Chapter Four

B urgess watched the French braid tutorial on the screen in front of him, wondering how in the hell it could grow more confusing each time he restarted the video. Simply put, his fingers didn’t move like that. Thumb cradling the bulk of the hair; pinkie hooking here, there, everywhere; middle and index weaving in and out as if they were totally independent from the disembodied hand. What the fuck .

“Dad,” Lissa wailed from her position face down on the couch. “If we don’t start soon, I’m going to miss my bus.”

“I need to watch it one more time.” He dragged the dot back to the beginning. “The method has to click eventually.”

“It won’t!” She sat up and glared at him, the shoulders of her school uniform wet from the dripping ends of her dark hair. “The look on your face is the same one you had when I tried to explain bra sizes.”

“Someone needs to burn that system and start over.”

“It makes sense to us!”

“Oh yeah? Then why are eighty percent of women wearing the wrong bra size?” He stabbed the pause button. “Read that interesting tidbit in the pamphlet they sent with your bra order. Eighty percent. No one gets it.”

She slapped a pillow over her face and screamed into it.

Burgess wished he could do the same. He was exhausted from a late practice, after which he’d driven to Westford to pick up Lissa from her mother’s house. By the time he got home with his daughter in tow, he’d been too tired to talk to her about anything important. To try and connect, like he always promised himself he would try to do. Mental and physical exhaustion always seemed to get in the way now. He didn’t recover from practice the way he used to in his twenties. Recovery now required ice and ibuprofen, neither of which he’d had time for last night. The throb in his lower back was a constant reminder that he’d lost a step.

That he’d probably lose another one every season until he retired.

Sighing over the unwanted thoughts, he hit play again on the tutorial, though he wasn’t really seeing it now. He was thinking about Tallulah—again—wondering if she’d connected with Chloe and started the move-in process. He’d searched crime statistics in the neighborhood and done a Google street view of the building, satisfying himself that it was safe.

Did she like it, though?

“Dad, can you just try ?”

He dragged two hands down his face. “Why the sudden need for this complicated hairstyle?”

“It’s not complicated. We have a volleyball scrimmage today and everyone on the team is going to have their hair French braided. I was the only one who didn’t have their hair braided last time.” She plucked at the black hairband around her wrist. “I don’t want to be left out again.”

Sympathy nudged him in the chest. “Did they plan it without you?”

Her face turned red, eyes suddenly full of tears. “Why would you ask me that?”

“I don’t know. Sorry.” Christ, he didn’t understand his own daughter. Every time he opened his mouth that became more and more obvious. He’d had no sisters. No siblings at all growing up. His youth was nothing but hockey, as was the entire life that followed. French braids and training bras and the politics of elementary school girls were an alien language to him that became more indecipherable by the day. Whenever it was Burgess’s turn to have Lissa, she grew more unreachable. Or he grew denser. It was hard to say which.

“All right, let’s do it.” He stood up and circled the couch, accepting the comb she handed him. “Trial and error is obviously how I’m going to learn, because Braiding Besties on YouTube isn’t cutting it.”

Lissa turned so her back was propped up against the arm of the sofa, muttering, “It doesn’t have to be perfect.”

Guess what? She was lying.

Yes, it fucking did have to be perfect.

Burgess watched his blunt, crooked fingers move in an unnatural pattern, attempting to weave hair into something resembling a braid, but one section went misplaced every time. The three pieces were uneven, leaving him without enough hair to complete the braid. Or bumps. Bumps appearing out of virtually nowhere. And bulges. Plus, she kept pulling out these little strands around her temples on purpose .

“Why are you doing that?”

“It looks cuter that way.”

“They didn’t do that in the video.”

“Oh my gosh! So what ?”

Burgess shut his mouth and reached for the rubber band, securing the uneven bottoms of the three sections, praying to the God of Single Dads that it was good enough. When he heard tears coming from the bathroom a minute later, he knew the braid hadn’t passed muster and he hung his head, massaging both eyes with his thumb and forefinger.

“I’m not going to school.”

“You are going to school,” he said patiently. “I have a meeting with the Bearcats manager this morning and practice in the afternoon. I won’t be home to watch you today.”

“Can I go with you?”

The desperation in her voice raised his antennae. Was something going on at school with her classmates? Was her whiplash mood about more than a braid? And if so, was he even qualified to handle the problem? “Lissa—”

The apartment buzzer rang, cutting him off. Both of their gazes zipped to the door. It wasn’t unusual for Burgess to get deliveries. There was always stuff coming in. Equipment samples, shit he needed to autograph, game footage sent from the coaching staff. However, the doorman usually accepted the delivery for Burgess to collect later. No reason the buzzer should be going off.

“Hold on a second,” he said, crossing the floor of the living room to the electronic panel on the wall, tapping the button that would bring up the security feed from the lobby.

Tallulah stood there with her arms crossed.

Just like every other time he saw this particular woman, the muscles in his stomach flexed involuntarily, his pulse doing something ridiculous in his neck. He got sweaty without actually being sweaty, which made no sense. This morning’s reaction was no exception. Although this time, a touch of dread crept into the pleasure he got simply from looking at her.

Because that was one ticked-off lady.

His love life might be nonexistent now, but he’d gone through a divorce.

Therefore, he knew.

Although, she seemed sort of conflicted, too, and he had no experience with that combination. The doorman who stood behind Tallulah signaling him with a finger slashing across the throat must have been equally alarmed by a woman who looked unsure about how much anger she would be unleashing, as well. At least he wasn’t alone.

Still . . . “Shit.”

“Dad.”

“Sorry.”

“Who is it?”

“Tallulah.”

Lissa gasped. “Really? She’s here ?” She was already clawing down his attempted hairstyle, his pitiful handiwork gone in seconds. “Do you think she can braid my hair?”

“Something tells me she isn’t in the mood.” With a long exhale, Burgess pressed the buzzer that allowed her into the lobby, not even remotely surprised that his pulse started to beat faster. Because pissed or not, he wanted to see her. Was looking forward to it, even. When she left yesterday, he wasn’t sure he’d have the privilege again.

Burgess leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb, crossed his arms, and waited for the elevator doors to open. As soon as they did and he got eyes on Tallulah, his fucking heart started to hammer. Yeah, it had a lot to do with her tight jeans. But hell if the flush on her cheekbones, the delicate notch of her throat, even the purposeful way she swung her arms didn’t fascinate the shit out of him. Uncharted waters—that’s what this was. His ex-wife had never done this to him, even when they first started dating.

No one had.

Ever.

Roll your tongue back into your mouth before you humiliate yourself.

He was verging on retirement and this woman’s life was only beginning.

Burgess stood very still as Tallulah marched right up to him, indignation crackling in those gorgeous brown eyes. And oh yeah, she definitely knew what he’d done. Any second now, she was going to open her perfect mouth and tell him to go straight to hell. That she could take care of herself. That he’d had no right to interfere. She would be right, too.

“Tallulah?” called Lissa behind him. “Hey! Do you know how to French braid?”

Tallulah flicked a softening glance over his shoulder, then returned her attention to him. “We’ll talk about Chloe’s apartment later.”

“I believe you.”

She hummed in her throat. “Fishtail? Pigtail? Or regular, Lissa?”

A cry of relief came from the apartment.

Lissa pushed past him into the hallway and hesitated awkwardly in front of Tallulah. But when Tallulah opened her arms, his daughter walked right into them, resting her chin on Tallulah’s collarbone. Burgess spent the next few seconds pretending the sight didn’t affect him. It did, though. He hadn’t imagined the seemingly immediate bond between his daughter and Tallulah. And he was as envious of it as he was grateful.

“Hey, girl,” Tallulah said. “You still have those fire dance moves?”

Lissa giggled. “Maybe. I haven’t danced since the last time.”

“Not even in the shower?” exclaimed Tallulah.

“People don’t dance in the shower,” scoffed his kid. But she was smiling.

Tallulah gave an exaggerated toss of her hair. “I do.”

Burgess would be mulling over that piece of information for the rest of the day.

Month.

Year.

Decade.

Dangerously close to thinking about slippery flesh at the absolute worst time, Burgess cleared his throat hard and pushed himself off the doorframe. “Do you want to come in?”

“You have to come in,” Lissa said, taking Tallulah by the wrist. “I need to leave for school in five minutes and he just keeps watching tutorials like a zombie.”

He made eye contact with Tallulah as she was dragged past, her blood oranges and basil scent like a grind of a fist to his belly. And there she was. In his apartment. Setting down her purse, shrugging off her bomber jacket, and getting down to business. He stood there in astonishment as she twirled the comb in her hand in fast motion, dividing Lissa’s mass of hair into three equal parts. As in, he could actually see the white lines of his daughter’s scalp.

Wow. They did exist.

“For the record, I did try,” he said, berating himself for the creepy tendency to fall quiet in Tallulah’s presence. “A seven-game playoff series is easier.”

“Do you have to relate everything to hockey?” complained his daughter.

“Yes.”

“It’s a learning process. Everyone has to start somewhere,” Tallulah murmured. “Who normally braids your hair? Mom?”

“Nobody, really. I usually wear a ponytail or just leave it down, but all the volleyball girls do it like this on game days and I’m the only one who doesn’t.”

Tallulah’s fingertips took a very tiny pause. “Oh yeah? You play volleyball?”

“Yes. When the coach puts me in, anyway.” A beat passed. “I’m on the team, but I’m not on the team , you know?”

“If you’re on it, you’re on it.”

Lissa exhaled into a smile, nodding. “Yeah.”

Burgess assumed that would be it. His kid tended to clam up after giving only the barest amount of information. To his surprise, though, she kept going after an extended silence. “I suck at volleyball. They rolled their eyes when they found out I got put on the team.”

“I’m sorry.” Frowning in concentrating over the movement of her fingertips, Tallulah continued. “I think I’d rather suck at volleyball than suck at being nice. What about you?”

His daughter let out a watery laugh and swiped at her eyes. “Yeah. Me too.”

Tallulah wrapped the rubber band around the end of the most perfect braid Burgess had ever seen in his life and he didn’t know what to marvel over first. How quickly she’d created that masterpiece or how easily she’d turned Lissa’s problem into a positive thing. “You’re good to go, kid. You might not have the best serve today, but that braid is unmatched.”

“Thanks, Tallulah.”

“You’re welcome.”

The buzzer went off again, followed by the doorman’s voice crackling through the electronic speaker. “Bus is downstairs, Sir Savage.”

Lissa gasped and jumped to her feet, swinging her eight-million-pound backpack off the floor and running out the door of the apartment, shouting, “Bye, Tallulah! Bye, Dad,” over her shoulder.

“Bye,” Burgess called after her, feeling like he’d just witnessed a divine miracle. “Thanks for doing that.” He winced at the wall-rattling slam of the door, before turning to Tallulah who had gone back to her unique combination of confused irritation. There was something else in her expression now that hadn’t been there before, however, and it was apprehension.

To be alone with him in the apartment?

A stick prodded at his jugular.

Yeah, he kind of thought that might be the reason.

Make her comfortable. Now.

“I usually head down for a smoothie this time of day. Want one?”

The clock ticked while she gathered herself. Or maybe it was his pulse.

“Sounds like you want witnesses for the lecture I’m going to give you about personal boundaries,” she said, faintly. Visibly holding her breath.

Brave, but not confident with it.

What the hell had this girl been through, and who was he going to kill?

“You’re not wrong,” Burgess said, tipping his head at the door.

Tallulah nodded, keeping an eye on him while she collected her purse and jacket, folding it over her arm and leading their party of two into the hallway. They were quiet as he locked the door, quieter still while taking the short elevator ride down to the lobby, but her shoulders visibly lost their tension as soon as they were outside.

“Whatever you do,” she said, walking past him when he held the door of the smoothie shop open for her. “Please don’t let me order the peanut butter and espresso smoothie again.”

“I still think that’s on the menu as a joke.”

“If it is, I fell for it. And so did my taste buds.” They stopped at the counter, side by side, looking up at the menu fastened to the far wall. “I’ll take one peanut butter and espresso smoothie, please.”

He dropped his chin. “I’m afraid I can’t let you do that.”

“I can’t not order it.”

“Be strong.”

“Be strong,” she mimicked, adorably. “You can’t do a French braid, but you can concoct a whole scheme to funnel me into an apartment of your choosing?”

“You’re not even going to wait until we order our smoothies to address this?”

“The fact that you’re making light of it—”

“I’m not making light of it,” he rushed to say. “That being said, I came up with the idea knowing full well that if you found out, you would hate me, but at least you were going to be somewhere safe. It was a conscious trade-off.”

“That’s... why I’m having trouble being as mad as I would like to be.” She gave a sharp cluck of her tongue. “It’s very annoying.”

“I’ll take annoyed over you hating me.”

“I don’t hate you. And it’s not your fault that I’m apartment hunting.”

“Yes it is.” His voice scraped like gravel. “You’re scared of me.”

“I’m scared of a lot more—” She snapped her mouth shut. “It’s not only you.”

Burgess had the most inappropriate urge to pick her up and hold her. He couldn’t think of a better use for his strength than wrapping it around her after an admission like that. It wouldn’t be welcome, though, so thankfully the smoothie shop employee chose that moment to pop up from behind the counter.

“Can I help you?” he asked.

“The usual for me,” Burgess said after a moment. “Don’t give her that peanut butter and espresso smoothie.”

“Give it to me.” She shielded her mouth with her hand, whispering to the smoothie shop employee. “Extra espresso, please.”

Smirking, Burgess tossed a twenty on the counter. “Can we sit down?”

“Maybe.” She sucked her teeth at him on the way to a table. “Is this one good or do you want to choose a different table behind my back?”

He squinted an eye. “I’m picking up on some sarcasm.”

“Good.”

She sat down, crossing her legs... and he heard the slightest creak of her too-tight jeans. Felt that sound deep in his Adam’s apple. It would take some work to get that denim peeled down her legs. He’d have to rough them down her hips, probably taking her panties along with them. Now that was a task his hands could perform without watching a tutorial. Because he’d been undressing Tallulah in his dreams since meeting her last summer.

Burgess took the seat across from Tallulah, ordering himself to act natural, despite the semi he was sprouting in his briefs. “I assume you took the room with Chloe, regardless of my meddling.”

“No, I did not,” Tallulah answered, very succinctly. “That room is worth four times the rate advertised. Renting that room for seven hundred dollars a month would be a crime. I’d be taking advantage of you both.”

“A small price to pay for . . .”

Jesus, he was revealing way too much. She’d come here to hand him his balls and here he was, making his admiration of her painfully obvious. He might as well be wearing a sign around his neck that said out of practice .

“A small price to pay for me being safe?” she supplied, quietly.

Burgess grunted at the table, no idea how to respond without sounding ridiculous.

Tallulah remained silent for several seconds. “Maybe I just don’t have a lot of experience with athletes, especially hockey players, but you come across as such a contradiction, you know? Is it possible to have so much aggression inside of you and still be so... worried about someone you’ve only met twice?”

More than possible. It was reality. “Yes.”

“I wish I could know that for sure,” she whispered, seeming to surprise herself by letting that slip. “Um. Could you satisfy my curiosity about something?”

“Shoot.”

She squinted one eye. “Do you feel bad about breaking that guy’s nose?”

The question caught him off guard. “Do I feel bad ?”

“Yes.”

Burgess let his breath hiss out slowly, knowing he couldn’t be anything less than baldly honest with this woman, at all times, even if that honesty probably wouldn’t earn him any points. “He’d been high sticking all night. I’ve been playing against that jackass for six years—he should have known me well enough to know a warning was coming and protected himself better.” He really wasn’t doing himself any favors here. At all. But he didn’t know how to do anything but impart the ugly truth. “I guess I didn’t mean to break the damn thing. If it makes you feel better, I sent a six pack to his hotel room after the game.”

That made her sit up straighter. “Did you really? What kind?”

“Sam Adams. Obviously.”

She snorted. “A beer originally brewed in Boston. So really, it was just another dig.”

“How can I explain this...” He drummed his fingers on the table. “If I’d sent him an apology, it only would have made the broken nose sting harder. Sam Adams was a way of saying I’m sorry, man, but also fuck you. He keeps his pride that way. Much better. See?”

She blinked. “Hockey players are built different, aren’t they?”

“You have no idea.”

Tallulah picked up her smoothie and sipped from the straw. He did the same. They considered each other across the table like debaters preparing for the next question.

“I’m just going to come right out and say something, Tallulah, because it feels like it needs to be said.” This could be a huge risk, but the verbal reassurance wouldn’t stay locked inside. He’d always been blunt and direct, often to his own detriment, but Tallulah was too smart to buy any bullshit and he didn’t want to sell her any, either. “I’ve never laid a hand on a woman in my fucking life and I never will.”

Her chest sank all the way down and fired back up, her fingers twitching around her smoothie cup. She started to say something, but no words came out. That telling reaction caused Burgess to dig his fingertips into his thigh hard enough to cause pain, his pulse pumping loudly in his ears. Name the dead man who hurt you.

His throat burned with the effort of keeping that inquiry to himself, because it would be too far. Too fast. He might have spent the last few months replaying the afternoon they’d spent together, but there was no reason to think she’d done the same. He was just a potential employer to her. Not a friend. Not someone to whom she’d be interested in spilling her guts.

Definitely not a romantic prospect.

“Maybe I could come to dinner,” she said slowly, as if measuring her words.

Burgess held his breath, a weird sensation—was it hope?—giving him pins and needles at the top of his scalp. Whoa. What was happening here? “Yeah?”

“Yes, I mean, I’ll stay in the hotel for now, of course, but I didn’t get a long enough visit with Lissa this morning and...” She cocked her head. “Are you picking up on the mean girl vibes?”

“I . . . what? What the hell is that?”

“Like maybe the girls at school aren’t being very kind to her.”

“Yeah.” Relief almost had his giant ass sliding off the chair. “You think so, too?”

She gave a reluctant nod.

He prodded at the discomfort in the chest. “Oh God, I don’t like knowing that. At all.”

Tallulah followed the motions of his hand, looking almost curious. “I don’t want to overstep—it’s probably a job for Mom. But as a former brownnosing science freak, I do have some experience with mean girls.”

Yesterday, he’d been prepared to let Tallulah pass on the au pair job, because the last thing he wanted was to force her into a situation that made her uncomfortable. However, now that there was a chance she could change her mind, he was determined to show her that his home was the safest place for her in Boston, possibly the world.

Starting with dinner.

There was just one problem.

“Tallulah, I can’t cook for shit. I’m on a high-protein, low-carb diet, so I basically eat meat and steamed vegetables. Fish twice a week. I was planning on ordering takeout for Lissa tonight.”

She pouted. “Oh, Burgess, you need help, don’t you?”

“Help me,” he said, hoarsely. “I can’t do what you did this morning. You made straight, white lines in her hair. While talking. I can’t do either one of those things with her. Not even one at a time.”

“I’m... thinking about it.” They continued to stare at one another so long, his body started to respond to her prolonged interest and he had to shift in his seat. Focus hard on keeping his breathing even. God, this woman ruled his dick and she had absolutely no idea. Maybe allowing her to move in was unethical. The need to be around her won, though. It drowned out everything else, including his conscience, apparently. “In the meantime, I have a meeting with my counselor about my course schedule. I guess I’ll see you tonight?”

“Tonight sounds amazing,” he said, adding, “We’ll take it slow. See how it feels. Okay?”

She exhaled, relaxing another degree. “Okay.”

Tallulah pushed back from the table and stood. Burgess did the same. He had no idea what to do with his hands, so he put the right one out for a handshake. Tallulah rolled her lips inward, seemingly to hide a smile, and slipped her fingers into his grip, the contact sending a slow sizzle down to the soles of his feet. Soft. Strong. Perfect.

He watched as she shouldered her purse and picked up her smoothie, obviously preparing to bring it with her. Before she could breeze past him to the exit, she stopped, hesitated, then lifted the straw of her drink to his mouth. “I dare you to try this and tell me it isn’t amazing.”

Burgess grimaced. “I don’t drink caffeine.”

Briefly, she pretended to choke. “One sip isn’t going to kill you, protein pants.”

“Jesus. Fine.” He closed a hand around her wrist and guided the drink higher, closing his teeth around the straw and tugging it upward, so he wouldn’t have to crane his neck. And hell if he didn’t feel the pulse leap in the small of her wrist. Her eyelashes fluttered ever so slightly, her gaze trained on his mouth as he sucked down a healthy gulp and let go of the straw, licking his lips. If she wasn’t a stupefyingly gorgeous, intelligent, and young grad student who could have her pick of any man her own age in Boston, he might have wondered if she was attracted to him, too. But there wasn’t a shot in hell.

“Well? What’s your verdict?”

Only the truth for this woman. “That’s vile, Tallulah.”

Her mouth fell open. “You don’t even like it a little bit?”

“I like knowing what you like.” It took him a moment to register what he’d said—and more importantly, that he’d said it out loud. She was blinking up at him, obviously thrown off by the statement, as well, so he backpedaled as fast as he could. If he wanted her to reconsider the au pair position, the last thing he needed was Tallulah being aware of his totally pointless mega crush on her. “I mean, knowing you happily drink liquefied dog food will make me feel less self-conscious about my terrible cooking.”

A smile lifted one side of her mouth. “See you later, Burgess.”

“Bye, Tallulah.”

He inhaled her basil and orange scent as she skirted past him to the door, then turned and watched her ass move right to left in a hypnotic sway until she was out of sight. A chuckle from behind the counter snapped Burgess out of his trance—and there stood the smoothie guy behind the register, smirking and drying his hands on a white towel. “Would you look at that? Sir Savage has got it bad.”

Burgess gave him the middle finger on his way out, but the guy only laughed harder.

Not until he was inside the elevator did Burgess allow himself to smile.

Tallulah was coming to dinner.