Parental Guidance (Ice Knights #1)(33)

“I could go downstairs and get the mail in the lobby, and this would be my greeting when I walked back in.” She took the leftovers from him and put them in her fridge. “I’m already signed in to Prime, so why don’t you grab the remote and pick out a Law and Order episode.”

He shoved his fingers through his thick, dark hair. “It’s your place—you should pick.”

“You go ahead and choose.” She glanced over at the Great Dane. “I have to take Anchovy outside before he explodes.”

As soon as she said the word “outside,” the dog dropped his new favorite toy and rushed over to the basket holding his leash, using his big snout to push all the other things in there to retrieve it. Caleb didn’t look convinced, but judging by the urgency with which Anchovy shoved his leash into her hand, she didn’t have time to argue.

She snapped on the dog’s leash. “I’ll be back. Whatever you go with is fine, just wait for me to start.”

Then she was out the door for a quick trip to the park across the street so Anchovy could pee on the same fire hydrant he always did and then sniff every bush along the short path until she said the magic word (“treat”) and then trot along next to her back inside the building. When she opened her front door, Caleb was standing close to the TV, his lips moving as he slowly and quietly read the episode descriptions out loud.

She froze, not able to shake the feeling that she was intruding on a private moment. Anchovy, though, took full advantage of her loosening her grip on his leash. Probably thrilled to see his new best friend was still there, he bolted inside, snagged his ball from the ground while galloping toward Caleb, who turned to face them just in time for the dog to rear up on his hind legs and put his paws on Caleb’s chest.

Not looking freaked out in the least, he just rubbed the dog’s sides. “Nice ball.”

“Sorry, I failed horribly at teaching him manners,” she said, hurrying forward. “Anchovy, get down.”

The dog shot her a pained look but got down and went over to the couch, climbing up and curling into a ball on the blanket spread over his end.

“It’s no biggie,” Caleb said. “I love dogs. Wish I could have one but with my schedule, I’d be worried about even keeping a goldfish alive.”

From what she’d read this week, she’d learned that hockey didn’t have as many games a week as baseball, but the teams played around three games a week. It was a long-ass season going from preseason in September to possible Stanley Cup finals in late May or early June. It was just another example of why she’d been smart to make “no relationship” rule number one. The last thing she wanted was a repeat of the chaos of how she’d grown up, with her dad never having the same hours—or regular hours—and not being home very often when he was off work. Unreliability and a lack of stability were not in her life plan.

“Yeah, Mr. Friendly here has separation anxiety, so the fact that my office is my home works out really well for us.” She sat down on the couch. “Did you pick out an episode?”

He glanced back at the TV, his jaw tightening, then pointed the remote at the screen and clicked play episode. “This one sounded interesting.”

“Let’s do it,” she said, taking off her shoes and putting her feet up on the coffee table, her heels barely reaching.

He sat down beside her, leaving a few inches between them—right up until Anchovy ever so gracefully farted and then stretched out, his oversize paws pushing against Caleb and forcing him to scoot closer to her. His hip touched hers, and he extended his arm along the back of the couch behind her. Zara had never been more aware of her hip or the tops of her shoulders. Her chest tightened. She wouldn’t relax back against him. She wouldn’t. It wasn’t against the rules, but it seemed like a bad idea.

Still, somehow, by the time the action on the screen had moved from the police investigating the crime to the district attorneys who prosecute the offenders, the back of her head was nestled in the hollow of his shoulder. His arm had moved from being across the back of the couch to wrapping around her waist. Neither of them said anything, but there was a tension tightening in her core, a thrill of anticipation brushing against her skin. Her every nerve was focused on him, the tease of his fingertips over her T-shirt; his deep, steady breaths in and out; and—finally—the soft, barely there snore that penetrated the haze of lust making her every thought center on sex.

Gently, she sat forward, pivoting to get a look at him. He was sacked out. Now that did wonders for a woman’s ego.

Still, she couldn’t help but look at him. It wasn’t every day a hot guy like Caleb crashed out on her couch. She’d never realized his eyelashes were so long or that he had a faded scar near his left eye or that such a big, hard man could look so soft while he slept. It sucker punched her right in the feels. And while waking him up and sending him on his way home was the right decision, she just couldn’t do it. Instead, she turned off the TV, grabbed the non-dog-hair-covered blanket in a basket by the couch, and covered him. The blanket, which spanned from her head to her toes, barely went from shoulders to knees on him.

Then, before she could give in to the urge to kiss him good night that she didn’t understand, she got up and tiptoed to her bedroom.

…

Caleb couldn’t say what woke him up at first, just some instinctual knowledge that something wasn’t right. His right shoulder was stiff from where he’d been lying on it—unusual, since his bed was worth almost as much as the rest of his bedroom furniture combined, a concession to the fact that a tweaked neck from sleeping weird could be the difference between a good game and a great one. Everything around him was dim, the first soft light of dawn barely coming in through the windows. He lay there listening, trying to climb through the sleepy haze making his brain slow to figure out why things felt off.