Major Misconduct (Aces Hockey #1) (16 page)

Their kiss was long and deep and slow. And…risky. They heard Army moving through the condo, doing something in the kitchen, then his steps in the hall as he went into his bedroom. Then he came back out to do something. Then went back in. His bedroom door closed and the noises became faint.

Marc almost forgot to listen, getting lost in Lovey, in her taste, her scent, the feel of her in the dark. He licked into her mouth, and his body responded, hardening. Christ. This was a mistake. She had to get out of there and into her own room—now.

“Lovey.” He managed to draw back and whisper her name. “You have to go to your own room.”

“I know.” She kissed his jaw. “I will.”

“You should get dressed.”

“I can’t find my clothes in the dark.”

She had him there. “If we wait too long I’m afraid I’ll keep you here all night.”

“I’d be okay with that.”

He chuckled. “I would too, if it weren’t for your damn brother across the hall. Christ, Lovey. This is all kinds of messed up.”

She sighed against him. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“I told you, it’s not all on you. I wanted it too.”

“I know.”

He had a hard time stopping the laugh that wanted to burst out of him.

“Just a few more minutes,” she said. “To make sure he’s in bed. I’ll just run to my room.”

“I’ll put the light on so you can find your clothes. Get dressed. If he sees you coming out of my room naked, we’re both fucked.”

“Literally and figuratively.”

He wanted to laugh again. How could she be making him laugh when they were in so much shit here?

They stayed in bed and he resolutely stopped himself from kissing or petting her. His dick was half hard and didn’t need any encouragement to get harder. Finally, Lovey said, “Okay, I think it’s safe. I haven’t heard anything for a while.”

“Yeah.” He turned the lamp back on and watched her get out of bed, the lovely curve of her back, the taut cheeks of her ass, her red-gold hair tumbled over her shoulders and down her back.

She quickly pulled on her yoga pants and sweater, then turned to him. “I’ll leave my bra and panties here,” she whispered. “I’ll get them some other time.”

Fuck no! She could not leave her sexy little under things in his room! Never mind Duncan,
he
didn’t need to see that. It would make him fucking nuts.

But she was already at the door, silently opening it a crack, peeking out, then slipping into the hall. And she was gone.

She didn’t even say good night.

Christ, he was thinking like a girl, miffed that she didn’t say good night. He flopped down onto his pillow. What was she doing to him? Making him do things he knew he shouldn’t. Okay, not
making
him, but…enticing him. Making him feel so good. Making him confess things he couldn’t tell anyone else.

He was going to have to do a better job of controlling himself. He was known for staying in control of his emotions. You couldn’t win a hockey game if you let your emotions get the better of you. It was all about control. Focus. Determination. Qualities he’d developed to a high level. He could totally use them to stay away from Lovey Armstrong.

Saturday night, Lovey, Jillian, Leigh, and Dior all went to the game. The Aces lost yet again. Lovey watched carefully, not that she was an expert or anything, but it was clear to her that Dale Ronson was playing terribly. He’d turned the puck over several times, missed passes, and took stupid penalties.

She could feel the frustration of the team and watched as Coach Brad Wendell bent down to talk to Dale. Well, it was more like yell at him. She couldn’t hear what he was saying but he appeared frustrated too.

Her eyes kept returning to Marc, observing him both on the ice and off. He was trying so hard. Her chest got tight and her stomach knotted as she watched, feeling for him as the Islanders scored again and again.

Duncan and some of the guys were going out after the game again, and Lovey had been excited to take her new friends and introduce them to the guys. But after playing so crappy and losing, she had a feeling the atmosphere wasn’t going to be so much fun.

But they went anyway, to the Sin Bin. The atmosphere was kind of subdued, but not as bad as she’d feared. These guys had a pretty impressive ability to leave their work at the rink and forget about it. She guessed they had to be that way.

She kept watching for Marc to arrive, eyes continually flicking to the entrance. Now that she knew about his work with sick children, she knew he would be going up to the suite after the game to see them.

Finally she had to conclude he wasn’t coming tonight.

Where was he? Had he gone home? She edged closer to Duncan. “Hey. Where’s Marc?”

Duncan shrugged. “No idea.”

“Can you text him?”

“Why?” He gave her a narrow-eyed look.

“I’m…” What could she say? She was concerned about him, but Duncan wouldn’t want to hear that. Shit, why hadn’t she gotten Marc’s phone number?

She knew how badly he’d been feeling about things and tonight wasn’t going to help that.

“I’ll text him,” she said. “Give me his number.”

Duncan grumbled but pulled out his iPhone and gave it to her. She sent a text, then pretended to participate in a conversation while she waited.

Her phone buzzed and she quickly read the message.
At home.

She nodded slowly. She wanted to be with him. Make sure he wasn’t beating himself up.

She slipped off her stool and walked to where Jillian and Leigh were talking to Jared and Brent. “Hey, everyone. I’m heading out.”

“Already?” Jillian tipped her head to one side.

“Yeah, suddenly I have a killer headache,” she lied. “Sorry to bail. You guys stay and have fun.”

She quickly found a taxi outside and was soon home, using her key to enter the condo. Marc was sitting on the couch, the TV on but muted, reading a book in the light of the floor lamp.

She dropped her purse on a table and walked to him. “Hey.”

He looked at her. “Hi.”

She sat beside him on the couch. “What are you reading?”

“Extraordinary Athletic Performance.”

She pursed her lips. “Is it good?”

“It’s interesting. It talks about how some skills that we assume are innate, like a goalie’s fast reflexes when he’s stopping a puck, really aren’t. And some things that you’d think are voluntary, like how strong an athlete’s will to train is, might be innate. Kind of that nature versus nurture debate.”

“That is interesting.” Weirdly. For her. “Are you trying to learn something?”

“I’m always trying to learn something.” His smile went wry.

“Did you go see your sick kids after the game?”

“Yeah. They were awesome.”

“Why didn’t you meet us at the Sin Bin?”

He lifted one big shoulder. “Wasn’t in a mood for it.”

“Marc.” She leaned her head against his shoulder. “Remember? Live. Laugh. Love.”

He set down the book and his hand came up to her face, touching her cheek. “I remember. I was living and laughing with those kids. They help put things in perspective. Like, how important is a stupid game when someone so young is battling cancer?”

“Yeah. You’re right.”

“Battling cancer
and
can still smile and laugh. Now, that’s inspiring.”

She tipped her head to smile up at him. “It definitely is.”

“You didn’t come home with Duncan?”

“No. He’s still there. I…” She what? She wanted to see him? Wanted to make sure he was okay? That wasn’t really what this was about. This was about sizzling chemistry and hot sex. “I thought maybe some sex would cheer you up.”

He choked on a laugh. “Christ, Lovey.”

She met his eyes. “Well? Would it?”

His head moved slowly from side to side, his eyes nonetheless fastened on hers. “Yeah. It would.”

She rose and took his hand. He left his book on the couch and they walked down the hall and into his bedroom.

Sunday morning Lovey slept in and loved every minute of it. Even though she didn’t have a job where she left home to go to work every day, she’d been working hard at her blog and Big Cheese Media, forcing herself to stick to a routine where she got up every morning and worked.

So it was eleven o’clock before she emerged from her room. She and Marc had exhausted each other last night. She smiled.

She glanced at the open door of his room, which was apparently empty. Duncan’s door was closed. She hadn’t heard him come home last night. Must’ve been late because he still hadn’t been home when she’d crept out of Marc’s room and into her own.

Marc was pushing his arms into his black leather jacket, standing near the kitchen.

“Morning,” she said with a yawn. Marc looked at her and as usual, the air changed and went charged as their eyes met. Lovey’s skin tingled. She reached for a mug in the cabinet. “Where are you off to?”

“Meeting with Coach.”

She nodded slowly. “Are you going to talk to him about Dale?”

“Yeah. This shit can’t go on.”

She smiled. “Good.”

“What are you up to today?”

She wondered at his question. “Yoga class at one. After that, I don’t know. I may wander into some shops. Take some pictures. Pick up something for dinner. Are you here for dinner tonight?”

“Roast beef?” he asked hopefully.

She laughed. “No. I was thinking about making lasagna, maybe.”

“That sounds good.”

“Okay. I’ll…see you later.”

He nodded, looping a scarf around his neck. “Okay.”

They stood looking at each other for a long, wordless moment. Lovey still held an empty mug in her hands. She wanted to kiss him. Was he thinking the same thing?

He broke eye contact and lifted a hand as he headed out.

Lovey turned to the coffeemaker. Thoughts and feelings were jumbled up inside her. A weird sort of longing. A confusing mix of happiness and sadness. Even a hint of worry. What was that about? About Marc’s discussion with his coach, and how that was going to go? Maybe.

While she drank her coffee, she tossed some ingredients into the blender—coconut milk, spinach, pineapple, and a banana—and whirled it until it was smooth. She poured it into a glass and dropped a wide straw into it. She wandered with her smoothie over to the windows to study the view.

Overcast day, pale gray sky. Dull and a little gloomy. She sighed. Her mood needed a pick-me-up. Maybe she should ask Marc about doing some volunteer work with sick kids. If it helped him keep things in perspective, maybe it would help her. She’d done volunteer work back in Madison, so she should find something like that to do here. Getting outside yourself was a healthy thing to do.

She changed into her yoga clothes and went to class. That helped with her mood. She felt a little more settled when she left there. She explored some shops in the neighborhood, delighted to find a stationery shop that was full of pretty things…adorable desktop organizers, lovely journals, scented candles and unique holders…she spent a good while looking around and selected an irresistible butter-cream scented candle in a cute jar. Then she paused at a section devoted to games and studied the black boxes of Cards Against Humanity. She’d heard people talking about it and how hilarious it was.

Something hilarious was always a good thing. Laughter was important. So she bought the game, not sure what exactly she was going to do with it.

She walked toward the Italian market where she did most of her shopping. The clouds were breaking, the sun trying to shine through. She filled her lungs with fresh air. Then she blinked. Ahead of her, walking toward her, was Marc.

Was it really him? She kept walking. Yep.

He spotted her too and smiled. They stopped on the sidewalk, right in front of Moretti’s.

“What are you doing here?” She tipped her head to one side.

“Just walking.”

“Cool. You can come shopping with me. I’ll be able to carry more with you here to help.”

“Sure. I can be your pack mule.”

She laughed and wrinkled her nose. “Come on.” She pushed into the store and grabbed a cart, which Marc immediately took control of. She gave him a raised-eyebrow look but started toward the bakery.

“Lovey!” Mr. Moretti was just loading fresh buns into a big bin. “Hello, beautiful. Nice to see you.”

“Hi, Mr. Moretti. How are you?”

“Good, good.” He frowned. “Are you actually going to buy bread today?”

She grinned. “I am. I’m making lasagna tonight for two big guys and I think they’ll want garlic buns.” She turned to Marc. “Marc, this is Mr. Moretti, who owns the store. Marc’s my brother’s roommate,” she added. “It’s them I’m cooking dinner for.”

“Ah.” Mr. Moretti gave Marc an appraising look. “Nice to meet you, Marc.”

“Likewise.”

“Here, these ciabatta are fresh,” Mr. Moretti said. “How many you want? A dozen?”

“Eeek, no. Maybe…six.” They were pretty big.

Mr. Moretti used a square of wax paper to lift the buns into a paper bag. “There you go. What else?”

“I need all the ingredients for the lasagna. And a few of my usual things.”

“Pasta is down this aisle.” He gestured. “Well, you know your way around the store. Call if you need help.”

“Thank you.” She smiled at the older man in his big white apron.

“How the hell do you know him?” Marc muttered as he followed her down the aisle.

“I shop here all the time.”

“You’ve only been in Chicago a few weeks.”

“Well, yeah.”

“He was giving me the look. Like, making sure I’m good enough for you.”

She laughed. “No, he wasn’t.”

“He totally was.” Marc shook his head.

She ignored him and chose pasta, tomatoes, tomato paste, then headed for the dairy section to select ricotta and mozzarella cheeses. She picked up some yogurt since they were almost out. “What kind do you like?” she asked Marc.

“Any kind.”

“Okay. Now I need some ground beef for the meat sauce.”

“Oh thank God. I was afraid this was going to be a vegetarian lasagna.”

“I do make a really good vegetarian lasagna. With artichoke hearts and spinach—”

Marc held up a hand. “Please. It has to have meat in it.”

Amusement curled inside her. “Fine. Lots of meat. But we’ll need a salad.”

“Sure. I like salad.”

They chose greens for the salad, as well as some fruit.

“Okay. Done.”

When they went through the checkout, Marc pulled out his wallet. Lovey frowned. “What are you doing?”

“Paying for this stuff.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Why should you have to pay for all this food? You’re cooking it for us.”

“Well…”

“You’re cooking for us,” he repeated, his eyes steady on hers. “The least I can do is pay for the ingredients.”

“There’s some of my own stuff in there,” she said, a little breathlessly.

He waved a hand. “Whatever. I can afford it.”

“Yes. Yes, you can.” No argument there. Her bank account was dipping alarmingly with the money she’d paid for the apartment, but she could have paid for this herself.

He handed over a credit card and paid, then picked up all the bags.

“Okay, I said you could help. You don’t need to carry everything.”

“Pack mule.” His lips twitched.

“Come on, I can carry a couple.”

“Here.” He handed her two light bags. She shook her head, smiling, and they started walking home.

“How did your meeting go?”

“Okay. Good. I don’t know.” He paused. “I feel better. I think I was respectful. But somebody needs to do something. Dale’s in trouble. I can feel it.”

“Have you talked to Dale?”

“Yeah. I tried. I didn’t get far.”

“If he needs help, then you did the right thing.”

“I hope so. We’re all responsible for how the team does. Him too. We all need to step up and hold each other accountable.”

They walked in comfortable silence for a few minutes, then Marc said, “Thanks, Lovey.”

“For what?”

“For making it clear to me what I needed to do.”

“You’re welcome.” She didn’t think anything she’d said really made a difference. Marc was clearly a leader who looked out for not only the team as a whole but for individuals on the team. He would’ve figured out what he needed to do sooner or later. And she didn’t even know if this was the right thing. Why a team keeps losing could be a complicated, multi-layered problem with no easy answers. But solutions start with one small move. Maybe this would be it.

She hated for him to be unhappy. It made her unhappy. She much preferred it when everyone was happy.

“What’s your middle name?” she asked.

He turned and looked at her. “Alexandre. Why?”

“Just making conversation. I love how you say your name, with the French pronunciation. Teach me how to say it.”

“Marc Alexandre Dupuis,” he said.

She tried it and failed miserably. He chuckled. “Marc.” His soft “r” defeated her. She tried again.

“Not bad. Alexandre.” It sounded like Alex-zondruh. So that was what she said. He was still amused. “Just soften that ‘r’ a bit.”

“I can’t. Say your last name.”

“Dupuis.”

There was a subtle difference between his pronunciation and the way everyone else said it. His “u” sounded a little…sharper, and the “p” sounded slightly softer.