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She shook her head. “You don’t understand how things work around here.”

Coulton had gotten stiller and quieter with each of her responses. Then his gaze drifted lower, not in the creepy way most guys looked at her. Instead, she got the feeling he was checking her over to make sure she was okay.

She followed his gaze, cussing when she realized her shirt was torn and hanging open, her tatty black bra showing. “Goddammit. They ripped my favorite shirt.”

“Get your stuff,” Coulton said darkly.

She glanced up at him. “What?”

“Your stuff. Get it,” he replied, enunciating every word like she was four cards short of a deck.

She wanted to take offense, but she also wanted to go home, lick her wounds, and crawl into bed for the next thirty years or so.

So she did something she never did. Followed an order.

Walking to the register, she took out the crappy few one-dollar bills the assholes left behind. She’d pulled a ten-hour shift and had all of seven dollars and twelve cents to show for it.

She shoved the bills into a bank bag and locked it into the safe behind her. Only she and Mick had the combination, something that made Eli see red every time she opened it to lock their money away from him. Because of the previous muggings she’d mentioned, neither she nor Mick ever carried cash out of here at night, doing their bank deposits in the bright sunshine of morning, when there were a lot more people out and about.

Once the safe was closed, she grabbed her purse, glancing around at the destruction. Several of the barstools had been knocked over in her attempt to scale the counter to escape. A few other tables and chairs were askew from their brawl, and one table—the one Coulton had thrown Luigi into—was damaged beyond repair and headed to the dumpster tomorrow. Her baseball bat lay in the middle of the floor.

She started to bend over to pick up one of the stools.

“What are you doing?”

“I should…” She sighed.

“Leave it,” Coulton said. “You should leave it.”

He was acting strangely, but not in a bad way. In truth, she was kind of touched by how concerned he was. Especially since they didn’t know each other that well.

She nodded, walking to the door. Once they were both outside, she locked the door, then pulled down the metal gate, listening as it snapped into place.

“Well,” she said awkwardly as they stood there. “Um, thanks.”

Coulton gestured to a truck parked across the street, offering to drive her home.

“I only live a few blocks that way,” she said, pointing down the street.

Coulton’s scowl returned. “You walk home alone at night in this neighborhood?”

She grinned. “Of course not. My driver will be here with the limo any minute.”

Coulton ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t want you to go home if there’s no one to look after you. You took some hard hits, and your lip is still bleeding. I have a guest room. You can stay with me.”

Ainsley laughed. “Yeah. No. That’s not happening. I might have taken a couple of knocks to the head, but they didn’t knock me senseless. I barely know you.”

Coulton considered that for a few moments, then pulled his phone out of his pocket, calling someone before putting it on speaker. “Hi, Jerome, it’s Coulton. Sorry for calling so late. I’m here with Ainsley.”

“Hey, Coulton, Ainsley. How’s it hanging, girl? Haven’t seen you in a minute.”

“I’m cool,” she lied.

“There was an incident at the bar, Jerome, and Ainsley was hurt,” Coulton replied.

Ainsley wasn’t sure whether she was more confused by this call or pissed that he was sharing her private information. She didn’t like for people to know her business.

“She won’t go to the hospital, so I’ve offered to take care of her. Got first-aid stuff back at my place. She’s leery,” he continued, looking at her. “And rightly so, because we don’t know each other that well. But I was hoping you would vouch for me.”

“Oh, hell yeah, man. Coulton’s a stand-up guy, Ainsley. You can trust him. He’s awesome with Slade, changed the kid’s life.”

Ainsley blinked a couple of times as her eyes teared up. She was blaming exhaustion, refusing to attribute anything else to this unfamiliar emotion. Coulton wanted to take care of her, but he also wanted her to feel safe.

Who the hell was this guy? Because genuinely good men were few and far between in her world.

“Thanks, Jerome,” she finally managed to say, her voice sounding thicker than usual.

“No problem. I’ll stop by Mick’s one day and we can catch up.”

“I’d like that.” Ainsley had always liked Jerome, but they’d drifted apart after graduation, their loose connection based on the fact her high school friends had been friends with his.

“Hope you’re okay, Ainsley.”

“I’ll be fine,” she reassured him.

Coulton added his thanks, then hung up the phone. “So you’ll come home with me?”

Ainsley glanced down the street, the idea of walking into her shitty apartment that still stunk of stale cigarettes, despite the fact Mick had stopped smoking a year ago, too depressing to consider.

Coulton frowned when she didn’t answer right away. “Do you seriously think I’m trying to pick you up? After what you just went through? Those guys were planning to rape you, Ainsley.”

She shivered, preferring not to think about that. She’d been losing the fight, but pride wouldn’t let her admit it.

Tonight could have been so fucking bad, and she would have been powerless to stop it.

She was used to feeling hopeless, but not helpless.

“I’m offering you my guest room,” Coulton added. “Where you will be sleeping alone. Did you eat dinner?”

She shrugged. “Heated up some of those crappy microwavable pizza bites at the bar.”

He sighed. “I’ll make you something healthy to eat, after I check your injuries. Then you can soak in a hot bath and go to sleep. So are you coming with me or not?”

“Yeah,” she said, nodding. “I am.”

Coulton smiled like she’d done something nice for him , when it was really him offering the kindness. Then he placed his hand on the small of her back and walked her to his truck, where he opened the passenger door for her.

They were quiet on the drive to his place. She hadn’t even thought to ask where he lived, so she was shocked when he pulled up in front of an upscale apartment building on the waterfront in Fell’s Point. It was a nice area, and a far cry from Cherry Hill.

“You live here?” Ainsley asked, as she stepped out of the truck. She belatedly realized she knew next to nothing about this man she’d come home with.

But she wasn’t afraid. Because, even with the lack of specific details, she’d gotten a feeling about Coulton from the first second he’d sat down at the end of the bar. Between her instincts—which admittedly usually sucked—and Jerome’s reassurance, she felt safe with him.

Safe?

Jesus. Maybe she’d taken some harder hits tonight than she thought, because her trust issues had fucking trust issues. And no one made her feel safe.

“I do. Been here just over two years,” he said, entering the security code for the building before opening the door and escorting her to the elevator with that gentle touch on her back that she liked way too much.

He pushed the button for the top floor.

“Where were you before?” she asked.

“Vancouver,” Coulton said.

“Oh, cool. I didn’t realize you were Canadian.”

Coulton chuckled. “I’m not. I’m originally from Detroit. My parents still live there, so I go back to visit a few times a year.”

“You’re close to them?”

“Hell yeah. Only child of older parents who never thought they’d have kids.”

“So what I’m hearing is you were spoiled rotten,” she teased.

Coulton laughed but didn’t deny it.

Before she could ask what had taken him to Canada and then brought him to Baltimore, they reached his floor. Coulton opened the door to his condo—and her mouth fell open as she took in the large, open space with floor-to-ceiling windows. His place was on the waterfront, and the moon sparkled off the river, the sight so beautiful, Ainsley had to force herself to tear her gaze away. If she were alone, she would spend hours taking in that view.

When she continued her perusal of this place, her eyes landed on a wall that contained a huge shelving unit filled with countless trophies and photographs of Coulton.

In goalie gear.

More specifically, professional hockey gear.

“You play for the Stingrays?”

Coulton nodded. “And Vancouver before that.”

“Holy shit. When you said you wanted to take me to a hockey game, and I said…”

He grinned, both of them recalling her comments about hating the sport. “Yeah, my ego took a bit of a hit there. Was kind of hoping taking you to a game might impress you.”

Ainsley hadn’t underplayed her disdain for sports. When the patrons of the tavern were getting wasted and bitching about whatever team was losing, she tuned it out, completely uninterested.

“I’m the goalie,” he added.

She pointed to a collage of photos of him on the ice. “Yeah. I figured that out. Do you even have to move when you’re playing, or do you just stand in front of the net? Because I can’t imagine much getting by you,” she said, gesturing to his large frame.

Amused, Coulton laughed. “I have to put in a little work.”

“Jesus, if the guys at the tavern figure out who you are…” Ainsley couldn’t even begin to imagine how excited they would be. Professional athletes were the equivalent to the royal family at Mick’s.

Coulton shrugged, clearly unconcerned if that should happen. “Petey seems to think my name is Colt.”

Ainsley laughed. “He’s hard of hearing. Even so, I’m surprised they didn’t recognize you. They really like watching the Stingrays play.”

“It’s easier for me to walk around unrecognized, thanks to my helmet. But it’s not a big deal if they find out. I like talking to fans. It’s nice connecting with them.”

“Yeah, you’ll definitely rethink that if it gets out at Mick’s. You think they swarmed you after that confrontation with Eli? Finding out you’re on the Baltimore team will be next level.”

Ainsley continued her perusal of his condo, because the first few minutes here had been enlightening to say the least. Her attention was drawn to a cage on a cabinet across the large living room. She stepped up to it, but it was empty.

Coulton followed her. “Sofia is in there. You just have to dig around a bit.”

Ainsley watched as Coulton gently dug through a bunch of white fluff before he closed his hand around something, pulling it out of the cage. When he opened his hand, he revealed the tiniest, cutest little creature she’d ever seen.

“Oh my God. What is that?” she asked, lifting her hand to touch it.

“A dwarf hamster.”

The image of gigantic Coulton holding the smallest pet on the face of the earth was too adorable and hilarious. She laughed. “This is your pet?”

Coulton didn’t take offense at her reaction. “She’s my sweetest baby,” he said, cooing to the tiny creature, gently touching the hamster’s head. “Want to hold her?”

Ainsley was dying to. She held out her hand and giggled when Sofia wiggled, tickling her. “She’s so cute! But I’m struggling to make this pet fit with you. You seem better suited to a big-ass dog.”

Coulton chuckled. “I have to confess, getting a dwarf hamster wasn’t my decision. My neighbor across the hall, Lee, got Sofia for his daughters for Christmas, but the girls were too young. They kept taking her out of her cage and they were a bit rough. Lee was afraid they’d hurt her or lose her, so he asked if I minded taking her. The girls are four and six, and they have visitation rights. Plus, they feed her when I’m out on the road with the team.”

“That’s so cool.”

Coulton took the hamster from Ainsley and put her back in the cage. “We can finish the tour of my place after I take a look at you.”

Ainsley followed Coulton to the kitchen, where he reached into a cabinet under the sink and pulled out a first aid kit. “Not exactly a stranger to patching up injuries,” he explained. “My pads protect a lot, but every now and then, I take a hit.” He gestured to a stool next to the island. “Sit there.”

Ainsley continued to shock herself as she simply did what Coulton said without arguing. It occurred to her that in addition to her trust issues, she also had some serious problems with authority. God, a therapist could use her head as an amusement park.

All those problems fell away when she was with Coulton, though.

He used his finger to gently tip her head back, his gaze traveling over her face. “You’ve got a bruise on this cheek,” he said, stroking it softly. “But I don’t think you’ll have a black eye.” He cleaned her bloody lip with such care, Ainsley had to blink back some more of those cursed tears. Then he dabbed it with some Neosporin. “It’s the good stuff. Includes painkiller.”

She nodded appreciatively. Her lip was sore, but nothing unbearable.

Then Coulton lifted her arms, scanning them, frowning at the bruises already darkening the skin that her tattoos were doing nothing to hide. “Motherfuckers,” he muttered under his breath.

“You did way worse to them,” she said with a grin, hoping to lighten his mood.

It didn’t work.

“They should be behind bars for hurting you, Ainsley.”

She didn’t respond to that.

“What else hurts?” he asked.

She pointed to her head. “Mario was a hair-puller. And not in a fun way.”

“Mario? You knew those guys?”

She quickly shook her head. “No. I was calling them Mario and Luigi in my head.”

That finally got her a hint of a smile. He ran his fingers through her hair. Even with her sitting on the tall stool, he was able to look down. His touch was more massage than investigation, and it felt like heaven. Ainsley had to work not to moan. It felt that good.

“Where else?” he asked.

Ainsley lifted her shoulders because the rest of her injuries were no doubt bruises, just like the ones he could see. The only difference was, these bruises were under her clothes.

“Ainsley,” he persisted.

“They kicked me in the stomach,” she said, gesturing vaguely to her midsection.

Coulton’s scowl was dark as he reached for the hem of her shirt. She’d been holding the giant rip at the top together as best she could, but she let it fall open as she gripped his wrists to stop him. The man was seriously strong. He didn’t shake her off, but he also didn’t relent. “You could have bruised or even broken ribs.”

“I don’t.”

“How do you know that?” he asked.

“Because I’ve had them before. They would hurt worse than they do.”

“Broken ribs?” he asked.

“Eli and I have had some knockdown drag-outs in our day. He shoved me down the stairs in our apartment building once when I was a junior in high school. Bruised ribs and a concussion.”

“Your brother did that to you?”

She shrugged, not mentioning that fight with Eli didn’t even crack the top ten as far as ways he’d tried to hurt her. Of course, the list had been adjusted tonight, as almost getting her raped by two assholes rocketed to the number one position. “It’s no big deal. Got me out of going to school for a whole week. So silver linings and all that shit,” she joked lamely.

Coulton held the hem of her shirt, but he’d stopped trying to take it off her. “I want to check that you’re okay, but I understand if it makes you uncomfortable. I think we should revisit the hospital idea.”

“Nope. And you can admit it. You’re just trying to sneak a peek of my tits.” Shyness had never really been an issue with her, so she stopped trying to fight him, shrugging off the shirt. It wasn’t like it was serving much purpose anyway. Coulton had already gotten an eyeful of her bra and chest in the bar.

She lifted her arms in a “here I am” gesture. Coulton didn’t smile, his eyes sliding over her, his brows furrowed. His scowl was back. “That’s a hell of a bruise on your arm.”

“Yeah. I sort of fell over the bar and landed on it.”

“And on your side.” His fingers feathered over her midsection.

“That was where Mario kicked me. Felt like the fucker was wearing steel-toe boots.”

He gently poked and prodded her arm, his gaze locked on her face, making it necessary for her to shield her reactions. She had a pretty good idea Coulton would drag her ass to the hospital at the slightest wince.

“I’m fine,” she insisted.

He continued probing, but after a few more minutes, he seemed satisfied that she wasn’t lying to him. Then he shocked her by taking off his own shirt—hello, Mr. Eight Pack—and pulling it over her head.

“Anything else hurt?”

She shook her head, tempted to mutter “my pride,” but she held that tidbit in.

Coulton offered his hand, helping her from the stool and leading her down the hallway. Opening a door, he gestured inside. “The guest room.”

Ainsley stepped inside, feeling like she’d walked into a parallel universe, because no place in her real life was anywhere near as nice as Coulton’s condo. The guest room was painted a soft gray, and a king-size bed dominated one wall, covered with a fluffy duvet and pillows that looked brand-new, pristine, soft. “This is the guest room?”

What the hell must his room look like?

“Bathroom is through that door,” he said, pointing without following her into the room. She knew that was on purpose, Coulton holding steady to his determination to make her feel safe.

“Why don’t you take a nice long soak in the tub while I make us something to eat. There’s a new toothbrush in the vanity and a bunch of other toiletries. You should find everything you need.”

“Have lots of unexpected overnight guests?” she asked, wishing her question was a joke rather than misplaced jealousy.

“Nope,” he replied. “You’re the first one.”

Ainsley decided that had to be a lie, because there was no way a hot guy—and professional athlete—didn’t have a revolving door of women in and out of this place. Of course, if he did, they weren’t sleeping in the guest room.

Coulton left her on her own, so she walked to the bathroom, her eyes nearly popping out of her head when she saw the big tub.

She felt like she should skip the bath and take a quick shower instead. After all, soaking in a stranger’s tub would be strange, right?

Unable to let that conviction stick, she plugged the tub and started running the water. Because she hadn’t had a bath since…maybe ever? At least not since she was a little baby and too young to remember. No one in their right mind would sit their bare ass down in the bathtub in her family’s apartment, thanks to the rust stains and mildew that no cleaning product on the market could touch, and the apartment she’d rented with Jagger only had a small shower stall.

Once the tub was nearly full, she stripped off her clothes and slipped in, sinking into the honest-to-God hot water. The standard temperature for her showers at home was tepid.

Alone, she didn’t bother to hold in her moan of pure delight as she lay down, only her head remaining above the steaming water. Reaching for the clean washcloth on a shelf beside the tub, she squirted some bath wash on it, running it over her body. Then she held her nose and dunked her head under the water, wetting her hair so that she could use the expensive citrus-scented shampoo. Rinsing out the suds, she repeated the process with the conditioner, then lay still, letting the heat work its magic on her sore body.

She’d never felt this clean or relaxed in her life.

Ainsley remained in the bath, nearly falling asleep, until the cooling water and her empty stomach told her it was time to get out.

Grabbing a towel, she dried off, the soft cotton so nice against her skin. When she returned to the bedroom, she was touched to discover Coulton had placed one of his T-shirts and a pair of boxers on the bed for her to sleep in. She pulled the shirt on, the huge thing falling to her knees, covering up the boxers completely.

She considered tugging on her jeans but couldn’t make herself do it. She wanted to enjoy this feeling of being clean for as long as she could.

She showered every day, so it wasn’t like she was dirty, but that soak in Coulton’s tub had done more than merely scrub the surface. It had gone deeper than that. In ways she couldn’t fully understand or explain to herself.

She roamed around the guest room for a moment, trying to get a feel for the guy. She stopped by the dresser, picking up a picture frame. The photo was of Coulton with an attractive blonde, the two mugging for the camera, looking so happy and in love, it almost took Ainsley’s breath away. The blonde looked exactly like the type of woman who should date a guy like Coulton—pretty, sweet, clean-cut, with perfect teeth, stylish clothes, soft, wavy, natural blonde hair that had probably never seen a bottle of dye.

She’d bet every dime she had the woman didn’t have a single tattoo, and her only piercings were the ones in her earlobes filled with those tasteful diamond studs.

Diamonds.

Ainsley scoffed, put the frame down, and decided she’d seen enough.

Walking to the kitchen, she took a second to watch Coulton, whose back was turned. He’d put on a clean shirt too, which was a shame.

Although, even fully dressed, he cut an impressive form.

Jesus, the man’s ass in those tight jeans was a work of art.

“There you are,” he said, turning and catching her creeping on him. “I was afraid you’d fallen asleep.”

“That bath was… I’ve never taken…” She stopped. She’d almost admitted it was her first bath, which felt too personal and humiliating to share.

Coulton looked at her for a second, waiting for her to continue. When she didn’t, he finished for her. “Never taken a bath?”

She tried to tell herself the reason her cheeks felt hot was the residual effects of the bath. Not embarrassment. “It was amazing,” she said, rather than admitting he was right. His expression told her that her confession wasn’t necessary.

“Come eat.” He placed bowls on the kitchen island, along with bottles of water, and the two of them claimed stools, side by side.

Coulton handed her a bottle of salad dressing. “Didn’t put this on because I wasn’t sure if you liked balsamic vinaigrette. If you don’t, I have ranch, blue cheese, or Caesar in the fridge.”

“This is great.” Ainsley tried to remember the last time she’d eaten a salad. If she could even classify this as a salad. Hers were typically the premade variety from the grocery store that she could only afford when they were one day from going bad.

Coulton’s salad was as big a masterpiece as his ass. He had three different kinds of greens, fresh tomatoes, cucumbers, red onion, hard-boiled eggs, chunks of blue cheese, real bacon bits, and what she swore looked like homemade croutons. He’d topped it with sliced, seasoned chicken breast, and her bowl alone contained enough to feed a family of five.

“This is delicious,” she said, forcing herself to make conversation when all she wanted to do was shovel the mouthwatering food into her mouth.

“I promised you healthy.”

The two of them ate in silence, and Ainsley appreciated the fact Coulton wasn’t one of those people who felt like he had to fill the quiet with meaningless chitchat.

“Thanks for the shirt and boxers,” she said after a few more bites. There was no way she was going to be able to eat the entire bowl. She wondered if it would be rude to ask for a doggie bag, because she hated the idea of wasting such delicious, expensive food.

Coulton must have noticed her slowing down. When she tried to hide a yawn, he put his fork down. “Had enough?”

She knew he was asking about the salad, but her nod covered a hell of a lot more. Because she’d had more than enough of so many things.

This day.

This life.

Coulton reached out, and she took his hand without even thinking about it. He walked her back to the guest room, keeping her hand tucked in his the whole way. He stopped at the door.

“Want anything else? Tylenol?”

She shook her head. “I’m okay.”

He pointed down the hall to a closed door at the end. “I’ll be right there if you need me.”

“Thanks, Coulton. For everything. Tonight was…” She stopped.

“It was shitty, horrible, the worst,” he finished for her. “And you and I are going to talk about it. But not tonight.”

She would be fine with never talking about it, but Coulton didn’t seem like the type of person to let things lie. No doubt he resided in that camp that thought talking made shit better.

Ainsley, in the meantime, was a firm believer in burying all the bad stuff deep and never looking back.

But she didn’t get a chance to let him know the conversation about tonight was off the table, because her brain short-circuited and every sore part of her body redirected its pain to her pussy when Coulton kissed her bruised cheek.

“All better,” he teased with a wink. His lips were soft and warm and touching in the wrong place, because she really—REALLY—wanted him to kiss her for real. In fact, it was on the tip of her tongue to remind him that her lip was hurt too.

She huffed out a soft laugh instead, exhaustion overpowering even her hormones. It really had been a shitty day.

“Good night, Ainsley.”

Coulton waited as she walked into the room and closed the door. It didn’t occur to her that she hadn’t locked the door until she’d climbed under the sheets. That fact drove home just how safe she felt with Coulton.

She didn’t even sleep in an unlocked room in her own home, not trusting her brother not to rifle through her stuff to steal, or her dad not to come in and whale on her if he got pissed. Mick had a hell of a temper, and she’d been woken up more times than she could count by him slapping her after discovering some transgression, like she hadn’t done the dishes or had forgotten to buy something he’d asked for from the store.

Ainsley shoved those thoughts away because she didn’t want them tainting this single perfect moment.

Her stomach was full.

She was clean and warm.

And this was the most comfortable bed she’d ever been in.

She burrowed deeper under the soft covers and drifted into the best sleep of her life.