Rebound (Seattle Steelheads #1)(43)

The smile came to life a bit more. “Don’t you remember what I told you?”

“You’re a cop and you’ll never turn down free coffee?”

“Bingo.” He drew me in and kissed me. “I can’t stay long, but if you want me to come back tonight, I—”

“I definitely do.” I paused, and I was suddenly feeling kind of brave, so I added, “I might go out with the team after practice. Text me when you’re on your way, and I’ll let you know where I am.”

No scowl. No flicker of jealousy. The smile didn’t falter at all, and he nodded. “I’ll do that. Have fun with the guys.”

“I will.”

Yeah, for once, I’d go out with the team after practice, and for once, I wouldn’t feel the least bit guilty about it or worried about the fallout.

But I had a sneaking suspicion I’d spend the entire time counting down the minutes until I came home.





Chapter 11


Geoff



“Isn’t there some rule about having glass near a pool?” I slipped into the water beside Asher.

“Pretty sure there’s one about alcohol too.” Asher rested a forearm on the edge of his swimming pool, and with his other hand, poured wine into two glasses. “So unless you want to hit pause and go up to the store for some juice boxes…”

I laughed. “Shut up.”

He snickered and handed me a glass. We clinked them together—gently because we were in a pool—and sat back to watch the sunset.

We couldn’t quite see the sun setting below the horizon. The Olympic Mountains were partially obscured by the hills on the western shore of Lake Washington, but we could still watch the sky and the calm waters explode into pink, orange, and deep purple, all from the comfort of the pool behind Asher’s house. This gorgeous view alone had probably ratcheted the price of this place up by more money than I’d ever make.

“Wow,” I said. “You’ve definitely got a nicer view than I do.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Uh. Yeah.” I made a sweeping gesture. “You can see both volcanoes and the lake. At my place, I can see…a Dumpster.”

Asher choked on his wine.

“What?”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He covered his mouth as he coughed a few more times. “I don’t mean… I mean that wasn’t… It was just the way you said it.”

I laughed. “Well, to be fair, it’s a pretty magnificent Dumpster.”

“A magnificent Dumpster?” Asher snorted. “I swear to God, I’m going to retire from hockey tomorrow, start a band, and call it The Magnificent Dumpsters.”

“Or The Magnificent Dumpster Fires?”

He laughed. “Yes. I love it. I’m so there. Goodbye, hockey. Hello, music career.”

“Uh-huh.” I brought my glass up to my lips. “Pretty sure Seattle would riot.”

His lips quirked. “The Magnificent Dumpster Riots?”

And now I was the one choking on my wine.

Asher snickered. “Guess that makes us even?”

I flipped him off while I cleared my throat.

“What? You have to admit, it would be a pretty rocking band name.”

“Yes, it would.” I turned away and coughed a couple more times. “But goddammit, no quitting hockey.”

“Pfft. Are you kidding?” he said into his wineglass. “They’re going to have to force me out when I’m fifty. I live for hockey.”

“Good. Because it’s nice to have Seattle consistently winning at a sport for a change.”

Asher swallowed some wine. “The Seahawks and Mariners have been doing all right for a while. And the Sounders.”

“Yeah, but the Seahawks and Mariners have had some cringeworthy seasons. Being a losing team at least part of the time was sort of a Seattle tradition until we got a hockey team.” I shot him a look. “No pressure or anything.”

“Uh-huh.” We exchanged good-natured glares, then chuckled and continued working our way through the bottle of Chateau Ste. Michelle chardonnay. Since summer was still holding on for all it was worth and the afternoon heat was lingering well into the evenings, we’d decided to chill in his pool after we’d eaten dinner. I was glad we did—the view was stunning, and hanging out like this and shooting the breeze was relaxing as all hell. The alcohol, the view, the pool, and the company were definitely unwinding some tension in my back and shoulders, but not all of it. The last night we’d spent together—two nights ago—had been another rough one, and we’d both had long days today, so we’d agreed to take it easy tonight. Just relax with some wine, and I’d chase it with a Xanax before bed, and we’d see how things went between lights out and tomorrow morning.

Even now, though, I still had some nagging guilt and uneasiness about that rough night we’d had, and I didn’t think I’d be able to fully relax until I got it out there and got it over with. I drained my wineglass and set it beside the bottle. “Listen, um… About the other night. I’m sorry again. That was—”

“Geoff.” Asher shook his head and put his hand on my thigh under the water. “It’s PTSD. It’s nothing to apologize for.”