The sun pouring through the curtainless window early the next morning woke her from the best sleep she’d had since moving home. For the first time in months, she felt rested, relaxed…Jackson Westmore’s bare chest beneath her hand.
Scrambling to a sitting position, Abigail clutched her bedsheet to her body.
He was by far the sexiest sleeping man she’d ever seen. His hair was messed up in the best possible way and a memory of her running her hands through it while he made love to her flashed in her mind. She’d loved the feel of the thick locks, soft and silky between her fingers. The five o’clock shadow that had tickled her skin as he’d kissed her body was now a slightly longer scruffy beard that only enhanced his morning-after appeal.
The night before had been unexpectedly one of the most freeing nights of her life. His touch, his kiss, his words had made her feel sexy and desirable. She hadn’t felt that way in a long time.
Lying back down next to him, she snuggled closer. She still couldn’t believe that all those years he’d had feelings for her. That he still had those feelings. She wondered how things—how life—might have been different had she known. Their relationship probably would have been awkward and strained in a different way.
Better not to have known.
But she knew now. And here he was in her bed. Where he would be waking up any minute. A slight panic took hold.
Jackson moaned as he rolled to his side and she froze, praying he wouldn’t wake up just yet. She needed a minute—make that a lifetime—to figure out what to say to him. After all, he’d had a lifetime to figure out how he’d deal with a morning after with her.
Closing her eyes and holding her breath, she edged to the side of the bed, dragging the sheet with her. Quietly, slowly, she tossed her legs over and stood, careful not to move the bed. Thank God she’d invested in that expensive memory foam. Forget bowling balls and wine glasses; if the company wanted to sell more mattresses, they should use a sleeping man and a confused, panicked woman to illustrate their usefulness.
Checking to make sure he was still asleep before she dropped the sheet, Abigail reached for the tank top and jeans she’d discarded the night before and quickly got dressed. Then she stood there staring at him, resisting every urge to say screw it and crawl back into bed with him, wake him up, and demand a repeat performance.
The sex had been nothing short of amazing. Amazing and without a doubt going to complicate things on a whole new level.
Where did they go from here? He was still Dean’s best friend and Dani’s hockey coach…and the only man to make her feel tipsy from a single touch.
She shook her head. She had no idea what he would be expecting from her when he woke up, and she had no answers.
Maybe she could let him sleep, sneak out of the house before he woke and not have to say anything at all.
Sure, except she was living in his house and teaching at the same school where he coached the team her daughter played on, and her closest friend in town just so happened to be…
Her eyes widened. Becky! She suppressed a groan. She hoped this newest development in their complicated-as-hell relationship wouldn’t hurt her friendship with the other woman.
Either way, she needed coffee before she could deal with any of this with any kind of finesse. Tiptoeing toward the door, she grabbed her sweater from the floor and quietly opened it.
Jackson continued to sleep. Good, keep sleeping until she had time to work through her spiraling emotions. A few months should do it, she thought with a conflicted sigh as she crept out into the hallway.
Then the sound of the front door opening made her heart pound so loud, she was amazed it didn’t wake him.
“Mom!” Dani called out.
Abigail dove back into the room, shutting the door quickly and lunging at Jackson. “Wake up, wake up,” she hissed.
He looked confused and—damn it—cute as hell as he opened one eye. “So it wasn’t a dream? I’ve had the same one for so many years, it was hard to tell…”
“Nope. Not a dream. Now get up and crawl out the window,” she said, collecting his discarded jeans, shoes, and T-shirt from the heap on the floor and going to the window. She opened it and threw everything outside.
He frowned as he sat up. “Okay, I get that you’re probably regretting last night…”
Not exactly. Well, not completely, anyway.
“But this is a little extreme, don’t you think?” He moved back the sheets and she turned to avoid seeing the lower half of his perfect body, a body she’d now seen and touched every inch of. “Come back to bed and let’s talk about it.”
“Dani’s home,” she hissed, seeing his boxers poking out from under the bed.
He was out of the bed in record time, tripping over himself as he struggled to put the underwear back on. “Shit. I thought she spent the night at Becky’s. What time is it?”
Abigail glanced at the clock on the side table. “Ten thirty? How is that possible?” She hadn’t slept that late…ever.
“Mom! Where are you?” Dani’s voice made her heart race again.
“Get out—go!” she said, forcing Jackson toward the window.
“Good thing it’s a bungalow,” he muttered.
“Wouldn’t matter,” she said, as he climbed out.
He shot her a look. “Don’t think you’re getting out of talking about what happened last night,” he said, collecting his clothes from the ground.
Dani’s footsteps outside the bedroom at that moment would have made her agree to anything. “Fine. Just go!” she said, closing the window as the door opened.
“Who were you talking to?” Dani asked, coming in.
Abigail’s heart was lodged so thick in her throat, she wasn’t sure she could utter the lie, so she avoided the question. “You’re home early.” She bent to pick up the bedsheet from the floor and quickly tossed it onto the messy bed. Her cheeks reddened at the sight of the tangled sheets; it looked like ten people had been sleeping in it.
“Taylor and her mom had to go shopping to buy stuff for her stepdad’s homecoming party.”
That’s right. Neil was coming home in a couple weeks from overseas. “Taylor must be excited.”
Dani shrugged. “I guess.”
A pang of sympathy replaced any other emotion she was feeling as she looked at her daughter’s disappointed-and-desperately-trying-to-hide-it face. She knew Dani missed Dean. It wasn’t easy on her to feel as though her father didn’t want to see her or fight for time with her. She hadn’t told Dani that Dean hadn’t signed the visitation schedule, but Dani was a smart girl. “Are you okay?”
Dani went to sit on the bed and Abigail quickly reached out to stop her. “Let’s go out in the kitchen,” she said. Those sheets needed to be washed right away. She was surprised her daughter couldn’t smell the lingering scent of Jackson’s cologne in the room. It was the only scent filling her senses and conjuring up flashbacks that really weren’t appropriate while talking to her daughter.
She sighed. Maybe washing the sheets could wait a little longer…
Once she’d set the coffee maker and popped two waffles into the toaster, she sat at the table. “Okay, what’s going on?”
“The father-daughter dance is in two weeks…”
Right, the one she’d been too nervous to talk to Dani about. The one she’d been hoping they could bypass. She’d emailed Dean the week before about it, but the email had come back undelivered. Obviously he wasn’t interested in any contact from her, which would suit her just fine if they didn’t have a nine-year-old to think about. Her annoyance rose, but she forced it back down as she said, “Honey, I did email your dad…”
Dani’s eyes lit up. “What did he say? Can he make it? I know the Kings are playing the Rangers the night before, but if he comes straight from New York, he could be here for the dance, then be here for the next evening’s game against Denver.”
Damn. She’d obviously put a lot of thought into this. How did she tell her the email had bounced back? She stood as the coffee maker beeped, giving her a moment to think about what to say. “Um…well, he’s not sure, but he’s going to try,” she lied finally, unable to break her daughter’s heart that morning. She’d find a way to get the information to Dean and try to explain to him how important it was to Dani.
Maybe Jackson could call him.
Sure, and he could let him know he’d slept with his ex-wife at the same time. She wondered if Jackson would have any guilt over it. Oddly enough, she had none.
“Great. I know he’s busy, so it’s not a big deal if he can’t,” Dani said, breaking into her thoughts. She took the waffles out of the toaster and opened the fridge. “Where’s the maple syrup?”
“Sorry, sweetie. I haven’t gone shopping yet.” She gestured around the messy kitchen, where spices cluttered the counters and pots and pans still hadn’t found a home. “As you can see, I haven’t really gotten far with the unpacking. I was lucky to get my room set up…” She stopped. Lucky? Maybe if her bed hadn’t been so accommodating, they’d have come to their senses the night before.
An image of Jackson’s sexy-as-hell body flashed in her mind, followed by the memory of his gentle, yet passionate touch. He’d always had feelings for her. He’d always wanted her.
She covered her smile with her coffee cup.
Then again, probably not.
* * *
Parked on the side of the road several blocks from the house and pulling on his jeans, Jackson almost laughed. He’d had his share of awkward mornings after, but this was admittedly the first time the woman had thrown his clothes out the window and made him crawl out in only his underwear, which he’d discovered he’d put on inside out.
It didn’t matter. The night before had been worth it.
Grinning like an idiot, he pulled his shirt on over his head. He’d spent the night with Abby. The sex had been everything he’d imagined it would be. Her body was like silk, and the lingering effects of the L.A. sun still kissed her skin, giving her a beautiful glow. Soft in all the right places, curves that left him defenseless, and a passion he’d never expected had made every one of his fantasies come to life.
She’d wanted him. That was the biggest surprise. And while he suspected she was struggling with conflicting emotions that morning, she couldn’t deny that there had been a connection far beyond the physical between them the night before.
A second later, his cell phone rang, interrupting the old country song on the radio. A glance at the display on the dash revealed Dean’s number. His gut twisted. Shit. The only person who could bring him down from the high he was on. He let the call go to voicemail.
So he’d chickened out. There was no way he could talk to his buddy that morning.
He was surprised Dean was even calling him at all. The last time they’d spoken, his friend had been abrupt and distant.
He pulled away from the curb and drove down the quiet neighborhood streets, allowing his thoughts to return to the night before.
He’d had sex with Abby Jansen.
She was even more fantastic than he’d ever imagined. Her touch was magnetic, her kiss was intoxicating, and the way she’d whispered his name had been enough to silence any doubt or reservation he may have had about being with her.
Now he had to make her realize they were right for one another.
More to forget about…she’d said.
Nope. Just more to crave, more to long for…more at stake.
Damn.
His cell phone rang again as he turned the truck into his own driveway moments later. The generic ringtone and unfamiliar number lighting up the screen made him ignore it.
But the phone chimed with a new voicemail as he unlocked his apartment door. Tossing his keys onto the table in the entryway, he dialed the voicemail service.
“Jackson, this is Coach Turner from the Colorado Eagles. I’m calling to let you know about a closed tryout we’re holding for several flex positions on the team. Too many guys are getting injured and getting called up. Anyway, it’s not an open tryout. Invite only. Call me.”
Jackson saved the message as he headed into the bathroom and turned on the shower. An invite to try out for his old team with a possibility of getting called up. He stared into the mirror, thinking about his brother’s words the week before. Did he still want to play professional hockey?
If he did, now was his chance to try again. A private tryout meant his odds of securing a spot on the team again were much higher than at an open tryout. And with guys getting called up, his experience might just put him on top of that list. He may not have played professionally for several years, but he was on the ice almost every day. And he’d been the team’s MVP player every year. He was still in decent shape, and with a few weeks of intense training…
But did he really want that chance anymore? Or was he finally ready to go after something else he’d always wanted?
An image of Abby sleeping next to him flashed in his mind, making his chest ache. Two dreams, always out of reach, were moving closer to reality. Which one did he work toward?
The problem was, he knew there was no way he could have both.