The Penalty Box (Vancouver Wolves Hockey #3)(24)

We worked silently together, unpacking the groceries. I watched as she bent over, giving me a money shot of her ass.

I wondered if she might be still wearing that white lacy thing beneath her clothes. The thought was hot. I wanted to cross the kitchen, push up my hoodie and see for myself.

I wasn’t used to being around someone I couldn’t touch. When I desired a woman, I dated her. When I dated a woman, I enjoyed fucking her.

Now I was about to marry Charlie and I couldn’t touch her. It was messing with my head.

Everything was uncharted territory. I didn’t quite know how to handle her or this situation. Should we cook together? Or fend for ourselves? I had envisioned this situation as two roommates who were polite and respectful of each other and who publicly came together as a fake couple only when required. Not a couple that cooked together.

My phone pinged with a text.

Ryan: You around?

His text felt like a lifeline.

Me: Want to go for dinner?

Ryan: Yeah. Right now?

Me: Yes, want to meet at Bob’s Burgers?

Ryan: Heading out now. See you soon.

I shoved my phone in my back pocket and spoke to Charlie, not sure why I felt the need to explain myself. “I’m going out.”

She didn’t react. She just kept pulling items out of the bag. “Have fun.”

I should have been relieved at her independence, but it kind of stung that she seemed so indifferent.

I ran my hand through my hair, having absolutely no idea why I couldn’t decide how I felt.

“Have a good night.”





*



Four hours later, I was hammered. Ryan had nursed a beer all night, and I had taken the fact that I was suspended as an opportunity to drink myself into oblivion. I spilled out the whole sordid mess about being on Ashford’s shit list and Krista’s master plan to get me married. I didn’t mention the issues with Yazimoto or Andrusha’s alternate life, but I talked in fits and starts about how the last few days had been.

Ryan took it all in stride. “Charlie’s a good person. I like her.”

Everyone seemed to like her. I didn’t know her. I thought about her in that lacy teddy. “She usually calls me on my shit.”

Ryan laughed. “Undeserved?”

I shook my head. “Nope. She calls it like she sees it. And she’s usually right.”

Ryan’s look of amusement was evident. “That sounds like someone you’ve never dated.”

“Married,” I corrected. “We’re getting married.”

He tossed some money on the table. “I need to get home. Early practice tomorrow morning. Want me to give you a lift home?”

I shook my head. “I’m going to call Charlie.”

His eyebrows shot up. “I can drive you.”

For some reason, I wanted to see her. “She won’t mind.”

She would mind. It’d probably annoy the hell out of her, but that would not stop me.

Ryan grinned as he patted me on the shoulder. “This is going to be so interesting.”

“What is?”

He shook his head. “Never mind. Say hi to Charlie for me.”

I waited until he left before I ordered her a cab and then dialed her number.

“Hello?” Her voice sounded sleepy.

“Charlie, I need your help.”

Her voice sounded more alert. “What?”

“I need you to take a cab to where I am and drive my car home for me.”

She didn’t even question that skewed logic. Wouldn’t it be simpler for me to take a cab home?

Instead, she answered, “I’ll call a cab.”

“There’s one on the way.”





*



I waited outside for her cab to arrive. When she got out, I paid for her ride and then we walked without speaking to my Porsche. I watched as she got in the driver’s seat and then froze when she looked between us.

“I forgot this is a standard. I only know how to drive an automatic.”

“I’ll teach you.”

She took forever to figure out how to adjust the seat before she turned back to me. “We could take an Uber.”

“Foot on the clutch and the other foot on the brake.” I leaned forward and pushed the ignition button. The car reverberated with power beneath us.

She clutched the steering wheel with both hands, showing white knuckles. “This is a mistake.”

“You can do it.”

“Your week will get way worse if I crash your car.”

I reached over and shifted the car into first gear. “You’re not going to crash. Now take your foot off the brake. Slowly give the car gas and at the same time, slowly take your foot off the clutch.”

She did what I instructed, and the car jerked forward in a bunny hop motion before it stalled.

Her voice was a wail. “I can’t do this.”

To be honest, I didn’t give a shit about my car. I wanted her to believe in herself. She would learn to drive a stick shift even if it cost me my transmission.

“Yes, you can.” I shook the gear shift loose. “Start over.”





*



Ten minutes later, we were crawling over the Burrard Street bridge with a convoy of pissed-off drivers behind us.