Defensive Zone (The Dartmouth Cobras #2) (20 page)

Digging in her heels, she jerked him to a
stop. "Cabbage?"

"Yes. It's a common French endearment."

"Yeah, well could you use something else?"
Her nose wrinkled as she tried to imagine how 'cabbage' could be
considered an endearment. "I hate cabbage."

"How about, mon lapine?"

"Which means . . . ?"

"My rabbit."

She punched him lightly in the gut. "No
freakin' way. I'm your boss, not your puck bunny."

His teeth flashed in a broad grin. "Touché.
Shall we go with mon chaton?"

Her brows shot up expectantly.

He leaned in close and whispered in her ear.
"Kitten."

Little tremors ran over her flesh, causing
all the tiny hairs to rise. Heat flooded her cheeks and she forced
her eyes not to drift shut as she shook her head. "You shouldn't
call me things like that, Landon. We're friends. Just friends."

"I know."

"You don't want more, do you?"

The skin around his eyes creased as he
brought her hand to his lips. "I want us to have this, Silver. I
love hanging out and talking. I love you calling me on my shit.
More would change everything."

"You're right."
But, but—
A little
voice in her head whimpered as she slammed a mental door in its
face. He was right. And things were complicated enough with Dean.
"So, about dinner with your parents . . . ."

Landon groaned and released her hand to run
his own over his hair. "I'm sorry about that. When Becky gets
something in her head—"

"That's not what I'm worried about." She bit
her tongue, then laughed. "I'm no better at cooking than you are!
What are we going to feed them?"

He chuckled. "I'm sure we'll think of
something."

"Maybe we can get Dean to play chef." Where
the hell had that come from? Arms folded over her chest, she
watched the crowd thin and quickly changed the subject. "Umm . . .
where are you staying tonight?"

Before Landon could answer, a voice called
out from the other side of the room. "Bower! I was looking for
you."

"Hey, Perron." Landon shook hands with the
man. "What's up?"

Max glanced over at Silver. "Hey, sis." He
continued before she could stutter out a coherent word. "We all
heard about the fire. I'm sorry you're laid up, but glad to hear
you made it out okay. Where are you aiming to crash?"

"There must be a good motel around here?"
Landon apparently didn't notice her trying to get his attention
with her wave and throat clearing, because he just kept talking. "I
was about to ask Silver, but she probably doesn't know anywhere
cheap." He gave her a one armed hug. "No offense, I wouldn't want
you staying at a place like that anyway. Your dad probably had you
all set up when you moved back, right, ma chérie?"

Uck, I need a translator for this guy.
What's he calling me now?
The French words sounded familiar.
Pricey?
She elbowed him in the side. "I'm paying you enough
for you to stay somewhere nice. And besides, I was going to
say—"

"I have to replace
everything,
Silver.
I'm not wasting money on a hotel."

"Then—"

"Why don't you stay at my place?" Max put his
hand on her shoulder and squeezed. "A man has his pride, darlin'.
And I've got plenty of space, Bower. I reckon Sloan and Dominik
won't mind having you around."

Landon nodded slowly. "What about your
wife?"

Max snorted. "She'd take Sloan's whip to me
if I didn't make the offer. Seriously, man, we're a team. We look
out for each other."

"Thank you. It shouldn't be for more than a
week," Landon said.

Silver ground her teeth. "Are you sure you
have enough rooms?"

"Vanek moved in with Carter, so we're got a
spare." Max seemed to be trying very hard not to laugh. "If you're
concerned, you can swing by and check it out."

Damn it, Landon can stay with me!
She
wanted to kick Max. He obviously thought she would rather take his
word that Landon would be fine than face Sloan and Oriana. Her
family. More people who couldn't stand her.

But he obviously didn't know her very
well.

She smiled sweetly. "I'd love to."

Eyes wide, Max looked at Landon as though
expecting him to object.

Landon smiled and took her hand. "I was
hoping you'd say that. We can swing by your place and pick up a few
movies. We've got a few Clint Eastwoods to go through to finish our
marathon."

"Oh yeah! I fell asleep during
Unforgiven
—I really wanted to see that one!" She batted her
eyelashes at Max. "You don't mind, do you,
bro
?"

* * * *

Silver flicked her French manicured nails,
one at a time, against her thumb as she gazed up at the blocky,
modern two-story house from the driver's seat of her car. A light
breeze came through her open window and the cold bit through her
thin, sporty fall jacket. She'd changed at her place while Landon
picked out the movie, going for a casual look in jeans and a plain
white cotton t-shirt, but now she wished she'd stuck with her
regular, high fashion wardrobe. Louis Vutton didn't leave her
feeling vulnerable and young. Heels gave her stature.

Sneakers made her small and
insignificant.

Landon patted her knee. "Open the door,
chérie. You'll see, it won't be that bad."

Right. I'm sure they've got the welcome
mat laid out.
She shook her head and sighed. "You don't get it.
Oriana isn't speaking to me. This is her house and—"

"She's your sister." Landon frowned at her
shrug and got out of the car. He came around to her side and opened
her door. "Come on. You'll feel better after you two hash this
out."

She sincerely doubted it, but she took his
hand and joined him on the sidewalk before slamming her door with
resounding finality. Landon was wrong, this wouldn't make anything
better, but at least she could say she'd tried.

His solid grip on her hand gave her strength
as they approached the house, but as they started up the stairs and
the door opened, she jerked her hand free. Holding on to him would
make her look even more pathetic.

Landon paused and looked back from a step
ahead.

"You okay?" He mouthed.

Giving him a curt nod, she forced herself
onto the porch and smiled at her sister who held the door open for
them. "Hey."

"Hey." Oriana pressed her lips together, then
turned to Landon with a brilliant smile. "I'm so happy you took Max
up on his offer. Come in. I'll show you to your room."

"Thanks." Landon reached back and put his
hand on the small of Silver's back, propelling her forward with
him. "I really appreciate this, but . . . well, maybe Max can show
me the room while you two talk?"

"That's a mighty fine idea." Max came to
Oriana's side and whispered something to her before gesturing to
Landon. "It's not the biggest room in the house, but I think you'll
be comfortable."

The men disappeared behind a door just off
the large living room. Silver nibbled at her bottom lip and tried
to ignore the fact that Oriana was glaring at her. "Look, I know
you're upset, but—"

Her phone buzzed in her purse.

"You should get that." Oriana turned away and
said lightly. "Would you like something to drink? I have wine—not
the stuff you're used to, but it's pretty good."

Silver swallowed. "No, that's okay."

At another buzz she reached in her purse and
checked her phone. Dean's number flashed on the screen.

"Diet coke? Beer?" Oriana called from the
kitchen.

"Diet coke, please." Silver glanced over to
where Sloan watched her from the sofa and decided to take Dean's
call. She held the phone up to her ear and tried to keep her voice
level. "Hello?"

After a brief pause, Dean spoke, his tone
gruff. "What's wrong?"

"Umm . . . ." She peered up at Dominik as he
sauntered down the stairs halfway across the hall. "I'm going to
take this outside, if you don't mind?"

"Go ahead."

Outside, she took a deep breath and let out a
light laugh. "Why would you think something's wrong?"

"Silver, don't play games with me. You sound
tense and so far you've failed to make one smart-assed remark."

"Ah." She giggled and wrapped her pony tail
around her hand as she gazed up at the pinprick star laden sky.
"Sorry. How's this—miss me already?"

"Of course. Why wouldn't I miss your sass?"
He chuckled, but for some reason she didn't think he was joking. "I
know I told you I wanted to be professional at work, but neither of
us is at work now. I'd appreciate some honesty."

"Honesty? Well, I'll give you one thing. You
have excellent timing."

"How so?"

"I'm at Max's place and . . . things are a
little awkward."
To put it
lightly.
She made a face. "Oriana isn't
happy I'm here."

"I see." Dean paused, then
sighed. "Why are you?"

Resting her hip on the railing,
she tried to put her thoughts into some semblance of order. "Landon
thought it would be a good idea for us to talk—but that was after
I'd already agreed to come hang out. Max invited him to stay and .
. . I guess told me I could come along expecting me to say no."

"So naturally you didn't." Dean
snorted. "I would have liked to be there to see his reaction."

Silver let out a sharp
laugh. "I would have taken a picture if I could have. But now—I
mean, it seemed like a good idea at the time . . . ."

"What is the problem exactly? If
you don't mind me asking?"

"Oriana found out I'd considered
trading Sloan."

"So what?"

So
what?
Her brow furrowed. This from the
man who'd almost blown a gasket when she'd brought it up? "You're
kidding, right?"

"Silver, you know how I feel
about the matter. Still, Oriana knows enough about the game to know
these things happen. If we decided trading Sloan would benefit the
team he would be traded." Dean waited, as if to gauge her response,
then groaned when she didn't say a word. "You both have to
understand something, and I will tell her myself if you don't. This
can't be personal. If I can analyze my own brother's performance
before deciding whether or not he's suitable as a coach, she'll
have to accept that I will do the same for the players, whether or
not they're in a relationship with the owner's daughter—or sister."
He amended. "Do you understand?"

"Yes, but . . . ." Silver
held the phone with her shoulder and braced her hands to the
railing. "She hates me for even thinking about it."

"That's her problem, not yours."
He spoke softly, soothing her with his deep timbre. "I would assure
her that you won't make the decision based on your own opinion of
Sloan as a person, but you cannot promise that he won't be traded
just because he is, in essence, your brother-in-law."

"Legally he isn't."

"Don't be petty, dear, that
won't help your case." He cleared his throat. "Now, I called
because I sent you a text about the press conference tomorrow, but
I wasn't sure if you'd seen it."

She vaguely recalled the text.
Hadn't she replied? "I got it and I'll be there. You don't need to
worry, I'm good with the media."

"Yes, but this isn't Hollywood.
The press will come down on you hard for signing Demyan." He
exhaled sharply into the phone. "I thought you should be warned
that he'll likely prove that you made a mistake."

Uck, not this
again!
"Dean, I know you don't like him,
but give the guy a chance. You haven't even seen him play
yet!"

"No, but I should have today. He
decided he was too sick."

"Oh . . . well people do get
sick."

"He was faking, Silver. He felt
well enough to hit on a trainer and Bower's sister."

Silver winced. She didn't know
the trainer, but she'd noticed the press badge on Rebecca's jacket.
The guy was either cocky, or stupid, or both. "How do we deal with
this?"

"Let me deal with it. I just
wanted you prepared. Most of the league knows you made this trade
without me."

"So I'll look stupid."

"Not at all. I've made it clear
I support the trade."

Blinking fast, Silver
straightened and shook her head. "Why would you do that? You didn't
support it!"

"And?"

"And why should you look bad
because of my decision?"

"Don't worry, I'll survive." He
chuckled again and goose bumps rose on her flesh. "We've got a good
team. This is nothing. At worse we make him a healthy scratch for
most of the season. That should get him in line."

Not that she had any clue what a
healthy scratch was, but his support had her ready to agree to
anything. "Good. I can agree to that. But . . . I'm sorry if I made
thing harder for you."

"Just promise not to do it
again."

I can't do it
again. Daddy made sure of that.
But he
wasn't rubbing it in, so she quickly agreed. And looked inside to
see Landon in the living room speaking with her sister and the
other guys. "I promise. But I should go in now. See you
tomorrow?"

"About that . . . ." Dean
inhaled roughly. "I think we should meet before the press
conference and make sure we're on the same page. I know a place
that serves crepes if you'd be okay with a breakfast meeting."

She bit back a smile. "I'd like
that. But I've got to say, I'm surprised you'd go out for breakfast
since you seem to be such a good cook."

"What gave you that idea?"

"You said you wouldn't let me
and Landon in your kitchen. Must mean you think you can do better
than we can."

"That's not hard. Apparently
neither of you can cook without hurting yourselves."

"I still can't picture you
cooking."

"Really? Maybe you should come
to my place in the morning."