“Oh, that would be great!”

The evening was so much fun. They ate bruschetta and pastas and drank more daiquiris, and some guys approached them after dinner and offered to buy them drinks, so they let them and flirted a little, and then Lovey took a taxi home all mellow and happy.

Living in Chicago was going to be great.

Chapter 11

The team was supposed to leave San Jose right after the game on Saturday night, arriving back in Chicago on their charter flight around three o’clock Sunday morning, but the flight got delayed because of weather in Chicago. They were all exhausted, and sitting in the airport for hours didn’t help their mood after the loss.

“We’ve got a ten a.m. practice tomorrow,” Hughie said to Marc. “Dude, you gotta get us out of that.”

So Marc as the captain had a word with the coaching staff. The flight ended up only leaving an hour late, but still, they’d agreed by the time everyone got home they’d get minimal sleep, and they made it an optional skate in the afternoon. Marc shared the news with the others, who were all appreciative. “Thanks, man,” he heard more than once, and more than one guy yawned as he said it.

Marc managed to sleep on the flight. He’d gotten pretty good at shutting things out and crashing, but still he wanted more sleep in his own bed.

Team staff had their vehicles waiting for them on the tarmac, and he jumped into Duncan’s new SUV with him for the drive to their condo. Team staff would look after their gear and get it to the arena for them. Neither of them talked much as Duncan navigated dark freeways and streets through light traffic.

Once inside the condo, Marc couldn’t help but glance at the couch in the living room. No Lovey. Duncan noticed too.

“Huh,” he said. “Where is she?”

The door to the room she’d been using was closed. Marc started toward it to see if she was in there, but Duncan elbowed him out of the way. “I’ll look.” Quietly he eased the door open and stuck his head inside. Then he withdrew and shut the door. “Son of a bitch. She’s got all her furniture in there.”

“Is she in there?”

“Yep. Sound asleep in her bed.”

Imagining Lovey in bed was not where his mind should go. “Great,” Marc mumbled. “See you later.”

He headed straight to his room. He’d already ditched the tie but couldn’t wait to get the suit and shirt off and climb into bed. His big, empty bed.

Well, it was good that Lovey wasn’t sleeping on the couch anymore. No more accidental encounters with her in skimpy little clothes. They did, however, still have to share a bathroom. Which he needed to use then.

Once again he shook his head at the feminine scent of the room. Now not only was her girlie crap spread out everywhere, new towels had appeared—soft, thick yellow towels, one of them with flowers embroidered along one edge.

Sleep. He just wanted to sleep for about a year. His body hurt from numerous hard hits into the boards. He’d taken a puck off his skate and his foot still throbbed, although they’d checked him out and nothing was broken. He’d finished the game on sheer will alone. They’d set the tone for the game from the opening face-off, with a lot of hard hits and grinding, physical play. This worked for them. They’d had the Sharks on their heels most of the game, but it had been a one-goal game until near the end of the third, when a fluky play had the puck going into their own net off Olaf’s skate. Another loss, but this time it irked even more because they really felt they’d played well enough to win.

Fuck.

He slept in, later than usual anyway, and found himself strangely eager to get dressed and leave his bedroom. He didn’t have to think too hard about why that was. He was eager to see Lovey.

Fuck, being away from her had been weird. She’d been staying with them for just over a week but had made her presence so known in the condo, her brightness and laughter and girl crap in the bathroom and in the fridge, he found himself wanting to get back to that. It was a bizarre, edgy feeling.

He stopped short at the sight of her in the dining room stretched out on a yoga mat. She wore snug black pants that ended just below her knees and an equally tight lime green tank top. She was on her hands and knees, walking her hands out in front of her, ass in the air, little bare toes curled into her soles. Then she dropped her head to the mat and remained like that.

He couldn’t take his eyes off her sweet little ass, rounded cheeks pushed up toward him. Blood flowed to his groin in a hot rush. The pose made him want to move up behind her and—Crisse.

He cleared his throat and moved into the kitchen. She turned her head, arms still stretched out in front of her. “Oh hey,” she said with a smile. “You’re home.”

“Yeah.”

She slowly, gracefully, pulled herself up and sat, ass to her heels now. “I missed you.”

His head snapped around to gape at her. “Uh…” Why did she say things like that? Fuck!

“Seriously.” She lifted her arms above her head in a stretch. “It was so quiet here I could’ve gone crazy. I need people to talk to.”

“Oh.”

Why did he turn into such a speechless idiot around her?

“But I kept busy.” She stood now but bent over to roll up her mat, again giving him a hard-on-inducing view of her ass. She propped the mat in the corner, behind the weight bench, then approached him.

“That’s good.” He started to find food, pulling a dozen eggs out of the fridge. Wow, there was a lot of food in it. Usually there was mostly beer.

She slid that sweet ass onto a stool at the island. “How was the trip? I watched every game.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” She gave him a look with a little notch between her eyebrows. “You okay after last night? That shot you took in the foot looked painful.”

“I’m okay. It hurt like a motherfucker, but I walked it off.”

“And finished the game.” She shook her head. “You guys are so tough.”

“It’s our job. Uh…want some eggs?”

“Yeah. I would. Let me help. I like mine scrambled.”

“I can do scrambled.”

He opened the fridge again and frowned. “Why are there fifteen fucking bags of spinach in here?”

“I use it to make smoothies,” she said serenely. “And there’s not fifteen.”

“Oh.”

Together they cracked eggs and toasted bread. Lovey got out the big non-stick fry pan. As they worked she chatted about what she’d been up to while the team was away. And Marc found himself listening with curious interest.

“You actually leased an apartment?” he said, frowning.

“Yeah. January first. That’s still a ways away. Sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize.”

“I have the impression you don’t want me here.”

Her honesty made him cringe. “It’s not that I don’t want you here…I just…”

“Don’t want me,” she finished.

He closed his eyes and shook his head. “That’s not it either,” he said quietly. “You’re Duncan’s sister.”

“I’m tired of hearing that. Being his sister doesn’t make me a nun, for cheese sake.”

He choked on a laugh. Christ. “What do you want on your toast?”

“I don’t want toast, thanks.”

“Why not?”

She gave him a lopsided smile. “I avoid carbs.”

He blinked. “Why?”

“They make me put on weight.”

He couldn’t stop himself from giving her an up and down look. “You don’t need to worry about that.”

“Not if I avoid carbs,” she agreed. “Don’t worry, I don’t always. I just try to stick to lean protein and fruits and vegetables as much as I can. Then once in a while I can have pizza or a hamburger and it’s fine.”

“That sounds…reasonable,” he admitted.

“I can’t eat a gazillion calories, like you and Duncan. Are there any hockey players who put on too much weight?”