“Yep, all fine,” I lie, quickly turning away from him. I fake looking for something in the fridge, though I’m not hungry or thirsty. It gives me a chance to just swing open the door and shove my head inside, taking a hit off the cold air.
“Hey, Tess, can you bring us some sodas?” calls one of the boys from the couch.
I jerk upright, slow turning to look that way.
“Fuck you, Westie,” Ryan says before I can respond. “She’s not your fucking maid. Get your own damn soda.”
“She’s standing right there,” he replies with a shrug, turning back to his video game.
“I’m sorry about all this,” Ryan says, facing me. He looks worried, nervous even. “I didn’t invite them over. This isn’t my scene, I swear.”
“It’s fine, Ryan,” I say, reaching out to touch his bare shoulder. My fingers barely brush his skin before I drop my hand away. “You can have your friends over. It’s none of my business,” I add with shrug.
“They’re not my friends,” he says, his voice lowering. “And they invited themselves over. But I gotta be there for them, you know? Guide them along a bit.”
I glance around at the mess on every surface of our previously clean house. “And this is you guiding along the next generation? Teaching them how to make boxed mac and cheese?”
“Don’t forget the cut-up hotdogs,” he replies with a smirk.
“No, we can’t forget the cut-up hotdogs,” I deadpan. “The cheese powder needs enough surfaces to congeal to.”
“God, I love it when you use words like congeal,” he teases, leaning in a bit closer.
I smirk, shaking my head as I snatch out a sparkling water from the fridge and finally shut the door. “When are you gonna let me expand that palate with some creamy lobster mac drizzled with black truffle aioli?”
“Wait—are you asking me on a date?” he replies, his tone more serious. “Is this an invitation to a stay-in date with the Tess Owens?”
My heart flutters before I roll my eyes. “In your dreams, hockey boy. If anything, it’s an intervention. Clearly, you need one,” I add, gesturing around at the mess.
“This place will be spotless, I promise,” he replies. “They just got a little carried away.”
“It’s really fine,” I say, placing my hand on his arm again.
We both follow the line of my arm with our gazes, ending at where my hand is touching his bicep. I leave it there a second too long before dropping it away again.
“Is it weird that I’m not used to seeing you with clothes on?” he says, trying to break the tension.
I laugh. “I think it’s about time the tables were turned. Why don’t you give us a little spin?” I tease, twirling my finger.
The corner of his mouth is tipped up in a smile as he obliges me, making a ridiculously cute one-legged hop circle, keeping his weight off his bad knee. Like the other guys, he’s dressed only in those Rays logo workout shorts. He’s long and lean, built for speed more than making hard hits. Jake is the one with the body of a defenseman, and Shiny Patrick over on the chair.
“Those shorts should be illegal, by the way,” I say, unashamedly ogling his hockey butt.
It’s his turn to laugh, but I can see the heat in his eyes. “You like what you see, Tess?”
“It’s fine, I guess,” I reply with a disinterested shrug. “You’re not quite as impressive as Shiny Abs McBuff Boy over there,” I add with a nod to the living room.
The heat burns darker in his eyes. He steps in closer until I feel my hip press against the counter. “Oh, yeah? Well, which one of us has a starting spot on an NHL team, huh? Which one of us just got offered a four-year extension contract with a three million dollar signing bonus?”
I blink, eyes wide. “Ryan—wait, what? Ohmygod, that’s amazing! When did this happen?”
“Today,” he replies, smiling wide.
“Ohmygod!” Setting my drink can down on the counter, I step forward, arms wide, and wrap him in a hug. “That’s so great, Ryan. Really, I’m so happy for you.”
He hugs me back, his arms going around my waist. He drops his head down, tucking it in at my shoulder, his breath warm on my neck. I don’t miss the way he breathes me in. It raises the hairs on my neck and makes my stomach flutter.
I pull back, and he lets me go. My hands slide down his arms to his elbows. He cradles my elbows, too, and we stand there touching, enough space between us like we’re at a middle school slow dance.