On the Line Page 3

  “I don’t really want to live in a generic box with so many neighbors on top of me. I had a house in Seattle, remember? I like my space. This last one is supposed to be a house.” He hands me his phone again so I can see the last place on his list and guide him there. It’s super close to my place, only a block away.

  We walk in silence for a few minutes until I say, “Tell me something about you no one else knows.”

  He smiles. “Why, so you can sell it to the tabloids?”

  A couple a few years older than us with a baby carriage is passing by so I wave at them. “Hey! Do you guys happen to know when the San Diego Saints’ first game of the season is?”

  The woman shakes her head immediately. The guy thinks about it for a long second as he glances at me and then at Avery. I feel Avery tense again, and I can’t help but subtly reach out and rest my hand on his biceps to try to calm him. Instead it makes my heart race because, damn, his arm feels as solid as an oak tree.

  “I think it’s in November or something?” the stranger finally says with a shrug. “Like most of San Diego, I’m more of a baseball fan. At least they win.”

  The couple continues down the street. As soon as they’re out of earshot, I laugh. “Burn!”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Avery replies wryly, but the tiniest hint of a smile plays on his lips. “Was there a point to that little scene other than reminding me I’m going to have to carry a shitty team on my back this season?”

  “Yeah. To remind you yet again that no one here knows who you are,” I explain as we turn off the oceanfront block and onto the street with his next rental listing. “Selling your secrets would earn me enough money for a Happy Meal, if I’m lucky. So spill it. Tell me something interesting about you, not just the boring stuff you tell the media.”

  “I’m terrified of skunks.”

  “Nobody likes skunks.”

  “No. I am terrified,” he repeats, and I realize, as his voice drops an octave and his tone turns serious, he feels about skunks the way I feel about spiders or serial killers.

  I pull off my sunglasses and stare at him. His cheeks are getting red. Is he blushing?

  “I once came face-to-face with one on my driveway in Seattle and I started hyperventilating. I couldn’t stop. Had to call the team doctor. He gave me Ativan.”

  I bite my bottom lip—hard—to keep from smiling or, worse, laughing, which is all I want to do. “Why?”

  “Because they’re evil,” he replies swiftly, still serious. “Have you ever really looked at a picture of one? They’ve got demonic little faces and they stink. And they’ll make you stink for a long freaking time no matter how much tomato you bathe in.”

  “Have you been sprayed?”

  He shakes his head vigorously. “No. My father was once when I was a kid. There was a family of them living in the crawl space under our house, right under my bedroom. I used to hear them clawing and scratching at night. One night I woke up and peeked out my window and the little demon was staring back at me.”

  He shudders. This tall, muscular, perfect athletic specimen of a man just shuddered like a cheerleader in a slasher movie. Something about his vulnerability is so sexy…but also still a little ridiculous, so I let out the giggle I’ve been holding in. He looks mortified. “I was seven. It was terrifying.”

  “Don’t worry, sweetie.” I pat his shoulder. “I haven’t seen a skunk since I moved here.”

  He wraps an arm around me and squeezes me to his side. Sebastian has done the same friendly, brotherly gesture to me a million times, but it feels different when Avery does it. That damn hummingbird feeling starts in my belly and flutters up into my chest. He stops suddenly and points. “I think this is it.”

  The house in front of us is tiny, run-down and just plain ugly. It’s painted a lime green and the concrete steps up to the door are cracked and crumbling. The screen on the storm door is ripped and hanging.

  “The rental company said the key is in a box on the porch. I have a passcode for the box.” He marches up to the front door. As he unlocks the box and pulls out the key, he looks over at me and notices my quizzical expression. “Let’s give it a shot.”

  He unlocks the front door and we step into the tiny, cramped, musty-smelling front hall. It has badly scuffed parquet floors and a popcorn ceiling. I can’t help but raise my eyebrows. He doesn’t seem to notice. He walks into the living room where the parquet floors are covered with horrendous golden yellow shag carpet.

  It’s a tiny, very shabby two-bedroom, one-bath place that makes my semidetached cottage look pristine, which it’s not. When we’re done with the tour and he’s locking the front door, he says something astounding. “I like this one best of all.”

  “Are you insane?” I can’t help but ask.

  He shrugs as we walk down the rickety stairs and back to the sidewalk. The sun is even warmer than it was before our tour of the dump. He squints before pulling his aviators over his eyes again. “I want something simple. I’m willing to renovate a little, too, even though it’s a rental. So I don’t care what condition it’s in. And I’m not ready to buy yet because I want to get to know the area first.”

  “Well, if you’re looking for shabby chic—emphasis on shabby—the place next to mine is available.”

  He stops and stares at me. “Seriously?”

  “No. Not seriously,” I reply quickly as the light wind picks up and I reach to hold down my sundress to make sure I don’t flash him. “I mean it’s seriously available, but I’m not seriously offering it to you.”

  “Why not?” he demands. “I’m a great neighbor. Quiet, clean, hardly ever there, with road trips and everything.”

  He has a point there. Our last neighbors were just out of college and one of them used to throw parties—all-night raging events—at least once a month, and the other one had a boyfriend and her screaming orgasms used to shake my walls every second night. Wouldn’t have to worry about any of that with Avery.

  “Besides”—he shrugs and smiles—“we could hang out more if I’m your neighbor.”

  That part is also appealing, which is scary. He steps a little closer and the wind carries his scent across the short distance to me. He smells delicious, warm and spicy.

  “You said you were leaning toward a home with no attached walls,” I remind him. “This is semiattached. We’d share a wall.”

  “I’m okay sharing with you. I can be myself around you. In fact, you don’t really give me any other choice, which I kind of like if I’m honest,” he says, the deep solemn tone in his voice at odds with the easy smile on his face. “And you could protect me from skunks.”

  I laugh. He grins and takes my hand, pulling me down the stairs. “Come show me this place.”

  I don’t have keys to the other unit, but I know it’s empty, so we stare in the windows and then I show him my place because it’s the exact same layout and probably in similar condition. He loves it and of course doesn’t even blink at the price, which Maddie and I found a little extravagant. After a quick phone call to my landlord to find out if the place is still available, Avery leaves me to go sign the paperwork.

  For the next two hours, as I run errands, I try not to think about him becoming my neighbor. Because when I think about it, I like it. I like the idea that he’ll be next door and that I’ll probably see him every day. I liked seeing him today. I liked pushing him—his boundaries—and the way he happily let me.

  I smile as I leave the grocery store thinking about his silly confession about hating skunks and how freaking cute it was—and how real it made him. And how sexy I found that realness. Ten minutes later I turn onto my street and notice a beautiful, bright bouquet of lilacs on my front porch, leaning up against the door.

  “Maddie is going to be so excited,” I mumble to myself, figuring Ty left her the flowers. I put down my grocery bag and pick up the bouquet as I dig in my purse for my keys. The card tucked into the front of the pink cellophane wrapper around the bouquet has my name on it.

  Stunned and still thinking it must be a mistake, I move to the porch swing and sit as I open the tiny envelope. The handwriting is neat and precise, but I would expect nothing less. He probably had a handwriting coach along with his army of other coaches when he was growing up. The note is simple: A little thanks for helping me find my new place. I can’t wait to be your neighbor. Avery.

  My stomach flips, my heart flutters and my brain screams, STOP! But it’s too late. I have a crush on Avery Westwood.

  Chapter 3

  Avery

  Two months later

  I walk into the locker room and immediately start removing my tie. I’m as close to late as I can be without officially being late. This is becoming a new habit for me. One I need to break. Beau Echolls looks up at me and scowls. “Nice of you to show up, Captain.”

  He hates my guts. There’s no other way to say it. The fact is he has a right to hate me. This was his team before I showed up. Beau, at thirty, is a veteran and has been with the Saints since their first game. He is from Maine—the same town as my old teammate Jordan Garrison. He is older than Jordan, but not so much older that Jordan didn’t know him. Jordan, and all the Garrison boys, knew and disliked Echolls and his younger brother Chance, who is a sports reporter. I never really knew why, but now that I’ve been spending time with Beau, I can say he isn’t easy to like.

  “I’m not late,” I reply tersely. He rolls his eyes and continues to lace his skates.

  I walk over to my designated locker space between Ty Parsons and Alex Larue, who was traded from the Winterhawks last year. Alex gives me a small nod. Unlike Beau, and most of the rest of the team, he’s on my side. So is Ty, thanks to Stephanie, who forced us to socialize with her and her roommate, Maddie, when I first got here two mont
hs ago.

  Ty, who is giving me a sympathetic smile as he tugs on his jersey over his pads, asks quietly, “Everything okay?”

  “Yeah.” I nod. “I hit traffic on my way back. It was insane.”

  “Yeah,” Ty says quietly. “The trip from L.A. to San Diego can be an all-day event.”

  “Yeah.” I nod and sigh. “I have to get Don to schedule meetings on days off only. I can’t keep doing game-day meetings.”

  My phone rings—loudly. I thought I turned the ringer off, but clearly I was wrong. I dig it out of my suit pocket and glance at the screen. Lizzie. Again. That’s the third time this week. Jesus. I am beginning to regret ever meeting this girl.

  “Lizzie?” Alex says because the nosey ass read the call display before I swiped the ignore button. “Is that the ex?”

  I nod.

  “Is she not so ex anymore?” Ty asks casually as he starts putting on his skates.

  “No, she’s still very much an ex,” I reply, and stand to hang up my jacket and untuck my shirt before I start unbuttoning it. I have to change fast because I really am on the verge of missing warm-up.

  He nods. “Okay. So…what now?”

  I turn and look at him. “What now?”

  “I think he means who now?” Alex adds because clearly he was eavesdropping. “Or are you going back to being a monk like you were in Seattle?”

  “Really?” I stare at him with a cold, hard look that says fuck off.

  He smiles. “No disrespect, buddy. You know I love you, but it’s true. I was shocked to hear there was a girlfriend to begin with, and now that you’ve had that blow up in your face, I figure you’ll revert back to your celibate ways.”

  I’m pissed. More so than I should be, because Alex is right. I’d been single the entire time I’d played in Seattle. Not a monk, though, like Alex believes, but single. I wasn’t just a player; I was a brand. I made as much in endorsements as I made in salary, as my father constantly reminded me, and I had watched too many other guys screw all that up by getting caught with their pants down, sometimes literally, by the all-too-observant media. Alex Larue is the polar opposite of me. He has what I liked to call ADD—attention-deficit dating. He dates everything and everyone. Well, actually, he fucks everything and everyone, but attention-deficit fucking sounds rude.

  “I’m not a monk,” I snap abruptly, and pull my Under Armour over my head. “Not anymore.”

  Alex nods, and I can see from the softness in his eyes he’s sorry. “Okay. Yeah. Things change.”

  “They do,” I agree curtly, and sit down next to him to pull on my pants. “Otherwise, why would I have dated Lizzie at all?”

  Alex and Ty both nod, and Ty says, “You’re ready to settle down?”

  I catch his eye. “Are you?”

  Ty looks caught off guard by that. He shifts a little in his seat and stops tying his skate. His boyish face twitches. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean are you settling down? With Maddie? Is this it for you?” When I moved here, Maddie and Ty had just begun dating. It seemed casual, but now it is most definitely exclusive.

  He swallows and I watch his Adam’s apple bob. And then he gives me this dorky, shy smile. “I mean I’m not proposing or anything. But have you seen me even look at anyone else?”

  “I don’t see everything,” I counter.

  He laughs. “Yeah, you fucking do. You’re like something out of an Orwell novel. You notice everything on and off the ice.”

  I chuckle. I’ve always been overly observant—and he’s right; it’s on and off the ice. I’m ridiculously good at reading people and situations, and I know he’s been the definition of monogamous. And not in that begrudging way a lot of guys are monogamous.

  “She’s the only one,” Parsons tells me honestly as he continues tying his skates. “And I’d be okay if it stayed that way for a very long time.”

  I smile at him, but it’s fleeting. “It wasn’t like that with Lizzie. Not ever. It just never felt like I thought it was supposed to feel.”

  “Then why get exclusive with her at all?” Ty asks me.

  I shrug and give him a nonanswer because I am not willing to admit the truth to anyone. “It’s a long story.”

  Alex, who is still listening in on the conversation, stands up and slaps my shoulder. “Well, Westwood, I hope you have changed and you actually keep your skate blade in the dating pool. Do you even know how much premium tail I’d get by being your wingman?”

  “I hate to burst your bubble, but I’m not going to run out there and bang every girl who winks at me,” I explain, and bend to lace my skates. “I’ll date again, but it won’t be indiscriminately.”

  Alex groans his dismay and goes back to getting ready.

  Ty smirks at our horny teammate and turns back to me. “So you’re not going to sow your wild oats?”

  “Nah. Even if I didn’t have to keep it clean, I would. It’s just who I am,” I admit, and reach for my jersey hanging on the hook behind me.

  “So if you’re not going to date indiscriminately,” Ty begins as he levels me with a curious stare that’s fringed with a knowing smile, “who are you going to date discriminately?”

  “I might have someone in mind,” I mutter quietly. Even admitting that gives me a rush of adrenaline.

  “Someone I know, I’m guessing.”

  “Yeah,” I reply, and swallow. “If she’d be interested.”

  Ty doesn’t say anything, but he smiles at me, and it’s reassuring, so I smile back.

  “Are you two done with your hen session or should we leave the two of you to eat chocolate and talk about your periods while we go warm up?” Larue asks with a goofy grin.

  “Shut the fuck up, Rue,” I bark with a smile. Alex flips me the bird, but he’s smiling too.

  I hurry to finish dressing and try to keep my mind off Stephanie. When I first met Stephanie, years ago in Seattle, I was instantly attracted to her. She’s tall and lithe with amazing blue eyes and a warm, sexy smile. But like every other woman I found attractive, I did nothing about it.

  With Steph, though, it was more than just the media and my image keeping me away—it was the fact that she was a teammate’s sister. That was a can of worms unto itself, one that was far messier than protecting my image. Seb was overly protective of her too. It was subtle, but I always caught the way he kept an eye on her at team events or parties and how he called her all the time from road trips and insisted she live at his house when he was away. Once Alex had drunkenly hit on her in front of Seb, and Deveau flat out threatened his life.

  Ignoring my attraction to her was easy for a long time—until suddenly it wasn’t. That started one night when we were all at Jordan and Jessie Garrison’s house right before play-offs last year. My college friend Trey had opened a gym and wanted me to give him an endorsement by doing a radio spot. I knew I probably wasn’t going to stay in Seattle after my contract expired so I shouldn’t give him an endorsement, but I also knew I owed him one because I’d bailed on him in college when he got injured and developed a drug problem.

  Stephanie basically forced me into explaining everything to my teammates. And while everyone else was trying to forgive my actions, or at least come to terms with them, Stephanie held me accountable. She didn’t care how good I was at hockey or how much money I made or how many advertising deals I had: she told me I was handling things like an ass. It was actually some weird kind of relief to have someone treat me like a normal person, and also the hottest thing any woman had ever done.

  After that it was much harder to deny my attraction to her. I found myself going out of my way to spend time with her. Running into her by accident on purpose at coffee shops near her place and jogging in the park near her house because I knew she did that too. But it was stupid and short-lived. We lost in the first round of the play-offs and I went back home to New Brunswick knowing I would never be back in Seattle as a player, and that meant the last time I would see her would be at Jordan and Jessie’s wedding. When I saw her at that wedding, my feelings for her were stronger than ever. I was about to tell her—and kiss her—when that damn canoe flipped. The next morning she was gone.