Page 12 of Pipe Dreams
After years of knowing Lauren, there were scads of details he had memorized about her. Yet now it hit him that she worked in an office with several other women who’d been with the team for the same length of time. And he didn’t have any idea which were their favorite flowers, or why.
He was way too far inside his own head.
“Nice place,” he said. But she’d disappeared into what had to be a tiny kitchen in the corner. Lauren had told him once that she lived here rent free so that she could save all her money for college. Her asshole father probably made seven figures every year, and he hadn’t given his only daughter a penny of tuition money.
When he’d met her eight years ago that had sounded crazy. And now that he knew Bill Williams better, it only seemed mean. Williams was a narcissist. He’d grown up poor and made sure everyone knew it. “Get off your ass and make it happen,” was his favorite saying.
By his logic, you shouldn’t give your kid college money because that wasn’t letting her make it happen. But it was fine to give her a job in your office and work her to death. Nobody worked harder in the organization than Lauren, and everyone knew it.
Lauren reappeared with two bottles of Dos Equis, a lime wedge in each one. She gave him a curious look, and he realized he was still standing by the door like an idiot.
“Thank you,” he said, taking one. He pushed the lime into the bottle, his eyes sweeping the room until they landed on her bed against the far wall. It was made up with a white comforter and a million throw pillows.
Hell. Don’t look at the bed.
Beacon followed her to the sofa and sat down, his back to the bed. He would not allow himself to think about pushing her down into that white cloud and learning the answers to all his fantasy questions.
Then, for the first time ever, they had thirty minutes ofawkward conversation. She asked where he was staying and he answered in halting sentences. “I feel like I’m house-sitting, you know? Maybe it won’t be so weird once we start traveling.”
She made sympathetic noises, and he got tired of hearing himself talk. All the funny things he’d wanted to tell her deserted him. There was only the strain of the shitty month he’d been having and the tension of whether or not their friendship would still be the same.
It was unbearable. He needed to go to what passed for his home and have a nice tall pour of whiskey.
“You were studying,” he said, standing up to ferry his beer bottle into her kitchen. “I should go.”
“Okay,” she said quietly. “Just... leave it.”
It took him a beat too long to realize she meant the bottle. “Thanks,” he stammered, overwhelmed by how close they were, and how alone. Her bra strap peeked from underneath the tank top. Hot pink. Her skin looked buttery soft. He wanted to taste it.
She took both bottles and set them onto her coffee table. “I’ll see you at work.”
“Right.” He needed to get the hell out of there before he did something stupid.
She frowned up at him. “Sit down, just for another minute.” She studied him carefully. “Are you really okay? Would you tell me if you weren’t?”
“Yeah.” His voice was a raw scrape. He sat down on the couch, suddenly too aware of his hands. He rubbed them on his bare knees.
“Okay,” she said. “I worry about you. I hope you’re taking care of yourself.” Then she scooted closer and folded him into a hug.
And it was sudden sensory overload. Soft, lilac-scented hair brushed his face. Long, tanned arms wrapped around his back. She was saying something more—telling him she was sorry, or not to worry. He couldn’t make sense of the words because his pulse kicked up four notches. Unbidden,his arms clamped around her back. He stuck his nose in her hair and took a deep, forbidden breath.
That’s when everything got quiet. She stopped talking and just held him. His worried brain went still, because this right here was everything he needed. He drew a dozen peaceful breaths while the fingers of his right hand traced absently up the centerline of her back. She fit perfectly in his arms, just like he’d always known she would.
Lauren shivered in his embrace, and it brought his brain back online. He felt her exhale a careful, shaky breath against his shoulder. A deep, achy sound came from his own chest. He lowered his head to sweep a soft kiss across her forehead.
She gasped, her hands bracing his back.
Now hehadto know. Was he crazy, or were they both fighting the same battle?
“Lo,” he whispered. “Hey.”
She didn’t move.
“Look at me.”
She turned her chin away.
Beacon palmed it, turning her face toward his. And the heat in her gaze could have melted all the ice in the NHL.
