Page 20 of If You Love Me

We shift topics, thankfully, and Peggy tells me about the promo ops she and Hemi are working on, but I’m reeling all over again.

Lexi and I talked a little about family during our weekend together, but it was surface stuff. She’d mentioned her mom and her younger sisters, and how she loved her dad—who had been at the game and left early because of work—but he was obsessed with his job. I’d talked about losing my dad when I was in my late twenties, and how tough that had been. I hadn’t mentioned Peggy—not because I felt the need to hide her, but because I hadn’t wanted to complicate the weekend. It had felt good to just be me for that short span of time. Not a hockey player, not a dad, just a man.

I wonder if Lexi hasn’t said anything because she doesn’t want anyone to think her family life will impact her ability to do her job. But I know it can. I wouldn’t have been able to raise Peggy on my own without the help of the team.

It’s with this new knowledge that I leave Peggy’s office after lunch and head down the hall to Lexi’s. I find her poring over files, a pen caught between her teeth. A green apple sits next to her coffee mug. Before that weekend, I liked the sweet-tart fruit, but since then, it’s become a bit of an obsession. Logic and reason seem to go out the window every time I see her—even more so now that I know her situation—because all I want to do is gather her in my arms and feel the softness of her lips against mine. Which can’t happen.

I know her, but I don’t. I have intimate knowledge of her body, of the way she sounds when she’s on the verge of an orgasm, of the things she likes in bed. Our passion for hockey matches. Huge pieces of what makes her who she is are now being jigsawed in. This new information about her family softens my initial shock and anger over her reappearance in my life. I’m still upset about the way she left, but I also haven’t given her much of a chance to explain. Maybe because I’m afraid of the answer.

I’ll give her an hour of my time, provide some insight to make her job easier. Then Vander Zee is off my back, hopefully she’ll be armed with enough information to be helpful to the welfare of the team, and I can continue to work on keeping a safe distance. She’s indicated that’s what she wants.

I shove the past in a box as I knock on her door. I’m here as a resource. That’s it. “Coach Forrester.”

The pen between her lips falls to the floor. “Goalie.”

“I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“You didn’t.” She bends to retrieve her pen—and maybe to avoid eye contact.

I arch a brow when she straightens.

“Okay. You did,” she admits, then tacks on, “But it’s fine.”She clasps her hands, unclasps them, then drops them to her lap. At least I’m not the only one affected. This thing between us holds so much power.

She squares her shoulders and puts on her professional hat. “What can I do for you, Roman?”

The sound of my name on her lips does things to me, things I don’t know how to handle. “Vander Zee asked me to chat with you.”

Her eyes flare. I can practically feel her anxiety from across the room, vibrating and electric. No one else would recognize it, but I see her. “Oh?”

“About the team. He thought I might have some valuable insight.”

“Ah.” Her shoulders relax a fraction. “If you’d rather not I’ll understand. I can tell Vander Zee you followed through.”

“But then it would be a lie, and we both know how I feel about those.”

She bites her bottom lip, looking remorseful, and a whole host of other emotions that put me on edge. I might still be unhappy about the situation, but I also want her to find her footing.

“Besides, this is my team and my last season. I have a vested interest in how we perform.” It’s the truth.

“You’ve been with the team for a long time.”

“I have.”

She motions to the chair across from me. “Would you like to have a seat?”

No. “Sure.”

I cross the room and drop into the chair across from her, bracing as I inhale her familiar perfume. She’s no longer wearing athletic gear. Instead, she’s in dress pants and a pale pink blouse. She looks stunning and professional. She crosses and uncrosses her legs, then grips the armrests. She’s obviously nervous, and I was unkind and unyielding when I drove her home last night.I’m practically jumping out of my skin with the sheerneedto bury my face in her hair. To touch her. Calm her. And myself.

We stare at each other for a few long seconds. I’m trying to get my body under control while I’m this close to her.

“Where should we start?”

How about we go back in time and instead of leaving in the wee hours of the morning without so much as a goodbye, you stay? “Wherever you’d like.”

“Okay.” She closes the file folder and sets it on the pile. “I tried to talk to Grace and Madden after practice.”

“Separately or together?”

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