“So I did,” I said. I never spoke about my years in Russia—about my dead sister, or my drunkard father. But tonight, instead of walking away from Stol, I stood there, patiently awaiting his next comment. Ida Jane smiled as Naese said they were basically birthday twins, then tossed her head back and laughed when he admitted she was the prettier of the two of them. The lovely sound was deep—from her belly. My chest loosened as my own lips curved upward.
I wasn’t the type who fixated on any woman because I’d decided years ago not to get involved. I didn’t like my lack of control over my body, but Istilldidn’t turn away. Nope, my gaze stayed glued on the petite blond having way too much fun around my teammates.
Her luscious tits tried to spill over the top of her modest neckline and her waist nipped in enough to make me wonder if I could span her middle with my hands. My dick paid attention tothatthought. Her hips were narrower than I’d have expected for such luscious cleavage, and her thighs must be as toned as her bare arms. I’d seen the muscles in her biceps and forearm flex when she slammed her tiny fist into the rat-bastard Dillon’s smug face.
Her brash defense of herself and her dignity both turned me on and amused me. She was a dichotomy: feisty and shy, fiercely protective and timid, that my mind struggled to work out. Like she was a problem. A sexy one with those lush curves that I wanted to stroke.
The two friends tipped their heads together, murmuring, as they took in Naese’s grand living area. The room was big with polished hardwoods and leather furniture. He’d bought it fully furnished over the summer when he signed a three-year contract with the Wildcatters—his first NHL contract, and a good one.
I liked her here, amongst my friends. But that didn’t mean she deserved to end up with a man like me. She merited better than me, though I was better than Dillon. Much better. I’d never degrade her, embarrass or hurt her, never expect her to raise another woman’s child. Mainly because I didn’t plan to have kids. No way would I put a child through what Nadia and I had to live through.
Ida Jane had seemed the type to want a family, but she’d thrown that possibility back in Dillon’s face. He deserved that, but maybe, maybe she thought like I did, wanted to focus on making her world a better place and not forcing new, innocent lives into a shitty existence.
I blew out a breath. That didn’t matter now. I couldn’t let Coach down, couldn’t end up back in the same place Nadia had made me promise to flee.
Naese jumped up on his coffee table and began to sing a completely different song than was on the stereo. I shook my head as I watched him play air guitar—badly. Idiot.
Adam and Naomi hooted, egging him on, while Cruz frowned into his beard. A few women, more than likely single ladies Naese had invited, bopped to the beat, eying Naese with various levels of interest, fascination, and dismay.
The song changed to a popular country tune. Much to my surprise, Ida Jane and Millie started to line dance. I watched, mesmerized, as Ida Jane tossed her honey-colored hair out of her way, grinning as she twirled through the moves with graceful ease.
“Ooh! Look! You know this one,” Naese yelled out, finally noting Millie and Ida Jane dancing. A few of his fan club had joined them. “Show me.”
Naese stumbled off the table and between Millie and Ida Jane. I was surprised when Millie jerked back, clearly not wanting Naese to touch her. Ida Jane steadied my teammate and slowed down her movements, but he was too wasted to follow along.
I brought her the glass of wine as the song ended and she smiled her thanks.
“That was fun,” she said.
“I liked watching you out there.”
“I love to boot-scoot,” she said, taking a deep sip. “Mmm. But I’ll need a couple glasses of water before I dance or drink more.”
“I’ll get us each a bottle,” Millie said. Stol intercepted her and whispered something in her ear. She glanced back at Ida Jane, caught my eye, and took Stolly’s hand.
When the next country song blared out, the guys all cheered Ida Jane until she laughed and offered a dance lesson. By the end of the song, Naese, Cruz, the rookie, Adam, Naomi, Quintin, Nicole, and a few other people were crammed into the open space, line dancing to Ida Jane’s lead.
I offered her a bottle of water when she finally quit dancing. “That’s thirsty work,” she said.
The rookie tried to take over the stereo, which promptly got him tossed into Naese’s pool. He floated out there, arms and legs spread as he stared up at the sky. A couple of Naese’s female guests huddled by the edge, giggling as they watched him.
“This is a wild time,” Ida Jane said. Her eyes sparkled.
“Naese likes to party.”
“You don’t?” she asked.
Her phone pinged as she took a long, deep drag on the bottle. It pinged again, and she tensed. Concern sparked deep in my chest.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Ida Jane, tell me what’s wrong so I can fix it.”
She blinked up at me, her gaze assessing. She wanted to trust me. I could see it in her expression, but she wasn’t sure she should.
Her phone pinged again. With a long breath, she grabbed her phone from her small bag and shoved it into my hand.
