Checked (Gold Hockey Book 7) Page 6

  Especially since she was clinging to the boards.

  He came back and slid an arm around her waist, tugging her from the safety of the plastic barrier.

  “Gabe! No!”

  “I’ve got you,” he said, leading her over to where Mandy and Blane were holding hands at center ice.

  “I’m going to murder you with tofu.”

  He laughed loudly, drawing the attention of most everyone on the ice. Which was pretty much the entire team, since they were at a Gold family event that included ice skating and Sutter, the Miner—the team’s semi-cute, semi-maniacal-looking mascot, along with hot chocolate and cookies. She didn’t miss the raised brows from the guys and their spouses, nor did she miss the fact that there had been absolutely no talk about her and Gabe maybe being a couple.

  Probably because it was obvious he wasn’t interested in her that way.

  Internally, she wrinkled her nose, not sure she liked how that notion made her feel, but also knowing there was no helping it.

  Friends.

  That was what he wanted.

  Even if they seemed to be spending most of their free evenings together.

  He took them around in several slow circles, navigating around the kiddos and especially wide of Brayden, Max’s rambunctious son, who was hell on two blades, before she cried off. Her ankles were killing her.

  Gabe led her to the open Zamboni doors and back down the hall to the pair of chairs where they’d left their shoes.

  Her hands felt frozen, along with her nose.

  This is what growing up in California did to a person.

  She fumbled with numb fingers, trying to undo the laces before Gabe saved her again, kneeling down in front of her and helping her take them off.

  “Thanks,” she murmured, curling and uncurling her toes.

  “So, not going to take up hockey?” he asked, setting the skates to the side and climbing into the chair next to her so he could remove his own.

  “That’s a no,” she said. “But thanks for helping me. I won’t say that was fun exactly, though I did enjoy seeing everyone out there.”

  And him.

  She’d enjoyed spending the evening with him.

  But she didn’t say that because . . . friends.

  Sighing, she slipped her feet into her shoes and began doing up the laces. When she straightened, he was studying her closely. “You okay?”

  “Great,” she mumbled.

  His finger brushed down her cheek and she shivered.

  “You’re cold,” he said, standing and bustling around for a few seconds to return the skates then came back and snagged her hand. He had her down the hall and into his office in less than a minute, tossing the coat he kept there over her shoulders.

  The garment might have warmed her skin, but the gesture had already warmed her from the inside out.

  Thus was the appeal of Dr. Gabe Carter.

  Sigh.

  Friends. They were just friends.

  Reality TV and wine.

  And Gabe.

  He grinned over at her when she gasped, unable to believe what had just happened on screen.

  She whipped to face him. “Seriously?”

  “Apparently so.” His shoulders lifted and fell. “I can’t believe those girls laughed at his jokes. They were lame.”

  “Takes one to know one?” she teased, picking up her wine glass and lifting it to her lips.

  He tipped the bottom up lightly, so she had to gulp in a sip.

  Swallowing quickly, she glared.

  He laughed.

  She laughed.

  They both settled back and kept watching. At least until there was a knock on the door. Frowning, she started to rise to see who was there. He stopped her with a hand on her thigh—and cue butterflies she definitely shouldn’t be feeling.

  “It’s just dinner,” he said. “I DoorDashed in from Molly’s.”

  “Gabe!”

  He shrugged and stood, moving to answer the knock. Thirty seconds later, he was back with a bag.

  “You promised I’d get the next one.”

  “Meh,” he said. “I was hungry, and you were on the phone. Just get me next time.”

  Sandra’s fault because . . . more nagging about going to L.A.

  Gabe opened the lid and handed over her favorite salad—mixed greens with a raspberry vinaigrette and candied walnuts—then picked up his own.

  “You said that last time, too,” she reminded him.

  He picked up the remote. “It doesn’t matter—”

  “It matters to me! I don’t want to mooch—”

  “Not mooching. I like taking care of you.” Her breath caught at the flash of heat in his eyes, but before she could convince herself it was there, he turned back to the TV and pressed play to start the show.

  Still, the words alone had her heart pounding.

  She liked it when he took care of her, too, liked taking care of him back.

  The on-screen argument heated up, various parties yelling at each other over odd metal wine glasses.

  Salad. Gabe. TV.

  Yeah, this was the life.

  But she couldn’t deny the blip of disappointment she felt when Gabe said into a lull in the argument, “Friends take care of each other, right?”

  She sighed and speared a walnut.

  Friends.

  Right.

  Nine

  Gabe

  “I-I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t think it’s a good idea if we go on a date.”

  “It doesn’t have to be a date,” a male voice he recognized as Cooper’s said. “We can just go out for drinks. Take a little time to get to know—”

  Gabe froze three steps from the open door to Rebecca’s office, gut churning, heart pounding.

  He’d friend-zoned himself.

  He’d spent the last four months getting to know Rebecca, understanding all the things that made her tick, proving to her—and himself—that he wasn’t an asshole.

  Which were good things, great things, but also . . . blue balls.

  As in, he’d given himself perpetual ones.

  But now, he’d waited too long to take what was his.

  “If those drinks involve other people, then . . . maybe,” Rebecca murmured. “But o-otherwise I-I—”

  Gabe’s heart skipped a beat, and he realized he hadn’t heard her stammer around him for months. And he didn’t like the uncertainty in her tone, the way it seemed devoid of spice and fire.

  Luckily, Coop was a good guy. He’d realized she wasn’t having it, and said, “No worries. Maybe we can grab something with Mandy and Blane and Kevin and Bex sometime.”

  Rebecca’s sigh of relief was audible even in the hall. “Thanks for understanding,” she replied. “I’d like that.”

  “Thank you for creating such a good diet plan that I feel about ten years younger.” A beat. “Minus those gray hairs Max is giving me by discussing the copious amount of gloriousness that is The Witcher.”

  She giggled. “Thanks for offering to be my phase two guinea pig.”

  “With the food you’ve cooked, I can honestly say it hasn’t been a trial.”

  “O-oh, it’s not a big deal. I—”

  “Maybe not, but I appreciate it anyway,” Coop said before calling out a goodbye and coming out into the hall. The brief hard look Gabe gave him and the short, terse nod Coop gave in return told Gabe everything he needed to know. Coop had gotten the message and wouldn’t continue pursuing her.

  Good.

  Rebecca was his.

  If only he could figure out a way for her to realize that without her panicking on him and retreating. That was why he’d endured four months of friend-zoning and blue balls. Because she deserved patience and care . . . but also because he was terrified that if he pushed, all the progress they’d made together would be gone like so much smoke.

  Maybe cowardly, but at least being friends meant he had her in his life.

  She smiled up at him as he knocked on her d
oorframe, cheeks still pink from Coop’s visit, but her eyes filled with relief. It was the end of the workday, the first time she’d been back in the office after attending a conference in San Diego, and yet it was as pristine as always. Her desktop was clear, the baskets on it perfectly straight and filled with color-coordinated files. Still as organized as ever. The difference now was that he understood what it meant, how the stringent system meant that she could do her job without getting bogged down with anxiety.

  “Hi,” she murmured, plunking her highlighter back into the cup that sat next to her keypad. “I didn’t think I’d see you until tomorrow.”

  He shrugged. “The team’s plane got in early, so I came in to catch up on some work.”

  Lie. He’d come in to see her.

  Because he’d spent the last four months falling in love with her.

  And she had absolutely no clue.

  Pathetic.

  “Do you want to grab a bite to eat?” she asked, not mentioning Cooper, for which he was grateful. “I was just finishing up for the day, and I am starving.”

  Also reason one thousand and one for why he wasn’t pushing: he got invites like this while men like Coop didn’t. He got to sit across from her in a restaurant studying her, hearing her soft laughter at his jokes, sharing some of his own when she gave it back, witnessing her bloom with joy over wine and food. For a woman with a fairly restrictive diet—no sugar, no caffeine, no meat or dairy—she sure loved food.

  And he fucking loved watching her enjoy it.

  Those little moans she’d made while chowing down on cauliflower and cashew mac n cheese and gluten-free, vegan, cardamom-rose cake at the small restaurant off Market they’d eaten at the previous week were imprinted onto his brain.

  No clue. Rebecca had absolutely no clue how beautiful she was.

  Or sexy.

  “You sure you want to tolerate my presence?” he teased, when she glanced up at him with concern in her eyes.

  Her head tilted to the side and his breath caught when he got a lot of those pretty green eyes. That had been happening more and more, but it never failed to make his lungs seize, the rare gift of her looking closely at him.

  Because he knew how tough it was for her.

  And he knew how few people she felt comfortable doing it with.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I’m great,” he said, jaw clenching in an effort to stifle the need to go to her, to take her in his arms, and—

  “Gabe.”

  “I’m fine,” he said and admitted the truth—or well, something in the realm of truth. “I’m just tired.”

  Tired of having part of Rebecca when he wanted more. Tired of men like Coop thinking she was available when he wanted to brand his name across her forehead. Tired of treading carefully but knowing he must.

  “Yeah.” A beat of silence. “But let it be known, you’re my friend,” she eventually said. “Which means I always want to spend time with you.”

  Friend. Fuck.

  He spun around, facing the hall and trying to get himself under control. He only had himself to blame for this predicament. He’d been the one to declare them friends, had shoved his whole alpha-I-like-you-too-much-and-now-I’m-going-to-claim-you urges under the rug, and focused on keeping everything light and breezy.

  Because she’d needed that.

  Not him pushing his way into her life, like some sort of possessive twat-waffle. She’d needed consideration, kindness, someone to rely on, rather than a man who wanted to own every part of her.

  Let it be known to the universe at large that he was possessive. He did want to own every part.

  Rebecca grabbed her purse. He knew she did because he’d spent the last months learning everything about her. So, he knew the exact sound of her desk drawer sliding open, the squeak of her chair pushing back so she could reach down and grab her bag. The next thing she’d do was slip her shoes on and then stretch her neck out, right to left, right to left.

  Then she’d pick up her backpack and move past him into the hall, the scent of cinnamon trailing her as she walked.

  Patience. This is a long game. He stifled a sigh, wondering how much longer this long game would be, and focused on the present. “Want to try that place on—” Her shoulder brushed his as she shifted in front of him instead of going into the hall.

  “Gabe.” She cupped his cheek. “What’s wrong?”

  They’d touched before. Over their four months of friendship, it would have been unbelievable for it to be otherwise. But those accidental brushes, the pats of the hand and shoulder weren’t this.

  And she’d never touched him first.

  Never.

  Now the soft skin of her palm brushing along his jaw was the most intense sensation he’d ever experienced. His nerves went from quiescent to on fire in the span of a heartbeat as heat flared down his spine.

  “I’m fine,” he rasped. “Just tired.”

  She stepped closer, her breasts brushing his chest.

  He sucked in a breath.

  Rebecca rose on tiptoe and her mouth. Was. Right. There. “Gabe?”

  He lost it, lost any semblance of his remaining control. His hands came up to grip her upper arms, some part of his mind intending to push her away, while the remainder knew he could never manage to distance this woman in any way.

  Not now. Not after all this time.

  Her lips parted, asking again, “G-Gabe?”

  That stutter did him in. His head dropped, and he pressed his mouth to hers.

  Ten

  Rebecca

  He was kissing her.

  Gabe was kissing her.

  Oh fucking hell, he was kissing her!

  She froze, her mind full of swirling thoughts. Had he made a mistake? Maybe his mouth had accidentally fallen onto hers? Should she back away? No. She shouldn’t be ridiculous. Of course, his mouth hadn’t fallen on hers. He was kissing her. But did that mean she should kiss him back? What if he didn’t like the way she did it?

  All of that was whipping through her mind and so it took her a moment to realize that Gabe was pulling back.

  God, no.

  She didn’t want him to stop.

  The thoughts quieted, her purse dropped to the floor with a thump, and her hands came up, fingers weaving into the hair on his nape as she brought her mouth back to his.

  They’d spent four months together, and most of that time she’d been fantasizing about this moment, when she finally got up the courage to do what was happening, to act on her feelings, feelings that had been building from the moment he apologized for being a jerk then had insinuated himself into her life.

  They ate more meals together than apart. They went to movies together. Had gone wine tasting and to the ocean. She’d even turned him on to one of her favorite reality shows.

  They were friends.

  But nothing more.

  And she’d thought that was what he wanted, so she hadn’t dared to wish for more.

  Didn’t dare to hope she could find a way to offer him more.

  Not when her anxiety sometimes made day-to-day stuff impossible.

  It had taken three cancelations and date changes before they’d finally made it to the beach, a long research process of the winery and how the tours operated before she’d agreed to go, and multiple instances of Yelp review trolling before she was willing to try a new restaurant.

  But she’d gone.

  She’d gone and she’d had fun and it hadn’t gotten easier so much as the world she’d gotten comfortable experiencing had expanded.

  Because of Gabe.

  Who was never impatient but always encouraging.

  Who made her wish that the lonely future she’d always imagined might include a friend like Gabe.

  But she’d never imagined it could include him like this.

  With his lips against hers, his chest pressed to her breasts, the warmth of his body seeping into hers.

  She’d been kissed before, and it had never been lik
e this.

  Her body was on fire, but her mind was finally calm, just soaking in the sensations rather than trying to analyze everything. Feel not think. Her therapist had mentioned to her more than once, one of the many techniques to keep in her back pocket to help her live her life. But she’d never understood it, not until that moment. Because her feelings were what was terrifying, what stopped her from living her life, prevented her from doing things she wanted to or had to or needed to do.

  She’d needed to feel less, not more.

  Except . . . now she understood.

  It wasn’t so much emotions her therapist had wanted her to focus on, rather, she should immerse herself in how her body felt—heart pounding, head spinning, desire spiraling. She should allow her fingers to revel in the soft silk of his hair against her skin, the spicy scent soaking into her nostrils.

  That was feeling.

  And it was incredible.

  But it was also fleeting because Gabe eventually pulled back, his hands drifting gently down the outsides of her arms and making her shiver. “Are you okay?” he asked, voice husky and eyes hot.

  She nodded, her own words stoppered up in the back of her throat. What had happened was a lot, bordering on almost too much. And it was also exceptional. Perfect. The best kiss of her life.

  “Kind of need to hear you say the words, sweetheart.”

  “What words?” she asked. “I-I don’t know what to say other than that it was incredible, Gabe. I—” She stumbled to a stop, not understanding what he wanted. It was perfect, hot as hell, but—

  “You’re not overwhelmed?”

  She snorted. Of course, she was overwhelmed. That kiss had been everything. “Are you?”

  “Yes.” He smiled. “And that’ll do, honey,” he murmured, cupping her cheek lightly before bending to pick up her purse and handing it to her. Then he reached for her backpack, sliding it off her shoulder and onto his own.

  For the first time ever, she let him carry that burden without protest.

  Perhaps because instinctively she understood that this was a man who could help her shoulder her burdens.

  Or more likely, because his kiss had addled her.

  Regardless, when he took her hand and suggested they eat at a new restaurant without her using her ninja sleuth skills to Yelp the hell out of it, she agreed without protest. With Gabe by her side, it was easier to step outside of her carefully laid boundaries.