Page 34 of Rebel Secrets (Devils Hockey #3)

Chapter Twenty-Two

Second week of camp

E rin

I spent the next few days replaying Thursday night and the minute I’d spent talking to Rebel.

I hadn’t seen him since then, at least not to talk.

I’d dropped off lunch Friday at the arena, but I’d been running late.

Rebel had still been working with one of the kids when I’d left.

The bakery had been mobbed Saturday, and I was exhausted by the time I cleaned up and left for the night.

When I got home, I considered texting him but fell asleep on the couch and didn’t wake up until midnight and went to bed.

And dreamed about Rebel.

I woke up sweaty and horny. I considered texting him Sunday to ask if he wanted to get together. But I didn’t want that dream to influence any decisions I might make. And every time I was around Rebel, my brain felt like some had stuck a whisk in there and scrambled it around.

Since I’d lived most of my life with my brain stuck in a whirlwind, I knew this was different. I liked Rebel. I more than liked Rebel. And that was a problem. I wasn’t sure how he felt about me.

Ugh. I felt like the awkward teenager I’d been fifteen years ago. And it was only going to get worse. My mom would be here in half an hour.

Yay.

Not.

Now the guilty hit. I should be happy to see my mom. And I was. I just knew I’d be exhausted by the time she left, no matter how long she stayed.

“Top me off, kiddo. Need a little more caffeine to deal with my daughter.”

Granddad sat at a table in the bakery, waiting for my mom to make her appearance. Most of the breakfast rush had come through already and only a few tables were taken. Great. Something else for Mom to comment on.

Okay, get a grip.

I gave the refrigerated case another swipe with glass cleaner to make sure it gleamed, then turned around to make sure all the tables were clean and there was nothing on the floor.

“Sweetheart, take a load off. The place looks great. There’s nothing to criticize.”

I snorted. “Have you met my mom?”

Wincing, I walked over to give my granddad a hug. “Sorry. I don’t mean to?—”

“Oh, honey, no need to apologize.” He hugged me back. “Just remember your mom loves you. She’s just…” he rolled his eyes, “a little demanding.”

I was about to respond when the door opened, and Rebel walked through.

My mouth dropped open.

“What are you doing here? Why aren’t you at camp?”

He didn’t answer right away. Nodding to Granddad, he walked up to the counter, dressed for camp in track pants and a dark t-shirt with the Devil’s logo that molded lovingly to his chest. My attention stuck on how good he looked in that shirt, and when he got to the counter, he leaned against the counter, his gaze holding mine.

“I need coffee. And a cherry almond scone.”

Words wouldn’t come, my brain trying to make sense out of what he’d said.

“Coffee? You have coffee at the arena.” I shook my head, like I was trying to make the words, out of the corner of my eye, I saw my granddad shake his head and turn to the side, but not before I glimpsed his smile. What was going on?

Then I caught sight of the other customers, all of whom were regulars, staring at us and grinning. If Rebel saw any of this, he either didn’t care or… well, he probably just didn’t care.

Wait, did they know what had happened the night of the wedding?

No. No way. No one knew about that. I hadn’t told anyone, and I know Rebel wouldn’t have told anyone.

Oh my god, maybe someone had seen us at the arena? No, that was even more unlikely?—

“Erin. Coffee. Black, please.”

I refocused on Rebel, eyes narrowed as I tried to figure out what was going on. Did I have something on my face? Was my skirt ripped and my ass was showing? What the hell was going on?

With a huff, I turned to the coffee machines, grabbed an extra-large cup, because that’s all he ever ordered, and filled it to the brim. I reached for a lid, figuring he’d take it and go, but he said, “Don’t bother. I’ll drink it here.”

Okay, now I knew something was up. I set the cup in front of him and crossed my arms over my chest, staring at him like I could get him to tell me what was going on with only the power of my gaze.

He stared back, his lips puckering to blow on the steaming coffee. Damn the man for having lips I wanted to bite—and feel on the inside of my thighs. Heat started at the top of my head and worked its way down my body, right to my core.

Shit, shit, shit.

I absolutely did not need this now. Not when my mom’s Town Car pulled up to the curb outside the bakery. I sucked in air, my desire for Rebel combining with the anxiety of my mom’s visit, making me a complete flaming idiot.

Until Rebel put his hand over the fist I was making with my left hand. I hadn’t even known I was doing it, but the warmth of his grip made me relax, just enough to take a deep breath.

“I’d really like that scone to go with the coffee.”

His soft rumble drew my attention away from the window, where the driver was getting out of the car and walking around to back passenger door. His dark gaze held mine, reminding me of the time we’d spent together lately. Naked. And a little of that anxiety about my mom leached away.

There were so many reasons that shouldn’t be possible. And yet, Rebel made it so. Our secret affair (how that word fit into my life right now was crazy) gave me something else to obsess—no, to focus on. Having Rebel here helped ground me.

I hadn’t even noticed my mom get out of the car, but the door to the bakery opened, the little antique bell tinkling as it did, and my mom walked through. Before I could watch her dissect my pride and joy with her critical mind, I turned to get a plate so I could get Rebel his scone.

Behind me, I heard my granddad say, “Hello, Pammie. How are you, sweetheart?”

I heard my mom’s slightly annoyed, slightly amused sigh at the nickname, the one only her father was allowed call her. And then she hugged him.

“Daddy, it’s good to see you. All this country air you keep talking about must have magical properties. You look…better.”

Now she had my full attention. My mom didn’t give out compliments often. And even though that might sound like a back-handed one to some people, I heard actual emotion in her voice.

In my mind, I heard my therapist’s voice say, Just because your mother doesn’t act like you doesn’t mean she doesn’t have feelings. She just expresses them differently than you do.

But then she turned to me, and I felt myself put on that fake smile I always used around her.

In my peripheral vision, I saw Rebel’s gaze narrow, like he knew I was faking it. I watched him turn from the counter, walk over to Granddad’s table and set his coffee and plate down.

“Pammie,” Granddad said, “I want you to meet Rebel Lawrence. Rebel, my daughter, Pamela Wright.”

My mom turned to Rebel, in his t-shirt and track pants, and I braced for her to dismiss him with barely a look. Instead, she took his hand.

“Reston Lawrence’s son, yes?”

Oh my god. Rebel smiled at her. Like, flat-out smiled, and it was glorious. I had the insane urge to tell my mom that I’d slept with him, twice, as if that might give me a little more standing in her eyes.

“Yes, Ma’am.”

Jesus, you need to get a grip.

The world felt out of whack today. Rebel wasn’t supposed to be here. He wasn’t supposed to be talking to my mom. I still didn’t know why he wasn’t at practice. Had something happened?

And my mom was here, and she and Granddad had hugged. Actually embraced. I couldn’t remember the last time they’d done that. Then again, I couldn’t remember the last time they’d been in the same room together since I’d moved here almost five years ago.

Okay, that was an exaggeration. Granddad and I had gone home to the Hamptons for Christmas last year. And he and Mom had seemed on much better terms then, though I hadn’t really noticed. I’d been caught up in my own drama. Like always.

“Erin, honey, your bakery looks charming.” Now the world tilted on its side. My mom had just given me a compliment. “Is it a slow time?”

She looked around, assessing everything, and I wanted to rush to tell her that it wasn’t always this quiet, that she’d just missed the morning rush and lunch rush wouldn’t start for another hour and a half. I felt the need to justify everything.

Instead, I took a deep breath and nodded. “Yes, it is.”

“Good. Then you have time to talk.”

I didn’t really. I needed to get started on to-go sandwiches, and I had rolls and bread in the ovens.

“Actually, I have some things to do in the back. You can come with me, if you want.”

Her brows arched, the only outward sign of her surprise. “Of course. I’d love to see the kitchen.”

Since I couldn’t tell if she was being sarcastic or sincere, I nodded and turned to lead her into the back.

“I’ve got to prep for lunch, so we can talk back here.”

Checking the bread, I pulled it out just before the buzzer was ready to do off. My mom walked over to the racks where I stored the bread and drew in a deep breath.

“Oh, that smells amazing. I’d love to try some, but gluten doesn’t agree with me anymore.”

Since she sounded sincere, I pushed down the hurt that she didn’t want to try my bread and asked, “I’m sorry. Is that a new issue?”

She hummed an acknowledgement. “I was diagnosed as gluten intolerant about a year ago. It’s definitely taken some getting used to.”

I froze. “I didn’t know that.”

Mom looked me in the eye. “You haven’t been around to tell.”

While I looked at her with my mouth hanging open, she strolled around the room, looking at everything.

The ovens were well used, and the outside could do with a little polish, but everything was clean.

Sure, there were crumbs everywhere and my decorating tools sat in the sink to be washed along with several muffin tins and cake pans.

The hockey camp lunches lay unconstructed but ready to be put together on the prep table on the far side of the room.