Give me twenty minutes and they’ll be ready for you,” George Watson, the only man in town Jackson trusted to sharpen his skates, said as Jackson handed them over the next morning.
That evening, his own men’s league was playing their first game of the season, and he needed his skates in their best condition. With his younger brother drafted to the NHL as well, he was the last Westmore left to lead the local team to victory. The other men were previous high school athletes, most of whom now had a million things on their priority list that came before a game of small-town hockey—wives, families, real jobs.
As he walked the aisles of the sporting goods store, he reached for his cell. He’d checked the team’s email that morning, and there was still no sign of the release form from Dean. Dialing his friend’s cell number, he scanned a row of sticks. He really could use a new one, but his was broken in and molded perfectly to the shape of his hand.
It was the same stick he’d used since his last season with the Colorado Eagles, the year after his younger brother was called up to the majors. It was then that he’d known it was time for him to quit chasing the dream. Ben had played three games in the AHL before being called up. Asher played two years.
He’d put in his time, and Jackson had known when to pack it in. He’d spent his savings on a fixer-upper house and flipped it, turning a $20,000 profit, and then bought another one, pretending he was okay with life in real estate, away from center ice.
And in three years, he’d gotten real good at both—flipping homes and pretending.
“Hello,” Dean answered on the fourth ring.
“Hey, man, how are you?”
“Hey yourself. Long time, buddy,” Dean said, sounding distracted.
The sound of a woman’s voice singing in the background made him frown. “Did I catch you at a bad time?”
“Um…I got a minute,” he said, before obviously covering the mouthpiece and speaking to someone else.
He heard female laughter, then the sound of a door closing. “So, it turns out your little girl is a better stick handler than you,” he said, trying to keep the mood light and erase the nagging feeling in his gut. It could be Dean’s housekeeper…
“I wouldn’t doubt that,” his friend said above the sound of wind and waves.
He’d taken the call outside. “Yeah, she’s quite impressive. She made the local Junior team. It went co-ed this year.” As he spoke, he wasn’t sure if his friend was even paying attention as he heard the door open and close again, and then whispering close to the phone.
“Huh, huh. Yeah, I heard. That’s great. Listen buddy, can I call you back?”
Jackson frowned. “Actually, Dean, I won’t keep you, but I was calling about the release form to see if you could send it in the next day or two.”
“What release form?”
“Abby said she sent you a release form for Dani to be allowed to play. Can we get that signed and emailed back before Tuesday’s practice?”
“I didn’t receive any email from Abigail.” Dean’s hardened tone matched Abby’s from the night before. The hostility between them obviously went both ways, but something in Dean’s voice gave Jackson reason to doubt what he’d said. He knew his friend well enough to know when he was lying, but he couldn’t get why he’d be lying about this. To make Abby look bad?
“Are you sure? She said she sent it from the school’s account. Maybe check your spam folder.”
“Jackson, she didn’t send it. Just another ploy to keep me uninvolved and out of Dani’s life.”
Shit. The last thing he’d intended was to get in the middle of their conflict. He wanted nothing to do with their arguing or pawn playing with Dani. Though, he’d like to smack their heads together to make them realize the effect their stupidity would have on her. “Well, no problem. I’ll resend it this afternoon.” He paused as he heard Dean cover the mouthpiece and say, “I’ll be there in just a sec, darling.”
Darling? So much for the housekeeper theory. Irritation seeped through him. Over the last few months, he’d refused to believe the crap the media was saying about Dean, but Jackson couldn’t ignore what was right in front of him. His friend obviously wasn’t as innocent in all of this, a victim of the tabloids’ eagerness for scandal, as he’d hoped. His jaw tightened when he thought about how hurt Abby must have been to see those photos of her husband with another woman. How could his buddy give up so much? For what? Random hook-ups with strangers who couldn’t possibly come close to what he already had at home?
Unbelievable.
“So, I’ll resend it and you’ll sign and email it back before Tuesday?” he asked tightly.
“You’ll have it sooner. You’d have it already if Abigail had sent it in the first place.”
He swallowed the argument on the tip of his tongue. He had no idea what had really happened with the form. “Okay, great. Thanks, Dean.” He hesitated. “Hey, man, you’ve got a fantastic kid.” One who deserved her father’s love and attention. Dani was so much like Dean, he wished his friend realized what he’d had and lost.
But his words were met with dead air. Dean had hung up.
* * *
“Mom!”
Dani’s voice echoed down the stairs to the kitchen where Abigail was pouring coffee into a travel mug. “In the kitchen,” she called back.
“Mom! Where are you?”
She pressed the cover firmly over the cup and left the kitchen. “I’m downstairs by the door,” she called up the stairs.
Dani appeared on the landing. “I can’t find my blue sweatshirt. The one with the Colorado Avalanche logo on it.”
“I think it’s in the wash,” she said, opening the closet door to retrieve her boots.
“In the wash?” Her daughter’s voice was shrill and Abigail winced as she turned to look at her distraught expression.
Wow, what she wouldn’t give for her preteen’s problems. “Yes. Why don’t you wear your white one?” Half of the clothing her daughter owned had some sort of hockey logo on it. And she owned most items in both the home and away colors.
“Taylor’s wearing her blue one to the sleepover,” Dani said with a pout.
“Well, I’m sorry. I haven’t gotten to the laundry yet.” Between reviewing the divorce settlement counteroffer documents from her lawyer and going over her proposed plans for the next fundraising meeting, she’d barely had time for a quick shower before needing to drive Dani to a new friend’s sleepover party. She’d been hesitant to let her go, but Becky had reassured her it would be fine.
“What’s all the fuss out here?” her mother asked, appearing with a laundry basket full of their clean clothes. Sitting on top was Dani’s blue Colorado Avalanche sweatshirt.
She felt like kissing her mother.
Dani flew down the stairs and grabbed it. “Thanks, Grandma!” she said, shooting Abigail a look.
“Put that look away or I’ll be adding laundry to your list of chores,” she said, zipping her boots. She slid into her jean jacket and lifted her still damp hair over the back. “Do you have everything you need?”
“I do now, thanks to Grandma.”
Abigail suppressed a sigh. “Thank you for doing our laundry, Mom. Please just lay it in my room and I’ll fold it as soon as I get back.”
“Folding laundry on a Saturday night. How fun,” her mother muttered.
Abigail ignored it. What else was she supposed to do? A night out on the town in Glenwood Falls meant going to the only real bar: the Grumpy Stump, where far too many faces from her past might be.
Besides, who would she go with? Walking into a bar alone on a Saturday night would be just asking for trouble.
Nope. Folding laundry was the extent of her exciting plans. And maybe a bubble bath with a good book. She might even get a little crazy and pick up a bottle of wine on the way back.
“Ready?” she asked Dani as the girl slid her feet into her running shoes without untying them, crushing the backs. No wonder she went through shoes so quickly.
“Ready. Bye, Grandma,” she said with a quick wave, heading outside.
“Have fun, darling,” Isabelle called, carrying the basket upstairs to Abigail’s room.
“Be back soon,” Abigail said closing the door behind her.
Ten minutes later, they pulled into Taylor’s driveway. The little girl was waiting in the window and bounded outside as soon as the vehicle stopped moving. Becky followed much slower behind.
“Hello, Ms. Jansen. Hey, Dani,” she said, opening the back door and climbing in next to Dani.
“Hi, Taylor,” she said, but the girls were already chatting, oblivious to their chauffeur.
When Becky finally reached the passenger side, she opened the door and climbed in.
“Um…hi?”
“Hi. I thought I’d come along for the ride to drop off the girls,” she said, struggling to reach for her seatbelt, stretching it across her belly.
“Oh, okay, sure.” She knew Neil was an Air Force pilot who was often overseas for months at a time, and Taylor had told Dani that her stepdad would be gone until the beginning of November. Abigail knew what it was like to have an absentee husband—on a much lesser scale, of course.
As she backed out of the driveway, Becky added, “I was also hoping I could convince you to go for a drink. Not a real one for me, of course,” she said.
“Oh, I don’t know. I have some things to do tonight…”
“Yeah, like fold laundry,” Dani said, rolling her eyes in the backseat.
Abigail shot her a look through the rearview mirror, which just made Dani grin and stick out her tongue.
“I know all about folding laundry on Saturday nights. I swear between cooking, cleaning, and laundry, that’s all I do, but I could use a break, and I bet you haven’t been out since you moved back.”
That was true, but for good reason: she didn’t want to. “No, I haven’t, but I didn’t even do my hair or put on any makeup. I was expecting to drop off the girls and just go straight home.” She glanced at her reflection in the mirror. Without her foundation, blush, and eyeshadow, she felt naked. The wrinkles around her eyes had deepened in recent weeks, and her hair floated in unruly waves around her shoulders.
If this were L.A. she never would have left the house like this. She could just imagine the look of shock on her hockey-wife friends’ faces if they saw her now.
Becky, on the other hand, eyed her enviously. “I’d give anything to look as good as you do with wet hair and no makeup,” she said. “I’m not even sure I put on matching shoes.” She leaned around her stomach to try to get a look at her feet. “Close enough.”
Abigail laughed. “Really, Becky. I’d rather take a raincheck.” Though she’d used it as an excuse, she really wasn’t too concerned with what people might think of her un-made-up appearance. In fact, she didn’t give a rat’s ass about looking good. It wasn’t as though she were looking to meet someone.
That day was a long way off. So far off in fact she wasn’t entirely sure that day even existed. Her mother claimed her heartache was still too raw, the wound too fresh to see how maybe someday she could love again, and maybe she was right. But right now, she was happy planning a future that included her and Dani and no one else.
So the thought of Jackson Westmore popping into her mind at that moment made her stomach uneasy. Since the night before at the arena, she hadn’t been able to shake the memory of his smile and then the tension between them in the parking lot. Why was every interaction with the man—good or bad—so electrically charged?
“Oh, come on, Mom. You should go,” Dani was saying, surprising her.
She hesitated. Why was everyone encouraging her to go out?
“This may be my last free night…ever. Please?” Becky said.
“It would make me feel better about leaving her alone,” Taylor added, glancing up from her phone.
“Jeez, I’m starting to feel like I was set up here,” Abigail said, peering at her daughter through the mirror.
Dani just smiled.
She sighed. “Okay, why not?” It was just one drink with a friend who would be exhausted in an hour and have to call it a night anyway, she thought.
Or not.
Staring across the bar at Becky two-stepping with Old Man Wilson, the owner of the Grumpy Stump, two and a half hours later, Abigail couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed so hard. Watching her pregnant friend twirl around the floor at breakneck speed to a fast-tempo song with the town’s self-proclaimed old-school cowboy, she couldn’t see through the tears.
Becky mouthing the words “help me” each time they swung past the booth where so far she’d miraculously been able to stay, turning down several dance offers of her own, only made it all the more amusing.
This outing had been Becky’s idea after all, and she’d tried to warn her about Old Man Wilson.
“Another round?” the waitress asked. She had blonde hair cut in a cute pixie style and a hummingbird tattoo on her chest, and she didn’t look much older than Taylor.
“Um…” Abigail checked her watch as the song ended and Becky slid back into the booth.
“Yes, please,” her friend said, out of breath and clutching her stomach.
The waitress nodded as she headed toward the bar.
Guess they were staying for another round. “You okay?”
“Yes, my sides hurt from laughing. This is fun.”
When their drinks arrived, Becky asked, “Are you okay?”
“Of course.” She forced a smile.
Becky nodded. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re doing a great job of hiding it.”
“Hiding what?”
“The heartache and struggle you must be feeling.”
An unexpected lump rose in Abigail’s throat and she forced it back down. “Some days it’s tougher than others, but Dani’s been a source of strength, and I’m hoping once we settle into a new place and I secure the full-time position at the school, this place will once again feel like home.”
“It will. And then you’ll start making new memories. Better ones,” Becky said, covering her mouth as a yawn escaped her lips.
“Ready to call it a night?” She was. She reached for her jacket.
But Becky glanced at the neon-rimmed tequila-bottle-shaped clock on the wall. “Um…not yet. Maybe another few minutes.” She was avoiding her eyes as she glanced toward the door.
Something was up. “Becky, what are you doing?”
“Nothing. I just haven’t finished my drink,” she said, picking up her glass and taking the tiniest sip possible. The liquid barely dropped a millimeter. At that rate, she’d be ready to leave by morning.
“You’re up to something…” Abigail stopped as the “something” walked in through the door.
Oh hell no.
She grabbed her jacket and purse and slid out of the booth. “Look! Your brother’s here. He can drive you home,” she said in mock surprise. “I’m heading out.”
Becky struggled to reach for her. “No, wait, please.”
“You set me up.” Or was attempting to. And with Jackson? Was Becky out of her mind? Pregnancy brain was obviously a real condition.
“No, I didn’t.” She offered an innocent look that Abigail wasn’t buying. “Okay, sort of, but I just think Jackson can help you with some things.”
“Ha! Your brother hates me.” Or at least she’d been fairly certain he did…until a few super awkward, tension-filled moments and an earth-shattering smile had given her reason to think she may not be entirely right in her assumptions.
Becky’s look clearly stated she thought Abigail was the dumbest person on the planet. “Abby, you know that thing where little boys tease and are mean to little girls they like because they don’t know how else to deal with the strange feelings they’re experiencing?”
She wasn’t sure she bought into that crap—she’d taught her daughter if a boy was mean to her to punch him in the nuts, not fall in love—but she sighed, hating that she was curious about where Becky was going with this. “Okay…”
“Well, most guys move beyond that immature, awkward stage. Jackson never has.” She rolled her eyes.
“You’re not making any sense. Are you sure those were virgin Bloody Marys?” She reached for Becky’s glass, took a sip, and gagged on the heat level of the Tabasco sauce in the drink. That baby would be doing summersaults all evening after that taste explosion. “I can’t feel my tongue,” she said, quickly reaching for her own drink and sucking hard, desperate for the last little bit of alcohol mixed with melted ice at the bottom of the glass.
“Okay, fine, forget about that. But, the thing is, Jackson flips houses for a living. He may be able to help you with a place of your own.”
That stopped her. Jackson flipped homes? That’s how he made money? She’d heard he was a contractor, but she just assumed he did construction work for one of the local companies when he wasn’t wearing skates. “He does? Really, Jackson?”
“I heard my name,” he said behind her a second later.
Turning, she gulped at the sight of him in a pair of jeans, ripped at one knee, and a black T-shirt visible beneath his leather jacket. Once again, she figured it must be his personality keeping the women at arm’s length. Maybe he was an acquired taste that most women just didn’t stay around long enough to acquire. It certainly wasn’t the ice blue eyes framed by long, dark lashes or the full lips that looked tempting as hell. She licked her own lips as her gaze fell to his chest muscles straining against the fabric of the shirt. Definitely must be the personality keeping them away.
He looked at her with a confused, amused expression on his face, and she realized she was staring. She looked away quickly, and he turned to his sister. “What are you doing out so late?”
She raised one eyebrow. “Seriously?”
“I’m just saying you’re pregnant and…”
“Exactly. Pregnant. Not dead. Sit down,” she said, gesturing across the booth.
He shifted from one foot to the other, looking as though he wished he hadn’t approached them.
Well, that made two of them. She couldn’t explain her recent attraction to him, but she didn’t like it.
“I’m actually here with the guys. We just finished playing a game against Springdale.”
That explained the fresh scent of musky body wash lingering on the air around him and the still damp hair styled in a spiky mess. It looked like someone had run their hands through it…She caught herself staring again and looked away.
What the hell was wrong with her?
“Sit for a sec,” Becky insisted.
Jackson sighed but slid into the booth, raising a finger to the other men at the pool tables to indicate he’d just be a second.
“You, too,” Becky told Abigail.
“You’re bossy.”
“Something we finally agree on,” Jackson said.
“Fine. Move in.” Abigail tried to shove her into the booth, but Becky shook her head and held firm.
“My stomach’s too big. Go sit over there.”
Next to Jackson. Great-looking, great-smelling Jackson. Great.
He looked about as thrilled as she felt, but he moved in and she sat as close to the edge as possible. “You’ve got three minutes before I have to go steal some money from those guys,” he told Becky.
“Well, Abby was talking about moving into a new place, and I know you’ve almost finished that three-bedroom bungalow you were working on.”
He was shaking his head. “I wasn’t planning to sell that one right away. I was maybe going to turn it into a rental…” He reached for her Bloody Mary and took a sip.
His lips were wrapped around the straw where Abigail’s had been a moment before. She wondered how he’d feel if he knew that. Her eyes dropped to said lips, and she slid out of the booth quickly, before she could start to fantasize about what they might taste like. “No worries. Thanks anyway,” she said without looking at him. “Are you ready to go now, or are you going to stay?” she asked Becky, desperate to escape the close proximity to the man. She must be feeling the lonely nights a lot worse than she thought to be experiencing this kind of attraction to a man she’d barely been cordial with before. Either that, or he’d gotten a whole hell of a lot hotter in the last ten years.
Becky waved a hand at her and continued to talk to her brother. “Maybe Abby might want to rent it for a while.” She turned to her. “I mean, it will get you out of your parents’ place, and you can take your time finding a permanent home for you and Dani.”
Abigail shifted from one foot to the other, trying to think of an excuse. With the development of this unexplainable attraction, the last thing she wanted was more ties to Jackson. Having to spend time with him because of the school and hockey were bad enough. Him as her landlord, even temporarily, didn’t excite her. In fact, the idea kind of terrified her. Unfortunately, she had been going on and on all evening about how she was dying to get a place in town soon, and how her well-meaning parents were driving her crazy.
She’d been looking through the available places to rent in the paper every morning and there were few houses, mostly basement suites and several apartment buildings. Nothing appealed to her. She may not be able to give Dani a home in a $2 million house, but she wanted something nice and comfortable. A place they could stay in for a while. She was hoping to find a house with an eventual buy option she could consider once the settlement was finalized. She hated to admit it, but Jackson’s new investment might be just the thing she was looking for. Besides, it wasn’t as though she’d be living with him. And how often did one see a landlord anyway? She sighed. “When were you hoping to rent it?” she asked him.
Surprise flashed across his face, and she knew how he felt.
“Well…” He released a breath. “Maybe by the end of the month.”
For someone with a property he needed a tenant for, he certainly didn’t seem eager to discuss it. “If you don’t already have someone interested in renting it…”
“It’s yours if you want it,” he said suddenly, and his gaze locked with hers, the expression intense and unreadable.
Was she missing something? Her mouth went dry as she nodded. “Great. Thanks.”
“Hey, Jackson, are you playing or not?” Darryl called from where he stood across the bar, holding a pool cue, the balls already scattered across the table.
Jackson broke the connection with her eyes and nodded. “Yeah, I’m coming. Excuse me,” he said, and she moved aside to let him pass.
“Hey, can we play, too?” Becky said.
So much for her friend being tired. “If you want to stay, maybe Jackson could drive you home later.” She checked her watch—10:35. Pathetic. “I really should go.” Yeah, ’cause the laundry won’t fold itself, she thought, suddenly not as eager to leave.
“Or you could stay and play pool,” Jackson said, a hint of a smile playing on those oh-so-dangerous lips.
An odd feeling, one she refused to define, washed over her. Or she could stay and play pool.
* * *
There was nothing sexier about a woman than knowing exactly how she would look the next morning waking up in his arms. With no makeup and wavy unruly hair falling across her shoulder as she lined up to take her shot, Abigail looked so much like the young girl he used to know he had to remind himself that time had passed and a lot of life had happened since then.
“Ready to hand over all that cash?” she asked, peering up at him from her perch over the pool cue.
He was ready to hand just about anything over to her. Always had been. He leaned against the ledge next to the wall and tossed his cue between his hands, hoping he was giving off an air of nonchalance, despite the fact that inside he was a mess. And it had nothing to do with potentially losing the two hundred dollars in cash they were playing for. “You’ll never make this shot,” he said, reaching for his beer and taking a swig as she pulled back and hit the white ball.
No one moved as it spiraled toward the eight ball and hit it, sending both balls in the direction of the right corner pocket.
“Don’t scratch, don’t scratch,” she was saying as she watched, biting her lip nervously.
He couldn’t tear his eyes from her pretty lips long enough to see what happened, but her face lighting up in a beautiful smile a second later told him he’d just lost the game.
“Yay!” she said, turning to high-five his sister, whose belly had been her excuse for not pulling her weight as Abby’s partner.
Setting the pool cue aside, he reached into his pocket for the cash. “Here you are,” he said, handing it to her. “Good game.”
She shook her head, refusing the money. “Keep it. Consider it part of my damage deposit on the house.”
What about a deposit for the damage she’d done to his heart over the years?
He nodded, tucking the money into his back jeans pocket. “So, did you want to swing by and see the place?”
She frowned. “Now?”
He shrugged. “Sure. Why not?” There were a million reasons why not—the main one being that seeing her in a house he’d actually bought for himself might create even more unhealthy, irrational fantasies he’d never be able to escape. Like cooking breakfast together after a night of mind-blowing sex…or mind-blowing sex in the kitchen while breakfast burned on the stove…
Damn. Just the thought made his jeans fit a little tighter in the front.
He thought about retracting the offer, but Becky was climbing down from the stool with a yawn. “Sounds like a great idea. We can all go in your truck and you can drop me off on the way.” She linked her arm through his and rested her head against his shoulder.
He laughed. “Do you want to argue with her?” he asked Abby.
She shook her head. “’Cause that ever works,” she said, grabbing her jean jacket and sliding into it.
Fifteen minutes later, he pulled into the driveway of his latest project. The bungalow had cost him next to nothing, as the previous owners had been looking for a quick sale. The place was an older home but structurally sound, therefore he’d put less than $20,000 into it so far, and mostly it was upgrades and cosmetic work. It was the first one he’d purchased that had all of the features he’d wanted in a home of his own—all one level, three bedrooms, three bathrooms, a large backyard—and it backed onto the lake, which was perfect for ice fishing and pond hockey in winter and taking his small boat out in the summer.
Now, Abby would be living there. For a few months at least.
“Wow, it’s bigger than I thought,” she said, unbuckling her seatbelt. “You’re sure you’re only asking five hundred a month for it?”
He nodded. “Let’s go in.” Unlocking the front door a moment later, he held open the screen door and stood back to let her enter first. “Be careful not to trip over the laminate flooring there in the hallway. I should have it finished early next week,” he said, closing the door behind them.
Pulling off her boots, she flicked on the light and headed into the living room. “Wow. This place is beautiful.”
He smiled as he followed her. He’d had an eye on this place for a while, knowing the moment it went up for sale, he would buy it without hesitation.
“I love the old wood-burning fireplace.”
So did he. “It works. I had a new ventilation system put in, and the chimney’s been inspected, so it’s safe to use.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and watched her as she made her way toward the kitchen. “All new appliances, and the countertop should be here next week as well. It’s a dark marble to match the backsplash tiles.”
She shook her head. “You did all the remodeling yourself?”
“Most of it. Frank Hillier did the electrical work.”
She smiled. “Probably for the best. Remember that time you tried to wire a new stereo system into your dad’s car while they were away on vacation?”
He laughed. Oh, he remembered. He was just surprised she did. “Yeah, who knew the wires for the brake lights looked so much like the ones for the stereo?”
“Your dad was so mad…” She paused, her smile fading slightly. “I was sorry to hear of his passing.”
“Thanks.” Jackson cleared his throat. “So, down the hall are the three bedrooms. They’re all still furnished, except for the master suite.” He’d sold those items as he’d planned to buy new bedroom furniture for himself once the place was ready to move into. The stuff he had currently in his apartment was the same stuff he’d moved in with almost eight years before. He was getting a little old for his Wonder Woman pole lamp and Doctor Who police box DVD holder.
“That’s fine. I brought some things from L.A.”
He stood in the doorframe as she scanned the closet space. “Great walk-in…” He heard her say as she went into the closet that connected the bedroom to the en suite bathroom. Then, “Oh my God, that Jacuzzi tub!”
He grinned. The new four-person jetted tub was his favorite new addition to the house as well.
“I know where I’ll be spending my evenings.”
His smile faded as an image of Abby submerged in a tub full of bubbles, her long legs draped over one side, the ends of her hair wet, hanging below her shoulders onto her chest made his pulse race and all the blood in his body rush to his crotch. She still had the ability to induce a hard-on with just his imagination. He forced himself to think of anything else as she reappeared.
“I love it. I’m definitely interested in renting it. In fact, once the di…” She paused. “I might eventually be interested in buying it.”
Wonderful. He was potentially losing his dream home to the woman of his dreams. If she wanted the house, there would be no way he could say no. Besides, living in it without her, knowing she had been sleeping in the master suite, bathing in that tub, drinking her coffee out on the deck overlooking the lake, would be torture.
He could strangle his sister for this. He’d never be able to think of the house the same way again. And more disturbingly, he wasn’t sure he wanted to.
The feelings he’d had for her years ago paled in comparison to the new ones strangling his common sense. Before, he’d been a teenager, fueled by hormones. He’d wanted to touch her, kiss her, hold her hand, wrap his arms around her. Now, it was a deep longing from the depths of his chest making him want to do all that but also so much more.
Now, he wanted to know what it would be like to wake up next to her, to be there for her during this tough time, and to make love to her until she wondered why she’d wasted any of her emotions on anyone else. These new feelings made him wonder if maybe his loyalty to Dean had a time limit. They weren’t as close as they’d once been, and he was starting to question if he knew his friend as well as he’d thought. Maybe it was just hockey they had in common…that and falling for the same woman.
“You okay?” Abby asked, stepping closer and studying him.
He blinked and shook his thoughts away. “Yeah, I’m fine. Why?”
“I just said ‘thank you,’ but you seemed to have zoned out for a second. Where did you go?”
She didn’t want to know. “Nowhere…You’re welcome.” He headed back down the hall and she followed.
Unfortunately, he turned the hall light off a second too soon.
“Ow, shit, ow!”
He flicked the light back on and turned to see her hopping around on one foot, holding the other in her hand. “You okay?” He frowned as he moved toward her.
“My toe. I hit it on that stack of laminate flooring you warned me about. Ow!” She continued to hop, blinking back tears.
“Let me look at it.”
“No. You’ll hurt me.” She moved out of reach as he went to grab her arm.
“I’d never hurt you,” he said hoarsely, with more emotion than he’d intended.
She heard it too as she stopped hopping and set her foot back down. “Uh, it’s fine. I’m sure it’s fine,” she said, but she was wincing with every step toward the door.
“I don’t think so,” he said, noticing her sock turning red at her toe. Damn. He should have told her to leave her boots on.
She went pale as she glanced down. “I need to sit,” she said quietly.
He led her into the kitchen and pulled out a counter stool. “Sit here.”
She did and he bent to remove the sock, relieved to see just a small gash on the top of her big toe. Her beautiful, manicured, soft toe. The temptation to bring the small, delicate foot to his lips and kiss away the pain made him slightly tipsy.
“Is it horrible?” she asked, covering her eyes.
“No, it’s perfect,” he mumbled.
“Huh?” She looked.
“I mean, it’s fine. Just a small cut. Give me a second.”
A minute later, he was back with antiseptic, a face cloth, and a Band-Aid. Minor injuries were almost guaranteed when he was renovating, so he’d learned to keep a small first aid kit nearby.
“Here, let me,” she said, reaching for it.
“No, because you won’t apply the antiseptic.”
“Yes, I will.”
“No, you won’t.” He wiped the blood away from the cut gently, then opened the bottle. “I remember the summer we were jumping over logs in the forest and you slipped.” He poured the alcohol-based liquid onto the edge of the cloth. “A sharp twig sticking out of one of the logs pierced your skin. It took three of us, Asher and Ben and me, to hold you down while Mom cleaned the wound.”
She scoffed. “I was twelve. I’m not a kid anymore.”
No shit. Every part of him had certainly noticed. “Take a breath,” he said.
She did as she closed her eyes.
He applied the antiseptic quickly and blew on the cut softly to try to ease the sting, then he quickly applied the bandage. “There. Better,” he said as he stood.
“Thank you,” she said, accepting her bloodied sock from him awkwardly. “You know, you’re kinda nice when you’re nice.”
“I’m always nice,” he murmured, aware of just how close they were. One tiny step and a whole shitload of courage and she could be in his arms. He waited. Neither happened.
“Not to me,” she whispered.
Damn it. His own legs refused to move, so he reached out and, grabbing her waist, pulled her off of the stool and into him. “Maybe it’s time for that to change.”
Her eyes widened, but she didn’t move away from him, as his hands left her hips to cup her face. “Jackson…”
“You really think I’m an asshole, huh?” he whispered, searching her eyes.
“Yeah, I really do.”
“Well, kissing you probably won’t change your perception,” he said, swallowing hard.
“Probably not,” she said, her eyes wide. She looked as though she wanted to run away, but her feet were frozen to the floor.
He stared at her mouth. Damn, a kiss from those beautiful pink lips would be worth a slap in the face. One taste of her would be worth unravelling any progress they’d made in becoming friendly. Who the hell wanted friendly? Not him. He wanted wild passion in the Jacuzzi tub and his and hers towels hanging in the master en suite that she’d admired moments before. But her bewildered, hesitant expression told him to proceed with caution.
Reluctantly, he moved away, letting his hands fall away from her. “So, the place. You’re happy with it?”
A look of disappointment competed with a look of relief on her face as she nodded. “Yes. The place is perfect. It was exactly what I was hoping to find to start over,” she said softly.
He nodded. “Great.” He wondered what else she might need to start over, and whether someday he might make that list.