“We just got done with team dinner. Some guys are heading to the bar, some to bed.”
“That’s good . . . and Jason isn’t there?”
“Right.”
Wow. They really did it. They really suspended him.
“Did anyone say anything about it?” I ask, twirling a lock of hair around my finger.
“No, no one that I could tell. I only really talked to Jordie at dinner, to be honest. But there’s no way anyone knows you’re staying at my place. I mean, I haven’t told anyone.”
“Thank you for that.” A warm smile spreads across my lips. It’s funny, but I don’t think I ever specifically asked Grant to keep it a secret. He just knew. Knew that I needed to be guarded, kept safe from the world. “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. I won’t be in your hair for much longer, I promise.”
He’s quiet for a moment. “I never asked you to leave.”
My breath hitches, and I pray he doesn’t hear it. At least he can’t know how hot my cheeks are.
“Yeah,” I murmur, uncertain of what else to say. Something deep in my heart grows warmer by the second, to the point where I’m afraid I’ll boil over and say something dumb. Something emotional. Instead, I only say, “But I’m sure I’m cramping your style.”
“Not at all.” Grant’s voice is softer now, gentler. He’s aware of how much I hate to inconvenience him, but he’s determined not to make it a big deal. He would never kick me out, even though I’m sure he’d prefer the privacy. Exhibit A, the bathroom incident.
I scoff. “Grant, come on. I’m not an idiot. A single guy like you? Captain of the team? I’m sure you’ve got puck bunnies lined up around the block, vying for your attention.”
“Not really.” He chuckles, seemingly surprised by my use of hockey lingo.
I have ears, and Lord knows Jason used to love to tell me about all the puck bunnies he used to spend his nights with.
“I’m not much for the bar scene, or wherever that stuff happens.”
I laugh. Who is this man? I can’t remember if I’ve ever seen Grant with a significant other at an event . . . not that I was really looking before.
“Even so, I’m going to figure something else out. You’ll have your bachelor pad back in no time, I promise. It’ll be easier on both of us.”
I can hear a muffled sigh on the other end. “Ana, I’m not who you think I am. I’m not interested in . . .”
When the line grows quiet, my brow furrows and my lips turn down into a frown. Interested in what? Puck bunnies?
“Never mind,” he says. “What I meant to say is that it’s been really nice having you around these past few days.”
My eyebrows shoot up, and I croak, “Really?”
“You cook. You make good coffee. And you give really good massages,” he says, and I can hear his grin through the receiver. “Your dog is kind of a pain in the ass, but—”
“How dare you!” I gasp, involuntary laughter bubbling up from deep in my belly. “Hobbes loves you!” I turn to pet Hobbes, who sniffles next to me in his sleep. Undoubtedly dreaming about those horrible squirrels again, I’m sure.
“Does he?” Grant asks, making a low sound that vibrates through me. “Well, I guess he’s not that bad.”
“Gee, thanks. I’ll have to tell him how highly you think of him.” I snicker, running my fingers absentmindedly through the pup’s wheat-colored curls. “I guess I’m relieved that you don’t absolutely hate having us around . . . but I don’t buy it. You can clearly cook for yourself. And you have that team masseur for regular massages.”
“Thor?” Grant scoffs. “Thor is the fucking worst. I haven’t let him touch me for at least two seasons now.”
“That explains why you’re so tense all the time,” I say with a laugh. My cheeks are starting to get sore from smiling so much. I don’t remember the last time I laughed so freely.
Somehow, talking on the phone is so easy with Grant. He seems more comfortable, probably relieved that I can’t scrutinize every flicker of emotion he tries so hard to conceal behind that stoic exterior. I can’t say that I’m not also enjoying the strange anonymity of it all . . . lying here in bed, so cozy and warm. The low throbbing in my center hasn’t disappeared at all. Rather, it’s grown since I picked up the phone to hear that husky voice on the other end. I don’t know what in the world is happening to me, but I shut it down quickly.
“You’re much better than he is. Some people don’t have the magic touch,” Grant says, interrupting my thoughts. “Now you know why I want to keep you around.”
I lick my lips. “So, are you saying that I have that magic touch?”
My voice is lower now, a little sultrier. This isn’t my massage voice. No, this is my flirting voice—something a little darker and sweeter, dipped in bourbon and honey. And I’d be appalled at myself for using my flirty voice if I weren’t having so much fun. Grant’s chuckle on the other end of the line soaks my heart in buttery warmth, and I sink into the duvet with a happy sigh.
“You do. If you were a superhero, your power would be just that. One touch, and even your worst enemy would melt into a happy puddle.”
“Well, I only give massages to people I like,” I say, realizing a moment too late that I’ve said too much.
“Then I’m honored.” Grant’s tone is careful, as if he’s only saying half of what he’s thinking.
Part of me wants to push him to spill the beans, and the other half is perfectly okay with unspilled beans at this point in our friendship.
Friendship. I guess it is. Before, we were acquaintances at best, but I realize that’s changed these past couple of days.
“You’ve been a really, really good friend, Grant,” I say, suddenly overwhelmed with the desire to tell him how kind he’s been to me. “Thank you for caring.”
“You make it easy,” he says softly, and my eyes immediately prick with hot tears.
I didn’t realize how badly I needed to hear that. After years of the kind of love that made me tired from the deepest parts of my soul, I always assumed there was something about me that made it difficult to be with me. Difficult to care about me.
“You should tell that to Jason,” I say with a sigh. A joke in poor taste, maybe, but I can’t help it. I’m so comfortable talking to Grant. The words come easily. Even those about my dick ex-boyfriend.
“If I ever see Jason again, I don’t think we’ll do much talking,” Grant grumbles, and I giggle, smiling like an idiot again. It’s nice to have a protector for a change.
“I appreciate that, but please don’t do anything—”
“I wouldn’t.”
“I know.”
The line is quiet for a few moments, and I can feel my heart pounding again. I have this urge to tell him something about myself that no one knows, something personal. Something that matters. But what would I tell him that I haven’t already? I’ve already told him about my mom . . . about losing her. I haven’t told many people about that part of me.
As if he reads my mind, Grant’s voice fills my ear once again. “It’s raining here. How’s the weather over there?”