“Wait…” The venom slips from Conner’s voice suddenly. “Mac? Mackenzie Larue?”
"Yes!" I'm so excited he remembers me I make the mistake of spinning around. Oops. He's still naked. Shit! I spin back around so fast that I stumble into the coffee table and fall onto the couch. And then—thud—onto the floor. "Fuck! Ouch!"
“This is a nightmare,” he declares, and I hear him stomp across the apartment as I rub my elbow and sit up and catch the back of his bare ass as he slips into my bedroom.
By the time I’m on my feet again, he’s emerging from my room and he’s clothed. Well, I mean he’s got on a pair of sweats that are snug inallthe right places. Conner Garrison is no longer a gangly teenager. He’s all man.
My dad doesn’t play hockey professionally anymore but he’s still involved in the sport because he’s moved into coaching, although he’s in-between gigs right now. It’s still his main topic of conversation when I call or go home, and so I’d heard how Conner was a big, elite hockey player now. Big, elite hockey players arenevergangly. So of course he’s standing in front of me all muscled, sculpted, and gorgeous. I feel heat creeping up my face because my brain keeps flashing back to the naked version I got a good look at, even in my panic. He is impressive onallfronts.
He scratches his light-brown hair sheepishly. “I had no idea someone was staying here. I didn’t know you lived in Silver Bay. I thought you were in Syracuse.”
“I was. For undergrad. Then I got a scholarship to the University of Maine for medical school,” I explain and walk around the couch, focusing on the red welt forming in the center of his forehead. There’s also a little trickle of blood. “Shit. I made you bleed.”
“You did?” He pinches his eyebrows and immediately winces.
I take his hand. It’s big, strong, and warm. A ripple of electricity courses down my spine but I ignore it. It’s just a not-so-subtle reminder I haven’t been with a man in almost an entire year. I pull him toward the bathroom, where I saw a first aid kit in one of the drawers when I moved in. “I need to clean it and put a Band-Aid on it before you go.”
“I’mnotputting a Band-Aid in the center of my forehead,” Conner grumbles. “And I’m not going anywhere.”
I freeze on the white marble penny tiles and turn to face him. “I live here. I told you. I pay rent. It’smyplace.”
“Yeah. Okay. But there’s a freaking blizzard out there,” Conner argues. He points toward the oblong window at the top of the bathroom wall. It looks like it’s got a piece of white Styrofoam blocking it but it’s just the pile of snow on the ledge outside.
He shouldn’t have to remind me about that. I just drove home from the hospital, white-knuckling it the whole way because of this blizzard. My eyes find his again. He looks sheepish as he adds, “Plus I don’t have anywhere to go.”
I make a face like he just skunked the room. “You’re related to half the town. You have a million places to go.”
His face twists in an emotion I know all too well—shame. But why? “My parents don’t know I’m in town and I want to keep it that way right now. If I tell a single Garrison, other than my sister Mae, they’ll all know by dawn. And I can’t… I’m not ready for that. When the weather calms its tits I’ll think about facing reality. But I’m not heading out in this storm, in the middle of the night to humiliate myself, okay?”
No. This is not okay. But he’s right. The weather is horrible and I’d have to be a complete bitch to kick him out into it, especially if it’s going to humiliate him somehow. And I guess Icould insist he go stay in the main house, where his cousin Tenley lives, but he’s trying to avoid every single relative he has. I’ve had glimpses of the Garrison family dynamic and they’re as thick as thieves and wouldn’t avoid each other if they had the plague. So Conner’s reasons for ghosting them must be serious. Still, I point out a problem with this potential arrangement. “There’s only one bed.”
“There used to be a blow-up mattress in the closet of the empty second bedroom,” Conner tells me. “From when we used to… hook up with girls up here in high school.”
Classic. Of course, he and his cousins did that.
“There’s no door on that room,” I reply, pulling open the drawer that has the first aid kit. I grab the red canvas bag with the cross on it and put it on the counter.
“You’ve seen me naked. I think we’re past the door stage,” he mutters.
“I saw nothing,” I reply hastily.
“Doubt that,” Conner replies just as quickly. “I’m hard to miss.”
I freeze and look up at him. He’s wearing the cockiest smile. He chuckles as I ignore him and the blush traveling over my cheeks at the moment.
The tiny room still smells of my expensive bubble bath and when I tear open the antiseptic wipe, I notice all the bubbles still in the tub and the now nearly empty bottle of bubble bath. My jaw drops. “You used the whole bottle!”
“Yeah. I like extra bubbles,” Conner says like it’s no big deal. “I’ll buy you more.”
“It’s from Paris. It costs more money than I care to admit and even if you order me more it won’t be here in time for tomorrow, my day off and the day I intended to fill with self-care, including a bubble bath.” I pout as I pull out the wipe and reach up to dab his forehead with it. Way up. Conner is a goodfour inches over six feet. It makes me feel tinier than my five feet eight inches.
“Sorry,” he grumbles but he doesn't sound all that sorry. He sounds irritated like I'm the problem. "Ow! Shit that hurts!"
Conner jumps back from me like I just pressed a hot poker to his head. I smirk and make a poor attempt at stifling a giggle. His cheeks pink just a bit. “You know what? Maybe I should just face my family. It would likely be less humiliating than dealing with you.”
“Oh, so this ismyfault?” I don’t know why I’m so offended right now. If he’s actually going to leave, then I get what I want… right?
I follow him, waving the Band-Aid, as he storms intomybedroom. He’s been here probably a couple hours and my room looks like a bomb went off. There’s a duffle bag open on the bed with clothes hanging out of it. His jacket and winter boots are on the floor, leaving a puddle of melted snow on the hardwood. His toiletry bag is open on my desk, on top of one of my medical textbooks. “What the hell…”