Page 27

TWENTY-SIX

Damon

The pizza is burning the shit out of my arm, but I’m precariously holding on to the six-pack of beer so I can’t shift it, even to save myself from the third degree burns.

Yes, I’m being dramatic.

Also, yes, the pizza is fucking hot .

I knock again, the beer bottles rattling in the cardboard holder, calling, “Let me in, Red.”

Not loudly.

I don’t know who’s staying on this floor, and I don’t want to draw extra attention to me showing up at Joey’s door.

Not now.

Not when I’m barely holding on.

When we’re…

New.

When we haven’t figured out how we’re going to deal with us being us when us being us is messy and complicated and?—

Scary as fuck.

The door swings open.

Fuck, she’s beautiful.

Still in the white button-down and slacks, feet bare, toes painted a pale pink.

“What are you?—”

I step forward, thankful when she retreats, backing into the door and giving me an opening. I slip inside, hurry to the table shoved in the corner, and set the pizza and beer down. “Jesus,” I mutter, shaking my arm out, soothing the overheated skin.

She giggles. “What’s it with hockey boys and the dramatics?”

I narrow my eyes at her. “I bring you pizza and you just laugh at my pain?”

“Try having a period once a month and then talk to me about pain,” she quips back without missing a beat.

And considering I’ve never had a period—and that I also hope to get laid tonight, despite the fears and complications and messiness—I don’t argue, just nod at the pizza and ask, “You hungry?”

She crosses her arms, leans back against the door. “I just finished ordering food from room service.”

“Liar,” I tease.

Her chin lifts. “I’m not lying.”

I know that. Because I know her . Same as I know that she didn’t order actual food. “You called down and put in an order for a sundae.”

Those eyes go wide.

My mouth hitches up. “With extra whipped cream and cherries.”

Those wide eyes go wider.

“I know you, baby.”

“Apparently,” she says dryly. Then she narrows her eyes at me, warning, “I only ordered one.”

Amusement bubbles up in my chest and I shake my head as I open the box. “I bring pizza and beer and I can’t even bum a bite of hot fudge.”

“I had plans for a bath and my sundae, not a hulking hockey player invading?—”

“Former,” I correct, thoroughly enjoying the sass she’s tossing my way.

“Not a former hulking hockey player invading my space and trying to get his hands on my goodies,” she says, not missing a beat. “Even if he does come bearing beer and pizza.”

There’s a comment there about what goodies I’m going to get my hands on, but I keep that thought in my head and tease back, “Even if said former hockey?—”

“Hulking hockey player.”

I grin, correct, “Even if said former hulking hockey player comes bearing your favorite beer?” I knew I was making the right choice in shoving down the fear and listening to Kylie when I saw the small brewery’s ale in the cold case at the pizza joint. “ And your favorite type of pizza?”

“Even then,” she says, chin lifting.

“Ouch,” I joke, clamping a hand to my chest.

But she’s smiling too, and…she’s walking my way. She wraps her fingers around mine, drawing both of our hands down my chest. “Maybe I’ll share one bite.” Just as we reach the good stuff—the waistband of my pants—she drops my hand, reaches around me, and snags a slice. “…of this pizza.”

She tears off a huge chunk, moans as she chews, swallows. “Oh, this is good. Maybe even better than a sundae.”

“Better than me licking that sundae off your naked skin and then us sharing a bath?”

She chokes, eyes going wide.

I grin, gently pat her on the back. Then open a beer and pass it over to her, waiting until she’s stopped coughing to take my own slice.

“So, that game tonight...” I say, even though I’d rather talk about getting her naked and wet.

That’ll come.

Heh. She’ll come.

But later. I want this time with her, need to make sure she’s good.

Plus, room service delivery people always seem to have the worst timing.

She sets the beer down, folds the slice of pizza in half, and takes another bite, chewing and swallowing without the side of choking fit. “You going to chastise me for yelling at the refs?”

“Fuck no.” The blatant favoritism was atrocious.

“Then are you going to ask me if I’m okay taking them on?”

“Also, fuck no,” I say. “You’re a tough cookie, Joey. You’re not about to let a couple of asshole refs rattle you.”

“That’s not what Storm thinks,” she mutters.

I still.

Then curse under my breath. “He told you that?”

She rubs her temple. “No.” A sigh. “He wanted to make sure I was good.” She groans softly. “Right before he tried to ask me out.”

I curse again, but this time it’s not under my breath. “Tell me that dumb fuck didn’t actually ask you out?”

She nods morosely. “Yeah,” she says softly. “I made it clear that couldn’t happen.” She drops the pizza back into the box, sits back and sighs. “But I hurt him, and God, Damon what we’re doing—” Her gaze comes to mine and she shakes her head. “Is it really much better?”

“Of course it fucking is. There’s no power dynamic for one?—”

“Come on,” she mutters. “If you really wanted to get me fired, I have no doubt you could make that happen.”

Shit. “Baby?—”

“For another, if the press finds out—” She drops her hands into her head.

“Here’s the thing, Red.” I sigh, but it’s not in impatience. It’s because I know that my mind hasn’t been much of a better place myself, spinning around and around as I war with what’s right and what I want, what I’m scared of and what we might have. “Logic says this is stupid, that we should keep our distance, stay as work acquaintances at best, friends at worst. Logic says this will likely blow up in our faces and then we’ll be left cleaning up the pieces. I’m a man with a record who’s spent the last decade in anger management and who could technically throw a big enough fit to have you removed from your job. You’re a woman who’s been through hell and back and deserves a fuck of a lot better than me. But even though logic is screaming and the facts don’t line up and it would make more sense if we didn’t keep going with this?—”

Her lungs inflate in a rush, but I continue talking.

“Even though there are a hundred reasons why we shouldn’t do this, all I know is that I’ve come to the conclusion that the only thing I can’t do is let you go.”

She lifts her head and I hold her gaze.

“The only question is if you feel the same way.”