Page 5

Chapter Five

“Anyone ever managed to pry the recipe for those scrumptious Peanut Butter Pinwheels out of Raelynn’s greedy little hands? Sometimes a trip to Sugar Squared just isn’t in the cards, but a woman needs her peanut butter fix! Can we start a petition?” Penni’s Puckleberry Tea

Boh

I filled her passenger seat. Overflowed it, legs knocking against the dash, shoulders rubbing the door. I should have arranged a car service to get me home, something with a big, luxury model or an SUV. All the time in the world since we’d come to our little agreement yesterday, but calling for a car service hadn’t occurred to me. I could have picked her up.

I’d be lying if I didn’t admit to breathing a little easier once her old Honda pulled into the Brightside lot. From now until the team released me, she’d be my shadow. Attached to my hip like a good little Designated Medical Guardian.

Not an ideal situation, but better than another night under the Brightside microscope.

My crutches poked between the door and my seat and I shifted, pushing on the damn things, but they were hung up on her luggage in the back seat. Craning my head around, I took in a couple travel bags, one weekender suitcase and a drawstring laundry sack. None of it matched. And despite the number of bags, they were all small. A little of the tightness released from around my chest. She didn’t look like she intended to move in forever and play house. Thankfully, she looked as though she considered our fucked-up situation as temporary as I did.

Her car was too old to have integrated GPS, so she followed the AI voice coming from her phone to navigate the surface streets to my high rise. Just the sight of the entrance to the underground garage eased more of my tension. She slowed to a crawl, but didn’t turn in. My jaw popped. “You missed the turn.”

“No,” she said. “That entrance requires a pass, which we do not have. There’s got to be a guest entrance, too.”

“It’s my fucking apartment building. We pull up and the gate opens. We don’t need a pass.”She slowed to hang a right onto another road, the building still beside us. “No,” she repeated without sparing me a glance. “We do need a pass. What do you think signals the gate to open? It’s not magic. Did you see some attendant when we just passed? No? Then who are you going to demand entry from, hmm?”

“We can—”

“Here we go.” She pulled a sharp right into a narrow passage and in another moment we were in a part of the parking garage I’d never seen before. She stopped a car length inside at a white barrier gate arm, rolled her window down, and leaned out to snatch a ticket from the little machine spitting it out.

When the arm raised, she eased past the barrier and into a secluded area of the garage. Only a few parked cars and plenty of available spots near the elevator. I had the door open and my crutches wedged out in a flash, hobbling toward the elevator, my duffle from Brightside swinging with every lunge I made. Behind me, Novy muttered something just low enough for me not to hear.

I crutch-walked to the elevator, rolling my head to stretch out the tightness in my neck and shoulders. When the doors slid wide, I stepped into the opening and leaned back against the opening to give Novy time to get on board.

She’d slung two bags over her shoulders and carried three more in her hands. She hustled, her body swaying with the weight of all her luggage. My fingers twitched, but no way I could manage her luggage, the crutches and my own bag.

When she slumped inside the elevator, I maneuvered to hit the button for the top floor. The building didn’t have penthouses, but the top floor was split into just two units with ample space and a terrace. Once the elevator stopped and the doors slid open again, I stepped through the opening and led the way to my door.

More muttering behind me had the back of my neck burning. I kicked up my pace to the door, balancing on one foot as I tapped in the security code to open the electronic lock. I shuffled inside, wedging my crutch against the door to hold it open for her to follow. She side-stepped, weaving and rocking under the weight of a dozen bags. I’d thought she’d packed light when I saw the assortment of small bags in the backseat of the Honda, but maybe looks were deceiving and she did think she was moving in.

Well, she was moving in.

I sucked in a deep breath, battling the ball of anger threatening to rise up again. She dropped the bags a few steps from the door and slowly moved further into the apartment.

I’d lived here since signing my last contract. Someone in the organization found the place, handling everything from getting my signature on the lease to furnishing the rooms. Until the run of concussions this year, I’d always spent more time on the road than at home and where I crashed never mattered much.

Without the weight of her bags, Novy drifted through the room, and my eyes dropped to her ass on display in a pair of black and white checkered shorts. A ruffle flirted around each thigh. The sight roused my curiosity, my interest catapulting me into a rushed state of hyper-awareness. Between her big tits and lush ass, she could have been my walking fantasy of the perfect woman come to life.

When she stopped at the kitchen counter, I powered past her to the long black leather sofa stationed in front of a massive TV. I collapsed back into the familiarity of the cushions to the sound of Novy opening and closing cabinets in the kitchen, but I refused to look. Not after getting turned on by a fuckin’ ruffle.

“There’s no food.”

“Order delivery.” I flicked the TV on, settled back to drift through the channels. Anything to avoid looking toward the kitchen and my new roommate.

“I’m not really big on most delivery. Dietician and all that.”

I dared a glance in her direction then. She stood in front of the fridge, the door open, the light inside shining around her. She wore a shirt that left one shoulder bare, stopping just under her tits, conforming to the shape of her and rousing a million questions in my brain. What would all that skin feel like under my fingers? What color gem did she wear in her belly button today? Would she arch into my touch or pull away?

“I’m going to go shop for some food. Any requests?”

I let out the breath I’d sucked in, slow and hopefully undetectable by the eyes she turned my way. “Nope.”

“What’s the code to get back in?”

She popped the digits in her phone, then looked up with a grin. “And your number? How can I be living with you and not have your number?”

A feeling twisted inside me, a weird amalgamation of desire and resistance to having a virtual stranger—having anyone—invade my personal space. The last time I’d shared space with anyone had been during road trips when I still had an entry level contract which required sharing a room. The instant I had a real contract, I’d moved to single rooms and privacy. And I liked things that way, especially right now. Every cell in my body felt primed for action, leaving me at once exhausted and agitated. As much as my fingers itched to test the texture of Novy’s shoulders and thighs, I wanted her gone, too.

“My bags okay where I left them for now?”

“Yeah. The guest room is the one on the left.” I pointed toward the short hallway leading to the bedrooms and my office.

“Got it.” She leaned over and snatched a big purse from the floor. “Then I’ll be back in a bit.”

“Don’t rush on my account.”

A moment later, the door closed behind her, I flipped on Netflix and the K-drama I’d started during my time at Brightside. Reading the subtitles proved easier than listening early on after my concussion, when sharp or loud sounds triggered an instant headache. Sounds no longer made me want to bury my head, but the habit was set. Soundless Korean dramas were my jam.

What I really needed was to keep my eye on the prize and not Novy Dalton’s sweet ass. Keep my focus on doing everything I could to get my health back to one hundred percent. Reclaim my place in the starting line-up for the Renegades this fall. Installing Novy in my apartment was just one little piece of the puzzle. No different than hiring the right off-season strength coach or seeing the right doctors. All stepping stones meant to get me back on the ice.