Текст книги "Major Misconduct"

Автор книги: Kelly Jamieson

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

Chapter 4

Marc wandered into the kitchen after his shower the next morning to hunt down some breakfast. Even though the Aces organization would give them food after their skate, something he appreciated with all his heart since he wasn’t much of a cook, he always needed something in his belly before their game day skate.

He glanced at the huddle of blankets on the couch. The fall sun wasn’t even up yet so the room was still dark. Not even trying to be quiet, because, hey, Army should be up getting ready to go too, he opened cupboards and set about cracking eggs into a fry pan and microwaving himself a bowl of oatmeal. He popped four slices of bread into the big toaster, then brewed himself a cup of coffee in the Keurig.

He’d woken up with that heavy sense of failure that had been dogging him for weeks. They’d been playing crappy and no matter what he did, he couldn’t seem to get some of the guys motivated. As team captain, he felt the weight of responsibility. He’d spent hours talking to the coaching staff, going back and forth between them and the players, trying to figure out what was really wrong. It was making him nuts.

The blankets on the couch shifted. A head appeared. Long, red-gold hair shimmered on the white pillow and then big hazel eyes peered at him.

He gaped. Lovey was sleeping on the couch? What the hell?

“Morning,” she called across the big space. “What time is it?”

“Seven-thirty.”

“Oh dear God. Seriously?”

“Yup.”

She lifted her arms above her head and stretched, then pushed aside the covers and swung her legs over the side of the couch. “Is that coffee I smell?”

“Yup.”

She rose then and sauntered toward him, and his chin dropped to his chest. She wore a tiny little turquoise camisole that hugged her slender body. White lace edged the top, as well as the bottom of the matching panties. Her long hair was tousled into messy waves around her shoulders. Holy flying fuck. He snapped his mouth closed and hurriedly turned to the beeping microwave to retrieve his bowl of oatmeal.

“Mmm, what’s that?” She came up behind him and peered around his shoulder, close enough that he could feel her body heat and smell that sweet scent of cupcakes.

“Oatmeal,” he croaked. He set the bowl on the counter and slammed the microwave door shut.

“Cool. And eggs? Those all for you?”

“Yeah. Four eggs, sunny-side up.”

He spooned strawberry jam onto his oatmeal and began to eat it while his eggs cooked. Lovey moved around the kitchen with a languid, still somewhat drowsy grace, her eyelids a little heavy, her mouth curved into a slight smile. “You might need to show me how to work this machine.” She peered at the Keurig.

“Ah…you can have my coffee.” He nodded at the cup sitting in the appliance. “I’ll make myself one in a few minutes.”

“You sure?” She gave him a slow blink.

“Yeah, no problem.” He scooped up a big spoonful of oatmeal and jam. “Milk is there if you need it. Sugar in the first cupboard.”

“Any sweetener? I don’t do sugar.”

“Uh…no.”

She smiled. “Guess not, huh. Well, I suppose a spoonful of sugar won’t kill me.”

She doctored the coffee and cupped the mug in both hands, leaning against the counter. After a sip, she said, “Ah. That’s good.”

He shoveled in more oatmeal, trying not to look at her body in the skimpy cami and panties, which she seemed completely unconcerned about. The thin fabric hugged her breasts, the panties left her long legs bare. He gulped. Then his toast popped and he moved over to pull it out and butter it.

“That was fun last night,” she chatted. “Sorry about disturbing your sleep.”

“Don’t worry about it. I got back to sleep right away.” That wasn’t entirely true. For some reason he’d kept thinking about Lovey. Then he’d fucking dreamt about her. This was not good.

“So what time is the game? How do I get my ticket?”

Oh right. He’d said he’d get her a ticket. But then he’d decided it should be Duncan who did it. Whatever. He sighed. “I’ll arrange for you to pick it up at the will call. You want two tickets?”

A cute little crease appeared between her eyebrows. “I don’t know. Going alone isn’t much fun, but I don’t really know anyone else to invite. Oh wait…I do know someone in Chicago. I was planning to contact her.” She set the mug down and pushed away. “I’ll try to get hold of her and see if she wants to go.”

“Great.”

He watched her stroll to the closet near the door and pull out a laptop case. He slid a spatula under his eggs and lifted them onto the plate with the buttered toast and moved to a stool at the counter. She set her laptop near him and opened it up.

“Facebook,” she murmured. “I’ll message her. Oh wow. Lots of updates.” She leaned forward, elbows on the counter. Marc’s eyes dropped to the cleavage revealed in this pose. And his dick stiffened. He almost groaned out loud at the picture she made. She might as well have been naked, her nipples clearly outlined through the thin, stretchy fabric. He dragged his gaze up to her face, her eyes focused intently on the screen, her white teeth sunk into that plush bottom lip. She released the lip to smile at something she read, then nodded.

Fuck, she was cute.

Marc closed his eyes and then reopened them to look at his eggs and toast. He needed to eat and get the hell out of there. He finished his breakfast, then rose and moved toward the dishwasher, going the long way around the island so he didn’t have to move past Lovey. He still wanted coffee, so he pulled out another mug.

“Oh, show me how to do that!” Lovey straightened and moved toward him.

He backed up.

“So I know for next time,” she said, taking in the stupid way he’d retreated as if she was coming at him with the butt end of a hockey stick. Her eyes flickered. The corners of her mouth tipped up ever so slightly. “So…turn it on here…”

“Yeah.” He cleared his throat, praying she didn’t look down to where his hard-on bulged. “Water goes in here…there’s enough right now for another cup…put the K-cup in here…press this button. Wait until it stops.”

“Awesome. So easy. I have to get one of these things. Trips to Starbucks add up to a lot of money.”

“I guess.”

She shifted closer, tossed her hair behind her shoulder, and smiled up at him. “Thanks.”

He stared down at her, taking in the pretty flecks of gold and brown in eyes that were really green, the faint freckles scattered over her small nose and high cheekbones, her long gold eyelashes.

“Uh…what’s going on?”

They both jerked around at the sound of Duncan’s voice behind them, bumping into each other. Marc steadied her smaller body with his hands on her hips, slender but soft, curvy hips…Jesus. He released her and backed away, bashing into the counter and smacking his head on an open cabinet door. Ow.

“Nothing.” He slammed the door shut. “Just showing Lovey how to make coffee.”

“I like that thing.” She smiled at her brother. “Morning, Dunc.”

She moved again, retrieving her mug of coffee, then brushed past Marc to get back to her laptop to resume her Facebook perusal. “Hopefully Jillian can come with me to the game tonight.”

“Game starts at seven.” Marc choked out the words.

“Oh, we’ll come before that,” she said. “I like to watch the warm-up. Thanks, Marc.”

“We gotta get going.” Duncan set something on the counter. “Here’s an extra key for you, Lovey, if you want to go out.”

“Perfect! Thanks. Gonna take a shower now.”

“Okay. What are you doing today? Maybe we’ll see you after our skate.”

“Yeah, I’m not sure. I might be here. So maybe I’ll see you later.”

“If not, I’ll text you after the game. We’ll probably go out for something to eat, if you want to come with us.”

“Okay. Sounds good.”

It was impossible not to watch her walk down the hallway, two cheeks to the wind in those cheeky panties. Those firm, round globes just begged to be grabbed and squeezed and…

“Get your fucking eyes off my sister’s ass,” Army growled. Then his fist drilled Marc’s shoulder.

“Ow! What the fuck, man!” Marc glared at Army, rubbing his shoulder.

“Don’t look at her. Don’t even think about looking at her. Stay the fuck away from her.”

Marc scowled. “Jesus.” Pressure rose up inside him. He didn’t know whether to be pissed the hell off that Army would order him around like that, or protest that he wasn’t looking at her, which would be a total lie, or tell Army he had no intention of getting anywhere near Lovey. Which he didn’t. So why did he have to even say it? “Fuck,” he muttered. “I’m not gonna touch your sister.”

Army gave him a narrow-eyed look. “Damn right you’re not.”

“Maybe you should tell her to put some clothes on.”

Army gave a heavy sigh. “I knew this was a bad idea, letting her stay here.”

Marc slid off the stool. “Gonna get my stuff, then let’s go.”

Army wanted to take his new vehicle so he drove to the Moens Center. They talked about the team they were playing that night, who was going to be back in the lineup, and who was out, carefully avoiding any mention of Lovey.

At the arena, Marc changed into shorts and a T-shirt. Some guys were of the opinion that game day skates weren’t really necessary. Probably, the practice had started years ago to stop guys from staying out all night carousing before a game, giving them a reason to drag their asses out of bed, get their bodies moving and blood flowing before a game. Marc approved of that. Yeah, he knew his reputation as a killjoy—like last night when he’d kicked everyone out—but this was his career and he wanted to win. It was important to be ready for every single game. It was early in the season, but you didn’t know which game was going to be the one that made the difference between making the playoffs or not, or having home ice advantage, so every game was important. The way things had been going lately, they desperately needed a win.

He thought the game day skate was good for getting everyone together, having a look at stats, going over plans for the game, checking out injuries and how everyone was feeling. They needed to get their stuff together, make sure new sticks were right and skates didn’t need a blade replaced or something.

This morning, he headed first to the stick room. He had a few new sticks he wanted to make sure were just right. Then he climbed on a bike and pedaled to Imagine Dragons’ “Radioactive,” the music pumping through the dressing room. His teammates arrived, some of them working out like him, others getting checked by the trainers, some with nagging small injuries, strains, and pulled muscles from the game the other night, or longer-term things they were still working on. Then they all changed and hit the ice for the skate.

He was always the first one on the ice and the last one off. He set an example for the rest of the team. He worked hard and expected the rest of his teammates to work hard too. Right now on this losing streak, he was working extra hard, trying to motivate everyone.

This wasn’t an intense practice like other days, just a good way to get the blood flowing and work on a few things. Today, Coach had them working on their power play, then Assistant Coach Al Bosco worked with him on face-offs, dropping pucks in front of him in rapid succession, over and over again.

The stands were mostly empty. A group of media people had congregated in a bunch of seats near center ice. Some of the Aces staff were wandering in and out, working on various things in preparation for game night. The scratch of skate blades and the crack of the puck on sticks echoed among the calls between players and coaching staff on the ice. The team skated around now, taking shots at both goalies, one at either end. Marc lined up a shot and drilled the puck at Stoykers in the net, and grinned when it sailed past his glove hand top shelf. Beauty.

Brent shook his head, but the truth was, he liked it when Marc challenged him. With Marc having one of the best shots in the NHL, Brent liked getting tested like that. It made him better.

Marc skated until everyone else had left the ice, then followed them to the dressing room and stripped off his jersey and helmet, replacing it with an Aces ball cap. Still wearing the Aces performance shirt he wore beneath his jersey, he met with the media in the dressing room to talk about the game that night and their crappy start to the season and what they were expecting from the Boston Bruins. He was pretty sick of talking about why they were losing games but had to hold in his annoyance and be patient with the media.

“Yeah, they’re a good team,” he said into the numerous microphones and phones in front of his face. “They’re well coached and they defend well. It’s gonna be a good game.” He listened to another question, thought about it, and responded. “Sure, they’re a good skating team. We have to be ready to skate and take our game to them, and not get caught in their style. We just have to be patient and confident in our system. We know that when it works, we win games.”

The only question was, why wasn’t it working?

Then the team met to look at some videos and go over a few things in preparation for the game that night. They focused again on power play videos, since they’d been struggling on the power play lately. By the time they were done, it was noon and lunch had been set up in the players’ lounge for them.

Marc loaded his plate with a huge pile of pasta with tomato sauce, a couple of grilled chicken breasts, and some salad. He’d always had trouble keeping his weight up where he liked it, and tried to eat five or six thousand calories a day during the season. When he’d been drafted by the Aces eight years ago, he’d worked with a nutritionist who’d given him advice about things he should and shouldn’t eat, and he followed that to this day.

“Is your sister just here for the weekend?” Rupper asked Army as they ate.

“She says she’s moving here.” Army gave a heavy sigh. “I gotta talk to her about that.”

“Oh yeah?” Rupper’s eyes lit up and Marc noticed several of the other guys perk up.

“Your sister?” Hughie Land, a big defenseman, asked. “Cute little redhead, right?”

Marc frowned. So did Army.

“Forget it,” Army growled at Hughie. “All of you.” He looked around the room. “My sister is off-limits. You know the rule.”

Rule number one of their code: once you’ve known a guy for more than twenty-four hours, his sister is off-limits forever.

“I don’t like that rule anymore,” Stoykers said.

“Too fucking bad!” Army yelled. “You can’t just change the rules! That would mean I could tell everyone you like to watch figure skating.”

The room fell silent. Stoykers’ face went red.

“Figure skating?” Hughie said. “Seriously?”

“Fuck off,” Stoykers muttered.

“She’s an adult,” Hughie said. “You can’t stop her from going out with one of us if she wants.”

“Oh yeah.” Army gave him a meaningful look that was also…well, mean. “I can.”

The guys all hooted, but eyes shifted and Marc knew they knew Army meant it.

“C’mon, man. Better she dates one of us, someone you know and like, than some stranger who could be a complete asshole,” Hughie said.

“I’m a nice guy,” Stoykers added, looking wounded. “Why wouldn’t you want her to date me?”

Army scowled at him. “You sleep with chicks two at a time, that’s why.”

“Not always,” Stoykers protested, not even trying to deny it.

Marc just listened. This conversation made him want to punch someone. He didn’t know who. Anyone. The fact that apparently every single guy on the team lusted after Lovey Armstrong pissed him off. The fact that Army was being so protective of her also pissed him off, although why that was he had no idea. How could he blame a guy for looking out for his little sister? Well, Stoykers had a point—she was an adult.

A very sexy, sweet adult.

Fuck that. He had to wash those thoughts out of his head. He could not be thinking about her sweet little ass cheeks twitching as she walked down the hall that morning, heading to the bathroom she was sharing with him.

Fuuuuuck.

After lunch, he and Army headed back to the condo. It had started to snow from a pale overcast sky. Jesus, it wasn’t even the end of October and it was snowing already.

When they walked into the condo, the music of One Republic was playing and Lovey was on the big couch, sock feet on the coffee table, her sleek silver Mac computer on her lap. Her head and upper body were moving to the music as she stared at her computer screen, fingers tapping on the keyboard. Pale light flooded the room through the big windows as snow fell outside.

“Oh hey.” She looked up at them and illuminated the room with that wide, white smile. “You’re back. How was your practice?”

“Good.” Army shrugged out of his jacket. Marc did the same, trying hard not to look at Lovey.

“Still on Facebook?” he muttered to the floor. At least she was dressed now.

“Um…sort of. Good news. Jillian can come to the game with me tonight.” She set aside her laptop and stood.

“Great.”

Yeah, she was dressed. A big, loose-knit sweater with a high neckline swaddled her from chin to thighs, black leggings covered her legs—although they didn’t disguise their sexy shape—and big Nordic-patterned knit socks ensured she was shrouded all the way to her toes. And still she somehow managed to look tempting.

He was so fucked.

“Who’s Jillian?” Army asked.

“We went to college together at Madison Tech. She moved to Chicago after we graduated. When I was coming here, I planned to look her up and hopefully get together, so this is great.”

Army nodded.

“Okay, gonna take a nap now.” Marc moved past her toward the hall. “See ya later.”

He made a hasty retreat down the hall, stopping at the bathroom. He walked in and shut the door, then gazed around in dismay. Lovey had apparently unpacked. Bottles of all kinds of girl crap lined the counter and the bathtub, the scent of cupcakes filling the air. A pink poufy sponge hung off a hook in the shower, and a lavender makeup bag spilled cosmetics out onto the marble vanity. A hair straightener sat on a folded-up towel there. Jesus.

Yup. Fucked.

Chapter 5

Lovey smiled, watching Marc disappear down the hall. She turned back to her brother, who stood there, arms crossed, eyebrows raised.

“What?” She blinked at him.

He narrowed his eyes. “He touches you, he’s a dead man. Don’t screw around with him.”

Lovey lowered her chin to one side and gave him a sidelong look. “Dude. What are you talking about?”

“You know what I’m talking about. And you’re not sleeping on the couch again. Get a fucking bed in here ASAP. Meanwhile, I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“I thought we already had this conversation.” She folded her arms across her chest to match his pose, cocking a hip. “You’re too big to sleep on the couch.”

“I am, but you can’t sleep out here in those skimpy little clothes when Marc is around.”

Now she lifted an eyebrow. “That’s what I sleep in.”

“Get some flannel pajamas.”

She laughed. “Right.”

“Seriously, Lovey. This is why I didn’t want you staying here. You can’t walk around dressed like that. He was looking at you.”

She grinned. “I know.”

He groaned.

“Oh relax, Dunc. We’re all adults.”

“We need to talk.”

She frowned. “About what?”

“About why you’re here. Why you quit your job. Why you broke up with whatshisname—”

“Richard.”

“Yeah. Richard. And what you think you’re going to do here in Chicago. But right now…I need to have a nap.”

She shrugged. She was familiar with game day naps. “Go ahead. And FYI, I already called Mom and asked her to get my stuff sent here. She’s going to do it Monday. I should have a bed next week.”

He sighed again. “Fuck me. How do you do this?”

“Do what?”

“Never mind. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

“Sure. Whatever.”

He disappeared down the hall into his bedroom and she was alone again. She sucked in a long breath and let it out, looking around. Macklemore sang through her computer speakers on a playlist she’d created.

She wandered to the big windows and gazed out at the skyscrapers now obscured with the falling snow, slow, fluffy flakes that drifted slowly from the sky. The view from Duncan’s condo was awesome. She loved the city. She’d visited Chicago many times and couldn’t wait to go out there and explore and get to know it better. It would be different now that she lived there. She wasn’t just a visitor. This was going to be her home.

Why hadn’t she done this years ago?

The condo felt warm and cozy with the snow outside the glass. She padded in sock feet across the thick area rug toward the kitchen to brew herself a beverage in that cool Keurig machine. She’d found packages of all different kinds of drinks—lattes, cappuccinos, hot chocolate. Moments later she held a warm mug of caramel vanilla cream coffee. Yum. She didn’t want to think about the calorie or sugar content. She’d just have this one. She paused a moment, wondering why Duncan and Marc had such a drink…they didn’t seem the type to like a sweet coffee. Oh yeah—all the girls they had over.

She rolled her eyes and strolled back to curl up in the corner of the big, squishy leather couch.

Like last night. She’d learned later in the evening that they’d just met those girls at the bar. Here she’d thought she was meeting and hanging out with some of their friends. But no, puck bunnies. She grimaced. They’d actually been really nice girls, although Angel had clearly had her sights set on Marc. Beh.

Why did that bug her? It wasn’t like Marc was hers. But he was really, really attractive. And she knew he felt the same about her. She’d sensed the tension in him whenever they were together. Last night he’d kept watching her. This morning when they’d been in the kitchen together he’d clearly been attracted. There was no mistaking how he looked at her, and the cute way he was trying to keep his distance.

She didn’t get that, though. If they were attracted to each other, why couldn’t they act on it?

Duncan.

She sighed as she settled her Mac on her lap again. Big brother was being annoying. He was always annoying. She loved him, and his protectiveness was cute, but damn. She was a big girl.

She liked men. She liked having fun. Why couldn’t she and Marc have fun together if they both wanted it?

Oh right—Captain Codger. He wasn’t into “fun.”

She pursed her lips and stared at her screen. That was okay. She was used to getting her way. Duncan had just asked the question, “How do you always do that?” She’d played dumb, but she knew what he meant. All her life she’d gotten her own way. Her parents and her big brother had loved her, but having a hockey star brother had left her in the shadows a lot of the time. She’d never felt anything but loved, but had to admit there’d been times she’d felt a little lost.

Hockey took a lot of time. As a kid, there’d been early morning practices and after school games. As a teenager, there’d been weekend tournaments in other states. She’d been dragged along on those trips she hadn’t wanted to go on, sitting in cold hockey arenas drinking hot chocolate or by herself in hotel rooms. Her parents had felt guilty about all the time and attention Duncan got on the path to becoming a professional hockey player and had basically given her anything she wanted in an attempt to make up for it.

She’d never taken advantage. Well, not much. She might be a little spoiled. She’d be the first to admit it. But she truly didn’t believe she was a bad person because of it. She sometimes didn’t think things through before she acted. She changed jobs and boyfriends and hair color with head-snapping frequency. But she loved her family. She appreciated everything they did for her. She had friends she cared about and she was smart and she was forming a plan for her life.

Duncan didn’t believe that. Yet. But she would show him.

She tapped on her keyboard. She had more work to do for one of the few clients she already had in her fledgling business.

A Facebook message from Jillian popped up. Lovey smiled as she typed a response, arranging to meet for dinner before the game. She suggested somewhere near the arena so she could get a ride with Duncan and/or Marc. Did they drive to the game together? She knew Duncan would get there a couple of hours before game time, so that should work. Then if they didn’t meet up after, she could take a taxi home. She’d be ready to go when they got up from their nap. Meanwhile, she had work to do.

She inserted earbuds to listen to music as she worked so as not to disturb the guys. Much as she pushed Duncan, she knew he and Marc—apparently especially Marc—took their profession seriously. It was game day and nothing could get in the way of that. She’d behave herself and not interfere or distract them.

An hour, maybe a little more, passed before she heard noises from down the hall as the guys woke up and got ready to go back to the arena. She saved her work, closed the numerous windows she had open, and shut down her computer. She carried it down the hall to her nearly empty bedroom. She’d “unpacked” earlier, which consisted of hanging some of her clothes in the big empty closet and setting others in neatly folded piles on the floor. She’d arranged her shoes and boots on the floor of the closet. Her underwear stayed in the open suitcase, also on the floor. Well, Mom would get in touch with the storage facility on Monday and arrange to have her things transported to the condo. Hopefully it wouldn’t take long.

She changed into a pair of jeans, her favorite Silver ones, super low and skinny, but kept the big sweater on. She liked the moss green color, and it was nice and warm for sitting in a cool arena. She’d have to get an Aces jersey to wear to games if she was going to live in Chicago.

She poked her head out of the bedroom to check the status of the bathroom. It was empty, so she nipped in there to touch up her face while her flat iron heated up. She added a little more eye shadow and mascara and shiny lip gloss, then wound the flat iron through her hair to curl it back off her face in long waves.

There.

She grabbed her flat, knee-high boots and her purse and headed out to the living room again. Marc was in the kitchen, perched on a stool, one foot on the floor, the other on a rung of the stool, and her heart skipped a beat as she took in his attire. He wore a dark suit that fit his big body admirably, a snowy white shirt, and a silky tie in shades of blue, black, and purple. Shiny black shoes completed the classy outfit. With his spiky brown hair and stubbled jaw, he literally took her breath away. She struggled to drag air into her constricted lungs.

“Hi.” He unwrapped something and took a bite.

“Hi. Good nap?”

“Mmmhmm.” He was chewing.

“What’s that?” She dropped her boots to the floor and leaned on the counter, nodding at the bar in his hand.

“Protein bar.” He took another bite with his straight white teeth. He appeared to be one of the guys who’d religiously worn mouth protection and still had all his own teeth. And they were very nice teeth.

On a plate in front of him sat an apple core and the peel of an orange he’d apparently already eaten. Pre-game snack.

“Do you and Duncan go to the game together?”

“No. I like to get there earlier than he does and I stay later. I’m leaving right away.”

“Can I get a ride with you?”

He just looked at her, his face expressionless. “Why?”

“I’m meeting my friend for dinner before the game. I thought I could get a ride with you guys.”

“Get a ride with Duncan.”

Her insides tightened. “Do you have to be so rude?”

He blinked. “Uh…”

She frowned at him. “I’m not a terrible person. What’s your problem with me?”

His head jerked back. “Nothing. I have no problem with you.”

“Yes, you do. You’re being a big jerk to me. I’m sorry if I showed up and cramped your bachelor lifestyle or whatever the hell you’re pissed off at me about. I’m not going to get in your way. Is it that much trouble to have a passenger on the drive to the arena?”

His eyelids lowered and he finished chewing the protein bar, tossing the foil wrapper on the plate. “No,” he finally said, brushing his fingertips together. He rose from the stool, and holy hell and shitfire, he absolutely dominated the space in that dark, gorgeous suit. “It’s no trouble. Sure you can have a ride. And sorry. You’re not ‘cramping my style,’ whatever the hell that means.”

“Well, something’s wrong,” she muttered. “But thanks for the ride. I won’t even talk, if that’ll make it better for you.”

He picked up his plate, moved around the big island to dump the contents into the trash, and slide the plate into the dishwasher. He grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. “I don’t believe you could do that.”

She stared at him. “Do what?”

“Not talk the entire way there.”

Her mouth fell open, but then she caught the faint twitch of the corners of his mouth. Was he actually…teasing her? She rolled her lips together briefly, then admitted, “You’re probably right.”

She caught a flash of those white teeth in a brief smile. “Let’s go.”

She grabbed her boots and sat on a stool to pull them on and zip them up. “Duncan!” she yelled.

She heard his muffled, “What?”

“I’m getting a ride with Marc. We’re leaving now.”

He appeared so fast she blinked. “What?” He shot Marc a questioning glare.

Marc shrugged, jingling a set of keys. “She asked. It’s not a problem.”

“Oh, for the love of cheese.” She headed to the closet and pulled out a puffy black down jacket. She looped a big multi-colored knit scarf around her neck and grabbed the matching mitts. Her purse was on a small table and she picked it up. “Let’s go. Let me know what you’re doing after,” she said to Duncan. “If we don’t meet up, I’ll take a taxi home.” She paused. “Have a good game.”

“Thanks.”

They left the condo and rode the elevator to the underground parking. Marc’s vehicle wasn’t much different from Duncan’s—a sport utility vehicle in a shiny charcoal color. He may have been being rude, but deep down he was obviously a gentleman, because he beeped the locks as they approached the SUV, then opened the door for her. He put out a hand to help her in, even. Nice.

Then she paused. “Isn’t that Duncan’s new truck?” She nodded at the vehicle next to Marc’s.

“Yeah.”

She looked at the words “For Sale” painted in red on the window with a cellphone number beneath. Duncan’s cellphone number. Her head snapped around to look at Marc. “Did you do that?”