Dirty Score, A Rough Riders Hockey Novel (10 page)

And Mia.

After he’d played like shit for two days.

God, he hoped Mia’s pattern of no-showing held true through the night.

N
ot only couldn’t
Rafe get lucky enough to have Mia pass on dinner, he couldn’t be lucky enough for her to come in something casual and ordinary. He could have done a decent job of ignoring her curves in jeans and a blouse. A dress would have made it a little harder to focus on dinner, with his mind constantly veering toward sliding his hands up her legs, beneath the skirt, and over her tight ass.

But there was no ignoring all her luscious sexuality in the burgundy number she had on now. From the front door, she set confident strides toward their table. Rafe loved the way she moved—with a little of that model swagger she’d been exposed to on fashion runways and all the confidence of the woman she’d become. Her dress sheered up one side, pulling the soft fabric at angles across her body and accentuating every delicious curve. The sleeveless tank’s neckline and hem were modest, but the way the design showed off her body was sinful. And Rafe couldn’t help but wonder what she had on underneath.

He fisted his hands and clenched his teeth. This dinner was going to last for-fucking-ever.

Mia sauntered to their table, and all three of them stood, something Joe had taught them young. Mia ignored Tate and Rafe and walked straight to Joe with a genuine smile. She gave him a big hug and kissed his cheek.

“Hey, you,” she said, pulling back and sweeping a glance over his casual khakis and button-down. “Someone’s losing weight.”

Joe chuckled and slid a hand over his moderately sized belly. “Down ten pounds.”

“I can tell. And in just, what? Didn’t I see you a month ago?”

Joe traveled for his work as a corporate attorney and often visited Mia in New York. “Five weeks.”

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you, sweetheart. It’s a start.” He kissed her cheek and pulled out her chair. As she sat, he said, “You look beautiful. Is this dress one of yours?”

Rafe glanced at Tate for explanation, but Tate was listening to the conversation.

“It is,” she said. “You like it?”

“One of your what?” Rafe asked.

“Her designs,” Tate answered, equally subdued tonight after losing the game.

“Designs?” Rafe looked back at Mia and Joe. “You designed that dress? Like, from scratch?”

Joe laughed, but Mia didn’t think Rafe’s ignorance was funny. Neither did Rafe. He was annoyed that he was the only one at the table who didn’t know Mia had risen to the level of designing her own clothes under the guidance of a well-known New York designer. But there was no one to blame for that but himself. That’s what he got for avoiding her all year. For not asking about her work since she’d arrived.

“I did,” she told Joe. “I also designed the dress I was wearing the night I got here.” Her gaze turned on Rafe, and he felt the heat of her stare straight through his body. “Remember, the one I was wearing when I saved you from that date from hell?”

Her
get laid
dress.

Rafe didn’t answer. All he could remember about that dress was the way it looked sliding off her body. And how goddamned beautiful she’d looked. Like now, with her dark hair falling in loose curls to her shoulders. Her makeup was soft, enhancing her eyes, cheeks, and lips just enough to pop. Just enough to send his mind into fantasy mode.

Joe covered Mia’s hand with his and squeezed, smiling at her. “Sweetheart, you are one talented woman.”

“Thank you.”

“I ordered you a wonderful Syrah,” Joe told her.

“I can’t wait. I’ve found all my favorite wines with you.”

Rafe stared at the table and turned his fork over and over and over.

“So,” Mia said, “how was the game?”

Rafe’s hand froze. But it was Tate who voiced what Rafe was thinking.

“What do you mean how was the game?” Tate’s voice was filled with attitude. “Didn’t you watch it?”

“No. But judging by your faces, I’m going to guess it was bad, so we can just move on to other subjects if you’d like.”

“
Other subjects?”
Rafe said, lifting his gaze to hers. She never wanted to talk about anything else after a game. “Who are you, and what have you done with the real Mia?”

She gave him a cursory smile. “Sorry it’s a sore subject. I’m sure it’s just a blip. You’ll hammer them in the next game.”

Tate’s gaze darted to Rafe. “Not if Rafe doesn’t get his head out of his—”

“Don’t,” Rafe warned. “If you want this to be a nice dinner, just don’t.”

Mia hung the strap of her purse on the back of her chair and turned her gaze on Joe, totally ignoring Rafe and Tate. “How’d your merger go in Milwaukee? Did the trophy wife cause as much trouble as you thought she would?”

“Hold on,” Tate interrupted, leaning into the table and giving Mia a pointed stare. “I think a more important question would be, where have you been sleeping the past two nights?”

Rafe’s mind hit a brick wall. He glanced between Mia and Tate several times before the information that Mia had not gone back to Tate’s apartment that night she’d left the bar or the night they’d been out of town sank in.

“Wait,” Rafe said before he could stop himself. “
What?
”

Mia drilled them both with very deliberate stares. “I suggest you both heed Rafe’s earlier advice. If you want this to be a nice dinner,
don’t
.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Joe cut in. All three of them stopped talking but didn’t stop glaring as Joe’s mediating voice soothed the ruffled feathers around the table. “Hey, now, what’s going on here? This isn’t how my kids act. Especially not to each other.”

No one bothered to point out that only one of his children sat at the table. From the time Joe had discovered Tate existed, he’d treated Tate’s half sister and Tate’s best friend as his own kids. All because Tate loved them. Joe had provided for both Rafe and Mia financially and emotionally where their parents couldn’t or wouldn’t.

“I know the playoffs have you boys stressed,” Joe said. “I can only imagine the pressure you’re under. But don’t take it out on Mia. She’s got a lot of stress in her own life, and it’s no less important than yours.” He glanced at Mia and seemed to choose his words carefully. “When you have your own kids, you’ll understand that you never stop worrying about them, no matter how old they get. Is there anything you need to tell me about where you’ve been sleeping, young lady?”

Mia cast an apologetic look at Joe. “I’ve been making some things for the girls. You know, Eden, Faith, Sara, and Tina. And for the kids too. I’m using Tina’s machine at her house, and it was so nice to feel welcome and appreciated that it made me realize I didn’t feel like getting lectured by Saint Tate every time he got home. So I stayed at Tina’s one night and with Faith and Grant another. I got so good at couch hopping in New York, it was like second nature.”

“Couch hopping?” Rafe asked, confused.

“What’s this Saint Tate bullshit?” Tate asked.

“Tate.” Joe reprimanded his son for swearing.

“You do everything right.” Rafe knew exactly what the Saint Tate bullshit was. “That’s what it means. You always do everything you’re supposed to do. Follow all the rules and social mores. You have all the manners and morals. Sometimes your standards are a little hard for us mere mortals to live up to.”

“Mores? Since when do you even know what asocial mores are?” Tate sat back in his chair. “And, why am I getting hammered for doing the right thing?”

“Sounds to me,” Joe said, “like you’re getting hammered for being harsh on the people you love when they don’t do everything perfectly by your standards.”

Tate opened his mouth to argue just as a waiter came by and set drinks on the table. By the time he was gone, Tate’s ire had faded. “I’m sorry I’ve been rough on you,” he told Mia. “I worry, that’s all.”

Mia sighed and rolled her eyes with a little shake of her head. “It’s not an apology when you lie, Tate.”

“See, you’re wrong,” Tate told Rafe. “I obviously can’t even apologize right.”

A different waiter stopped by to take their orders, which seemed to hit reset on the mood at the table. When he left, Joe tried to turn that somber mood around by reaching for Mia’s hand and giving it a squeeze with an upbeat “Maybe this is a good time to share your news, honey.”

Rafe’s gaze snapped up from his glass, wondering what else he didn’t know about her life. “News” when said like that meant big news. Like she was getting a promotion. Or buying a house. Or getting married. Dread pinched his gut.

“Sure, why not?” Mia said with a stiff smile. “I…took a new job.”

Rafe released a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. “I thought you loved your job.”

“I do. I mean, I did. But it was an apprenticeship that was coming to an end and I got a really amazing offer I couldn’t turn down.” She picked up her glass and sipped. “It’s time for me to move on.”

Somehow, Rafe got the impression she was talking about more than her job. “You already quit your old job?”

“Yep. Thought I’d come see you guys between jobs, though that hasn’t turned out to be as pleasant as I’d expected.”

“Is it for the same designer? The same company?” Tate asked.

“No.” The way she paused to take a deep drink of her wine gave Rafe a bad feeling. “New company.”

Rafe glanced at Joe, who was grinning like an idiot, then asked Mia, “Why are we having to pull this out of you?”

She pressed her forearms to the table and cradled the bowl of her wineglass in her palms, her long slim fingers spreading out over the globe. Hands that had touched every inch of his body in unforgettable ways. Hands he hadn’t stopped craving since that night.

“Because she’s making a big move,” Joe said for her. “And I’m guessing by the way you two have been acting the last few days, she’s not particularly eager to tell you about it.”

“Why wouldn’t we be excited about a big move for her?” Tate asked. “Is it more money?”

“No,” Rafe said, drawing Mia’s eyes. His gut went cold. “It’s not for the money. At least that’s not why she’s holding back, is it, Mia?”

She held Rafe’s gaze for a long moment, confirming he was right. Then she looked at Tate and said, “The job’s in California.”

California?
Shock pierced Rafe’s gut.

“
What?
” Tate said. “What the hell is in California?”

“Los Angeles,” she said, a little defensiveness entering her tone. “And my job. A really cool job, actually, thanks for asking.”

Reality leaked in little by little, turning Rafe’s shock into a fiery mix of hurt, anger, and resignation. Everything she’d done with him, she’d done knowing she was leaving. Anything he’d believed was special between them had either been his imagination or her fabrication. She really had meant that she wanted to fuck him and forget him.

Rafe was still reeling with that revelation when Tate’s anger hit.

“Is this about Sam?” Tate demanded.

Sam must have been the ex-boyfriend’s name Rafe couldn’t remember. The one Tate had told Rafe she’d broken up with recently.

“Why would this have anything to do with Sam?” she asked with a scowl.

Tate sat forward again. “Because you were living with him, and it was
his
apartment. I
told you
not to move in with him. I
told you
to keep your own place. You know how hard it is to find apartments in New York.”

“Yes, Tate, I do.
I
lived there,
not you
, remember? And I told you I couldn’t
afford
to keep my own place.”

“Okay, now—” Joe started.

“And I told you I’d give you the money,” Tate spoke over him.

“And
I
told
you
I didn’t want your money.”

“Mia, honey—” Joe tried.

“You and Sam broke up,” Tate said with that
I know everything
tone, “and you didn’t have anywhere to live. That’s why you’ve been couch-hopping. That’s why you’re moving. I
knew
this would happen.”

The angry hurt on Mia’s face indicated an explosion was imminent. And even though Rafe wanted the answers to a hell of a lot of uncomfortable questions too, he sat forward and put force behind his next words. “Tate,
knock it off
.”

But Mia wasn’t helping the situation. She crossed her arms and cocked her head with attitude. “Really?” she asked Tate. “And how did you
know
this would happen? Do you have a crystal ball?”

“Because it
always
happens. It happens with
every
damn boyfriend. They all break up with you for the same reason—”

“Tate—” she warned.

“You hold back. You’re emotionally unavailable. When it comes down to it, you can’t commit. And you just keep screwing up your life—”

“
Tate
.” Joe’s bark shut down everyone within a ten-foot radius. All eyes turned to their table. “
Enough
.”

When others refocused on their own dinners, Mia reached over and covered Joe’s hand with hers, then spoke to Tate in a quiet, controlled voice. “You are
not
a psychiatrist. And you do
not
know what’s best for me. This job is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. It came from a contact I made in design school. Just because the timing came on the heels of a breakup with Sam doesn’t mean that’s why I took it. And I can guarantee you I’m not screwing up my life with this move.”

Tate heaved a sigh. “How do you know?”

“Because I’m working on the set of
Wicked Dawn
, you pompous asshole.”

Rafe’s mouth dropped open. He knew Mia was talented. Knew she had ambition and drive and work ethic. But he’d obviously cut off communication with her at a critical time in her life. And she’d soared. “‘The’
Wicked Dawn
? The one on HBO?”

“Yes, Tate,
that
one. The one heading into its seventh season and rivaling
Game of Thrones
for ratings. That
Wicked Dawn
. They’ve hired a new costume designer for the next season, and I’m working directly with that designer,” Mia said. “It’s the kind of job I would only find on Broadway in New York, and considering other designers read the obituaries to leap on a job opening like that, I didn’t think homicide was the best option. So while I may not be able to hold on to a guy, at least I won’t be screwing up my career. And before you judge my relationship failures, Tate, take a look in the mirror.”