Chapter Eighteen

O h. The energy in the arena was wild. These people were enthusiastic .

Tallulah had gone into the evening well aware that Bostonians didn’t do sports halfway. After all, her dad was a Red Sox fan. During baseball season, the games had served as background music to homework time. Thus, she knew that every Red Sox game was a matter of life or death. But hockey? She simply hadn’t known. The fans were not there to friggin’ play.

Everyone was wearing team colors. Like . . . everyone .

The dress code hadn’t been optional.

But here she was in jeans, a white long-sleeved shirt, and a coat. And she couldn’t even blend anonymously into the crowd, because the tickets they’d just picked up at the box office were in the front row. She and Lissa were heading there now, weaving in and out of fans holding loaded chili dogs and giant beers.

Nervous somersaults were happening in her tummy. Why?

Maybe because the last time she’d been alone with Burgess, she’d been asking him to spit on her? Her skin flamed just thinking about it. For the entire week that followed, he’d been busy preparing for the season opener, most of his waking hours spent at the arena in team meetings, doing press, and practicing. Tallulah had been splitting her time between caring for Lissa and working on her half of the collaborative assignment with Finn. Every time she’d been in the same room with Burgess, Lissa had been there. Which had done nothing to stifle the charged glances and brushes of his lips across the back of her neck in the kitchen.

This time, her shiver had nothing to do with the temperature.

“Do you think I should go buy a sweatshirt or something?” she leaned down and asked Lissa, who had been a little too quiet on the ride over. Hopefully there wasn’t something new going on with the girls at school. “I feel... underdressed or overdressed, I can’t decide.”

Lissa looked down at her phone and scrolled through a feed of colorful pictures, somehow managing to avoid bumping into foot traffic. “Um. No, I think it’s fine.”

“Sure, easy for you to say.” She hip bumped the twelve-year-old. “You’re in a cool Bearcats shirt, complete with claw marks on the sleeve. Did your dad get that for you?”

“Yeah.” Lissa paled, her mouth falling open. “Oh no, I forgot my sweatshirt in the cab.”

“Oh. Shoot. I can call the car service and see if they’re still nearby? Or I can figure out how to pick it up in the morning.”

“We don’t have time—the game is starting and I don’t want to miss them introducing my dad.” Lissa’s shoulders slumped. “I’m going to freeze to death.”

“It’s that cold in the arena? We’re indoors.”

“Trust me. It’s that cold.”

“Well, hold on...” Tallulah craned her neck to see what each of the stalls was hocking. “Let’s just get you a sweatshirt or something.”

Three and a half minutes later.

“ Seventy-five dollars? ” Tallulah croaked. “For a sweatshirt?”

“No one has ever been shocked before, I tell you,” drawled the bored, red-shirted man with Boston in every syllable. “You’re the first. Wow.”

“Her dad is on the team. Isn’t there some kind of discount?”

His eyes rolled around like a pair of marbles. “Yeah, my mom is the coach. And my schnauzer drives the Zamboni. Next!”

Tallulah ushered Lissa away from the merchandise counter, leveling Red Shirt with a dirty look as long as possible. “Sorry, Liss. I don’t get paid for another week. And I grew up in a household where my mother made our clothes. I’d never be able to look her in the eye again.” Quickly, she whipped off her coat and draped it around Lissa’s shoulders. “You can wear this.”

Lissa’s hesitation was clear. “What about you?”

“Are you forgetting I lived in Antarctica?” She snorted. “I can survive a hockey game.”

They took their seats a few feet from the plexiglass just as the lights went out and blue paw prints were projected onto the ice, moving in a swirl pattern. An announcer’s voice swept in and sent the crowd into a frenzy, feet stomping on concrete, voices chanting cats cats cats . The referees took the ice first and they were booed, which Tallulah didn’t think was fair, since they hadn’t made any calls yet, but the negative greeting also seemed kind of... good-natured? As did the shouts of get ready to lose, you fucks , that were yelled without reservation at the visiting team.

Tallulah raised an eyebrow at Lissa. “Remind me to never piss off a hockey fan.”

For the first time since she’d arrived tonight, Lissa cracked a smile. “The game hasn’t even started yet. Wait until the fights break out.”

“Ominous.”

“Yup.”

Geez. It was starting to get cold. Really cold, actually.

Tallulah tried to be covert about huffing warm air into her palms.

“ And now. Introducing yoooooour Boston Bearcats ...” said the announcer.

Holy Ice Capades, there was nowhere colder on earth.

Was she inside of an air conditioner? It stood to reason that the arena temperature needed to be kept cold enough to keep the ice from melting, but holy shit. Shouldn’t there be a warning issued in advance? She was already beginning to shiver, and they’d only gotten through the first few Bearcats players, including Sig Gauthier who was received by thunderous applause. Although... was it her imagination or did he continually glance toward the empty seat to the right of Tallulah while the announcer continued the intros?

“Last but not least, Bearcats family... you know him as the Blight of Boston, the Menace of Massachusetts. Make some noise for number fifty-nine, Sir Savage himself , Burgess Abraham.”

Something very funny happened when Burgess skated out onto the ice in pads, looking decidedly gigantic and irritable, despite the rafters shaking on his behalf. Something very funny happened, indeed. Yes, she’d seen Burgess play hockey on television and online, but seeing it happen in person , Tallulah momentarily forgot she was freezing to death. A troubling little engine started to hum, a pair of invisible hands stroking up the valleys of her sides.

Huh. Hooo. He looked . . . hmm.

Valiant?

Dangerous?

Sexy.

Okay, he looked really, really hot. But why? He was covered in padding, his lips protruded slightly due to his mouthpiece. She’d seen him shirtless. And yet, hooo. There was something attractive about the whole package. The jersey, the grimace, the way he skated as easily as he walked, unaffected by the hero worship being directed at him. Almost... blasé.

For some reason, the fact that he could also kiss was high-key occurring to her right now. Like, really, truly kiss. And his hands. They were so big. Capable of holding a hockey stick and chopping onions and ripping up business cards like they were silly little nothings. Not to mention, drying pond water off her body and unknotting towels...

She might not be cold anymore, but her nipples hadn’t gotten the memo.

They were stiff as nails.

Of course, Tallulah realized she had the equivalent of bullet casings in her bra just as the arena lights blasted back on, the Bearcats skating in a loose formation and separating into a warmup. As casually as possible, Tallulah crossed her arms over her breasts and resumed shivering, but this time, it was more about her cresting estrogen than the cold.

It was snack city out there.

Did everyone know about this?

How did the players manage to swagger while on skates? It seemed like it should be impossible, yet Tallulah was witnessing it with her own eyes. And it was very troubling that despite the entire squad of dishes out there, she could barely manage to rip her attention off Burgess for a second. How did he balance that tremendous weight on two little blades and make it look so effortless?

Also, why was he coming toward them?

Probably just a coincidence . . .

Nope. There he was. Three feet away, rapping the end of his stick against the glass, looking grumpy and intimidating and famous. The fans sitting behind them choked on their tongues, rushing to get their camera apps open. Lissa giggled and waved at her dad and received a gloved one in return. Tallulah tried to wave without uncrossing her arms, but they were now frozen to her person, like a tongue on a flagpole in January.

Burgess pinned her with an unholy frown.

You’re cold , he mouthed at her.

You think? she said back.

He made a questioning gesture.

Fans were going out of their minds, tripping over themselves to converge on their section. Tallulah opened the notepad app on her phone and quickly typed out a memo, standing up and pressing the device to the plexiglass.

Sweatshirts are $75. She added a head exploding emoji for clarity.

His exasperation was plain.

Then Tallulah was looking at his back, because he was skating away, leaving her with the view of the name Abraham stitched on the flipside of his jersey. Over to the bench, where he shouted something at a man who appeared to be a trainer in his Bearcats blue polo shirt. Burgess returned to warmups, though he seemed more distracted than before, continually glancing over in their direction. Just as the buzzer sounded, a man blocked her view of the ice—the Bearcats trainer, if she wasn’t mistaken—holding a bundled up, inside out sweatshirt.

He handed it to her with a curious once-over. “Burgess told me to tell you to please put it on so he can concentrate.”

“Oh.” Tingles danced up her arms and onto her scalp. Pulses were leaping in all kinds of places. She accepted the garment, once again, without unfolding her arms. “Um... thank you. Thank him and thank you.”

The man nodded, turning his attention to Burgess’s daughter. “Lissa, right?”

She grinned.

The trainer fist bumped her and off he jogged, curving back toward the bench.

Having no choice now but to uncross her arms and reveal her bullet nips, Tallulah turned the sweatshirt right side out as fast as possible, yanking it down over her head, sticking her arms into the holes and sobbing over the rush of warmth.

It wasn’t only heat that permeated her bones, however. Burgess’s scent did that, too.

She’d never registered his scent before, but she knew it as soon as it wrapped around her like a cool forest waterfall. Simply put, he smelled like winter. Her favorite season.

Gulp.

Out on the ice, the Bearcats were poised to begin, the volume of the crowd rising to an earsplitting level as the referee dropped the puck. Activity exploded in front of Tallulah. Within seconds, giant bodies were crashing up against the glass, the puck moving in a black blur from end to end and back again. Burgess’s reflexes were swift and exact, every one of them with purpose. He wasn’t merely an immovable object, he was fast. Really fast. And she couldn’t figure out how both were possible. One minute, he would be blocking the path to the net, like a stone monument, and the next, he would be cutting through a sea of opponents to slap the puck back toward the opposite end—

“Is there something going on between you and my dad?”

Tallulah’s head moved on a swivel, alarm expanding like a sponge in her stomach. “Is there what?”

Lissa didn’t blink. “Are you my dad’s girlfriend?”

“No.” Tallulah made the denial automatically, because it was the truth. Right? She hadn’t agreed to be Burgess’s girlfriend, despite what he wanted. Sure, something was afoot between them, which would likely prove to be a sexual itch that wanted to be scratched. But they weren’t dating . Nuh-uh. “I’m not your dad’s girlfriend. We’re friends. What I am is I’m your au pair.” She squeezed the girl’s arm. “And I hope we’re friends, too.”

Relief was breaking across Lissa’s features. “Yeah. We are.”

Tallulah exhaled. “Good.”

“Because I can tell he still likes my mom. He was waiting outside the building today and everything, like maybe he misses her. I just wish they would stop being so stubborn.”

Not for the first time, Tallulah’s heart sank at Lissa’s belief that her parents could possibly get back together. It was painfully clear that wasn’t happening, but perhaps a twelve-year-old with a big imagination saw what she wanted to see. Breaking the bad news to Lissa would be overstepping, so she wouldn’t, but she’d mention it again to Burgess later.

“I bet my mom is watching the game on television,” Lissa said, smiling.

Tallulah’s gut churned. Lissa’s mom was already engaged to someone new. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to gently prepare her for the eventual disappointment of her parents moving on?

“Lissa . . .”

“Hey! Oh my God, I’m so late!” Tallulah turned just in time to watch Chloe bounce into her seat with a ripple of blond hair and a pink jersey with the name Gauthier on the back. She dropped her purse and threw her arms around Tallulah’s neck. “I’m so glad you decided to come!”

“I’m still reserving judgment on the sport itself, but I’m happy to see you, too!” She hugged Chloe, laughing fondly over her excitement. “Do you know Burgess’s daughter, Lissa?”

“Yes! We met in the team box last season.” Chloe leaned forward to look at Lissa, gasping. “Wait, you’re like even cuter now. Stop.”

Someone bashed up against the glass.

A shrill whistle rent the air.

Chloe lunged from her seat without missing a beat, slamming her fist into the glass where the referee was trying to separate Sig from an opponent. “ Boarding? Are you kidding me, piss face? Update your eye prescription, ref!” She sat back down with a sweet smile. “Did you guys eat yet?”

“Well. You’re definitely not lacking for passion, Chloe.”

“I’m just getting warmed up.” She rubbed her hands together. “Speaking of getting warmed up, did Burgess tell you his friend hired me to play the harp at your friend’s wedding in Costa Rica?”

Tallulah jolted forward, turning to face the blonde at the same time. “Seriously?” They clasped hands and danced in their seats. “That’s amazing.”

“Girl, the way I am going to shop in preparation. I can already hear Sig sighing in disappointment at me.” She kept right on smiling through that statement. “I’ll probably have to turn on the waterworks. He can never stay annoyed at me after that.”

“Right . . .”

“Seriously, though, I’m starving,” Chloe said, reaching to the other side of Tallulah to squeeze Lissa’s shoulder. “Eat trash while you talk trash, I always say.”

As the game wore on, Tallulah decided hockey fans were nuts.

Graciously violent was the only way she could describe them.

Good thing she wasn’t one of them.

By the end of the second period, Tallulah was screaming at the referee to find a new occupation.

T he Bearcats won their home opener 2–1.

Tallulah took a sleepy Lissa home and got her into bed, turning off the lamp and closing the bedroom door behind her. She should have gone to bed, too. There was no reason to wait for Burgess to get home from his postgame press conference.

In fact, it was a bad idea all around.

What she needed to do was embark on a cold shower.

But she couldn’t bring herself to take off Burgess’s sweatshirt. Or stop sniffing the collar.

Keyed up and exasperated with herself, Tallulah went inside her bedroom and firmly closed the door, even engaging the lock. She stripped off her jeans, sweatshirt, socks, shirt, and bra. But instead of retrieving a nightshirt from her drawer, she pulled the sweatshirt back on.

Bad idea.

That soft, fleecy material skimmed down against her naked skin like a lover’s fingertips, that winter scent giving her a light headed feeling. She lay down in bed, stretching her legs under the covers and getting into her preferred side sleeping position, but she couldn’t get comfortable, no matter how many times she turned over. And then she realized she was turning over on purpose, so she could feel the rub of material on her sensitive skin. Every time she blinked, she saw Burgess stopping two opponents in their tracks with nothing but his stationary body, and she sighed in surrender, slipping her fingers down the front of her panties.

Unsurprisingly, she was already wet. Warm.

She’d been this way since the game started, hadn’t she?

There was no one in bed with her. No reason to lie.

Burgess turned her on—badly—and his effect on her only seemed to grow more potent the longer she stayed out of his bed. The more time she spent around him, the harder it was becoming to maintain a friendly, professional distance and keep her hands to herself. The effort she’d put in had taken a toll, and now? Her body was demanding relief. Her knees drew up under the covers while her fingers worked circles into flesh made slippery by a hockey game .

No. A hockey player.

Her chest shuddered up and down as she pressed and rubbed her clit, her heels digging into the mattress, toes flexing, anticipation fluttering in the lowest region of her tummy. Oh. Wow. This was going to be fast. She bit down on her lip and squeezed her eyes closed, picturing Burgess in the locker room, unlacing those padded pants, drawing his sweaty jersey up and over his head. Suddenly she was there, too, obviously having evaded security and he was pinning her to the locker, wreaking havoc on her mouth with his own, his hands on her breasts, dragging lower and riding the curve of her backside into her jeans. Gripping. Lifting her.

The locker rattled .

No. Wait.

That rattle was in real life.

It was the front door of the apartment.

“Shit,” she whispered, rolling face down to muffle her panting mouth with the pillow, two fingers delving into her body now, pumping once, twice...

But the effectiveness of her fantasy was wearing off, because the real-life man was trudging past her bedroom door, in the flesh.

Flesh.

Don’t think of his flesh.

It was too late.

And the truth was, she wanted to give in to the demanding attraction. Just once, to stem the restlessness. It was the middle of the night. No one would know. Burgess had made it abundantly clear that he’d like to take her to bed. While that would not be happening, because it wouldn’t come without the price of commitment... maybe she could get just a taste? It had been approximately nine thousand years since Tallulah found herself hungering for a specific man, and this hunger far surpassed any that she’d experienced before. The rush, the proof she could still trust enough to feel the pull of need, was a relief. An intoxicating, exciting relief... and she desperately wanted to explore it.

The entire way to the locked door, she told herself to turn back.

But her body wasn’t listening.