They took off to their respective rooms and returned a short time later, damp-haired and now dressed in jeans.

The tavern they went to was only two blocks away—Lovey had passed it earlier—so they walked there. It was dusk now, lights coming on all around them. Lovey pushed her hands into her jacket pockets and lowered her chin into her big scarf. She’d been in a grouchy mood earlier—bitchy, as Duncan had so bluntly put it—but she felt better now. She was never one to stay down for long.

Although she was still bitter about Marc and his rude rejection of her. She ignored him throughout dinner, flirting and laughing with the others. They were all good guys. There was no spark of attraction like there was with Marc, but that was okay. She needed friends now that she’d moved to Chicago, and guys made good friends too.

They stayed in the tavern for a while after they’d eaten, watching—what else—a hockey game on the big-screen television. St. Louis vs. Vancouver. She liked listening to the guys comment on the play, trash-talking some players, or admiring another player’s shot or stick-handling.

Lovey watched the attention the guys attracted from other patrons, male and female alike. Did people wonder why she was the only girl there? She shrugged. They probably figured she was someone’s girlfriend.

Speaking of which, these guys needed girlfriends. Why were they all single? Right, Olaf had a girlfriend. And she knew why Duncan was still single. It was because he was a complete redneck goof. That beard he now wore probably didn’t help. As for Marc—well, he was an asshole. She dismissed them. Andrew apparently had no trouble finding women on his own; the guys said he’d been dating someone different every weekend since he’d arrived in Chicago last month. She’d have to find girls for Jared, Brent, and Hughie.

A few people approached for autographs and the guys were all polite and agreeable, chatting with them about the game last night, the upcoming home game on Tuesday night, and their chances of making the playoffs.

Then they walked home through dark streets. Lovey’d never felt safer, with all these big, strong, tough guys escorting her. They laughed all the way home, everyone full of smart-ass comments—including, much to Lovey’s surprise, Marc. Huh. Apparently he did have a sense of humor. He kept it well hidden.

Jerk.

Chapter 9

Marc was staying away from her. Far away. After she’d invaded his room last night and attacked him—okay, fuck, he was exaggerating as much as she did now—he’d resolved he was not going near her. Never gonna touch her. Never never never.

Fuck.

Once they arrived back at the condo, he disappeared into his room. The other guys all headed home and Army and Lovey turned on the television and were now out there arguing about what to watch.

Seeing her that morning shooting shards of ice at him with her eyes had made his gut twist into knots. Then when they’d got home this afternoon and he saw her sitting in the kitchen with all those guys, giving them that dazzling smile, he’d felt like he’d had something stolen from him. And he wanted it back. Those other fuckers all laughing with her and apparently fucking mesmerized by her made him want to drive his fist into someone’s face.

This did not bode well for the game Tuesday night.

What the fuck? He was the master of self-control. Mature. Self-disciplined. Some flaky chick was not going to throw him off his game.

Much.

He’d gone overboard last night to push her away. He’d been an asshole. His gut had burned all night because of it. He’d seen the hurt look in her eyes and he’d felt like the biggest jerk on the planet. He couldn’t even explain why he’d been that way. Why he’d totally overreacted.

He threw himself onto his bed and reached for the remote control for his own TV, then started surfing. Nothing held his interest. Finally he settled on an old favorite, Die Hard.

He heard noises as Army went to bed and Lovey used the bathroom. The bathroom he had to share with her, that smelled like vanilla cupcakes. The little pink shaver that sat on a shelf in the shower made him imagine her all naked and soapy, shaving her legs.

Fuck it. His insides still burned and churned. He could not let himself be so thrown by a woman. He had serious problems to deal with—a crappy start to the season that he couldn’t explain, a team that was getting more demoralized and discouraged every day, a couple of teammates he was seriously worried about. He needed to stay focused on his career and turning things around before they found themselves out of the playoffs for the first time in fifteen years.

He had to deal with this.

He turned off his TV and tossed the remote on the bed as he swung his legs off it. He peered out into the hall, which was dark. The bathroom door was open, the room also dark. She’d already gone to bed.

He hesitated, then squared his shoulders and started down the hall. In the living room, he found her wrapped up in blankets, propped against some pillows, reading on a tablet that glowed in the darkness, illuminating her pretty face. She looked up as he approached.

He didn’t get too close. He stopped and shoved his hands into his jeans pockets. “Hey,” he said. “I just…I was…”

She lowered the tablet and watched him.

“I want to apologize,” he finally said. “Last night I was an asshole to you.”

“Yes. You were.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know why I overreacted liked that. I mean…I knew we shouldn’t be doing that, but I didn’t need to be such a jerk about it.”

Her chin lowered a little and her mouth went soft. “No, you didn’t. But I appreciate the apology.”

“It won’t happen again.”

Her lips twitched. “What won’t? An apology?”

“No. I meant, I won’t kiss you again.”

“Damn.”

His body tightened.

“So you admit you kissed me.”

He sighed, pulling a hand out of one pocket to shove it through his messy hair. “Yeah. But like I said, it won’t happen again.”

“I want it to happen.”

Jesus. What the hell was he supposed to say to that? “Don’t,” he said quietly.

“I don’t understand what the big deal is. We’re both adults. We’re attracted to each other. And don’t deny it. You acted like a big jerk, but you’re not stupid.”

He nodded. “Okay, fair enough. Not gonna deny it.”

She smiled.

“No,” he said warningly. “Nothing can happen.”

To his surprise she nodded. “Okay.”

He frowned. Hesitated. Then said, “Okay. Good. Glad we got this cleared up.”

She smiled. “Me too.”

“G’night, Lovey.”

“Good night.”

He walked back to his room. There. He’d apologized. He felt better.

No, he didn’t.

He still felt like someone had stolen something from him. And he still wanted it back. Shit.

—

In the morning, Marc was up early for their morning practice. He wandered into the bathroom, yawning. Christ, he’d slept crappy.

He pulled up short at seeing Lovey standing at the bathroom vanity. The door had been open and he’d walked right in on her.

Wearing bra and panties, she leaned toward the mirror as she brushed mascara onto her eyelashes. She turned with a start as he walked in. She blinked at him, holding the brush near her face.

“Sorry.” He backed out. “Didn’t know you were in here.”

“I’ll just be a minute!” she called.

Fuck. He retreated to his room, the image of her seared into his brain, that shimmery ice-blue lace bra, low cut to reveal lush curves, and a pair of matching bikini panties. He pressed his fists to his eyes, remembering the smooth curves of her back, hips, and ass, her long bare legs. Jesus.