Page 21 of Pickled
“Yes, barn is hockey slang for arena.” The amused look on his face disappeared. “Proving myself?” His lips drew into a line. “It will take winning the cup. That’s how I’ll know I’ve done a good job.”
“Wow.” I slipped off his body and shimmied under his arm, resting my head on his shoulder. He shifted and trailed his fingertips along my bare shoulder. The light touch sent a shiver to my toes. “That seems like a pretty tall measure.” Making the most coveted trophy in the sport your definition of success seemed like both a lofty and admirable goal, but also a risky one.
“I’ve done it before, I can do it again.” He shrugged. “I’m a hockey player, that’s what I do. If I’m not aiming to win the cup, I shouldn’t be in the game.”
“What about for the love of the sport?”
He shook his head. “The love of hockey was ground out of me by the time I was fifteen. This is my job, and it’s the only thing that I can do.”
I doubted that was true but didn’t know Gideon well enough to call him out. “What would it take for you to love it again? If you loved it once, couldn’t you learn to love it again?”
“Hmmm.” His fingertips paused their stroking to rest on my shoulder. “You ask some tricky questions, Piper Jones. Tell me something you love doing. I want to hear about you.”
It wasn’t the first time he’d evaded a question, but I realized the reason why when I tried to answer it myself. It was hard. Right now, I loved Olive. Full stop. She had been my focus for so long, I couldn’t remember what it felt like to do something for myself.
But he didn’t know that I had a daughter, so I had to go back to a time before Olive. “I used to love playing tennis.” The words came out before my brain had a chance to think of the repercussions of the admission.
“Used to?”
There it was. How could I tell him the truth without telling him about Olive? Why was I so scared to tell him about her? The answer to that question was easy. He would probably never want to talk to me again. Telling him now would only make it worse that I hadn’t. I had to remember this for what it was. A one-night thing with my hot hockey player neighbor. I didn’t owe him every sordid detail of my life history.
“I had a tennis scholarship. But, like you, I fell out of love with the sport.”
He shifted so he was lying on his side, his eyes searching mine. “Was it the pressure?”
Was it the pressure of becoming pregnant in my second year of college? “Yes. The expectations were too much for me, and life took an unexpected turn, and I… I lost my scholarship.”
It was true-ish.
“I’m sorry to hear that, Piper. But if anyone in the world could understand the pressure of college-level athletics, it’s me. Do you play now?”
“I have a membership at the club, but life has been getting in the way.”
“The Rosewood Estates kitty rescue?” he laughed.
A smile touched my lips at the same time as a pang hollowed in my belly. If only he knew. “Something like that,” I murmured, the lie feeling heavier in the growing daylight. “Speaking of life, I should get going.”
“Already?” Gideon’s eyes softened.
“Thank you for the nice evening. I’m glad we got that tension out of the way. Now we can just be neighbors.” I shimmied out from under his arm and propped myself to a seated mermaid-like position next to his body. “You can focus on winning that cup.” I patted his chest two times and slid to the edge of the bed.
“Maybe we should talk about that.” He moved CC and pulled on his jeans, gingerly easing them over his very thick, very hard shaft of morning wood.
“There’s nothing to talk about.” I tried not to cringe as I stepped into my damp skort. What the hell was he doing? The night had been perfect; we needed to leave it at that. Keeping Olive a secret seemed okay when we were passing acquaintances, but now, he was… what was he? “Where’s my shirt?”
He rubbed the back of his neck and tracked his gaze everywhere but on me. “I think your shirt is outside by the pool.” He disappeared into his walk-in closet and returned with a red T-shirt. “Here. You can keep this one.”
The Barracudas T-shirt was like a dress on me. I tucked the hem into the front of myUTI-waiting-to-happenskort. “What do you think?” I held out my hands and finally let myself look at him.
He gave me a meek smile. “It looks better on you than me. Keep it.”
A souvenir.
“Come on, I’ll drive you home.”
I held up my hands. “I can walk.” Letting Gideon drive me home was a double-edged sword of complications. The mommy maid next door secret on one side, the respect of the Lockelhursts’ on the other. I didn’t want to put either at risk.
We walked down the curved staircase, and I felt like I was being torn in two. What was the harm in telling him the truth? Was it worse than leaving things as they were?
