She allows me to steer her into the building, and I wave to the security guy sitting near the elevator.
She whistles lowly. “Damn, this place must be fancy if you have security.”
“Fancy, no, but I’m not the only athlete that lives here.”
“Do other guys on the team live here?” she asks, panic lacing each word as we step into the elevator.
“Just one, but we don’t have to worry about him.”
She tilts her head to the side.
“Keller,” I explain.
“Oh.” She nods a few times. “I see. Has he, uh, said anything about…us?”
I shake my head, and she seems relieved by that. Truthfully, I am, too. I trust Keller though. Even though he’s still giving me the knowing looks, I know he’s not going to say anything to Hutch. That’s just not the kind of guy he is.
We’re quiet as the floors pass us by, but a new sense of awareness hangs between us. I wasn’t even thinking about our past when I brought her here, or about anyone else seeing us together, for that matter. All I could think of was finding her a place to sleep because I didn’t feel comfortable leaving her alone in Hutch’s big-ass house that she’s already struggling to be comfortable in.
I’m sure it’s nothing against him or Auden, but it has to be weird to be suddenly shacking up with the stepbrother you already have a strained relationship with. It’s clear Nessa didn’t think that part through when she came out here looking for a place to stay.
We reach my floor, and I guide us toward the door at the end of the hall. I punch my code in, then push the door open, moving aside to let her pass.
“After you,” I say.
She slips by me, making sure to slink as close to the other side of the doorway as she can so we don’t touch. There’s already been enough of that today.
“It’s not much,” I tell her as I slide my shoes off at the tray in the entryway. She sees me and does the same, and I pretend not to like the way her shoes look sitting there next to mine. I head for the kitchen, feeling her behind me, and open the fridge. “Are you hungry?”
“No, but I’d love something to drink.”
“Water, beer, wine, juice,” I offer. “I’m all out of amaretto sours.”
I wink at her, and she fights a smile as she settles onto one of the stools. “Water is fine.”
I slide her drink her way and grab a beer for myself, popping the top and taking a hearty swig.
“Ahh,” I say, smacking my lips as I settle against the counter.
“Good?” she asks.
“Nothing beats a cold beer after a game.”
“Oh, gosh. That’s right. I completely forgot you played tonight with the whole baby thing. How was it? Did you win?”
“We did. Sent Edmonton home crying into their helmets, which is a great confidence booster to start the season because they’re damn good at what they do.”
She takes a small drink. “Are you ready for the regular season?”
“Yes and no. You’d think after doing this for as many years as I have been, I’d be ready or have things down to a science. But the game is always changing, you know? There’s new talent. Guys get faster and stronger and come up with new ways to score goals. So while I’m ready in the physical sense, I’m not quite there mentally. Usually happens that way until we’re a few games into the season, then I’m locked in and nothing can distract me from the game I love.”
She smiles softly. “I used to feel that way about painting.”
“Still feeling blank?”
“Maybe more than ever,” she mutters. “Which is just sad. What twenty-seven-year-old feels blank?”
Twenty-seven.Fuck, I almost forgot how young she is compared to me. There’s an eleven-year difference between us. That feels like a fucking lifetime…and another reason why nothing can happen.
