Page 19 of Someone to Have (Skylark #3)
ERIC
I kissed Tinkerbell. What in the hell was I thinking?
Her brother would kill me if he found out.
My sister would kill me. I have half a mind to punch my own face, especially when I think about the flash of hurt in her sweet doe eyes when I gave her that lame excuse about knowing Bryan Limpdick was headed our way.
Claiming I only kissed her to make him jealous.
I can’t believe she bought it when it felt like wanting her radiated from every damn pore in my body.
It still does.
Which is why I’ve avoided her as much as possible since the night of the audition. No more stopping by to bring over food. I still have Rhett deliver meals—because the state of her fridge is pathetic—but I’m keeping my distance.
It’s gotten so bad that I’ve been peeking out the door to make sure the hallway is empty before venturing out, like the giant wimp I am.
A few times, I knew I just missed her because that lavender scent she wears lingered in the hallway, flooding my bloodstream like a drug that’s instantly addicting.
Rhett hasn’t noticed that I’m acting like a complete idiot. The kid is too over the moon about making the JV hockey team and getting the chance to stay for varsity practice most nights.
I still haven’t officially committed to helping as an assistant coach, but I keep lacing up my skates.
I like being on the ice and having a reason to spend time with my nephew.
One that doesn’t involve busting his balls for leaving a trail of teenage crap in his wake, putting away his laundry, emptying the dishwasher, or making sure his homework is done.
I need every excuse I can to occupy myself. For as much training and discipline as I’ve shown throughout my career, staying away from my sweet, sexy-as-hell neighbor is proving to be the single most insurmountable task I’ve ever taken on.
At least I seem to have convinced Toby to stop trying to set me up with every woman he knows.
Mostly because I told him my sister made me promise to keep my dick in my pants.
No one seems to give a shit that it’s been years since I’ve wanted a new woman on my arm or in my bed every night of the week.
That guy feels like a person I don’t even know anymore.
And I’m not interested in becoming reacquainted with him.
I’ve kept up with my team in Munich, only slightly disappointed to hear they brought in a new kid to fill in while I was gone—a kid who happens to be killing it.
My life has been all about hockey since Mom brought home a pair of hand-me-down Bauers in first grade, a rite of passage typical in northern Minnesota, where winters stretch on for months. Finding something to keep an overactive boy engaged was a gift for all of us in our cramped apartment.
If Jen hadn’t needed help, my life this season would have been much like any other. I take better care of my body and mind these days to keep up with the youngsters coming into the league, but I can’t believe how much I don’t miss the grind.
I’ll go back. Of course I will. My contract is up for renewal at the end of the season, and I know I have a couple more years in me. But right now, knowing and wanting are two different things.
Just like I know I should stay away from Tinkerbell. But wanting her is a deep ache in my chest, not to mention what it’s doing to the rest of my body.
I park in front of the Maxwell Construction workshop, pulling on my canvas jacket as I step out.
It’s cold. The kind of dry Colorado air that smells like snow even if there’s none in the forecast. The lot is empty since it’s almost eight on Friday night, but I’m here to pick up a stack of measurements that I need for the job site tomorrow.
We’re under a tight deadline with the house my crew is remodeling, so I plan to work a few hours tomorrow and Sunday.
When I’m not at the rink anyway. The team has a home game tomorrow afternoon, and I promised Toby I’d be there.
I use the key Marty gave me to let myself in, then pause as I hear hammering coming from somewhere inside the space. The workshop should be empty, but I guess I’m not the only Skylark resident with zero plans on a Friday night.
I come around the corner and stop in my tracks.
It’s not just any employee hammering in the quiet.
It’s Tinkerbell, wearing faded jeans and a fitted shirt with a deep V affording a glimpse of bare skin that makes my mouth go dry.
Her thick hair is piled on top of her head in a messy bun with a shop pencil stuck through the center of it.
She has several yard signs—or maybe wooden plaques—spread across one of the work tables. It’s hard to tell from her focused expression whether she’s happy about what she’s doing or pissed to be here.
As I’ve come to expect, that much-maligned bottom lip is snagged between her teeth—the lip I now know to be just as soft as it looks when it was molded to mine. It felt as though her mouth had been made to please me.
I bite back a groan as my mind immediately jumps to all the other things I’d like her to do with that mouth.
If not for my promise to Jen, I might resort to a meaningless hookup just to clear my unwanted obsession with Taylor.
But the truth is, meaningless won’t cut it anymore. Not with Tinkerbell in the mix.
As if she can feel the weight of my stare, she glances up, then promptly slams the hammer down on her thumb.
“Rats,” she hisses between her teeth, and as much as I hate that seeing me is the cause of her distress, the distinctly G-rated expletive causes my mouth to tug into a smile.
“Careful, Tink,” I tell her, striding forward. “You’ve got to watch yourself when dealing with heavy equipment.”
She squeezes her hand into a fist. “A hammer isn’t heavy, and I didn’t expect anyone to be creeping around the place on a Friday night to scare the living daylights out of me.”
“I didn’t mean to scare you.”
I move toward the workbench and take her hand, unwrapping her fingers to look at her thumb.
“You need ice.”
“It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine.” I curl my fingers around her wrist and tug her toward the break room.
I should be irritated that for all my attempts to avoid her, here I am touching her soft skin again.
But the vague sense of disquiet that has plagued me the past few days settles like she just sang my nerves a lullaby in that sweet voice of hers.
“This isn’t a big deal,” she protests. “It’s not the first time I banged myself with a hammer.”
“It’s the first time it was my fault.” I grab some ice from the freezer, wrap it in a paper towel and hand the bundle to her. “Will you humor me and put the ice on your damn thumb?”
She does. “Okay, that feels good.”
Such an innocuous statement, but it slams into my gut like a wrecking ball. Once again, my mind reels with visions of other ways I want to make her feel good.
“We can’t have the star of the show out with an injury, week one,” I tell her, trying to lighten the mood. Or at least remind myself to keep it light.
She blinks up at me. “I’m nowhere near the star,” she says quietly.
“You should be. Is Limpdick that much of an idiot?”
“He’s not an idiot.” She drops her gaze to the paper towel. “I have a supporting part and even a few solo lines.”
“Supporting my ass. You killed it at the audition.”
She gives an awkward laugh. “The male lead is not exactly tall. Bryan said I did well at the audition, but the two leads are a couple. I’m too tall to make it believable.”
“That’s discrimination,” I tell her, placing one finger under her chin until she meets my gaze. “And you’re the perfect height.” For dancing. For kissing. For wrapping herself around me and never letting go.
“I’m happy to be a member of the cast.” She offers another pinched smile. “Plus, I’m the female lead’s understudy. I’ll be learning all of her lines.”
“A fucking travesty,” I mutter.
She moves her thumb back and forth a few times, then tosses the melting wad of ice into the nearby trash can.
“Stop looking at me like that.”
I give my head a little shake. “How am I looking at you?”
“Like you’re disappointed in me. Like you gave it your all as my coach and I failed you.”
Until this moment, I hadn't put it together that her stage fright may be part of a deeper-seated insecurity.
A result of how she was treated from the jump in her over-the-top family.
I don't think any of them understand how damn lucky they are that she turned out so damn kind and perfect.
Right now, the vulnerability in her voice feels like it might rip me apart.
Every protective instinct I have screams at me to fix this.
I want to show her exactly how incredible she is and make her understand that disappointing me is impossible.
Right now, I hate the promise I made to my sister, and the past that keeps me from pulling this woman close the way I want to.
The way I've been dying to since the moment I saw her again.
Where the hell do we go from here? The silence stretches between us, and then she does something that changes everything. She steps closer.