap around a doorknob. Holy mother, this massage had been the worst idea of her life. His back muscles were... prolific . Primal. Flexed. He had a tattoo on his right shoulder that went all the way down to the center of his back, the existence of which she was unaware of until this moment. The inked skin/thick butt/muscle trifecta was really bringing home the fact that she was not simply working for a single father. She was working for a snack. A DILF. A big boy.

The most eligible of bachelors.

How was this man—this hot, rugged professional athlete—not dating?

She knew firsthand that he was a skilled kisser. Now he’d broken out the body to end all bodies. The fact that he wasn’t out being chatted up by single women was a crime.

He needed a push. She’d obviously been sent here for the job. Even if the image of him surrounded by women caused a heat rash to break out under her clothes.

“You okay back there, Tallulah?”

“Yes,” she blurted, digging her thumb into him once more, forced to close her eyes against the deep burr of his satisfaction, the way it rumbled in his torso and vibrated her fingertips. Ugh, he was so warm and hard and taut. Everywhere. How would a man like this make love? Probably fast and furious. Or maybe he knew how to take his time?

Stop wondering. You’re not going to find out.

She cleared her throat of gravel. “So... I don’t really know how this type of thing works, but shouldn’t you tell a team doctor? Or trainer?”

“Yes.” She probably shouldn’t have made him talk, because the gratification was evident in his tone, causing regions of goose bumps to prickle into existence all over her body. “In fact, I’m contractually obligated to tell them about any injuries, so if we’re splitting hairs, I’m in violation of my contract.”

“Why not tell them?”

“It’s not that easy.”

“I imagine they have more advanced ways than Motrin for dealing with injuries.”

“They do. Shots and pills and physical therapy.” His muscles tensed beneath her fingers and she instinctively tried to rub away the tension. “I don’t want any of that shit.”

Frowning, Tallulah stayed quiet. She didn’t have to ask him why out loud for him to know she was wondering why.

After a drawn-out sigh, he continued. “I don’t want to be one of those veteran workhorses out on the ice being held together by tape. I used to pity those players. On their last legs, battling nine different injuries, getting shots to numb this or that. Once I go down that road, I’ll never be able to turn off. Once my body knows there are remedies for everything, it’ll start falling apart.”

“Wow.”

“Wow?”

She slid her thumb up his spine and he hissed. “I’m not a doctor, but I’m relatively sure that’s not how medicine works. Or the human body. Like, I don’t think the various parts of our bodies are conspiring against us.”

“Of course not, you’re twenty-six.”

Tallulah rolled her eyes. “Stop acting like being thirty-seven makes you the crypt keeper. I’m going to tug your shorts down a couple inches, okay?” He grunted. Flexed. “Can I let you in on a secret? Thirty-five and up is the golden age for men.” She tucked her fingers into the waistband of his shorts and shimmied them down, revealing twin dimples at the very base of his spine... and the breathtaking top swell of his butt. Just the very beginning of it, only the shadow of his crack appearing, but it was enough to make her wonder if the part of her brain that made good decisions had been severely compromised. Why was she subjecting herself to this flesh fest when she couldn’t be the one to really enjoy it? “As I was saying, thirty-five is prime time. Women are looking for men in your age bracket, because you’re done douching it up. Maturity is appealing.”

“I thought we were talking about my age in terms of hockey.” He looked back at her over his shoulder, eyebrow up. “Sort of took a left turn there, didn’t you?”

Whoops. Be a little more obvious that you’re objectifying him.

Mentally floundering, she pushed her thumbs into the newly exposed plane of his back and he turned around in a flash, groaning and clutching at the counter. “Son of a bitch.”

“Back to hockey,” Tallulah said briskly. “Is that really the only reason you’re not telling the team about your injury? You’re afraid treating it will have a domino effect?”

“I know it will. And... yeah. That’s the only reason.”

“You hedged.”

“I didn’t hedge.”

“I know a hedge when I hear one.”

Another long-suffering sigh. “Fine. I... refuse to be seen as weak. I’m not supposed to have weaknesses. And it had to be a fucking back injury, too? I might as well bring a cane out onto the ice, instead of a stick.”

“Oh my gosh, Burgess. Anyone can have a back injury.”

“It’s a signal to everyone that I’m on borrowed time. It’s blood in the water. You would understand more if you’d played professional sports for a decade and a half, like I have. It’s cutthroat and unforgiving and... image is important.”

She considered his words. “Maybe you’re right, maybe I don’t fully understand the mentality of athletes, specifically hockey players. But I know if you don’t treat this injury, it’s going to get worse. That I know.” She slid her flat palms up his back and went to work on his shoulders, sort of absently, forgetting for the moment that his injury wasn’t up there. “You have a life to live outside of hockey. You’ll need your back for that.”

“Do I have a life outside of hockey? I’m not so sure.” His sides expanded and relaxed. “At one time, I did. I was a husband and a dad. I thought I was doing everything I was supposed to do. Providing. Showing up at birthday parties. But there’s a missing ingredient. Whatever it is, I don’t have it.”

“I disagree. I’m watching the way you’re growing and changing with Lissa. Maybe you just didn’t have it mastered back then. And who does? I’m not even a parent and I know being one is a learning process.”

“Hockey is safe. I know hockey.”

“Maybe it’s okay to feel unsafe,” she said quietly, internalizing the sentiment as she went along, because it didn’t only apply to him, did it? “Maybe it’s okay for the both of us to start reaching for... more.”

Burgess stayed quiet, though he tilted his head right so she could stroke up the side of his tense neck, his sides dipping and expanding faster than before.

Hers were doing the same.

In fact, she was grinding her back teeth to allay the impulse to press her breasts to his hard back. Imagine your bare skin against his muscle. Slipping and sliding—

No. Don’t imagine that.

She needed to stay the course. This conversation was about a lot more than she’d anticipated. There was pain and insecurity lurking inside this Hercules of a man... and he’d been shouldering it alone. Hiding it from everyone. It wasn’t a small thing that he’d chosen to open up to her, and she couldn’t help but feel privileged.

“My father had a favorite athlete growing up—do you know Pedro Martinez?”

“Tallulah, he played for the Red Sox. Of course, I know him. I’ve met him.”

“Really?”

A pause ensued while he shook his head. “You are totally clueless about anything sports related, aren’t you?”

“I’m only there for the snacks.” She laughed under her breath at the sheer indignation she could sense radiating from the man. “But I do know that Martinez played for the Red Sox. It’s part of the reason I looked for a grad school in Boston, apart from BU having a stellar marine biology program. Boston was this glamorized place in our household growing up.”

“Because of Pedro Martinez.”

“Yes. So since you’re his best friend, you must know that he had a lot of injuries during his final season. But my dad never saw him as anything but a baseball god. Pedro never stopped being his favorite player. His triumphs didn’t stop counting because he strained his calf or tore his rotator cuff. That’s just a human being a human. Sometimes we break a little.” She dragged all ten of her fingers down the rocky terrain of his back and pressed her thumbs into those twin dimples, savoring the way his breath shook free at her touch. “Will you at least go see a private doctor?” she near whispered.

“Nope.”

Her nose wrinkled in disappointment. “Not even if I promise to do this for you every once in a while?”

“Promise to do it every night and you’ve got a deal.”

“Done. Wait, what?” Tallulah’s hands dropped away, accompanied by a disbelieving gasp. “Why does it feel like I just got maneuvered?”

He turned around, sporting a grin. “I’ll make the appointment tomorrow.”

Respond. Say something. Fast.

Stop looking at his mighty, Zeus-like chest.

And his stomach. Was it even a stomach? It was more like a flesh-colored egg carton.

Our Father, who art in Heaven . . .

Apparently flip-flopping between Greek mythology and Christianity was the final proof that she’d been overwhelmed by the sight of him. The six foot three inches of brawn and masculine beauty that was Burgess Abraham stood before her looking like he should be holding a boulder over his head. Or crushing a village beneath his feet.

“What does your tattoo mean?” she said, winded, sounding like a sorority girl who accidentally stumbled into a biker bar. Humiliating with a capital H .

Burgess didn’t answer right away, because he appeared to be scrutinizing her reaction to his naked chest with... surprise? Had no one clued this man in that he was a panty dropper? “It’s uh... yeah.” He shook himself slightly. “Syracuse team logo. We all got it after winning state.” He rolled the shoulder in question and she could see, in her mind’s eye, how that ink on his back was rippling. “Seemed like a great idea at the time.”

“It’s good. I think it’s good.”

“Are you feeling all right, Tallulah?” His gaze ran down to her throat, up and over her cheeks. “You’re a little flushed.”

“No. I mean, yes . I am feeling all right. I get a little emotional talking about Pedro Martinez.” She ignored his lip twitch. Pull it together, girl. “So you’re going to call a doctor tomorrow and make an appointment to have them look at your back?”

He ran his tongue along the inside of his bottom lip. “Are you going to use those hands on me every night?”

Mark this as the second time Burgess had made her panties wet. Like, wet wet. Last time hadn’t been a one-off. This guy got her hot and bothered, no use denying it. But who wouldn’t get worked up around a man in peak physical condition? She was excused! “If that’s the only way to make you healthy,” she murmured, still feeling the delicious ridges of his back against her palms. “I suppose I can learn to sacrifice.”

Mirth twinkled briefly in his eyes. “Then I’ll call the doctor.” He sauntered forward slowly, so slowly that she could feel her stomach tendons knitting tighter with every inch of space he eliminated between them, until his mouth and her forehead were separated by the barest of spaces. “But only for you.”

A flare went off in her chest, like someone signaling for a rescue. Which couldn’t have been more accurate. “Only for my massages, you mean.”

His warm breath bathed her forehead, a bull preparing for the gate to open. “ Is that what I mean?”

They remained like that, time suspending itself while they started to breathe faster. He wasn’t moving, though, was he? No, he was waiting for her to do it. To... engage. And what else was she supposed to do when her hands were warm from his skin and he was carved from granite, going around saying things like “but only for you.” Was she not supposed to kiss him?

“One weekend has already passed us by,” he said, his focus very intent on her mouth. “Are we going to make plans for the next one?”

“Who? Me and my bodyguard?” she murmured.

“That’s me.” He looked her up and down. “I’ll guard it well.”

“Better than you guard your goalie?” she managed choppily.

“Yes. And that’s saying something, considering I’m a beast on defense.” He dragged his bottom lip through his teeth, a low sound leaving him. “I’m a beast everywhere, Tallulah.”

“Oh. Everywhere.” Her pulse was going to beat out of her veins. “Like offense?”

“Nah.”

“Hmm.” Her core tightened so much that her voice went up an octave. “You’re saying it’s time to start our adventures. I learn to let loose again while we prepare you for the dating scene...”

Their mouths inched closer. “Name the time and place.”

She ransacked her mind, searching for the reasons she shouldn’t tilt her head back and see what happened. But all she wanted to come up with were reasons she should.

It’ll boost his confidence with women! He’ll realize he’s still got it!

Really, not kissing him was kind of selfish, no?

Well aware her reasoning wasn’t sound, she felt the slightest brush of his lips against her forehead and all manner of sense went out the window. She dropped her head back, inviting him with searching eyes. He made a gruff sound of hunger, propped his hand on the wall above her head, wet his mouth and leaned down slowly—

“ Tallulah! ” Lissa called, her bedroom door busting open.

Burgess and Tallulah jumped apart like two guilty teenagers, Burgess spinning around, snatching up a rag and pretending to mop the counter down. Meanwhile, Tallulah was frozen in place. “Huh?” Wake up. “Yes?”

“Dad, why is your shirt off?”

A line hopped in his cheek. “I... spilled something.”

What a coincidence. Tallulah’s common sense had spilled out of her ears.

Did she honestly just agree to nightly massages ?

Why was she looking forward to the next one?

Oddly enough, the anticipation didn’t only stem from the joy of having skin-to-skin contact with a man who made her feel safe. She looked forward to talking to him. That latter seemed to be a bigger problem than the former.

“Oh.” Lissa was halfway across the living room. “Can you come do the lines with me? I think I’m pronouncing the words better now.”

“Sure, of course.”

“I think Tallulah has homework, kid. I’ll do them with you.”

“Oh! Okay.” Visibly shocked, Lissa stayed still for a moment, before dashing back to her room. “Come on.”

Burgess set down the rag and dropped his head forward for a few beats. Then he turned to leave the kitchen. But not before stopping beside Tallulah and letting out a jagged exhale in the space above her shoulder. “Just want to mention that I’m happy to give, not just receive. In fact, I fucking love giving, Tallulah.”

She blinked up at him, shock spearing down to her toes. “Excuse me?”

“Massages.” He winked at her. “I’m talking about massages. What did you think I meant?” Then he continued on his merry way, whistling. Whistling. “See you tomorrow.”

Tallulah stared after her giant roommate/employer as he entered his bedroom and emerged wearing a shirt, vanishing into Lissa’s room a few seconds later. And she wondered what in the heck she’d just gotten herself into... and possibly a lot more concerning...

Why she didn’t want to get out of it.