Winning Streak (11 page)

She took a seat on one of the stools, beamed at him, and ate a forkful of meatloaf. Then her eyes closed, and she moaned, which had two effects. One, pride coursed through him for the compliment to his cooking. Two, lust coursed through him when he imaged that moan in a different setting. Saralynn licked her lips—
God, not helping
—and cut another bite with her fork. “Okay, I didn't give you enough credit. This isn't filching family recipes. This is next
Food Network Star
. You have a gift.”

His face burned all the way to the tips of his ears. “It's meatloaf.”

“It's a masterpiece,” she said around another mouthful.

“Glad you like it.” He filled a plate for himself, sat beside her, and watched her eat from the corner of his eye. She squealed and tapped her feet on the bottom rung of the stool. If she were faking the enthusiasm, she deserved an Emmy. Cole had said his cooking was good, but the average twenty-two-year-old hockey player wasn't that discerning about food. If it wasn't currently breathing, moving, or growing but at one point had been, it was fair game. “So I haven't talked to you since Wednesday night. How was the rest of your week?”

She put her fork down and took a drink from the glass of soda he'd set out. “I'm sure there are worse jobs, but interviewing hockey players—especially when the questions are personal—can get weird. Times ten when one of them is your brother. I just hope this idea sells as well as I think it will. That was yesterday. Today was the photo shoot.”

“I heard some stuff about that. Twenty-something half-naked hockey players. You weren't taking the pictures, were you?”

“Are you kidding? You've seen my camera. No, I left that to a professional, but I had to be there to liaise. That's French for ‘corral and hold the attention span of six-foot toddlers.' Averting their pranks is a job of its own.”

“Sure you weren't sponging the sweat from their foreheads or greasing their abs?” He kept his tone light and playful, and honestly, he didn't think she'd really do anything like that, but knowing she'd been surrounded by a lot of men at their physical peaks made him twitch.

She'd been stirring her corn into her potatoes and looked up at him with a knowing grin. “You're jealous.”

“Am not.” Okay, that sounded lame even to him. “Maybe a little. I know it's stupid.”

“It's sweet.” She leaned over and kissed his cheek, her hair sweeping forward to tickle his jaw. He got a whiff of her cotton candy perfume and breathed deeper.

“You smell like dessert.”

“Ah-ah. What happened to PG-13? And I hope that's not your way of telling me there's no real dessert, 'cause I just cleaned my plate.”

He peered around her and did a double take. “Whoa.”

“I usually eat a little slower, but everything was so awesome, it's taking all my willpower not to lick every last atom of food from the ceramic.”

“Thanks. And you get to pick the rating for the night. If you're set on PG-13, there's ice cream cake in the fridge. You'll save me a piece, right?”

She stuck her tongue out at him but glided around the island to retrieve the cake then stared at it. “I can't make any promises. I'm hearing the ‘Hallelujah Chorus.' Did you make this, too?”

“Dairy Queen gets the credit for that one.”

“Too bad. A homemade ice cream cake just might be enough to get me to say yes to a marriage proposal one of these days.”

I'll keep that in mind
.
Wait a minute
.

“How many proposals have you had so far?”

“Four. Five.” She glanced at the ceiling as if doing the mental math then nodded. “Five.”

“
Five?
You're twenty-three.”

She gave him a sheepish smile and shrugged. “College. Besides, I'm pretty sure one or two weren't really serious about it.” She concentrated on cutting two pieces of cake as if her words were no big deal.

Five proposals. He'd only been fairly serious with two women before in his life. A naïve college crush that crumbled upon graduation, and most recently, a naïve infatuation with a reporter who turned out to be Satan herself. Then finally Saralynn, who felt more right than anyone, but what chance did he have with a past like hers?

She looked up from plating the melting cake slices and pressed her lips together. “I freaked you out.”

He wanted to deny it and tried to, but the words didn't come fast enough.

“You know I'm not super proud of my past. I led guys on, and I feel terrible about it, but that's not me anymore. I'm not saying I'm ready to get married or anything, but I'm not just wasting time with you. That came out wrong. What I mean is, I used to be closed off to even the possibility of love. And I'm not now. At least not entirely.”

She was so serious, smiling seemed like the wrong thing to do, but he couldn't help it. He circled the counter and slid his arms around her waist, pulling her against him at the hip. “You say you don't ramble often?”

“I would hit you, but my hands are dripping with ice cream, and that looks like an expensive shirt.”

He leaned in, nudged her nose with his, then kissed her. It started slow and sweet then picked up some steam. Her arms went around his neck as she swayed into him. A few cold drops hit the back of his neck, and he jerked back before remembering the ice cream on her fingers.

“Guess we should eat it before it's soup.” She nodded toward the plates, where the icing was sliding off the cake.

Words eluded him. His brain was still stuck on the possibilities born from that kiss, so he bobbed his head a few times to offer some form of response. Her smile let him know she enjoyed the effect she had, and she proceeded to lick her hands clean with innocence in her big, doe eyes. A small, strangled sound came from his throat. “You're doing this on purpose.”

“Doing what?” She blinked at him, fanning long, dark lashes before diving into her slice of half-melted cake. The red icing smeared across her lips, and she looked a little like a hyena devouring a fallen gazelle as she inhaled the dessert. It took some of the edge off, and he laughed. One second unbelievably sexy and the next a relatable goofball. That seemed like good relationship material.

While he polished off his own slice, she dabbed at her mouth with a napkin but didn't quite get it all. “You missed a little … ”

She tried again to no avail. He reached over and brushed the corner of her mouth, getting the last of the icing, but before he could pull back, she caught his thumb between her lips and the tip of her tongue flicked against it.

He released a slow breath. “You're killing me here.”

He wasn't mistaking the desire reflected in her eyes, but she took a step back. “Sorry. Old habits. I want you, and I do see that happening. Just probably shouldn't be tonight.”

She was right. His brain knew that, but it was having a little trouble getting a word in when all blood flow was directed south at the moment. He wanted her like he'd never wanted anyone in his life. Waiting would make it all the more intense. Hadn't he promised her a night of good, clean fun? Shower sex came to mind, but that was a loose interpretation, and even his hormone-riddled mind comprehended that. “In that case, I think we need a distraction. I believe someone threatened to beat me in pool.”

“Wasn't a threat. It was a promise.” Her smile was as sweet as her perfume.

“Then let's go.”

• • •

After five games, he'd bowed deeply and admitted defeat, but Saralynn had a sneaking suspicion he'd let her win the last two. Normally she'd object, but it didn't feel like he was patronizing her. More like he enjoyed watching her victory dance. That was fair because she enjoyed watching him bend over to line up a shot. Plus, how many guys could put away their own egos, throw a game, and not rub it in all because they wanted their date to have fun? Not many, in her experience.

She hung her stick on the rack. “So what's next? A movie in the living room? That was the cavern to the left of the foyer, right? Wish we'd left a trail of breadcrumbs from the kitchen to find our way back.”

“Movie yes, living room no.” His light eyes had that mischievous glint that made her toes curl.

“I hope you're not suggesting we watch it in your bedroom. I have willpower, but I'm not made of steel.”

He grinned and held out a hand. “Come with me.”

Should I or shouldn't I
repeated in her head for all of two seconds before she slid her palm into his and followed along. It wasn't poor impulse control. If that had been the case, they'd have sealed the deal Wednesday night. Or an hour ago in the kitchen. This was delayed gratification. This was … not what she expected.

Instead of going upstairs, he tugged her into a dark room that had to be enormous judging from the acoustics of the echo when he closed the door. When he flipped the lights, she gasped. There was a giant movie screen that had to be just short of IMAX, with stadium seating. Granted, not as big as an actual theater, but this was
in his house.

“I wish I could take credit, but this was all my dad.”

“This is where we're watching the movie? I can see why Cole loves it here. Not that your five-star personality isn't enough on its own.”

“Hah, thanks.” He winked at her and moved to turn on the projector and game system.

She went up a few steps, chose the middle of a row, and eased into the most comfortable theater seat she'd ever experienced. “Did you have auditions for a roommate? How'd Cole get the gig?”

“Are you saying you'd like to kick him out and take his place?” Madden vaulted the steps in one jump and sat beside her.

“Ah … ” He wasn't serious, right? In a place this big, she'd feel like another ornament, but living in a giant playground did hold a certain appeal. So did the thought of sharing a bed with Madden.

“Relax, I was just kidding. I don't think your shoe collection would fit in here.”

She jabbed his arm with her elbow, and he laughed.

“I wasn't looking for a roommate. Even when Jace lived here, we hardly saw each other, so it wasn't much different when she got married and moved in with Carter. Cole had been bunking with a guy who got traded. Not that he couldn't afford his own place. The kid could buy a small island in the South Pacific. But it's a big city, and he's kind of shy. Still only hangs out with guys on the team and Tricia when he's not at the arena. We were talking one day, and I could tell he was nervous about being on his own, so I made the offer. Turns out it is kind of nice having someone around.”

“He told me you're like a brother to him. Sounds like he's been good for you, too.”

“He's a good guy. I might even miss him if he moves in with Tricia, but don't tell him I said that.”

“Said what?”

He leaned over the armrest and kissed her nose. No guy had ever done that to her. It was such a simple, natural gesture, so boyfriend-y, but she'd never been the boyfriend type before. Not in any genuine way. Tingles danced through her, but not the sexy kind from earlier. This was the stomach-full-of-butterflies variety, and all she could think was
I don't want to lose this
.

Monday, March 10th

Madden sat across from Cole in a red vinyl booth at Johnny Rockets, staring at his cheeseburger. Cole hadn't put his down and was two bites from done. The kid took a break to swallow and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “You okay, man?”

“Yeah, just thinking. Sorry.”

Cole set what remained of his burger on the plate, fully focused. He was dependable like that, and intuitive. He always knew when okay didn't mean okay. Sometimes it was annoying, but not today. If Madden didn't talk to someone about Saralynn, he'd combust.

“I just can't stop thinking about her, you know? And it's getting harder to keep it a secret. I want to be able to go anywhere with her, whenever, and not worry about who might find out.”

“I know what you mean. When I first started seeing Tricia, we laid low to save her from the press, but eventually, she came around to the idea. I know it's different with you. More people involved and more at stake.”

He didn't know the half of it. “I don't want to scare her away though. I'm afraid if we go too fast, she'll bolt. And then … part of me wonders if it's even real. I've always had this habit of jumping with both feet, getting in over my head, and sorting through the fallout after everything blew up. Bets, relationships. Hell. Even my position in the organization.”

“What do you mean?”

“Ah, nothing.” Oversharing. Another thing he needed to work on. “Sometimes I'm stretched a little thin.”

“That, I get. But it's different with Saralynn. I can tell. You weren't like this, even about Linden.”

“It feels different. I guess I'm still getting used to trusting my own judgment. And Saralynn's not always easy to read. I think we're on the same page, but can you ever really know?”

“Women can be a mystery. I feel good with Tricia though. We're pretty solid. I'm even thinking of seeing how she'd feel about moving in together.” The last part he said picking at his fries, paying extra attention to how he lined them up in the ketchup.

It shouldn't have, but the thought of Cole moving out left him a little hollow and … sad. He hadn't realized how nice it was to have someone like a younger brother around to goof off or eat dinner with. A co-captain to kill zombies with before bed. “Dude, if she's into it, go for it. You seem really happy with her, and you don't get much time together with your schedule.”

Cole nodded, and his throat worked like he was trying to say something, but he didn't. He just nodded again, ate another fry, and mumbled, “Thanks, man.” It hadn't been easy for the kid adjusting to big city life on his own. If he could take this step, even if it made him nervous, he had to. And Madden would support it because that's what brothers did. Even unofficial ones.