A Lie for a Lie (All In, #1)(36)

I’m shocked stupid by the contact and the sudden wave of calm that accompanies his touch. I inhale deeply, breathing in the familiar smell of his cologne and the scent that is uniquely him. Emotions slam into me: sadness, longing, relief, and fear. His hold on me tightens enough that I let out a small squeak.

He loosens his grip and takes a cautious step back. “I’m sorry. It’s just so good to see you after all this time.” He runs his palms down my arms and takes my hands in his, squeezing gently. “You look amazing.”

I glance down at my outfit, wondering if maybe he needs glasses or something.

He doesn’t let go of my hands. “How are you? What are you doing in Chicago? I mean—obviously you’re working, but what brought you here? Are you staying?”

“That’s a lot of questions,” I reply, like an idiot, because that’s what I’ve become, apparently. I don’t know how to handle him being here. That brief wave of calm has disappeared as quickly as it arrived, and in its wake is bewilderment.

He laughs a little. “You’re right. It is a lot of questions. Let’s start with one. How are you?”

“I’m . . .” Exhausted, elated, terrified, confused. “Good.”

“Good. You look good.” His thumb smooths back and forth over my knuckles. It feels nice, but it’s also distracting. “What brought you to Chicago?”

It’s closer to New York than Washington and a way to escape my parents’ overprotectiveness. And a way to prove to them and myself that I could do this on my own. But I don’t say any of that. “I was offered a job, and I thought I should take it.”

“That’s amazing, Lainey. Does that mean you finished your master’s?”

“It does. Yes.”

He hugs me again, not as vigorously or as long as the first time, but it still steals my breath and threatens what little composure I have. “Does that mean you’re here permanently?”

“I have a temporary contract, but I should be here for another six months or so, as long as I don’t mess it up. You know, scarring small children for life with fornicating dolphins and such.”

“It’s not like you can control those horny bastards. They can’t help that they like to get it on for fun, right? And clearly they don’t mind an audience.” He smiles, but the awkwardness of this whole reunion makes it seem uncertain.

“Clearly not.” I shift my gaze away from his, unable to erase the memories of RJ and me getting it on pretty much anywhere we could, anytime we wanted, during those brief weeks in Alaska. “What about you? What brings you to Chicago? Are you visiting friends?”

His expression shifts from excited to distressed between one blink and the next.

Before he can answer, another man dressed in a red shirt and ball cap approaches, giving me a curious once-over. “Hey, Rook, sorry to interrupt, but—uh, we need you for a minute.”

“Just hold on.” He doesn’t even look at the man.

“We’re taking a team picture—you’ll only be a minute, then you can get back to your friend here.” His gaze darts from RJ to our clasped hands.

“Team picture?” I glance back and forth between them.

“Lainey . . .” RJ says my name like an apology.

And it all clicks into place. All the hockey stuff in his cabin—how huge he is, and built—his stamina, the matching T-shirts and ball caps.

“I thought you said you were an alpaca farmer from New York.”





CHAPTER 13





NOT-SO-LITTLE WHITE LIES


Rook

All the awesomeness that comes with finally seeing Lainey again disappears with that single statement. It’s amazing what a person can forget in a year. Such as the way I built our entire brief relationship on a lie.

It doesn’t matter that I had a plan all worked out to explain why I lied. Because the truth is, I had plenty of opportunities to tell her—and every time I was about to, something would happen or I’d find a reason to put it off. Until it was too late. I was too afraid that I would lose what we had, that it would change things, that she would see me differently. I lost her anyway, though, because she didn’t answer when I called from LA. Even worse, she didn’t leave me a way to contact her: no note, no number, nothing.

“RJ?” Lainey looks confused, and hurt, and nervous, and just so damn beautiful.

“I can explain.”

She wrings her hands. “Are you a professional hockey player now?”

“Yeah, but—”

“For how long?”

I blow out a breath. There’s no point in lying anymore. “This will be my seventh season with Chicago.”

“Seventh?” Her lips flatten into a line, and that hurt shifts, turning into something that looks like betrayal. “You lied to me about your job?”

“I was going to tell you the truth, I swear.” It’s the worst cop-out.

Her brow furrows. “It was the two of us for weeks—you had plenty of time to tell me the truth. Why would you lie in the first place?”

“There’s a logical explanation, Lainey. I promise, if you’ll let me explain, it’ll all make sense.”

She continues to wring her hands. “How can I even believe you? What else did you lie about?”