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“I should be. I’ve been on the constant move since I was ten.”
She reached for his hand and curled her small one inside his. “Being used to it doesn’t make it any easier. I’m guessing that holding part of yourself back is one way to make an exit hurt less.”
He gripped her hand back, loving the warmth and understanding that flowed from her. “I might get kicked off the team if I’m convicted. Or they might decide to put me on waivers or boot me down to the AHL anyway.”
“So no point in making an effort with the guys? Because you could be gone any minute?” She said it gently, her hand still wrapped in his.
“I suppose that’s been on my mind. Keeping things at a surface level just seems …” Safer. “Easier.”
Mittens climbed up his chest, digging his tiny claws into Dex’s tee. He was so needy and Dex loved it.
“Yeah, I get it,” Ashley went on, “and of course your teammates are tight. They’ve had time to build a community. Doesn’t mean they don’t have room for one more. But you need to show them you’re interested, earn their trust.”
“I had a good game last night, so I’ve made it into the inner sanctum.” They’d thought he was a waste of space until he started playing better. Just further confirmation that his value lay in his performance, and he needed to focus on that.
She studied him for a moment. “Give them a chance to see you. The real you.”
Not the party-loving fuckboy who was a magnet for trouble.
“That guy’s kind of boring.”
“Eats his vegetables”—she pointed at the empty soup bowl—“is kind to old ladies”—she shot both thumbs at her face—“and doesn’t get into trouble with the law? That kind of boring?”
“Well, when you put it like that. Especially the kind to old ladies part.” He studied her. “You’re not that much older than me, though. Only five years.”
Her nose twitched, but she didn’t answer. Or rather that nose twitch said it all. Five years might not seem much, but her life experience was completely different from his. This woman had a kid, an ex-husband with co-parenting drama, a life where hockey games and diner visits were special occasions. Not just five years, it was a whole other lifetime.
Dismissing the (small) age difference was one way to let her know they weren’t so far apart. He could give her pleasure, treat her like a queen, and make things better for her. The selfish part of him said that doing these things would make things better for him.
She picked up her soup bowl and took it to the sink. He followed with his and placed it on the counter.
“Can you stay the afternoon?”
She looked alarmed. “I know you’re virile but surely, you’re not ready to go again?”
He chuckled. “Actually, where you’re concerned, I’m always ready to go. But I was thinking more along the lines of eating cupcakes, playing with a kitten, and relaxing. We could watch Netflix and chill, the original meaning. When’s the last time you played hooky?”
“I can’t remember. I’m too much of a?—”
“Good girl?” He grinned and pulled her into his arms.
“You’re not playing fair.”
He kissed the top of her head. “I’m not asking you to stay for a marathon sex session, not that it’s off the table. I just thought that maybe you could take it easy. Aren’t there people you can rely on at the shelter?”
She peered up at him. “You’re a bad influence, Dex O’Malley.”
“So everyone tells me. For once, I’d like my bad influencing to result in something nice for a change. As in nice for someone else.”
She bit her lip, which was so damn adorable he had to kiss her. Sinking into the kiss, she gave a small moan that set him on fire.
“Should we talk about this?” she murmured.
“Enough talking.”
“I mean …” She raised an eyebrow. “You should know I have no expectations.”
You should, though. You should expect the sun and the moon.
