Page 46 of Delayed Penalty

I scoff. “No.”

Though there’s a small chance I would have. Okay, so abigchance. A lot of things may have changed around here since Flora came to me, but my gumption to clean up after myself only extends so far. I’m not a pig by any means, but I have been known to put off cleaning up a bit until the housekeeper comes.

“Well, I’m still cleaning up. You bought dinner, so it only feels right.”

“You know this gig comes with free meals, right? I’m not going to expect you to cook for Flora and me every meal. And I’m going to be lazy more often than not and just grab whatever’s quick.”

She frowns, which isn’t at all what I expected when I saidfree meals.

“You’re a terrible hockey player.”

I huff out a laugh because there isno wayshe’s standing in my kitchen insulting my playing. “Excuse me?”

She shrugs, reaching into the cabinet under the sink and producing a container of disinfectant wipes. “I’m just saying. Your game starts with your diet, and if you’reeating like crap, you’re playing like crap. If I were getting paid three point seven five million a year to play a game, I’d want to make sure I’m earning the paycheck and not just showing up to cheer my buddies on from the bench.”

She quotes my AAV as she wipes down the counter like she’s been reading too many hockey blogs. Thing is…she has a point. I’ve been getting some variation of this lecture from older guys for a while now. First, it was Cameron Lowell, my last captain on the Carolina Comets. Then it was Locke and Hutch and even Pritchard, the really old veteran who hardly talks to anyone. I guess it wouldn’t hurt to maybe pay attention to what they’re saying.

“Fine. But you’re still not expected to cook for me, got it? You’re here for Flora, and that’s it.”

She flicks her hazel eyes to mine for only a moment, and I’m suddenly transported back to her room and her bed. That definitely didn’t seem like she was here for Flora only. I need to fix that, set the record straight, and assure her that there will be absolutely no other incidents like that between us—never, not once. She needs to know she can trust me on that.

“Quinn, about earlier. I?—”

“Done, Just Quinn!”

I whirl around to find Flora standing barefoot withher pajamas haphazardly pulled on and her body still sopping wet and dripping onto the floor.

“That was an awfully fast shower, little flower,” Quinn says, tossing the disinfectant wipe into the trash, then wiping her hands on her shirt as she walks by me, avoiding all eye contact.

“I was in there forever!” Flora argues.

“That was three minutes—tops. Are you sure you cleaned everywhere?” Quinn lifts Flora’s arms like she’s checking for dirt, and given that Hutch and Auden took her out to Discovery Park today, she really might be. “Did you make sure to get the fleas out of your hair?”

“That wasnota flea! I told you it was just a leaf.”

“Uh-huh. Whatever you say, kid.”

Flora huffs playfully, and I’m not sure how long it’ll take me to get used to this new side of her, but I hope it takes a while because I’m enjoying it far too much.

“Will you braid my hair like yours?” she asks.

Braid her hair? She’s never asked me to braid her hair.

“Of course I will,” Quinn says, guiding her toward her room. “Come on. I can braid while you read, and then we’ll switch. Sound good?”

Flora nods and starts going on and on about the book they’re reading, but that’s not what’s drawn myattention. It’s the look Quinn is giving me over her shoulder—full of questions and longing and worry.

That last one isn’t necessary. I’m not going to fire her over what happened. I was as much to blame for it as she was. We made a mistake. We slipped. It won’t happen again.

It can’t.

I grab another wipe from under the sink to distract myself and run it over the counter again, then make my way to the dining table to clean up the scraps of whatever’s been left behind and wipe that down, too. I straighten things in ways I’ve never straightened them before, and when everything is back in the same place my housekeeper left it, I flip off the lights and pad down the hall, unable to stay away any longer.

Flora’s light is out, but the rotating nightlight I bought her is casting just enough glow around the room so I can see them tucked into her bed together. Flora’s eyes are heavy and she’s barely able to keep them open as she rests her head on Quinn’s shoulder. There’s a book propped up on her stomach, and she’s reading so softly I can barely make out the words.

Then suddenly, Quinn lets out a loud “Rawr!” that causes Floraandme to jump.

Both girls giggle, and Quinn closes the book.

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