“Nothing. I just don’t have a lot of friends here. I keep to myself, that’s all I meant. No big deal.” Even I could tell that my smile wasn’t genuine. Time to get going, and end the conversation. “I’ll see you later, Karen.”
“Okay. See you later, Dalton.” She turned and walked away from me, not looking back once. I watched her until she was out of my line of sight and then took off.
Chapter 6
Karen
It was after ten o’clock when I got home from the game. I was really glad I went. Aside from a couple of local junior games at home now and then, I hadn’t seen too much hockey lately. I planned to absorb all the hockey I could while on my sabbatical. I was Canadian, after all.
Cage’s comment about not having friends bothered me. I knew my brother didn’t like him—he made it pretty obvious—but I didn’t quite understand why. Yes, he was ballsy. Yes, he spoke without thinking sometimes, but he deserved a break. After all, Cage was the one who beat the crap out of Lacey’s ex for laying a hand on her. Cage was the one who profusely apologized for making fun of Vlad after he found out that he was, in fact, injured. And most importantly, in my book, Cage was the one who was content simply sleeping with me on the couch when I drove him home after Jody’s nose-breaking incident. He was the only person outside of my mother and Jody who I’d ever told about Freddy putting me in the hospital. And what did he do? He snuggled me close and told me how strong I was for surviving that abusive relationship as well as I had. He had a hard-on the size of the Washington Monument, but he didn’t act on it. And when I felt a little too snug in his embrace, he gave me the room I needed. No pressure.
We bonded that night, Dalton and I. I may have even lost a little piece of my heart to him then. There was a connection there that I was pretty sure not many have experienced with him. I couldn’t quite explain it, but I felt it, and I think he did, too.
It all started on the drive to Cage’s place after leaving Vlad and Zoe’s. I liked the way my body slid into the driver’s seat of his car. I’d never been in a BMW before. It was pretty sweet. I also liked the stash of KitKats in the door pocket. That was the night I first learned of his chocolate obsession.
Cage’s eyes were glued to my hands as I ran them around the steering wheel, feeling the supple leather. “Looks like you’re good with your hands. Plenty of other things for you to feel over here.”
I made the mistake of glancing at him before I could stop myself. There he was in all his splendor. His long legs encased in faded blue jeans, knees spread wide in a typical male pose. His right arm rested on the door while his left lay in his lap suggestively. The movement was so slight, I wasn’t sure if I truly saw him brush his fingers over the fly of his jeans, but then he did it again, chuckling as he watched me watching him.
I cleared my throat and finally looked away. “I think I’ll just drive you home. How’s that?”
“Disappointing, to be honest. I’d much rather you run your hands over me like you’re running them over that leather.” He reached over and ran a finger down my cheek. “That blush looks good on you.”
“I’m not blushing. I’m just hot.”
“You are that, but you’re blushing, too.”
I knew he was right—the blushing part, not the hot part—but I wasn’t going to admit it. Instead of answering him, I started the car and waited for him to tell me which way to go. He pointed to the left and off we went.
Motley Crue was playing quietly on the radio. I loved classic rock—had since I was old enough to pick my own music—and it seemed like a good distraction, so I reached over and turned it up loud, bellowing out the words to Rattlesnake Shake. In hindsight, it may not have been the best song to play in Cage’s presence.
About a minute into the song, he reached over, quick as a fox, and
“Okay. See you later, Dalton.” She turned and walked away from me, not looking back once. I watched her until she was out of my line of sight and then took off.
Chapter 6
Karen
It was after ten o’clock when I got home from the game. I was really glad I went. Aside from a couple of local junior games at home now and then, I hadn’t seen too much hockey lately. I planned to absorb all the hockey I could while on my sabbatical. I was Canadian, after all.
Cage’s comment about not having friends bothered me. I knew my brother didn’t like him—he made it pretty obvious—but I didn’t quite understand why. Yes, he was ballsy. Yes, he spoke without thinking sometimes, but he deserved a break. After all, Cage was the one who beat the crap out of Lacey’s ex for laying a hand on her. Cage was the one who profusely apologized for making fun of Vlad after he found out that he was, in fact, injured. And most importantly, in my book, Cage was the one who was content simply sleeping with me on the couch when I drove him home after Jody’s nose-breaking incident. He was the only person outside of my mother and Jody who I’d ever told about Freddy putting me in the hospital. And what did he do? He snuggled me close and told me how strong I was for surviving that abusive relationship as well as I had. He had a hard-on the size of the Washington Monument, but he didn’t act on it. And when I felt a little too snug in his embrace, he gave me the room I needed. No pressure.
We bonded that night, Dalton and I. I may have even lost a little piece of my heart to him then. There was a connection there that I was pretty sure not many have experienced with him. I couldn’t quite explain it, but I felt it, and I think he did, too.
It all started on the drive to Cage’s place after leaving Vlad and Zoe’s. I liked the way my body slid into the driver’s seat of his car. I’d never been in a BMW before. It was pretty sweet. I also liked the stash of KitKats in the door pocket. That was the night I first learned of his chocolate obsession.
Cage’s eyes were glued to my hands as I ran them around the steering wheel, feeling the supple leather. “Looks like you’re good with your hands. Plenty of other things for you to feel over here.”
I made the mistake of glancing at him before I could stop myself. There he was in all his splendor. His long legs encased in faded blue jeans, knees spread wide in a typical male pose. His right arm rested on the door while his left lay in his lap suggestively. The movement was so slight, I wasn’t sure if I truly saw him brush his fingers over the fly of his jeans, but then he did it again, chuckling as he watched me watching him.
I cleared my throat and finally looked away. “I think I’ll just drive you home. How’s that?”
“Disappointing, to be honest. I’d much rather you run your hands over me like you’re running them over that leather.” He reached over and ran a finger down my cheek. “That blush looks good on you.”
“I’m not blushing. I’m just hot.”
“You are that, but you’re blushing, too.”
I knew he was right—the blushing part, not the hot part—but I wasn’t going to admit it. Instead of answering him, I started the car and waited for him to tell me which way to go. He pointed to the left and off we went.
Motley Crue was playing quietly on the radio. I loved classic rock—had since I was old enough to pick my own music—and it seemed like a good distraction, so I reached over and turned it up loud, bellowing out the words to Rattlesnake Shake. In hindsight, it may not have been the best song to play in Cage’s presence.
About a minute into the song, he reached over, quick as a fox, and
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