Wild for You (Hot Jocks #6)(9)

That couldn’t be it, though. Protecting others has always been part of who I am. Growing up in foster care, I looked out for those smaller than me, which was most kids, since I’ve always been tall for my age. In hockey, I defend the puck. As the captain, I look out for my team.

And now that a woman has reached out to me and needs my help? Of course I’m going to offer it up. It’s not even a question, and I don’t hesitate for a second.

“Come on. Get in.”

Ana climbs in beside me, dialing her friend again. There’s still no answer, and she hangs up after a few minutes.

“Why don’t you come to my place?” I ask. “At least to have some dinner, and you can try your friend again after we eat. Have you already eaten?”

She shakes her head and puts away her cell phone.

“Let’s have something to eat, and maybe your friend will answer by then.”

“Okay,” she says slowly, her voice shaky. “As long as I’m not interrupting any plans you’ve got.”

“No plans tonight.”

We reach my place ten minutes later and park beneath the building in my designated parking spot. Ana waits in a strip of grass for Hobbes to pee while I unload the bags. Inside the elevator, I hit the button for the penthouse while Ana stands quietly beside me.

When I unlock the door, Hobbes goes charging inside like he owns the place while Ana flits nervously after him.

“He’s fine,” I say, watching him sniff the blue wool rug beneath my living room couch. “Let him explore.”

“If you say so.” Her eyes scan every inch of my place. “This condo is incredible.”

“Thanks,” I mumble.

“Have you lived here long?”

I nod. “I moved in about three years ago.”

The building was new, and I put down a deposit that made my stomach cramp at the time. The condo cost $3 million, which seems crazy given that it’s only two bedrooms, two bathrooms, and about 2,000 square feet. But this part of the city is pricey because it’s centrally located, and I felt at ease in the minimalistic style of the finishes—light wood and quartz countertops, and large windows overlooking the city beyond.

My real estate agent even talked me into hiring an interior designer to furnish the place, which I agreed to only because I travel so much and didn’t want to be bothered with picking out couches or throw pillows. It cost me a pretty penny, but when I saw the final result, I didn’t regret it for a second. Decorated in shades of slate gray, blues, and creams, the effect is calming and relaxed. And exactly what I needed.

When I realize Ana’s watching me, still standing silently beside the kitchen, I say, “I’ll show you around if you want.”

She gives me a genuine smile for the first time today. “I’d love a tour.”

I show her around. The living room and kitchen are open, and there’s a compact terrace beyond with two oversized rattan chairs.

“The view is amazing.”

I nod. “It’s nice at night. If you don’t mind the sound of traffic.”

She gazes out at the highway in the distance. “It doesn’t bother me. I actually kind of like the sound of it. My grandparents’ house was right next to a busy main road, and I’d stay there a lot in the summer. The sound of traffic kept me company as I fell asleep.”

The sound of traffic reminds me of my childhood too, but I don’t mention that since I don’t often speak about my upbringing. Not even my teammates know I was raised in foster care before being adopted.

Inside, I head down the hallway and show her the home office, which holds a desk and my laptop, and then the master bedroom and attached bathroom.

“Oh, wow.” She peeks into the huge bathroom with marble and glass and two floating vanities in sleek bamboo wood. There’s a glass wall surrounding the shower, and the oversized free-standing egg-shaped bathtub takes up the far end of the room. “This is incredible.”

“Thanks,” I mutter, feeling self-conscious about the dirty towel on the floor and the overflowing hamper in the corner. I’m really not used to having a woman here, or a dog underfoot.

As we head back toward the kitchen, Ana pauses. “Is there a bathroom I can use?”

I tip my chin toward the hallway. “Of course. The guest bath and bedroom are right down there.”

“Thanks,” she murmurs, heading off.

When Ana reappears from the hall—swallowed up by that oversized cardigan, her dog at her feet, her golden hair hanging loose over her shoulders—a pang of worry hits me again. She’s just so small, so damn vulnerable.

I meant what I said about helping her, even if it is a little awkward having her in my space. She didn’t deserve what happened to her today. No one does. Feeling awkward, I don’t know what to do with myself, shifting from foot to foot at the edge of my kitchen, muttering one-word answers.

“So, dinner.” She pushes up her sleeves again. “What can I help with? I love to cook. Unless you were planning on ordering in, in which case, I’m not picky and I’ll chip in.”

I shake my head. “I’ve got it covered.” Pulling open the massive fridge, I survey its contents and find eggs, milk, butter, a package of spinach that’s on its last days, and a block of pepper jack cheese. “How about omelets?”