Page 36 of My Puckin' Luck
The grim face he’s displaying is far from celebratory, though.
I set the mug down and reach across the counter for his arm. “What’s wrong?”
“Hm? Nothing.” He’s quick to dismiss, with a flatline twerk of his lips.
My voice catches on a lump in my throat. “Did our conversation the other day about falling for each other scare you?”
“No. I meant every word.” He pats my hand right as the alarm goes off on my phone.
“Shoot. I have to go to work. But I can stay a little longer if you have something you need to talk about? I’m a good listener.”
He hops off the counter stool. “No. It can wait.”
So this is what living with a really broody Saint is like? The ups and the downs? I haven’t lived with a man before this, so maybe it’s normal male behavior. Although I really think it’s all him.
He kisses my cheek. “I’ll be home after the game.”
“Okay. I’m sorry I won’t make it.” I have a late meeting with the writing team on another script we’ve had in development. “But hey, the meeting will be over in time so that I could at least come for the third period.”
“No need to rush around. We’ll be together after I get home.”
I trail him to the door, thoroughly worried now. He bends over and hoists up his gear bag. With a hand on the doorknob, he’s about to walk out. Unlike past mornings, where we exit hand in hand, smiling and happy. So I thought.
My heart jerks. What did I do? How did things go from that to this? No. I can’t do daddy issues now. Things were going well; this is something entirely different.
“Saint, please don’t go yet. Wait here while I get my things. I’ll walk out with you. Okay?”
He nods. I run down the hall to the bedroom and grab my purse and laptop bag—when something catches my eye, grinding me to a halt. The bottom drops out of my chest.
The dresser drawer is askew again. Thinking back, it was like that a couple of mornings ago, too. I tried to forget about it, give him space, and not pry. But if I had, maybe I could have thwarted his mood swing from turning this bad?
It’s strange how the rest of his house can be so well kept, everything in their place, but that damn drawer can sometimes be left like this?
I walk slower back to him, fighting back the tears. When I see him waiting for me at the door, the dam bursts, tears flowing. “Whatever happened in the past is always going to be there between us, isn’t it?”
“What?” He faces me with scowling eyes. “Don’t cry.”
“The drawer, Saint. It’s open. It wasn’t last night. Which means you’ve looked inside of it this morning and now you’re in a mood. And I’m the one who has to suffer through it because you won’t open up to me.”
“How do you know what’s in that drawer? You looked?”
Accusatory eyes have me shrinking back. “Only once. I saw the photo. She’s someone who meant something to you in the past, isn’t she? She’s the reason you get in these moods?”
“Come here.” He pulls me to him, and I sniffle into his chest. His fingers rub my back, but he still doesn’t speak. I’m at a loss here. Do I keep pressing?
“What’s in the drawer? Show me.” Maybe that would make it easier for him to talk if we go through the contents together?
“I-I just grabbed this.” He pulls from his pocket the green rabbit’s foot. “It may be silly, but I’ve always carried it with me. Since it fell out when I went fishing for a condom and I stuffed it in the drawer, I forgot about it. This morning, I wanted it back. That’s all.”
My ear is near his heart, and it’s racing, like he’s stressed or in trauma. Guilt hits me for pressing him. But I can’t stop now. “Who gave it?—”
“Anastasia, you said you’d give me time. There are things I want to tell you. Believe me, every day this week I’ve come close.” He takes my hands and shifts so we’re face to face, looking me square in the eye. “Tonight. I promise. After the game, we’ll talk. Okay? I-I’m ready to tell you everything. Think you can wait that long?”
I nod, relieved, hoping this will be it. “Yes.”
He drops my hands and I follow, still harboring an uneasy feeling in my stomach about the way we’re leaving things. I don’t go to my car, but wait at his. After he drops his bag in the back, I slide in between him and the car door, attempting a sly, sexy move. “Good luck at the game. Get an assist or a goal, and I’ll be waiting for you naked in your bed,” I purr and flutter my lids at him a few times.
It works, judging by the return of his sexy half smile on one corner of his lips. “Motivation. I like it, angel.”
