When I hear the knock on the door all the butterflies I’ve been trying to quell inside me take flight. I haven’t seen him since that kiss. They had a game last night but he texted me before it, after his date with Lizzie, to tell me it went smoothly and asked if he could swing by today after his running clinic. Of course I said yes. I wanted to see him and figure out exactly what the hell is going on between us.
I glance at my reflection in the mirror in the hall. I spent two hours getting ready this morning. I curled my hair but then messed it up so it looked natural and applied all the natural-colored makeup I could find so I didn’t look like I was actually wearing any and I even tried three lipsticks before settling on one that was only a shade darker than my natural lips. My clothing selection took almost an hour even though I ended up in just a pair of soft gray patterned leggings and an oversized, off-the-shoulder sweater. I’ve never tried so hard to look casual and effortless in all my life. But when I swing open the door and his eyes sweep over me and he smiles, it was worth every second.
“You’re a sight for sore eyes,” he says and I smile.
“Come in.” I open the door wider and he steps into the hall. I motion for him to head to the living room and he does after slipping off his shoes. But he just stands in the middle of my room and stares at my furniture like he’s unsure of where to sit. Although it somehow feels like a bold move, I reach out and take him by the wrist and tug him toward the long velvet couch. I drop down on one end, my back against the arm and he sits more in the middle. And then slides to the other end. Not a great start.
“Congrats on the win last night,” I say to break the ice.
He smiles. “You watched?”
“Mac insisted, and I didn’t mind,” I confess. His eyes light up a little bit at that and he smiles. Then he reaches into his pocket and hands me a folded piece of paper.
“The check from Lizzie,” he explains as I unfold it. “She got her lunch and her tickets. And absolutely nothing else, much to her dismay.”
My eyes lift from the check and lock with his. He looks calm and almost amused. I’m still horrified that a woman thinks she can buy sex at a charity auction. “Was she a bitch about it?”
He nods. “Oh yeah. She told me that she was going to tell everyone the rumors weren’t true and that I couldn’t possibly be great in bed and I was probably impotent or something.”
I am one hundred percent horrified and I’m clearly not hiding it because he starts to chuckle. “I can’t even…I mean who does that?”
“Lots of women come up to me expecting nothing but a good time,” he replies. “Because I have no problem giving them one as long as they know it’s just once and it’s just for fun.”
I swallow but my mouth is dry. “You must have had a girlfriend at some point.”
He shakes his head. “Nope. Never.”
“Never?” I repeat in disbelief. “Not even before hockey? Like when you were in high school or something?”
His expression grows dark before he bows his head. “Not a lot of girls want to date a homeless guy. Although there was one girl who used to sneak me into her basement and let me sleep there if I fooled around with her. She wouldn’t admit we were messing around in school because she was embarrassed, but I guess she was as close as I got to a girlfriend because it was a regular thing for a while.”
My heart aches for him, but I try not to let him see it. I know he might construe it as pity and I don’t want to upset him. “Can we talk about that? Your childhood?”
“I don’t like to.”
“I know. I don’t like to either.” That makes him look up and meet my eye again.
“Len mentioned she thought I would understand you better than that asshole you were dating,” he tells me and I bite back a smile.
“You might,” I admit and pull my knees up, wrapping my arms around them. “And there’s no need for name calling.”
He balks at that. “I heard him at the fund-raiser talking about you like you were his property or his project. He’s an asshole. You might have a lot in common with him like the way you grew up or the schools you went to, but he is nothing like you and you deserve more than him.”
Those butterflies are taking flight again. “I don’t have that much in common with him, actually. I mean I know it looks that way, but his idea of struggle is having to wait so long for a cab that he contemplates taking the subway, which he never has by the way.”
Alex laughs at that and gives me a sheepish smirk. “I hate to say it, but that’s what I thought of you too.”
“And you’re wrong, but I see why you made that assumption. My parents are rich and my dad’s family has been wealthy for generations too,” I explain and hug my knees tightly to my chest. “But technically I’m a Bennett by name, not by blood. My mom hates when I point that out because she says I’m her daughter because her heart chose me not her DNA. But what I’m trying to say is I was adopted.”
“Is it a secret?”
I shake my head. “No. But like I said my mom doesn’t like to make the distinction. Probably because of the way I was adopted.”
“How were you adopted?”
“Nope. Your turn,” I counter and give him a small smile. “How were you able to play hockey if you lived on the street? You said yourself it’s not a cheap sport.”
I figure that’s an easy first question—not too invasive and shouldn’t upset him too much, I hope. He runs both his hands through his hair, leaving it mussed up in a deliciously sexy way that I purposefully try to ignore so I don’t get distracted, and then he leans back on the sofa, his back against the other arm so we’re facing each other. “I grew up in Quebec and like the rest of Canada, maybe even more so, they take hockey very seriously. They offer a lot of free programs and equipment when you’re really young. When I was nine I ended up in a group home for troubled boys and they put us in one of the free programs hoping it would help curb our aggression. I was addicted the minute I stepped onto the ice. A coach saw potential in me, and he made sure I had the necessary equipment. The next coach did the same thing and then passed my name on to a Juniors coach and they helped me to keep playing.”
