Page 9

Chapter Nine

"Concussion protocols under review by the commissioner of the NHL. Are changes coming?" Renegades Rinkside Report

Novy

We’d settled into a routine over the next few days. I worked four ten hour shifts during the week. His door was always closed when I left in the mornings, and when I returned, he’d be planted in front of the television watching a K-drama until he realized I’d appeared and then he’d switch to some sports show. I rolled my eyes. As if he was fooling anyone.

Tonight, I pulled the clip from the light stand. The clip that kept it from retracting into itself. One day I might buy a good, solid piece of equipment and not a knock-off, but that day wasn’t today.

In another minute, I’d removed all traces of filming a cooking video, with the sole exception of a Salmon Quinoa bowl. The colorful red peppers and salmon paired well with a lemon herb tahini dressing for vibrant photographs.

I’d made two servings. Both still warm, too.

It would be a shame for them to go to waste.

Boh’d been gone for about an hour, but he’d left the apartment in his long basketball shorts and a tee. Pin pricks of light adorned the night sky through the big window on the far side of the room. We were on the top floor, the only apartment on this level. He took off around this time most evenings, coming back with his dark hair damp and curling against the nape of his neck and forehead. His cheeks splotched with the pink of a good workout. He must be hitting a gym within walking distance, since he still couldn’t drive.

I’d bet the gym was in the building.

Setting a dome cover over the food, I slid into a pair of shoes, and I made my way to the elevator where I pressed the button for the lobby level. Downstairs, I found the discreet sign I’d never paid attention to before and followed a corridor to a glass enclosed room. Boh straddled a weight bench, his head tilted back to stare at the ceiling above. He’d flipped most of the lights off, leaving only a few dotting the long room.

Shadows in the corners, but still enough light to see.

I could see the equipment, for instance. I could also see that he was alone in the room.

I could even see the sweat dampening the front of his gray shirt as he sat on the bench. See the dip and contour of muscle along his heavy thighs where they parted over the bench. See the heavy slabs of his pecs as he drew a small blue towel over his face, the back of his neck.

I swallowed, hard. My toes curled into the soles of my shoes. He’d propped his casted foot to the side. He should look weak, right? With the injury?

He didn’t.

He looked strong. Powerful.

He shifted then and his gaze locked on me through the pane of glass. Pins and needles exploded across my skin. I couldn’t look away. He clenched his teeth, his supple lips flattening. But the flare of light in his eyes didn’t stem from anger. I’d give my best saute pan that the way his eyes dilated had everything to do with desire.

He gripped the towel like it was one of the barbells resting at his feet. The veins and tendons of his forearm popped, tension cascading off him like heat from a forest fire. His eyes seared into me like a predator eyeing his prey; I couldn’t turn away. My lips burned. I swallowed, my mouth suddenly too dry.

What would I do if Bohdan Zacha decided to come for me?

He broke eye contact, looking away and the muscle in his jaw popped.

The spell broken, I rubbed my palms over the belly of my T-shirt. Stop being ridiculous, Novy. Stop thinking silly thoughts. I shoved the glass door open and slowly approached. He stood as I crept closer, balancing on his good foot.

“I made some food… Actually, I made too much food and hoped I could convince you to give it a try? It’s a new recipe I’m working on…”

He stared somewhere over my left shoulder. Stared so hard, I darted a quick glance in that direction to make sure I wasn’t missing something. But we were alone in the dimly lit room. I rubbed the goosebumps from my arms. “It was just a thought.”

He nodded. If I hadn’t been so acutely aware of the man, I would have missed the subtle dip of his chin. He slapped the little towel over his shoulder. “Let’s go.”

“Yeah?” I said in a breathy whisper. I cleared my throat. “Yeah, sure. Awesome. Let’s go.”

The elevator ride back up to the apartment took approximately forty-six hours. He stood beside me, staring straight ahead and I could feel the heat of his body through my clothes. Totally normal. I twisted my fingers in the hem of my shirt. All that heavy lifting on the gym equipment burning up calories and building strength was bound to put off some heat.

He gripped his crutches until his knuckles glowed white and the ribbons of tendon and vessels bulged along his forearm. Since when had forearms become my favorite thing? I whipped my gaze back to the gleaming metal door, wincing at my own reflection glaring back at me. Of course. A new kind of heat warmed my cheeks.

The elevator dinged its way up to our floor. Get a grip, Novy. You’re better than this . But his scent… Holy mother of god, what evil had I committed to be locked in an elevator with a scent like his? Sweat, the residue of his workout drying on his skin and scenting the air with a sort of sweet vanilla flavor that wrapped around my senses and wouldn’t let go.

The instant the elevator doors slid wide, I leapt through the opening, skipping ahead of him to the apartment. I’d lost my marbles inviting the man to eat with me. We’d been doing well, minding our own business, rubbing along without any bumps or hiccups. Did I really want to mess with our status quo?

I opened the door, pushing it wide and scampered ahead of him into the apartment. I needed the distance, a little air that wasn’t drenched with his seductive pheromones, before I had to sit down next to him and eat a meal. Chewing my salmon all the while pretending I wasn’t imagining him naked.

“ Kurva !”

I whirled back to the door at Boh’s loud curse. The door bounced against his shoulder which wouldn’t normally be worth cursing, even by my grumpy roommate’s standards, but his crutch slid on the entryway rug and he listed to the side like a boat about to capsize.

I scrambled back to him, sliding under his arm where his crutch should have been. I wedged one hand on the door and the other flat on his chest. “Steady?”

He grunted, the sound sending a physical ripple from his chest into my hand. “I’m fine.”

But he flung the offending crutch and clamped his arm over my shoulders, his fingers digging into my arm. We shifted enough to let the door close behind us. That muscle popped in his jaw, his frustration as palpable as his shirt under my palm.

I angled my head around to see his face. “Stupid rug. Who needs a rug there anyway?”

I’d kept my tone light, teasing. But his expression didn’t ease. I smoothed my hand over his chest, petting, soothing and searched the hall. He’d flung the crutch all the way into the living room.

A two hundred plus pound man throwing a tantrum should have scared me. I should want to skedaddle to my bedroom and wait out the rage. But I thought maybe it wasn’t exactly rage that sent the crutch flying or had his muscles tensed up and hard as granite beneath my hand.

For a man used to working out and driving toward a big goal with a fiercely competitive nature, the enforced inactivity brought on by his condition had to be driving him mad. I latched my hand behind him at his waist and braced to take more of his weight. “Bring your other crutch to this side, lean into it. I’ll help you. Let’s just move to the living room. Find a drama to watch. We can have a picnic in front of the television.”

In the next breath, he’d angled me against the hallway wall. He slammed his hand over my shoulder as his remaining crutch clattered to the floor. “Don’t.”

His scent hit me again, harder with him hovering over me like some sort of angry beast. The muscle in his jaw popped and relaxed, popped and relaxed, as unrelenting as the man himself. “Don’t what?”

“I’m not a child. Don’t speak to me as if I am.”

I rolled my lips. “I didn’t mean it that way. I can see you’re frustrated, though. I just meant to, I don’t know… calm you, maybe.”

The muscle in his jaw eased a little. The pop melted away. His head dropped, nearly coming to rest on my shoulder. I should have resisted the intimacy. Pushed him back, demanded a little personal space. Instead, I ached to pull him the rest of the way down. To smooth my fingers over the nape of his neck and promise him everything would be okay.

His shoulders heaved with a deep breath and he straightened up again and pushed away from the wall. He maneuvered his remaining crutch under his arm.

I pushed a smile to my lips. “Better?”

He nodded, and now that he no longer had me trapped to the wall, I rushed to get his other crutch. It lay some ten feet away and I took my sweet time moving across the tile. The tips of my fingers thrummed in time with my heartbeat and I pressed my hands to my belly. When I squatted down for the crutch, I pushed out a hard exhale. I needed this distance between us to get my head on straight again, even if only for a moment.

I’d let his scent, his heat, his proximity, everything about the man go to my head and wreck my good sense. Was this how the girl in that video felt? Did he overwhelm her senses, too, so that she forgot about her boyfriend and kissed Boh in the middle of a bar?

Even bad-tempered, he did a number on my equilibrium.

The idea shook me from my Boh-saturated brain fog.

I was the level-headed one. I was the friend others came to for advice. I was not one to make out with playboy hockey players. When I returned his crutch, the tremble in my fingers was nearly imperceptible. “Settle on the couch. I’ll bring your food.”

He tipped his chin down and met my stare. “Bossy, aren’t you?”

I rolled my eyes and turned on my heel. “Or don’t. Totally up to you. But I’m a damn good cook, just saying. And I don’t offer to wait on people often, so you might wanna take advantage while you can.”

His eyes instantly clouded over, though, and he crutched himself toward the bedrooms. “I’ll go wash up before eating.”

* * *

Today was Saturday. And not only was it a Saturday, but it was a bout Saturday, my favorite day of the month.

I smiled at the clothes laying across my bed. Black and hot pink, not exactly my typical aesthetic, but so absolutely perfect. They sang of everything I loved about roller derby. The boldness, the adrenaline, the thrill of competition, the satisfaction of triumphing over our adversary. It was about teamwork and camaraderie and passion.

In my real life, I cared for others. Did what needed doing. Filled the vacancies in my friends’ lives as much as I did in my work life.

But in roller derby, I pushed and shoved and roared my way to victory. I celebrated our wins or sobbed away our defeats, but no matter what, I did it with Scout and the girls.

And I did it in bright pink booty shorts with a ruffle and a tiny pink and black shirt. In the en suite, I applied sparkling pink eye shadow, adding a dozen black, silver, and pink star-shaped gems from beneath my eyes up to my temple. Shiny lip gloss came next. The kind that would probably only last a minute, but made me feel like a girly girl in the best possible way. Flipping my head upside down, I brushed my hair until my scalp tingled, then swept it all over to the side in a fall of brown and gold waves. Once I’d secured it with a couple hundred pins and worked in a couple of neon pink extensions, I could strut away from the mirror knowing I’d do my Killbillies proud.

I slid on a pair of white Keds, picked up my equipment bag and turned to survey the room. Felt like I was forgetting something, but as my gaze drifted over the hotel quality artwork and nondescript gray window dressing, nothing looked out of place. In fact, it looked like housekeeping had already swept through and restored the room to its natural state.

Guess I hadn’t settled in quite as well as I’d thought.

I pulled the bedroom door closed behind me and moved into the kitchen to load up on water and electrolyte replacements. Unsurprisingly, Boh slouched in his usual place in front of the TV.

I stashed a few bottles in my equipment bag and just as I turned to head to the front door, Boh called out a question. “Just what am I looking at right now?”

As much as I wanted to roll my eyes, I resisted the impulse. Derby alter egos were designed to draw attention. “Roller derby, of course. Never seen a derby skater before, have you?”

He shoved up from the couch, crutching closer. He wore basketball shorts and a black v-necked t-shirt that did wonderful things for his chest. “No, actually. I don’t think I have.”

He made a show of eyeing me up and down, lingering in the usual places. “What are you supposed to be?”

I turned, wiggling my rear in the ruffled bootie shorts. Scrawled across the back of my black shirt in pink glittering letters was my derby name, “Novacaine Nellie”. But my ass cheeks were out, doing work. His eyes lingered again, sending a burning awareness up my spine.

“You’re going out in public? In that get-up? In something so…”

“So what?”

“I have definitely not seen a derby outfit before, but I didn’t know they had to be so…”

“What?”

“Tight.”

“It's derby. I’ll put my pads on at the rec center.”

“Pads.” His words held a different cadence than how he usually spoke to me. Deeper, even a little gruff, and they cut through the air between us like a knife. We’d come close to making a mistake last night. What would have happened if I hadn’t pushed him away?

I nodded. “Elbow pads, wrist pads, knee pads, the whole kit and caboodle.” He might be the grumpiest, but he was also gorgeous and I’d have to be a dead woman to not appreciate his admiring look, even if I dare not give into it. I moved to the long, narrow table in the entryway where I’d taken to leaving my keys, a little extra swish to my strut.

“Wait for me,” he said.

His tone reminded me of our first meeting. He was a man used to serving demands. I snatched my keys from the table.

In the next minute, he’d crutch-walked to my side. I slanted him a sharp look. “What are you doing?”

“Going with you.”

“Interesting how you feel just fine inviting yourself along to my derby bout.”

“Take pity on a man. I’m bored shitless. And you, dressed like that? I have no idea about derby or what you’ll be doing, but if it’s half as fun as that outfit, I’m down.”