Page 15 of The No Touch Roommate Rule (That Steamy Hockey Romance #2)

“Perfect,” she announces, tossing a T-Rex stuffy and a bunny dressed as a princess into the cart before pointing down an aisle.

“Jammies are next. I’m sure you know their sizes, Luis, and new jammies make everything better.

Hurry scurry.” She pushes the cart in the opposite direction as she orders over her shoulder, “I’ll grab stuff for second dinner and meet you guys by the checkout in ten minutes.

We’re going to be starved after all this shopping. ”

Luis watches her go, a dazed grin on his face. “Your girlfriend’s sweet. A little scary, but very sweet.”

“She is, but she’s not my girlfriend. Yet. But I’m working on it. Hard.”

He chuckles. “I hear that. And don’t give up. I had to ask Lila out five times before she finally said yes.”

As we head to the pajama section, I ask, “Yeah? Why did she say no so many times? If you don’t mind me asking.”

Luis shakes his head. “Nah, I don’t mind.

We were friends first. Her dad was my boss at my first electric job.

Lila and I have known each other since we were kids.

” He clears his throat. “Well, since she was a kid. When we met, she was still a teenager. That was part of it. She was afraid her dad would be pissed if she started dating a twenty-one-year-old when she was only seventeen.”

“Was he?” I ask. “Sorry, I’m nosy tonight. And every night, if I’m being honest.”

Luis stops beside the kiddie PJ table, an explosion of primary colors that gives me a little bit of a headache. “It’s no problem. And nah, her dad wasn’t mad. He knew I was a stand-up guy. How about you? How did you and Makena meet?”

“She used to be my babysitter,” I say, with a grin. “When I was twelve and she was eighteen.”

He snorts. “No shit?”

“No shit.”

“You’re serious,” he presses.

“I am, and it’s not weird,” I insist. “We met again last fall as adults, and there was chemistry. Now, we’re sort of living together, but only because she lost her home and business in the flood, too. Still, I’m hoping it’ll become something more.”

Luis sobers. “Aw, man. I’m sorry to hear that.” He glances in the direction Makena disappeared a few minutes ago. “Takes a special person to go out of her way to help a stranger when she’s lost so much.”

“She’s special. No doubt,” I agree, sighing as I add, “I’m totally gone on her. If she doesn’t agree to date me, I’m going to cry into my pillow every night for a long, long time.”

Luis, who obviously doesn’t know me and doesn’t realize I’m always a little serious when I say melodramatic shit like that, laughs and claps me on the shoulder. “I don’t think you have to worry. She likes you, man. I can tell.”

I hope he’s right.

She certainly looks pleased when we meet her at the checkout with not only jammies, but a few romance novels I grabbed on the way past the book section.

“Look, cowboys,” I say proudly, holding up the three covers. I nod toward the middle one. “The guy in the brown hat is my favorite. He looks handsome, but a little tragic, and look at those quads. Dude fills the hell out of a pair of jeans.”

“He really does,” Luis agrees, studying the cover as he sucks in his small gut. “I’m going to have to get back to the gym.”

“Parker can give you work out tips,” Makena says. “He’s a professional athlete.”

Luis glances my way. “Really? You play football, man? Honestly, you looked kind of familiar.”

I scoff. “Football? No way. Hockey, man. I’m with the Voodoo.”

“Oh, shit, yeah,” he says, a delighted grin stretching across his face. “I caught a game before Christmas last year, man. You guys are good!”

By the time we pull up to his temporary home at The Budgeteer Motel, I’ve forced tickets on him for the upcoming season, and Luis is starting to feel like an old friend.

Sadly, the motel looks like it’s seen better days—from the cracked parking lot to the flickering neon sign, to the scuff marks on the doors. But there are toys visible in several of the windows, which somehow makes the place feel sadder.

His family clearly isn’t the only one seeking refuge in this place.

“Room 108,” Luis says, motioning to the far corner, where his wife is already opening the door.

“Hey! Welcome, y’all.” Lila, a brunette with warm, but tired brown eyes, waves us over, reaching for Luis as he gets closer. “Glad you texted, baby. The rugrats were getting sleepy, but when they heard Daddy was coming home with treats, they found the strength to stay awake.”

Their girls explode around her a second later, one squirming between her legs as the other darts past her on the right to hurl herself into Luis’s arms. Sophie and Sylvie have brown eyes like their mama and Luis’s darker curls and are the cutest—loudest—things I’ve seen in a long time.

The next forty minutes are a blur of kid chatter as Makena commands the tiny kitchenette and proceeds to make magic with two burners and a microwave.

I’m assigned vegetable chopping duty, which I execute poorly enough that she takes the knife away and gives me stirring responsibilities instead.

Luis and Lila help where they can, but we all mostly try to stay out of her way.

Meanwhile, the girls are giddy over their new toys. Soon, a LEGO city is sprouting from the carpet by the old air conditioner, and Roar, the T-Rex, is threatening mass destruction if he doesn’t get candy.

“No, Roar, don’t do it,” I beg, making Sylvie, the older girl, giggle. “Don’t be a bad dinosaur. Be a good dinosaur.”

“Never! I was born to be bad,” Sylvie says in her deep “dinosaur” voice.

“Sounds like you, Parker,” Makena teases from where she’s already plating, making Lila laugh.

“Your daddy, too,” Lila says. “Did I ever tell you girls about when Daddy was little and he took his big brother’s motorcycle out on the highway when he was only thirteen?”

“Oh, hush,” Luis says. “Don’t tell them that story. And don’t you two ever get on a motorcycle. They’re dangerous.”

Lila smiles at him, love in her eyes. “Oh, how the bad boy has changed.”

He hugs her to his side on the small couch. “The bad boy loves his family too much to be bad.”

By ten-thirty, Makena has a feast on the shabby particle board table.

Roast salmon with an herb purée and a steamed veggie medley, she managed to turn into a magical side dish in the microwave.

Not to mention hot rolls, butter she whipped together with some truffle salt, and a bowl of homemade Mac’n’Cheese for the girls.

“How?” Lila blinks. “How did you do this… In here… With that…” She gestures toward the pathetic kitchenette.

“Practice,” Makena says simply. “I’ve cooked in worse conditions. And the rolls aren’t from scratch. So, don’t give me too much credit.”

Lila grins. “I’ll give as much credit as I like. This is…” She takes Makena’s hand, giving it a squeeze. “Thank you so much. For this and the toys, jammies, and books. I’m so grateful to have something to read, and I love that series.”

“Well, you can thank Parker for that,” Makena glances my way. “He picked them out.”

“He has good taste,” Lila says, winking my way, clearly meaning good taste in more than the books.

Meaning her , the woman she assumes is mine.

The woman I really hope will be mine someday soon.

We eat crowded around the tiny table, the girls already in their new pajamas.

The kids chatter about everything and nothing, blissfully unaware of the weight their parents carry, and my respect for Luis and Lila inches up another notch.

They’re not hiding anything from their kids, but they’re protecting them. Sheltering them.

This is what family looks like. Not the passive-aggressive shit my parents pulled for years, putting me so solidly in the middle of their cold war, I never had a shot at remaining oblivious.

The only time I felt as safe as these little girls seem to feel was the month I spent with my grandmother every summer in Oxford.

Safety wasn’t something my parents were good at.

But it’s something I’m going to be good at, I decide as we clean up the dishes while Sophie and Sylvia brush their teeth and Lila turns down the lights.

I’ve never thought much about kids, but now, I think I’d like to have a family to take care of someday. A family to take care of me. People who are mine—forever—and who I never let down, no matter how hard times might get.

The ride home is quiet, aside from Luis assuring us both that he’s caught his third wind and will be going straight home to sleep as soon as he drops us at our place.

“Thank you both,” he says as he pulls up to the house fifteen minutes later. “I’ll never forget what you did tonight. You’re good people.”

“So are you guys,” Makena says sleepily as I help her out of the car. “It was so good to meet you and your family, Luis. I hope everything works out the very best way it can.”

“For you, too,” he says, lifting a hand through the open window. “Take care of each other. And I’ll see you at the rink this fall!”

We return the wave until he’s out of sight, when our tired arms flop back to our sides. Behind us, the house is dark, quiet in that suburban way that used to feel a little bit lonely, but now just feels peaceful.

Because I’m not alone anymore.

I would really like to keep it that way, but tonight isn’t the night to push Makena to redefine the relationship. We’re both too tired, and I have a private PT session first thing in the morning.

“Well, we did the damn thing.” Makena yawns wide. “What a Friday, huh? I’m beat.”

“Me, too. Bedtime procedures?” I suggest.

“Bedtime procedures,” she agrees.

We head inside, through the kitchen, down the darkened hallway to her door. Outside, she turns to face me. Our gazes lock and hold, neither of us looking away. Her mascara’s smudged again, her hair frizzy from standing over the hot plate, and she smells faintly of garlic.

And she’s beautiful.

And I’m pretty sure I’m even more in love with her than I was a few hours ago.

“Listen,” she whispers, that nervous look creeping back into her eyes, “I know things got a little crazy earlier, but I?—”

Before she can finish, I cut her off with a kiss. Not a family bathroom kiss—a slow, steady kiss. A kiss that promises: I’m in no rush.

That I’ll wait.

That nothing between us is “crazy.”

That I’m going to be here, holding the line until she decides it’s safe to trust me.

After a beat, she melts into my chest, her fingers curling in my shirt, and the rest of the world fades away. When we finally break apart a few minutes later, there’s a steadiness in the air between us that wasn’t there before.

“We’ll talk about it tomorrow,” I promise. “Or whenever. No rush.”

She nods, her hands slowly flattening on my chest. She rests them over my heart for a beat, then nods. “Okay. Tomorrow.”

I step back, already missing her warmth. “Night, Mack.”

“Night, Parker.” She reaches for her door handle, then pauses. “And Parker?”

“Yeah?”

“If you jerk off tonight, you have to think of me,” she says with utter seriousness. “Those are the rules.”

I grin. “Well, if those are the rules, I guess I have to obey them. I mean, as long as the same applies to you.”

She gives a mock roll of her eyes. “Girls don’t jerk off. Everyone knows that. We have nothing to jerk.”

“Semantics.”

“Facts,” she counters. She’s through the door now, only her face visible in the gap. “But yeah, I’ll be thinking of you. I always do lately.”

The door closes with a soft click, and I’m left standing in the hallway with the dopiest, happiest smile in human history stretched wide across my face.