Page 22 of Resist

She shrugged. “Heated up some of those crappy microwavable pizza bites at the bar.”

He sighed. “I’ll make you something healthy to eat, after I check your injuries. Then you can soak in a hot bath and go to sleep. So are you coming with me or not?”

“Yeah,” she said, nodding. “I am.”

Coulton smiled like she’d done something nice forhim, when it was really him offering the kindness. Then he placed his hand on the small of her back and walked her to his truck, where he opened the passenger door for her.

They were quiet on the drive to his place. She hadn’t even thought to ask where he lived, so she was shocked when he pulled up in front of an upscale apartment building on the waterfront in Fell’s Point. It was a nice area, and a far cry from Cherry Hill.

“You live here?” Ainsley asked, as she stepped out of the truck. She belatedly realized she knew next to nothing about this man she’d come home with.

But she wasn’t afraid. Because, even with the lack of specific details, she’d gotten a feeling about Coulton from the first second he’d sat down at the end of the bar. Between her instincts—which admittedly usually sucked—and Jerome’s reassurance, she felt safe with him.

Safe?

Jesus. Maybe she’d taken some harder hits tonight than she thought, because her trust issues had fucking trust issues. Andno onemade her feel safe.

“I do. Been here just over two years,” he said, entering the security code for the building before opening the door and escorting her to the elevator with that gentle touch on her back that she liked way too much.

He pushed the button for the top floor.

“Where were you before?” she asked.

“Vancouver,” Coulton said.

“Oh, cool. I didn’t realize you were Canadian.”

Coulton chuckled. “I’m not. I’m originally from Detroit. My parents still live there, so I go back to visit a few times a year.”

“You’re close to them?”

“Hell yeah. Only child of older parents who never thought they’d have kids.”

“So what I’m hearing is you were spoiled rotten,” she teased.

Coulton laughed but didn’t deny it.

Before she could ask what had taken him to Canada and then brought him to Baltimore, they reached his floor. Coulton opened the door to his condo—and her mouth fell open as she took in the large, open space with floor-to-ceiling windows. His place was on the waterfront, and the moon sparkled off the river, the sight so beautiful, Ainsley had to force herself to tear her gaze away. If she were alone, she would spend hours taking in that view.

When she continued her perusal of this place, her eyes landed on a wall that contained a huge shelving unit filled with countless trophies and photographs of Coulton.

In goalie gear.

More specifically, professional hockey gear.

“You play for the Stingrays?”

Coulton nodded. “And Vancouver before that.”

“Holy shit. When you said you wanted to take me to a hockey game, and I said…”

He grinned, both of them recalling her comments about hating the sport. “Yeah, my ego took a bit of a hit there. Was kind of hoping taking you to a game might impress you.”

Ainsley hadn’t underplayed her disdain for sports. When the patrons of the tavern were getting wasted and bitching about whatever team was losing, she tuned it out, completely uninterested.

“I’m the goalie,” he added.

She pointed to a collage of photos of him on the ice. “Yeah. I figured that out. Do you even have to move when you’re playing, or do you just stand in front of the net? Because I can’t imagine much getting by you,” she said, gesturing to his large frame.

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