Almost twenty-four hours later I’m staring at Alex and it’s impossible not to laugh. He looks so damn confused and out of place and maybe even truly terrified that I am completely and profoundly amused. With each store we go into, his anxiety and confusion seems to deepen. I thought it was bad in Sephora, but now that we’re in Forever 21 he’s basically apoplectic. I really shouldn’t laugh, but as he picks up an off-the-shoulder shirt that clearly wouldn’t reach the belly button of anyone over the age of five, his eyes bug out of his head and his brow furrows and his nose crinkles. I can’t help it. I burst out laughing.

He turns to me, butt hurt. “I’m glad you find my confusion and fear so delightful.”

I cover my mouth with my hands hoping to keep the giggles from escaping. “I’m sorry. I am. It’s just you look so damn cute.”

He startles at that. “I do?”

“Like a puppy seeing his reflection in a mirror for the first time,” I reply and he frowns. “Eager and confused and scared all at once.”

He puts the shirt back on the rack and turns to me, his face serious. “No man wants to be compared to a puppy. ‘Cute’ is not a compliment.”

“I wasn’t trying to compliment you,” I reply softly as he takes a step toward me. I love that he asked me to help him find a birthday gift for Mackenzie. Still for the first hour we’ve been shopping he’s been a little distant. I’m hoping joking with him will loosen him up.

“I was just stating facts,” I continue. “And you know what? It’s kind of nice to see you vulnerable. You’re always so cocky with the right comebacks, or pickup lines, for everything.”

He smiles so deep it makes a dimple appear on his cheek that I’d never noticed before. It’s tiny, just below the scar on his cheek, but it’s damn sexy. He reaches out and takes my hand in his. It’s a subtle thing, his fingertips just lightly clinging to mine, but it changes the energy between us—makes it electric. “I’m not good at being vulnerable. I don’t like it. Cocky is better. It’s easy. It gets me what I want.”

“And what is it you want?” I ask, my voice taut with need. His smile deepens and darkens in the same instant.

“Other than to find a gift Mac won’t laugh at?” he says with a chuckle and steps closer again so now we’re standing almost on top of each other in between racks of discount clothes. “I want to take you home and do exactly what we did the other night, only better.”

I smile. “Better? I don’t know how you improve on perfection.”

He grins again and his hand leaved mine and circles my waist pulling me to him. Our bodies connect and he feels warm and hard—especially the part pushing into my hip. Honest to God, my knees get weak. His hand slides to my ass as his head dips to my ear. “So stop poking fun at me and help me find the perfect gift, so I can get you home and give you the perfect orgasm.”

“She likes music,” I sputter suddenly. Apparently the promise of the perfect orgasm has given me inspiration. “She sings a lot and she mentioned she used to want to learn an instrument. She didn’t say which one.”

He grazes his lips across my cheek, like a kiss but with much more friction thanks to his perfectly unshaven face. I feel that friction through my entire body. His hand on my ass squeezes and then it’s gone and he’s grabbing my hand again. “Viens. We need to find a music store.”

Alex buys her a guitar at a store near my place and a lesson package too.

“Mackenzie’s at my parents’ place for dinner, so she won’t see us with it and we can hide it under my bed,” I explain.

“So we’ll be alone, in your place, in close proximity to your bed,” he says and winks at me. “I love it when a plan comes together.”

As we exit the store, his phone starts ringing. He glances at the screen and scowls before hitting the ignore button.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” he mutters. “I’m just going to be a healthy scratch again.”

“What does that mean?” All I can think about is the scars on his back as soon as he says “scratch.”

He adjusts the guitar case in his hand and we continue down the street. The store is only a short walk from my place, but it’s blustery out so it won’t be a leisurely stroll. “It’s what you call it when the coach doesn’t let a guy play even though he’s not injured.”

“Why would he do that to you?”

We turn the corner onto my street. “Because he’s trying to make me do this fucking TV thing and I keep blowing off the producers when they call. I don’t want to do it.”

“Can’t you just tell him that?” I ask. “Instead of wasting everyone’s time.”

“I tried, but he’s insisting. I thought if I blew off the producers long enough they’d give up and go for someone else, but instead they complained to management,” he explains. “Coach said I either give them the segment or I can kiss my ice time good-bye, which makes him an asshole because I’ve been playing really well lately.”

“Why don’t you want to do it?”

“The same reason I wouldn’t let you put my name on your auction flyer,” he replies and shifts the guitar case to his other hand, then takes mine with his free one. “I don’t want to have my personal crap out there. This show profiled Devin a couple of years ago when he was married to his first wife. They filmed his house, his kid, his wife cooking dinner. They asked him like a thousand questions about growing up and his family and even interviewed his parents for the segment.”

Oh. I get it now. I hold his hand a little tighter. “Is there any way you can set the rules? Like tell them it has to be about the present and not the past? Or that you only want to focus on hockey and not your family?”

“I doubt it, which is why I’m just avoiding the calls and am about to end up in the press box.” Another scowl darkens his face but he fights it this time and tries to smile at me. “Tell me something good from your day to get my mind off this.”

The memories of my day come filtering back and I frown. “My day was beyond shitty. There was a leak in one of the bathrooms upstairs at Daphne’s House and it turns out we have a burst pipe in the ceiling and the plumber swears we need to replace everything. Before it really starts to freeze outside or will have pipes bursting every five seconds.”

“That sounds expensive.”

“He quoted me eight grand.” I get the heavy leaden feeling in my belly like I did when the plumber first told me. “I’m getting a second opinion tomorrow, but if it’s true and I have to replumb the place I’m in serious financial trouble. I have to raise our profile and get in some more donations as fast as I can.”

The setting sun softens his face, but the worry painted across is still visible. “I can make a donation.”

“You already do. Your time,” I remind him firmly as we start to climb the stairs to my place. “And I know you made a hefty donation at the fund-raiser.”

I slip my key into the lock and open the door. “You mean the Barons tickets and the false promise of sex to the winner?”

I turn and look up at him, giving him a hard glare and he bats his eyelashes at me innocently and tries to pretend that wasn’t a comment meant to tease the hell out of me. He lives off his sex appeal. I bet he’s gotten out of more traffic tickets with just a wink and a smile. “I mean the check you wrote. Len showed it to me. It was more than generous and I can’t ask you for more.”

“You aren’t asking. I’m offering,” he replies as we step into the hallway and I close the door.

“I appreciate it and I may have to take you up on it, but what I really need is media coverage,” I explain. “I did get an email from The Times asking me a few more questions about a press release I sent a while ago, so fingers crossed they write a story.”

We kick off our shoes and coats and head straight for the bedroom. I help him tuck the guitar case under the bed making sure the big bow they put on it doesn’t get squashed. As soon as I stand back up, his lips are on mine.

I still want to ask him about his foster home and maybe share my suspicions. But after the day we both had and how good this kiss feels, I decide to wait. Mac will be back sooner rather than later and I want some adult time with him before then. So when he deepens the kiss and starts to undress me, I not only let him but I return the favor.

This time the first orgasm he gives me is with his perfect mouth. Without even letting me lie down, he kneels before me, tugging my pants down my legs along with my underwear and he starts kissing me. First my thighs, then my clit and then I feel his tongue and I shudder and sigh at the incredible sensations. My hands curl into his thick, soft hair and he murmurs something I don’t catch, but I don’t care. I’m too consumed by the way his mouth is moving over me. His hands slip around my thighs and he grabs my ass tight.

I’m still standing, but I can’t feel my legs. My whole body is quaking and my neck snaps back and stars shoot across my closed eyes as I come harder than I’ve ever come before. My knees are suddenly made of Jell-O and I start to drop vaguely hoping I land on the bed, but I’m too spent to care either way. He’s on his feet, his arm around my lower back, holding me up as he buries his face in my neck and lowers me onto the bed. “You’re going to wreck me,” he whispers into the crook of my neck. “And I’m going to let you.”

My eyes flutter open and our eyes connect, and I’m breathless at the pain in his face. Oh my God, what the hell happened to him. I slide my hand down his cheek. “Alex…”

He silences me with a kiss. His lips never leave mine long enough for me to speak—to tell him I would never hurt him—and I think that’s intentional on his part. The sex is incredible. He’s this mix of rough and gentle, fast and slow and he knows exactly how to hit a G-spot. He gently sucks on my neck and tells me confidently, “I’m going to make you come again now,” and then moves his hips a different way and it’s like he tapping a button and my whole body detonates. I fight off the wave of oblivion long enough to clench down on his dick and he swears in French and the vein in his neck throbs and he comes with me.

He gets up to remove the condom and then lies back down next to me, pulling me into his chest. We don’t bother with blankets because we’re both still sweaty and panting. I listen to the thump of his heartbeat against my cheek as he runs his fingertips up and down my back. “This is nice,” I confess softly.

“Mmm…” he responds, his voice heavy and deep.

I blink, take a breath and tell him what he wouldn’t let me tell him earlier. “I’m not going to wreck you.”

He doesn’t say anything for so long that I worry he didn’t hear my words. But I can’t bring myself to look up at him. I don’t want to see his face because I’m worried he’ll look pained again or worse, angry. “I’ve had my share of empty promises in my life and I don’t want to add you to that pile. So just don’t make any promises okay?”

It’s not okay. And I want to promise—to come out and declare—the exact opposite. That I won’t wreck him. That I’ll do everything I can to make sure no one wrecks him ever again, but I bite back the words because he won’t believe them anyway. So I’ll just have to show him. So for now I change the subject. “Are we going to tell Mackenzie about this?”

“Us?” he asks and I nod against his chest. “Yeah, I guess we have to because I intend to be around a lot and I’m pretty sure it’ll start to get obvious.”

“Should I just tell her, or do you want to? Or should we do it together like we’re starring in some awkward sit-com?” I joke, and I feel his body shake with a laugh. “No matter how we do it, I don’t think she’ll care. She likes having you around.”

“And by the time we start to turn into a bickering old couple, she’ll be living at Daphne’s on her own anyway,” he replies and I feel a tiny little void start to open up in my heart at the thought of her moving out, which jars me a little bit. “Man I wish they had a place like Daphne’s when I was a kid. Would have made life so much easier.”

“You never told me how you ended up in a group home for troubled boys,” I say and reposition myself so my hands are laced on his chest and my chin is resting on top of them. “Why did they move you there from foster care?”

His face doesn’t flicker or twitch. No frown or scowl takes over. He remains passive but his eyes change. The color seems to darken and the softness is gone, the glassy postorgasmic quality hardens. “It’s a long story.”

“We’ve probably got an hour before Mac comes home.”

“I’d really rather not get into it tonight.” His tone is stern and foreboding like he’s warning me to stop. Change the subject. Let it go.

“You don’t know how I learned French, do you?”

He looks down at me finally, instead of up at the ceiling. “I assume it was a summer in Paris or a winter in the Alps or however it is that princesses get their linguistic skills.” He winks as he teases me.

I lift one of my hands and flip him the bird. He laughs. “C’est pas jolie, ca.”

I ignore his comment and tell him my mom was French Canadian.

“Quebec?” he asks, his accent in full force and it’s hot as hell.

“Oui.” I take in the happy surprise on his handsome face. “That’s where my parents—the Bennetts—adopted me from.”

I wait for him to let that information sink in. He rolls me over so he’s on top and kisses me slowly. When he pulls back he’s all mischief again. “Finally something about Quebec that I like.”

I smile at that and fight the urge to close my eyes and moan as he starts kissing his way down my neck. I can feel his cock coming to life against my thigh and as much as I would love a round two, I want to talk more. “I was in one foster home before they adopted me. How many were you in before the group home?”

“Fuck,” he says lowly and starts to untangle himself from me and stand up. I get to my knees as he swings his legs over the side of my bed, and I drop a hand on his shoulder to stop him, just above the branch of his tattoo with the single leaf. He shrugs it off though and stands up anyway. He paces for a second, running his hand through his hair, his eyes on the fluffy fake fur rug by the side of my bed. “I told you, I didn’t want to get into it.”

“I’m sorry, Alex. I didn’t mean to push. I just—”

He swears again and reaches for his jeans. “You just felt like hearing a sob story? That’s what you like after some hot sex? To make me feel weak and vulnerable. Is this what people do in a relationship? Should I make you talk about how your mom died and why you don’t have a dad?”

He’s being mean and hard, and I’m suddenly feeling like an idiot sitting here naked so I get up and grab my robe as he yanks on his jeans and reaches for his shirt.

“Ovarian cancer. That’s how she died. And I don’t have a dad because he was a sperm donor. From a clinic, not like a one-night-stand kind of sperm donor,” I explain sharply. “I’m not trying to make you feel weak or hurt you, Alex. And I wouldn’t bring up all this shit except that I think that we’ve lived through the same shit.”

“Why? Because we’re both from Quebec? Big deal. I’m sure there’s a bunch of orphans in Quebec,” he mutters, twisting his shirt in his hands. “I can name four that I lived with. Jayla, Andre, Kenny. Of course they’re all dead now. Jayla ran away because the foster monster was touching her, became a prostitute and was killed by her pimp. Kenny overdosed, and Andre was killed after he joined a gang.”

“Jesus Christ,” I whisper in horror at the pure tragedy.

“Exactly. That’s why I hate talking about it. I truly fucking hate it. So can you please just stop.”

He grabs me roughly by the waist and pulls me into him, dipping his head to bury it in my shoulder. I wrap my arms around his neck and press my mouth against his neck softly. His pulse beats rapidly under my lips. “You can talk about your past. Tell me whatever you need to or want to and I will listen but please, don’t try to dig up mine.”

I hear a noise downstairs. A rattle, a click, a thump. It’s the front door. Shit! Mackenzie is home. We both stare at each other in fear. He’s barely dressed. I’m not dressed at all. Oh crap! I put my hands on his chest and push him back into the corner of the room behind the door. “Stay here until I can distract her and then sneak out. I don’t want her to find out like this.”

He nods. I rush to my bedroom door and scurry down the hall, reaching the stairs just as she’s shrugging out of her coat and toeing off her boots. I hate that ratty coat of hers and I keep telling her I want to buy her a new one, but she doesn’t want me to. She says I’ve done enough. It’s still got the rip in it from when she hurt herself. I smile trying to look casual. “Did you have a good time with my parents?”

She nods. “They’re cool people. And your mom makes great food. She gave me cupcakes to bring home.”

She pulls a Tupperware container out of her backpack. She looks at me again, her eyes sweeping up and down, taking in my outfit. I play with the tie on my robe and lie. “I was going to take a shower.”

“Oh. Okay.” She walks past me, toward the kitchen. “I’m gonna eat another cupcake and watch TV.”

“Sure.” I should ask her if her homework is done and make her do it before TV and sugar, but right now I need her tucked away at the back of the house so Alex can leave.

She pauses and looks at me again. I feel like she wants to say something, but she doesn’t. She heads into the kitchen. As soon as she’s out of view I rush back to my room and swing open the door. I motion for Alex to come and he does. He’s got his boots on now and his jacket in his hand. His shirt is on inside out and backward. We both tiptoe down the stairs and into the front hall. I watch him reach for the front door, opening it but pausing to look back at me. That pained, suffering look is on his face again—the one that makes me believe he tortures himself with his own thoughts.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“So am I,” I reply because there’s so much more I want to say but it’s not the time now. Maybe it never will be.

He bends down and kisses me quickly then disappears out the door, leaving nothing but cold night air in his wake. I sigh, lock the door and turn around to find Mackenzie standing at the end of the hall holding a half-eaten cupcake and a glass of milk, staring at me with a knowing look in her eyes.

“Called it!” she announces and then disappears into the living room.