She blinks. “Oh. Okay. Well. Cat, you can watch the rest of the game in your room. Brush your teeth.”
Grumbling, Cat trudges out.
“You’re like her mom,” I comment.
“I know.”
“That’s a lot for someone your age to take on.”
“Lots of women my age are mothers.”
“Not of twelve-year-olds.”
“Okay, true. The thing is…I had to.” She pauses. “I love her. When she was born, I was so excited to have a baby sister. I wanted to take care of her all the time. Even change her diapers.” She laughs softly. “She was so tiny and precious. And so little when Mom died. I had a hard time myself, dealing with that. But then when Cat got into school, she started having problems. Behavior issues. She’d refuse to go to school. I thought she was faking being sick, but when Vince or I tried to make her go, she’d have a total melt down.”
“Oh man. And you were…what? Seventeen? Eighteen?”
“Yeah. She wasn’t sleeping at night. She still doesn’t like going to bed, but it was more than that. She’d be up at night and of course without enough sleep, her mood wasn’t great. She wasn’t eating. She started getting in arguments at school with other kids. Even her teachers. I was at my wit’s end, but thank God for a good school counselor who realized what was happening. We got referred to a wonderful child psychologist. I even got some therapy.” She makes a face as if she doesn’t like to admit it. “But it was a good thing. And I realized I had to do better. I had to be there for her. Vince hired a bunch of different nannies, but she needed a more normal, structured life.” She wrinkles her nose. “With one consistent person. I was about to go to college, but instead I stayed home with her.”
Wow. She really loves her sister. I loved Eric, too, but I couldn’t be there for him like she was for Cat.
“I feel guilty that I let her down at such a tough time,” she adds quietly.
Yeah. I lower my chin, my jaw tightening. I know how that feels. Shit. I don’t like remembering how that feels. I swallow and say, “And now you’re trying to make up for it.”
She glances sharply at me. “Uh…” Then she purses her lips. “Maybe I am.”
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“You’re very…perceptive.” She sounds surprised.
I shrug and focus on the TV.
“Do you have any siblings?” she asks.
Shit. “I had a brother,” I say, trying to keep my voice even. “Eric. He died a few years ago.”
“Oh no!” She gazes at me, her sharp eyes softening into sympathy. “I’m so sorry.”
I feel her curiosity, but I don’t want to talk about Eric. So I don’t answer her unspoken questions, and we sit in silence and watch the game.
When the Blue Jackets score, I say, “Nice. You gotta like that back door play.”
Her head swivels and she gapes at me. “Back door play?”
I realize how it sounded and grin. “Yep.” Her face is so expressive. It’s adorable.
“Well then.”
The filthy innuendo lightens the leaden atmosphere. Good.
I explain a high-sticking penalty to her and why the guy who got hit keeps checking to see if he’s bleeding.
“So he wants to bleed?” she asks incredulously.
“Well…it’s a longer power play if he’s cut.”
“Weird.”
We continue watching. Then I say, “Blue Jackets are trying hard to get into the O zone.”
“The O zone,” she repeats.
“Yeah.” I glance at her.
She’s smirking again. “I like a guy who can get into the O zone.”
My head jerks around. “It’s the offensive zone.”
She tosses her head. “In hockey, sure.”
Aw, fuck. Why’d she get me thinking about orgasms? Jeez.
“Offense is trying to score. Defense is trying to stop the other team from scoring.”
She tips her head. “So Roman is on the offense. And I’m on the defense.”
I stare at her. “Yes. Exactly.” He better not fucking score.
I turn back to the game, my focus shot. I didn’t anticipate this hockey lesson going into sex territory. The Blue Jackets score. “Yesss!”
“You said that before the puck even went in the net.”
“No, I didn’t.” I laugh.
“It seemed like it. How did you see that?”
“I’m watching.”
“Huh. That was the wrong team, though. I thought you wanted Washington to win.”
“I do, but it was a nice goal. Löfgren has silky mitts.”
She stares at me.
“He has good hands.”
She blinks. “That’s what she said.”
I burst out laughing. “Come on. You’re making everything dirty.”
“I am?” Her mouth falls opens. “Ha!”
Maybe it’s just that I’m sitting beside a hot woman, but everything does seem sexual.
She sighs. “I’ll never get this game.”
I bump her shoulder with mine. “It doesn’t matter, Em. You just need to pretend to be interested. Right?”
Her lips part and her eyes hold mine for a moment. “Right.”
“You learned a lot tonight.”
“I’ll be able to school Roman next time.”
“There better not be a next time,” I growl.
She gives me another look. “You sound like you care.”
I go still. “Well, I do,” I say slowly. “That’s the whole point of this, isn’t it? Making sure he leaves you alone.”
“You’re right.”
“What do we do about that? I could have a word with him…”
“Eeek. I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Why not? Wouldn’t a real boyfriend do that?”
Her eyes narrow and she bites her lip. “Maybe?”
With our gazes connected and her right next to me, the air around us crackles. We watch each other.
We completely miss Washington tying the game up. Whatever. We both blink away from each other to stare at the screen. Heat prickles over my skin.
Then Mr. D’Agostino walks in.
“Thought I heard noise coming from in here,” he says. His gaze lands on me. “Owen.”
“Hello, sir.”
“Hi, Vince,” Emerie says. “We’re watching hockey.”
I can see his effort to keep his face neutral. “I see that. Which game?” He steps farther into the room. “Ah. Tie game.”
“Yep. Hoping for another goal from Washington.”
He nods as he strolls over to an armchair.
Crap. He’s joining us. So much for avoiding him.
“I’m learning so much,” Emerie says. “Owen knows everything about hockey.”
I smile and nod at the TV. “I’ve been watching Washington’s point shots, where they’re coming from, and where they all line up around the net.”
“Hmmm.”
We watch as Löfgren nearly scores again, robbed by the Washington goalie. “Wow, what a save!”